Cure for Driving Boredom

A Cure for Driving Boredom

The Dukes of Hazard vs. Chinese Mafia

            My current employment as a home health physical therapist, has me traveling about to visit patients all day, on the highways and rural byways of 3 Southeast Idaho counties.  The company car which I am assigned to drive (for which I am very grateful) is a small economy compact (emphasis on the compact) model that often leaves me feeling like Mr. Incredible getting in and out of his little beater on the classic animated movie.

            Although I enjoy my job and the people I work with (well… most of them), and am extremely grateful to have steady employment, the life of a road warrior can get pretty boring some days.  The radio provides some relief, but after a certain amount of time, the tunes and talking points blend into a reverberating cacophony which gives me a headache.  Silence is a welcome companion at times, when I can ponder the important things in life, but when you live a rather simple and uneventful life, the inner mental mileage can only take you so far.

            As I pondered what I could do to cure the boredom of driving and add a little excitement to my day, a long ago driving memory came back to me from my days as a missionary for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints in Los Angeles, way back in 1986. (Man that makes me feel old!)

            It was a warm, boring late fall day somewhere in the streets of San Pedro, and my companion at the time, Elder Todd Bay, was driving our small mission car through the normal congestion of traffic.  I don't know why it was, but in the short time Elder Bay and I were companions, I have more epic journal entry stories than I had with all my other companions combined.  Maybe it was divine fate or some mad chemistry, but something crazy was always going on when we were together!
        It should be noted, that appearing as young, clean cut guys with white shirts, suits, ties, sunglasses and name badges, there were times when from a distance, missionaries could easily be mistaken for immigration officers, FBI, etc… as we walked the urban streets of L.A. and its surrounding suburbs, which were rife with illegal immigrants, gang bangers, drug dealers and so forth.  On more than one occasion, people would see us coming and they would scatter like roaches into alleys or nearby buildings.  Come to think about it, maybe they did know we were missionaries after all and were just running so we didn’t corner them for an impromptu sermon!

            But on this particular day, we were stuck in heavy traffic at an intersection, our small Toyota Corolla idling amongst the smog and exhaust of the day and surrounding vehicles.  Elder Bay was driving as I sat in the passenger seat. As I opened the glove box to consult with a map (no fancy GPS thingies back in those days), much to my surprise, I found my camera, which I had been missing for a few weeks.  As I excitedly pulled it out and closed the jockey box, the neck strap on the camera closed inside the latch.  In an moment of 19 year old missionary brilliance, Elder Bay look over and saw me holding the small boxy camera, with strap coming out of the dash and said, “Hey, that kind of looks like a police radio or something.”  And thus our adventure was born!

            I rolled down the window, and holding the camera in my hand so as to disguise its identity, I leaned my tan, sun glassed face out the window and began to make a show as if I was reading off the license plate numbers of nearby cars into my “police/FBI radio” as we moved through several streets and intersections.  It was all great, harmless fun to see the reactions of people as the looks or confusion, nervousness, or mocking laughter crossed their faces, and was an excellent remedy for the few minutes of boredom in an otherwise normal, uneventful day.  Or at least we thought so!

            Upon stopping at the next intersection, I began repeating the humorous drill.  Partially behind and to the right side of us, was a windowless van, with a 30-something, bald Chinese man behind the wheel.  Wearing what my wife now refers to as my, “serious eyebrows” I leaned slightly out the window and began reciting the van’s license plate number into the back of my official looking FBI radio-camera.  The reaction we got from the Chinese man was not at all what we were expecting!

            He became very animated, nervously glancing around as he reached down and pulled out... (Now I need to preface this next remark with a reminder that this was in the mid-1980’s and before the time of cell phones and wireless technology)… Yep, he pulled out a huge military style walkie-talkie and started yelling in Chinese to someone on the other end of the radio!

