Dallin Malmgren's Blog, page 29

What I like and don’t like about Christmas…

It’s the most conflicted time of the year. Most eagerly anticipated by children—highly stressful to many adults. A time of giving and a time of adding debt. Worship and idolatry. Unconditional love and avid self-interest. Family traditions and perilous travel plans. Let’s face it—love and hate.

My original plan was to write about what I like about the season. That got me to thinking about all the things I didn’t like (love and hate are too strong of words). And so I combined them.

Like: The time off your regular schedule. For teachers, Christmas break is heaven. For almost everybody, it means at least some extra time. Even if you’re retired, you get extra time with loved ones who aren’t.

Don’t like: The hustle and bustle. Time off should mean relaxation. At Christmastime, everyone is in a hurry. I was at Target last Saturday morning—a madhouse. The only thing worse was the traffic getting there.

Like: The preparation. There’s something comforting about going up in the attic and pulling down ten crates of Christmas paraphernalia. Opening them up and rediscovering something that you had entirely forgotten about. Believing that it does get easier to put the same stuff up (with a few additions, of course) year after year. And, yes, it is still glorious to plug everything in and have it all light up.

Don’t like: The preparation—(two sides to this coin): The physical lifting does get harder. Going through the crates makes you realize how much useless junk you have. (I’ll bet the thrift stores of America have a thousand tons of strings of lights. My estimation of how many of them still light up: 73%). When you are putting up decorations, there is always something that goes wrong. Always. And now you have ten semi-empty crates to put somewhere until you fill them again after Christmas.

Like: The charity. There is definitely a spirit of giving that pervades the Christmas season. I think it is God-inspired…but it is also a way for us to look away from our own lives and help others. We need that in stressful times. I was a Salvation Army bellringer one Christmas. It was amazing to watch the world go by like that. Now I always stop and give them something.

Don’t like—(ahh, her comes the Scrooge): The gifts. It seems so… (My wife read this one and just looked at me. Yeah, I definitely have a little Scrooge in me. I repent.)

Like: Family. Duh. It’s when they or you drive away that you realize how important it was to have some time with them. Cousins becoming true friends. It’s all very complex—and it can sometimes become stressful. But you ride away knowing it was time well-spent. At least I do.

Don’t like: The travel. I’m almost paranoid about it. My daughter is moving to Squamish, British Columbia. If we have a Christmas out there, I’ll probably arrive mid-December and leave mid-January. I want to be nowhere near an airport nowhere near Christmas. And is there any place you really want to drive in December? (Karen wasn’t crazy about this one either…but I stick to my guns. I would take her to a cabin in Yellowstone—just not at Christmas.

Like: The real music. Our church does a cantata every Christmas. Caroling is cool from both sides. I love it when the church goes dark and we sing “Silent Night” as we light the candles at Christmas eve service. And there are always songs or hymns that set the perfect tone for where you are at that moment. (I’ll never forget the first time I heard Robert Earl Keen’s “Merry Christmas to the Family.”)

Don’t like: The rest of the music—I’m sure that most of you know what I mean.

Like: The vibe of Christmas. I think it even transcends Christianity. Good will toward humankind. We look at those less fortunate with compassion. We see our neighbors as peers. We accept our common humanity. We are more hopeful.

Don’t like: The stress. I don’t understand it, but it is infectious. People worry more at Christmas. Is that right, or is it just that their worries are focused on one particular holiday? Do exchanges become sharper more quickly? Is it just me, or is there a general sense of relief when the day is over?

Like: The meaning of Christmas. Amazing. We are so separated from our loving Creator that He decides to become one of us. Not to appear to us or dazzle us—to be exactly like us. To show us what He is like in a way we can see. And it works—humanity is reconciled to God. Believe.

Don’t like: Most of us don’t get it.

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My Ten Favorite Books*

I always give books as gifts at Christmas. Yeah, mine is not the present that my loved ones are most anxious to open. But I look at my book gifts kind of like bait on a hook. You never know when the fish is going to strike, and there’s always a chance it could be a big one. (Okay, the simile is starting to crumble.)

