glorias touch ver 2.0

When I was fourteen years old,  I was ask by a man I respected to commit to serving a mission.  I accepted this challenge and used the next 5 years to prepare to serve a mission.

My Mom and I entered in a covenant.  When I prepared, myself, to serve a mission she would support me.   This was a big commitment on her part.  We where not a wealthy family.  Though,  my Mom, had not attended services in at least 10 years, she practiced the Gospel of Forgiveness

Priesthood is the power to act in the name of god.   This authority was given to Joseph Smith by John the Baptist, the same person that baptized Jesus Christ.

This same authority has been passed down from man to man by the laying on of hands.  I was ordained by my Bishop, Glen Owen Waite when I turned 16 years old. 

The church has a lay Priesthood and all worthy men in our church receive this authority.  I was ordained, a priest, by my bishop because my Father had stopped attending church.  My Father had ordained me a Deacon and Teacher.  I was ordained an Elder, by my beloved uncle, Deloye Grant Herzog, when I turned 18.

 The life and Death of Gloria

To start an exploration.

I met Gloria Hearn in a Hospital.  She was receiving treatment for brain cancer.  This cancer would end Gloria's life.   Gloria told me, the person who lead her to the L.D.S. Church, was was a chain smoking non active member of the church.

To heal in faith

We have a Priesthood Ordinance.  It is a blessing with Olive Oil and sealing with the Priesthood.  I offered this ordinance to Gloria.  I did not to want appear as a faith healer.

• I wanted to see Gloria enter the covenant of Baptism
• I wanted, to see,  her conversion, or turning back to God.
• I did not want to see a woman, who was dying, not one  grasping for life.

She was Baptized after I transferred to my next area.
 When I  called to check on her, after I was home, I learned she had died.

• Gloria helped me to understand that God works in many wonderful ways.  He uses his children to bless one another other.  We are his hands on Earth. 

• God used my parents, who did not attend church services, to support my mission

• God used a member who did attend services to help Gloria gain a testimony of the gospel of Christ.

We may not see the many hidden hands and ways God uses to bless his children.

"... it is quite possible that God’s purpose is something different from the purpose of either party; and yet the human instrumentalities, working just as they do, are of the best adaptation to effect his purpose."

 (Collected Works of Abraham Lincoln, edited by Roy P. Basler.)

Not of my accord

If I were lead to hell,
Not of my accord,
Would you be with me?

Would you hold my hand,
And sing sweet lullaby's,
Of comfort to me.

Though knowest the end,
And the beginning.

What must I learn,
Being driven to Hell,
Like Job, or Virgil.

Though standest by me,
As a true friend.

Of free will then comes the choice,
But not the consequences.

Never alone, am I,
Or far from thee,
And thy thoughts.

(Inspired from reading of "The Sparrow", Maria Doria Russell,1996)

Luv you still

If you knew,
I was a sinner,
Would you luv,
me, still?

Still, I am,
A sinner, still.

Never moving,
Never growing.

Dammed, I am,
By choice,
My own.

To grow, I must,
Be dammed, no more.

Yet I luv,
You, still.

On television, and cheap whiskey

She consumed television,

like a drunk consumed,

cheap whiskey.

To mask this pain,

We now, both share

The pack of cigarettes,
she kept, waiting in the car.

It calmed her nerves
To Drag the car,
and the cigarette.

She knelt at an alter,
the altar to her God.

To make this covenant,
with her God,

that she would carry my father's burden,
Like a thorn in her flesh.

Like her God carried her,
so long ago,
like a crown made of thorns

This was their covenant marriage.

Helpmeets they were,
they completed each other.

Mom died a few years ago
in helping my, Father

I carry her burden.
I live in her world.

In understanding my father,
I  understand myself.
I recognize the source of her pain.

She deeply loved my father,
and never wanted the world to see,
the man she knew and loved.

My wife and I knelt at an alter
with our children too.

We made a covenant,
that comes with a crown of thorns.

Someday, when our children,
have children.

I hope they learn to live,
and luv our world too.

To sin, the choice.

To sin the choice,
This I have made.

Sin is a choice
And to this I do.

Of ignorance comes,
the transgression.

But this sin,
I must choose.

Of foreknowledge,
And desire.

I have chosen this,
Sin for so long.

A pattern it is,
And I know no other.

Other sinners,
Must I seek.

Like two drunks,
In an A.A. meeting.

Will Bill and Bob,
Help me to change.

To sin no more,
A day at a time.

Then  is this
The church real,

The Body of Christ.

Sinners in a great AA meeting.

This, then still

There he lies.

The stench of death,
It lingers by ...

It is the death,
The one, he,
has longed for.

Now, I will rob him.
Of the death.
The  good death.

Soon will come the EMT,
The ambulance too.

The stench of death,
Tobe removed,
from his room.

As will he.

Doctors, their will be
And hospitals, too

Soon,
To be replaced,

By another, Room
In another, Place.