            Now it was me who nervously spun around in my seat as I stammered to Elder Bay, “Holy Crap!  He’s got a walkie-talkie!”  As the light turned green and we started moving forward, the van sharply cut off the car behind us and began aggressively tailing us, as the driver continued his excited chatter into the radio, which for all we knew was in touch with an endless number of heavily armed, Chinese mafia hit men, who were ready to soon surround us to protect the drugs, dead bodies or whatever he was carrying in the back of his windowless van!

            What started out as a casual, “let’s just wander around and lose him” quickly advanced into a true Hollywood-style car chase! Boredom and games now thrust into the past, Elder Bay began the rapid transformation from crew cut, mild mannered missionary, into an urban NASCAR driver.  His sweaty palms gripped the wheel as he jockeyed through traffic while I shouted fearful reports of how the van was forcing his way through the melee to stay on our tail.

            In a moment of panic, Elder Bay made the decision to leave the crowded residential streets and try to out run the beefy van on the freeway. Pedal to the tin can metal, the tiny 4 cylinder engine on our small mission car whined in protest as we merged into the 4-lane-wide speeding traffic… the Chinese mafia man not far behind. Our car shuttered and vibrated under the strain of speed, as if the small squirrels on their wheels under the hood which powered our car would soon fly off to their doom if not for the sheer terror that death awaited them unless they kept sprinting beyond tolerable velocity.  The large van with its roaring engine quickly and easily closed the distance between us.

            As copilot, I dutifully screamed out openings in the traffic as we careened about in an unsuccessful attempt to outrun the powerful van, whose driver no doubt in my imagination, now surely held a machine gun across his lap, just waiting to move up alongside us to spray us with bullets!  Seeing an opening, Elder Bay whipped us out two lanes to the far left, tires squealing, as we passed a slower moving semi-truck and trailer.

            As the van cut off another car and began to come up behind us beside the truck’s trailer, Elder Bay pulled a rather brilliant, but desperate maneuver.  As we cleared the front of the semi, he whipped the wheel to the right, cutting across two or three lanes of traffic (all the while as I screamed and prayed that there would not be any cars in the inner lanes we were now crossing with abandon) and headed toward the approaching freeway exit.  It would have been an excellent idea, except for the fact that because of our speed we were now already past the beginning of the exit ramp which longingly sloped downward and off to our right.  With our white knuckles clutching at the wheel and dashboard and our throats dryly crying out how much we loved our mothers and hoped to return home to see them again someday, we shot out off the edge of the freeway and into space.  All we were missing was the horn from the “Dukes of Hazard” General Lee blaring through the air with us!

            If it weren’t for the sheer terror of the event, it might have been a pleasant sight to look down at the grass and weeds of the embankment as they passed lazily beneath us, but at the moment, all my energy seemed to be focused on our point of eventual landing, and if there might be any other cars on the exit ramp in our path of trajectory!

            In our dirt-flying, rubber-tire- smoking, jolting-at-an-angle moment of impact on the asphalt of the exit ramp, I wasn’t quite sure if we were actually up on just two wheels for a moment, or if that was an optical illusion which occurred as my head bounced off the glass of the passenger window.  Were those angels on the side of the car, keeping us from flipping over, or just stars shooting through my skull from the blunt trauma?

            After several dust-filled, fish-tailing moments passed, we finally came to comfortable and welcome stop behind a few other cars at the end of the exit ramp.  A quick glance confirmed that the Chinese mafia van was now far ahead, trapped in the advancing traffic of the freeway.  Our escape nearly complete, we took several wandering back roads to our home in Palos Verdes as our terror, sweat and shaking slowly subsided.  So much for our plans for another boring, uneventful day!

            Recalling this distant memory as I puttered about in my little home health car, I suddenly became aware of the realization than plain, old, dull driving wasn’t such a bad thing after all; for sometimes our desires for excitement don’t exactly bring the type of excitement we are expecting.

            As I turned on the boring radio, I felt grateful that the Lord was mindful enough of my situation in life, to allow me safe travel as I go about each day, and thankful that He was mindful of watching out for two young, naive missionaries in California those many years ago.  No doubt it was because the prayers of our mothers back home in our behalf, for the Lord to care for their foolish and inexperienced sons in far away, wild Los Angeles.  Thanks Mom!!!