So this post is meant to be a public service. Whether as a supplemental gift or just a stocking stuffer, you cannot go wrong giving anyone any of these books. In fact, you can’t go wrong giving yourself one. I’m going to forego reviews or summaries and just say how the book affected me.

In no particular order:

--The Temple of Gold by William Goldman – made me realize that there were novels about real life—a young man’s life. I felt like I knew Ray Trevitt—hell, I could have been him.

--The Count of Monte Cristo by Alexandre Dumas – I learned (to my dismay) that just because two people are meant to be does not mean that they will be. I learned bad things happen to good people. And I learned those two magic words: “wait and hope.”

–To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee — I’ve read this over and over. I wanted to be as innocent as Scout, as daring as Jem, and as wise as Atticus.

–East of Eden by John Steinbeck – the greatest brother novel ever. Not sure if I already knew it, but it affirmed that women can definitely be as evil as men. The end of my pedestal. And don’t forget the glorious message about God’s will.

Peace like a River by Leif Enger – This book made man’s relationship to God so real to me that I cried at the end—and the positive family message is just as strong.

The Catcher in the Rye – Holden Caulfield showed me it was okay if I chose not to fit into this world as I perceived it. No, it was better than okay—it was smart.

The Lord of the Rings by J.R.R. Tolkien – revealed to me the transportative power of fiction. I read it the first time in under a week (three volumes, and I am a slow reader). The world that Tolkien created became far more important to me than my own. By the way, it holds up.

Mink River by Brian Doyle – Can you name a book with 15 characters that you absolutely love? And you’re not even counting the crow that talks? How can “magical realism” come off so utterly real?

The Whole Nine Yards by Dallin Malmgren – Yes, the height of self-aggrandizement, since it really was the fictionalization of my own youth. But writing it was such fun, and it filled me with joy and hope and peace.



The Book of Uncommon Prayer by Brian Doyle (yes, my second by him) – I tend to verticalize my relationship with God—me looking up at Him. Doyle horizontalizes it—he sees God in the various people he meets and stories they tell…and he shows God to me.

I look up (at my list) and realize that, except for Harper Lee, all my writers are male. I won’t apologize, but I’m going to include five honorable mentions, all by women, that you could not go wrong buying for someone you love.

* You might notice the omission of the Bible. The Bible is more than a book.

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Saving…a dying art

When I was young, we saved everything—the last blob in the peanut butter jar, the rubber bands on the newspaper, TV dinner trays, S & H stamps, even aluminum foil (if it was clean). We did that because: a) we might need it again; b) it was wasteful not to; and c) children in India were starving.

This penurious upbringing has had an effect on my entire life. I’m still trying to decide if it’s more positive or negative. There’s ambiguity about who coined the phrase “Waste not, want not”, but I know that my mother wore it out. I was taught that buying something used was just as good (if not better) than buying new because it was less expensive, usually worked just as well, and extended the usefulness of the item. Wearing hand-me-downs was a given. (My sister, a millionaire, still shops in thrift stores.) On some level I thought of our family as less fortunate.

Then came the dawn of the age of recycling, and suddenly I was in the vanguard. I was no longer poor, I was ecological (what a lovely word!). Goodwill stores and garage sales became hip. Used became vintage. We started bragging about how many miles we put on that ol’ car. Trash had value. I remember taking my kids and three garbage bags of aluminum cans to the recycling center and getting our $7.75, usually spent on ice cream or candy on the way home. For awhile, we even had one of those can crushers in our garage.

Alas, the Age of Recycling has passed as quickly as the Age of Penury. We have entered into a new era: the Consumer Economy. By buying, we are helping everybody. (Then why is the gap between the 1%’ers and the rest of us growing ever larger?) New is always better than used. (A personal conflict of mine: if I buy my favorite author’s book used, he doesn’t get a penny of that, does he?) As we are making America great again, our recycled catchphrase is: You get what you pay for. Our credit history is more important than our carbon footprint. We judge on externals: our looks, our cars, our houses, our jobs, our education, our social media presence—apparently, only God looks at the heart anymore. Our leaders bury their heads and talk about tax cuts instead of climate change. The world of commerce has discovered an entrance into our private lives and is learning how to manipulate from within.

To interrupt my own rant: there are tons of people all over the planet who are dedicating themselves to combatting the ills that are besetting our world. I read about it, I see it on TV, I observe it in my church, and I hear about it every day from the people I meet and know and talk to. The world needs more of these people—there can’t be enough.

I believe there is a call to save the planet. It’s not new; it is ageless. But the call is reverberating in these times, and the people are growing, in numbers and in wisdom. One of the keys is saving: lives and resources and goods and nature. The result of not saving is waste. The symptoms of waste are: excess (always have more than you need) – the landfilling of America – the plasticizing of our oceans – China’s refusal to take our trash (they’ve got enough of their own) – the shrinking of our resources – the despoiling of our public lands – the cheapening of quality – personal bankruptcy (financial, moral, spiritual). That’s quite a rap sheet.

I’m not hopeless, but I’m worried. Do we enjoy a better quality of life than our parents? Most of us would say yes. Do our children enjoy a better quality of life than we did? Life expectancy—certainly; contentment—not so much. I’d probably split that one half and half. Will my six granddaughters enjoy a better quality of life than I do? I want to believe it, but I don’t. Not unless we make America green again. The bottom line of saving: it is a requisite of preserving our planet.

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For You

Photo by Karen

I’m just coming to the stunning realization that everything I do is for You. Every event in my life is designed to bring me closer to You. That is hardly ever my purpose, but that is always Your purpose. Not that I am a chess piece. I have absolute utter free will in every move I make. It grieves me to realize how often I have chosen to move away from You, by putting something else ahead of You. It is almost like a chess match—I move, and You arrange it for my good. I move again (freely) and You arrange again. Your patience is incomprehensible. Prayer is the human way to ask You how to move.

I’m not naïve. Most of humanity is out there moving for our selves. We live within a system that encourages and entices and seduces us to say “Me first.” That is what makes Jesus so unique. How can we think when He says “I am the way and the truth and the life,” that is His ego talking? I always had a hard time with that verse, because I thought of all the people (family, many friends, good people) who reject You. But I don’t worry about those people anymore because I believe that You will take care of them. I grieve that they don’t know the pleasure of walking through this life with You as their guide.

I try to figure out why it is so hard for most of us to believe in You, or at least in how You have presented Yourself to us. The natural stuff—the miracle of life, the outdoors, the family, friendship—I get that. Life is a gift. But then we get into the Bible, and the history of humankind, and Your interaction with us…and You become a murkier figure. In the Old Testament, You sometimes seem as emotional as us, which is scary. Again, I understand…that is why You sent Jesus…to show us what You are really like. Why are we so unwilling to believe?

In my miniscule human wisdom, the greatest obstruction I can identify is pride. We have to give up the throne. “You must increase and I must decrease.” Oh, but we want to hold on so dearly—we want every event to define us. We’ll give You credit, but we want the glory. To follow You means to give up the lead. It’s like asking a hummingbird to share. The greatest is servant of all—that is contrary to our egos. I want what I want. But we are created in Your image. You can teach us how to let go of ourselves.

The truth is inescapable—I did not create myself. I found myself here, I did not put myself here. Unless I am an accident (I’m not), someone (You) made me. And something deep in my heart knows that You are here, and that You enjoy being with me. And as I begin to get the barest glimpse of who You are (thank You, Jesus), I realize this is the most wonderful joyous news (the gospel) that could ever be. I am living in the Kingdom—and anyone can! It is not a country club—admission is free!

You observe us—I know You do. We bring You so much tragedy and sorrow and frustration. But I know that we also bring You joy and laughter and wonder and compassion and excitement and appreciation and (if it is possible) surprise. Rather than fearing the microscope, I want to embrace it. I acknowledge that everything I do is for You. My life’s purpose is to move back into intimacy with You. I pray for the grace and guidance to move forward as You would have me. You are the potter and I am the clay.

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My First Kiss

Karen and I re-enacting my first kiss (II) under the very same tree!