            Over the years, I’ve occasionally wondered about the Chinese mafia man, and what his real story might have actually been and why he was chasing us.  Did his search for us continue after that day we lost him on the freeway?

            Oh well, its moments like those that make memories in life, and help us appreciate the simple and lackluster moments that occupy the majority of our existence in our mortal journey.

            Hey wait…. Is that a van following behind me?

Wind Beneath Our Wings

THE WIND BENEATH OUR WINGS

By Eric Andreasen

            I’m not much of a guy for stuffing dead animals or monster fish and hanging them around on the walls as displays of conquest, although I very much like the outdoors and am in awe of many things in nature.  In fact, the only mounted fish I have in my house is one I carved out of a solid block of wood and painted when I was scratching a new hobby itch several years ago.  So it might be quite surprising to know that I have a bit of road kill hanging off the last peg of my hat rack in my bedroom; an owl’s foot and a single feather.

            I’m not sure what it was about that day which drew my attention to the white lump along the side of the road on that early lat-fall/early winter day several years ago as I headed to work one morning.  I think it was something fluttering in the breeze which looked so different that I actually stopped my car and went back to take a look.

            Lying along the roadside was a fully grown and very majestic looking pure white snow owl, on its side with one wing slightly up in the air at an angle.  I have to say it was a beautiful creature.  Its large eye was open as if it were still taking in the world around it with perfect clarity, although it was obviously seeing things beyond the veil at that moment and forever more.  It was strikingly white and clean along its upward wing and through its powerfully built trunk which led downward to its black and polished talons.  These talons were what probably caught my attention the most.  With graceful curves and needle-sharp tips they were formidable weapons against the small rodents and creatures it had preyed upon.  In fact, not far from the owl lay the lifeless body of a small mouse which had been snatched by the silent predator not long before its own demise.

            I could see no sign of damage at first glance.  Nudging it with my foot its body still rolled limply against the ground without even the earliest signs of the rigor, indicating the creature was not long dead.  Upon rolling it however the under side of its head revealed a slight deformity and the white feathers were tainted with a trace of blood.  The poor creature had apparently been at one moment soaring powerfully across the sky, the master in control of his world and those it preyed upon.  It had been confident and skilled in its abilities as evidenced by its size and strength, with perfect vision and talons to snatch what it wanted from the world around it to meet its needs.

            Despite these traits and history of success however, the soaring beast had become distracted in its moment of hierarchy on the food chain and had either grazed an overhead power line or been struck blindside by a passing vehicle, suddenly dropping from its glorious perch to a different realm altogether.  This was the thought which caused me to pause and marvel at the scene, eventually leading me to claim one of the owl’s feet as a memory to the lesson I felt God was trying to teach me.

            At times in life, everything seems to be right in our life and world.  Through hard work and effort we have risen above many of the trials which may have earlier bested us.  We feel strong and confident spiritually, mentally, economically and physically.  But without even realizing its coming, life tends to throw an unforeseen power line in our path or we are struck by a passing vehicle, so to speak, which knocks us from our higher state into a lower realm of humility and struggle.

            Human nature almost forces us to ponder “Why?” when these moments occur.  These unpreventable collisions and falls may come in so many forms.  Perhaps it is because of wrong choices we have made, loss of employment, the passing of a love one, illness, or any one of a myriad of different things which can beset us.  The simple question still remains, “Why?”  Especially when we are doing all we think is right and putting forth our best effort this question raised toward the heavens seems more valid than ever.

            The simple answer I’ve deduced is this – The Lord allows such events to happen to us, to remind of the source from wince all our blessings flow.  In reality, it is not really of our own effort that we are able to soar among the clouds at the high moments in our lives.  No doubt it takes hard work and dedicated effort to make spiritual and emotional flight possible, but the actual lifting wind beneath our wings is the Atonement of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ.

            Of ourselves we are flightless, despite the magnificent creations of God that we are.  It is only through the merits of our Savior that we are able to lift ourselves above our human frailties to see things from a higher perspective at times.  Unfortunately it is also our human nature sometimes, when we reach that height from the forceful flapping of our wings to think it is because of our flailing we have made it there.  But without the unseen air below off which we can push, the flight would be impossible.  And it is only through His atonement that flight is once again possible, no matter how far we may have fallen.

            So we must remember the source of the wind and air that is all around us, along with the realization that at sometimes we are allowed to fall so that we can acknowledge the Savior more fully in our lives.  As is spoken in Isaiah 40: 26-31, “Lift up your eyes on high and behold who hath created these things…why sayest thou...my way is hid from the Lord, the creator of the earth who fainteth not, neither is weary?  He giveth power to the faint; and to them that have no might he increaseth strength.  Even the youths shall faint and be weary, and the young men shall utterly fall; But they that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles; they shall run, and not be weary; and they shall walk and, not faint.”

            Like the fallen owl, as white, spotless and invulnerable as we may feel, our faults and periods of tumbling failure leave us tarnished in spiritual blood, but even here the Lord has promised us,  “Thou your sins be as scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; thou they be red like crimson, they shall be as wool.”

            The atonement of our Lord is always sufficient for us, and the singular source by which we are given the strength to raise up out of the dust into which we fall.  When it comes to our salvation, He truly “fainteth not, neither is weary”.

            In the end, its not a matter of if or when we are going to experience these falls, but whether we then turn to the Lord to lift us with his healing winds into the higher realms once again.

Understanding

UNDERSTANDING

By Eric Andreasen

Last night my wife and I had a misunderstanding.  She misunderstood my reaction to the fact that she had rearranged the furniture in our living room.  She thought she understood that I would be or was upset about the fact that she had made the changes.  I’ll admit that I didn’t really understand her need to want to rearrange the furniture.  I’d been perfectly content with how it was before and thought I understood that she liked it that way too.  But I now understand that I misunderstood her feelings.

I’ve come to the understanding long ago in my life and in my marriage that I can’t fully understand women.  This inability to understand often leads to such misunderstandings.  I understand that most guys are probably like me in the fact that we are more often than not content with how things are going.  We like and understand things that are unchanging.  I also understand that women’s feelings are often misunderstood by us guys.  No matter how hard we try, we can’t and never will be able to fully understand what they really feel.  I’ve come to the understanding that I’m o.k. with not understanding.  Guys would rather be content with their misunderstanding of women so that they don’t have to delve too deeply into the inner recesses of feelings and emotions that are scary to us.  Women sometimes can’t understand our lack of ability to understand them, and thus it occasionally leads to misunderstandings.

To get over our misunderstanding, we talked about how we’d misunderstood one another.  Together we came to the understanding that we often don’t understand each others feelings and reactions.  We understood that we still loved each other anyway, even when we can’t always understand why we feel and act differently.  I even told my wife that I understood that I didn’t fully understand and that this lack of understanding was sometimes very frustrating to her.  I apologized for not understanding my part in the misunderstanding and that I understood that I needed to be more understanding of her needs.  She said she understood.

It’s nice to understand one another.  These thoughts actually helped me come to and understanding about the meaning of the word understanding.  I understand that to understand, you actually have to sort of come down to something lesser than standing.  You have to come under your own stand on an issue so that you can understand someone else’s understanding of it.  Misunderstanding is when we try to understand, but we miss the mark and therefore miss coming under the understanding of the other person.  I guess what I’m trying to say is that having misunderstandings is a part of life and that it’s actually o.k. as long as both people understand that they have to actually give up a little bit of themselves to come to an understanding of each other.

I hope these words can help you understand what I’ve come to understand about understanding, so that you don’t have so many misunderstandings in your own relationships with others.  And if you don’t understand a word I’ve just said, its o.k., I’ll understand!