Part I

Except for a brief homosexual crisis during my drug-addled era, I have always been comfortable around women. I like girls. They are generally better conversationalists than men. They almost always smell better. Then there is that sex thing…

My first kiss was not consequential. It happened in second grade on the playground. Frankie Silvestri had a Snickers bar and I wanted half.

“You want half of this?” Frankie said, holding it temptingly close to my face. “I’ll give it all to you. All you gotta do is go kiss Donna Clark on the mouth.”

Donna was with a group of girls over by the basketball court playing jump rope. (Sounds clichéd, but that’s what I remember them doing. The long one, where you jump in and jump out.) She was standing to the side, not swinging or jumping. I came up behind her and tapped her on the shoulder. As I recall, I thought Donna was cool, so my task was not entirely repugnant. When she turned, I put two hands on the sides of her face, pulled her in a little, and laid one on her. While my memory would like to embellish this with a little electrical connection or a hint of a favorable response, I’m pretty sure she jerked away, screamed, and pushed me savagely. She might have spit.

I used to teach an Advanced Creative Writing class which was essentially a filmmaking class. One semester, for our group project, we decided to flesh out the above anecdote. A sweet innocent girl gets force-kissed on the playground. She is mesmerized by the dashing rake who committed the daring deed. But she’s a military girl, and her family moves away shortly afterward. Fast forward ten years. Dad has been reassigned and Sweet Innocent is back at the local high school. She watches from afar as Dashing Rake is entwined with Hottest Girl as Cutest Couple at the school. But she remembers the kiss, and she believes in destiny. We called it Waiting for Wesley. (Waiting for Dallin had no music to it.)

The film was a failure. My own son was cast as Wesley, and I had two beauties for Hottest Girl and Sweet Innocent. But we never finished it before the class ended. My fault, no doubt. I still think it’s a great idea, and I’m sure I have the screenplay packed away somewhere. Hollywood, can you hear me?

Oh yeah, when I got back to my friends after the raid, Frankie handed me an empty Snickers wrapper.

Part II

This is the real one. Happened in the fifth grade, and her name was Brooke Hanlon. I don’t think that hormones had kicked in yet, but I was discovering mysteries and attractions and, er, developments about girls that I found fascinating. Of course, social intercourse between the sexes in the fifth grade consisted mostly of insults, mock outrage, smirks, shrieks and giggles. A more friendly, familiar relation was usually negotiated by a third party. But I preferred a more direct approach and that gave me an advantage. Primary energy is so much more vital. I asked Brooke to meet me behind the building when school ended. She agreed. Early in my Creative Writing teaching experience, I wrote a poem about it:

The First Kiss

She had freckles and real soft lips

And I told her I would meet her

Under the oak tree after school.

Her hair was a color between red and blonde;

I said something outrageous, like

“I want to kiss you.”

She liked that and her eyes fired up

And her lips were oh so soft.

A teacher saw us and became very angry

And I was led to believe that she was cheap.

And so I took my vow of poverty.

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Illness strikes

Photo by me

“I need for something

No, let me break it down again

I need for something

But not more medicine.”

–from Ill With Want by the Avett Brothers

The Malmgren Thanksgiving reunion ended on Sunday. There is nothing on this earth I value more than getting together with my three children, their spouses, and our six granddaughters. Broken Bow, Oklahoma is an excellent resort spot, and our huge cabin might have been the best ever (the Malmgrens are a traveling reunion family). But there is never a guarantee for perfection. Illness struck and wormed itself through most of the family. Nothing serious—a heavy cold—but enough to conjure misery. Throughout the four days, someone or other was confined to a bedroom. We had fun, but not as much fun, and a general sense of exhaustion pervaded our departure on Sunday.

So now we are home. My older son and his wife and baby Ayla planned to stay until Tuesday, but Annalisa and Ayla got slammed late in the game. They have already had to move their flight back a day—there is always more worry involved when a child is sick.

It came on me on Saturday, but medications and hot toddies got me through the day. Sunday morning was a blur of activity with all the repacking and cleaning up. I felt better while driving home (God’s grace) but was re-slammed when I got here. I am the worst sufferer ever. Grumpy and miserable and cold. My wife doesn’t nurse me; she lets me be. I lay in bed under the covers, and I just want it to be over (my illness, not my life—unless I get really bleak…been there a few times). But deep down I know…

I was talking with my son a while ago. He was lamenting how the universe (he leaves God out of it as a courtesy to me) had conspired to turn a trip they had looked forward to as a high point of the year into one of misery and suffering (he was the one who had it worst during the actual reunion—and he suffers like me!). I told him the bible says that “…suffering produces endurance…” Of course, this was absolutely no consolation to him—I was like the three guys who tried to tell Job why his life sucked. And yet, the effect doesn’t change the deeper truth of the entire passage: “Not only that, but we rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope.” (Romans 5:4–5)

I got some insight into why all this is necessary at the actual reunion. The two youngest children became enchanted by the same stuffed penguin. One held it and the other grabbed it. They locked eyes. There was no compromise—no sense of sharing—no negotiation about who had received the gift—there was only I WANT THIS. (A deft mom who distracted one of them with something else averted the crisis.) These are innocent babes—the problem lies at the core of human nature. Every one of us battles that urge every day—we have to be trained away from it. Nothing produces misery like selfishness. Can we be changed? It seems an overwhelming task. With God, all things are possible.

I want to close with my favorite verse from the Avett Brothers song I began with:

“Temporary is my time

Ain’t nothing on this world that’s mine

Except the will I’ve found to carry on

Free is not your right to choose

It’s answering what’s asked of you

To give the love you find until it’s gone.”

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My thankfulness…getting specific

Photo from out of the past

Most all of us are going to say the prayer…and mean it. We are grateful for the food, and for our families, and for our riches and comforts (we don’t usually say it that way), and for our country, and for being free to be thankful. That’s all good. Have any of you patriarchs (or whoever) already thought about the prayer you will say before the first bite is taken? I have. Does that seem artificial?

No, I’m not demeaning the value or significance of saying grace before our Thanksgiving feast—an essential part of the festivity. But we can’t be long-winded then—the food will get cold! So, because I am a writer, I want to have my say and get specific. I want to let You, God, know exactly why I am so thankful for the life You have given me.

This is random, not in order of importance. I thank You for my daily life. I love waking up in the morning, and being warm and toasty, and realizing You are right here with me and Karen. I love my quiet time with You. Whatever my day holds, be it golf (so fun!), or caring for others, or chores, or whatever You bring up unexpectedly—I love that You are with me. I love Your gentleness in the evening—I can watch sports, or read, or write, or do something with Karen—and when I go to bed, You are right there with me, just like You were when I woke up.

I thank You for my career. I thought I should be a famous writer, but You thought I should be a teacher, and You were right. I had so many lives touch me in those 33 years—You demonstrated so many times that people were more important than money that I no longer doubt it. I am thankful that I did something with my life that I feel good about. By the way, I also thank You for retirement.

I thank You for my family. What a miracle to see three brand new souls, Bethany and Nathan and Zachary, brought into this world, and to watch them grow and develop and evolve into the persons they are today. My heart overflows—how wonderful of You to entrust them to us! And the miracle continues—the souls You have enjoined them to, and the brand new souls You have created through them. Your love and goodness surpasses my understanding.

I thank You for all of those other intimate connections—my mom and dad—my brother and sisters—their families—Karen’s family—the multitude of close friends You’ve brought in and out of my life. They have instructed me in the nature of love. All the stuff that You’ve told us: it can’t be contained, you receive by giving, it is the most powerful force on the planet, everyone that loves is born of God. Each one of us is so imperfect—it is love that brings out our best.

Photo from out of the past

I thank You for my memories—or should I say, my history? There are many unpleasant ones…some that I know I repress. Yet who I am is the result of who I have been and what I have gone through. We are snowflakes—no two alike. I think it is the gift of memory that enables us to see most clearly Your hand at work in our lives. Sifting through memory opens up the big picture. And besides that, it is fun. How many Thanksgiving table conversations gravitate into recollections of past events in the family history?

I thank You for Karen. It is not always easy and it is not always harmony, but we both know we are on the same journey together. If You look at all my thankfulnesses listed above, she is intimately involved in every one! “The two shall become one…”—that is not a command, it is a forecast. I sometimes wonder how marriages that do not recognize Your presence ever survive. I used to measure my spirituality against hers (and always came up short)…what nonsense! God sees us as one. My frequent prayer is: draw us together nearer to You. I know that You gave me Karen not as a Madonna or as a rescue project…she is my match. The two shall become one.

At the end of my long-winded grace, I thank You for You. I had a friend from my distant past send me this response to one of my blog posts: “As an atheist I am amazed at how much energy you devote to what I consider to be a fantasy…” My dear Lord Jesus, if You are a fantasy, then I am pitiful. But every fiber of my being affirms Your reality. It has been 44 years since I received You as my Lord. The years don’t lie. From all Your bounty, I thank You most of all for You.

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The joyful journey

Photo by Annalisa Barelli

God enjoys us enjoying…I’m certain of that. No doubt, building our character is more important. Think of the fruit of the Spirit: love, joy, peace, forbearance, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control. Who wouldn’t want those attributes? Doing right ranks higher than having fun. You can have fun doing wrong, but you can’t nurture the Spirit. The best fun nurtures you—it doesn’t corrupt you. God intends us to have fun.

This I believe: God enjoys observing my life and is always interested in the choices I make—but He absolutely 100% respects my right to make them. We have to acknowledge that responsibility before we can commit our lives to anything. That is what makes the journey joyful—we are always in the process of learning to submit our choices to Him—not because He is a tyrannical autocrat, but because He knows what is best for us. I want to choose what He wants—but it can get tricky.

So what is God up there doing while I’m using my free will to make these choices for Him? I think He is active…He oversees and guides (and sometimes steers) to use my choices to make me into a better person. That’s the whole point to “As a man sows, so shall he reap…” isn’t it? He is never a taskmaster—His parameters are wider than my imagination. But if my life is a journey back to His presence (it has to be, doesn’t it?), then it is His Spirit that will keep me moving forward, and I cannot con His Spirit. The righteous shall live by faith.

If we think of the choices we make as steps on the path of our journey, it clears up the picture, doesn’t it? The old expression: one step forward, two step back…isn’t that exactly what we don’t want to do? How many kids do you see that aren’t hurrying toward Disneyland when it is right in front of them? Hard knocks and all—don’t we know in our hearts it’s meant to be joyful? It only takes one realization: doing the right thing is more fun that being selfish. Operate on that one principle and the path is going to get smoother and smoother.

Oh yeah, a caveat: you can’t make the journey alone. You can bring along as many others as is blessedly possible, but you can’t come alone. Everyone with you is your brother and sister and the best thing you can do is make their journeys more joyful. Another thing: you are not the leader and you never will be (even if you are a general or a CEO or a politician). You don’t know the way—only He does—you have to follow. Wow. For what? The abundant life He promises. He knows the way. What do you trust more, your perception or His? That is the beginning of faith, which is the first step on the joyful journey.

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Mary Theresa Knox and my favorite jacket

Photo by me

Last Saturday night my son facetimed me. He was at a father-daughter camp-out, and while sitting around a campfire he told them of a ghost experience that I used to tell. A bunch of 8 year oldish girls were standing behind him, and they wanted me to corroborate the story. Which I did.

Here is the story: On Halloween night of our first year in Texas, after trick or treating with my three young children, I was sent to the store because we had no milk for breakfast. On my way, I saw a young teenage girl hitchhiking right by the gate to a graveyard. It was a chilly night, and she had on flip-flops, shorts and a summer blouse. I stopped, told her I was a teacher and I would hate to have my daughter out this late, and offered to take her to her home. She was grateful. I learned her name was Mary Theresa Knox, and she was a freshman at the high school where I taught. As I drove, I noticed her shivering and told her to put on the jacket I had with me. Her directions home were labyrinthine, but we made it. She thanked me; I said maybe we would run into each other at school. I drove away, concentrating on finding my way back to familiar territory. Then I realized that she went inside still wearing my favorite jacket. I drove back and knocked on the door. Eventually, an old woman answered it. I explained the situation and told her Mary Theresa would confirm it. I just wanted my favorite jacket. The old woman looked shocked, then horrified, then angry. “Is this some kind of joke?” she demanded, almost wailing. I answered that it was all true. “Mary Theresa died two years ago,” she said, her voice cold. And she slammed the door. Stunned, I went back to my car and started to drive home. But I was angry—it made no sense. Did they want to steal my jacket? When I came to the graveyard, I impulsively pulled up to the gate, left my lights on and the motor running, and got out of my car. I hopped the small wall by the gate and moved into the graveyard. The combination of my headlights and a half moon created an eerie kind of illumination. Toward the rear of the graveyard, I noticed a tombstone with a dark shadow covering part of it. I discovered it was my favorite jacket. When I pulled it off the gravestone, I read: Here lies Mary Theresa Knox born September 4, 1970, died October 31, 1984.

Dang. I used to tell it better than that. Of course, the details you add are what make any story real. This is the abbreviated version. But the Saturday night facetime got me to think. Where did I come up with that? I’m not claiming extraordinary imaginative powers—I know I lifted it from somewhere. (A student once told me there was a very similar version on an episode of Growing Pains.) All you have to do is personalize it and sell it.

I told that story every Halloween in every class I taught, and I sold it. It took me a whole class period to tell. I used to bring my favorite jacket and hide it in the closet and pull it out when skeptics started to voice their doubts. One Halloween we got a call around midnight. It was two of my students—they had searched the whole graveyard and couldn’t find Mary Theresa’s grave. I told them to go home and hung up the phone. I had a small group in one class make a video of their version of Mary Theresa—it was wonderful. I’m pretty sure I even got called into the vice-principal’s office once because a parent complained.

What I liked best about the Saturday night facetime was that it renewed my faith in the power of storytelling. My granddaughter Harper had to re-tell the story to the whole family at our dinner table the next night. We all have stories—made-up and real. We create and tell our stories in everything we do. Our stories are supposed to be interesting. They draw us nearer to one another. That is why storytelling is an art.

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What I can do (to live in Your presence)

Photo enhanced by Karen

*I can become a better listener.

*I can give more of myself.

*I can give Karen the space and nearness she needs.

*I can press on in my devotions.

*I can make more friends.

*I can reach out to my past.

*I can be a better, more trusting steward of Your generosity.

*I can find more stuff Karen and I can do together (we are on the path as one).

*I can increase my commitment to the church.

*I can try to understand my dreams.

*Can I raise my awareness—or do You have to do that?

*I can respect Your planet.

*I can do more with less.

*I can be more attentive to Your voice (or You could speak louder).

*I can be healthier. Really. By choices I make every single day.

*I can pay more attention to the shadowy insinuations made by my ego, and give them less and less weight.

*I can learn to ride that wave that separates fanaticism from devotion from hypocrisy.

*I can enjoy sports without being idolatrous of my teams.

*I can love my family without being blinded by my family.

*I can love my wife as Christ loves the church.

*I can live my life more than observe it.

*I can learn to see Christ in every relationship I have.

*I can learn more about You by reading.

*I can learn more about You by listening to music.

*I can learn more about You by playing golf—really!

*I can get way better at learning how to recognize the downswells and believing I can surf them.

*I can be way more wise and compassionate with people who annoy me.

*I can do more in service of my Lord.

*I can be more open about my faith with my family and my friends.

*I can drink less and enjoy it more.

*I can treasure the memories of my children growing up.

*I can breathe with You.

*I can recognize I am in the body of Christ and try to do my part.

*I can pray without ceasing. (It’s really possible—it’s an attitude, not an action).

*I can give my own political leanings over to You.

*I can always remember that the Kingdom is at hand.

*I can make reparations for my sins (that’s a tricky one).

*I can appreciate Jesus and affirm who He is.

*Honestly, I am so thankful, but I can be even more.

*Believe, believe, believe; trust, trust, trust; ask, ask, ask.

*I can look forward to the next day with anticipation and joy.

*I can thank You forever for capturing my soul.

The post What I can do (to live in Your presence) appeared first on Dallin Malmgren.