A living death,
With no stench,

Just desire,  unfulfilled

The good death,
I robbed him of,

The mystery of the poetry

From whence does it come.
Milton speaks from the past,
As does More and Tyndale
Still what of Chesterton and Feynman.

These are the voices of long since past.

Ruth Mcqueen spoke with her poetry,
And painting,
Water colors at first and then the oils.

The poems seam to come
With the anger.

Forgotten and shattered dreams.
Miraculous preservation from the accident.

To know what it feels like,
A mac truck to be over run by.

The cancer long since hidden,
No longer to hide.

A daughter angry at her father,
As he was angry with his mother.

Still their is the new song.
So grateful to have.

So from whence does it come,
I know not now.

But grateful I am,
And rejoice their in.

Luke's sabor, and the choice

lukes saber, and the choice.

still it calls to me

like a saber 

long left in a chamber.

to be preserved,

or neglected.

once it was a choice,

or leap of faith.

he took it from me

like my childhood

and my mom.

he saught to preserve

but only destroyed.

now to me it seeks,

the choice,

to return ,

or destroy.

can we be redeemed

the saber 

my father 

and me.

*the saber that preserved our lives in the clone wars, took the lives of the young ones at at the jedi temple.  Tools do not destroy men choose to destroy.

(714) 733-9969

I lost it today,

my religion.

Left long neglected,

so long ago.

like a sign,

on a road,

to nowhere.

like a phone booth, 

in the desert.

Do I call it, 

or does it call me.

and when i call

does it hear me?

ring

and ring
and ring.

still i ask,
Is it the service,

or is it me.

Note "losing my religion" is a reference to the R.E.M song. It refers to losing ones temper.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mojave_phone_booth

This the phone number for a pay phone that once stood, in the crossroads, in the middle of the Mojave Desert.

-- 

Steven Bassett

Uncle Eddie's jewerly box

There it sits.

Its owner long past gone.

What does a man do
With a jewerly box.

To him, was a thing a man desired,

like football, and crochet.

He was like his fruitcakes, many people thought.

But I learned different.

The ladies at the nursing home, loved him.

So strong, and gentle, and kind.

Then she came, admired him long,  she had, from a far.

Brought together then, by the ladies.

Now they are one, together and apart.

She will now, join him, never to depart.

And we will have the memories,

and the jewerly box.

Waiting on Momma

Went to visit momma today

She wasn't their,
Like so many times,
Long ago.

I had left

When she came,

So long ago .

Then she waited,
And waited
And waited,

Now I wait
On Dad,
like she did.

And now I understand
Why she was not ready,
Why she was not their.

And now she waites,
Full of joy
Knowing now I understand
Her world.

Twilight Mourning

"it is a twilight, a ris'n or a setting."

no more they mourn
when gone, i am
who will mourn
in the mor'n
or in eve,
the twilight
is it a rising
or  a setting mourn.

The Dance, Together and Apart

To Dance,  The choice,

Together and apart.

Like two beta fish,

Locked in distance embrass.

Together, and apart.

...

Found, her hair,

in my wallet, Today,

To be carried their, for so long.

Together and apart

like she has carried me,

for so long.

Why do I carry,

It.

Why does she carry,

Me. 

Daily,

We dance.

"The Class"

Dance class, 

once we tried, together.

Together,

we do not dance.

but dance we do, 

Together and apart.

and yet I have her, with me 

Always, The hair,  the dance.

Together, and apart.

Naught, this poem

It is a poem
Is it naught 

To be a naught

Is it then

Then to come
is it naught

In his room, still ther'by

In his room doth he sit
Still their by

Their by he remains,
Still their by.

No time doth he note,
Knoweth he not

That time doth it pass
To come their no more

Still their by.

Words spoken in anger

He was angry
Was he naught.

To be naught
Was he then

To be then,
This angry naught.

She loved him then,
Or did she naught.

To  then, they this
Knew then not.

On poetry, muse and Milton

I asketh It still
The poetry,
from whence doeth it come.
Yet heal'th it does,
And renews again.

My muze,
Maybe Milton,
He is

The ring they share

A number of years ago my Father discovered his stirling silver ring long left in the bottom of a drawer.  I now wear it as a sign of the covenant I share with my parents, wife and children.

"Two the first

The more then still"

Small it was,

This thing they share

T'was not the first.

First not for them

Come'th others
So long ago.

endure'th it now
This thing, they share.

Four children, They come,

and the fifth, t'was lost

Unplanned it was

It's loss, still mourn'd.

"The son"

Now the burden,

Thus he carrie'th

The thing, they shared.

He shares it now
With the ones,

Beloved they are.

T'was not the first

The first they shared.

"Two the first

The more then still"

Plus three now more.

The circle, the ring,

Forever then more..

to rest then mine anger, her sleeping thereby

to their now, she lies.
to sleep then this morn.

To this then I rest
mine anger, this morn

her sleeping thereby.

No more need I mourn,

Our rest then does come,

to this may it rest
her sleeping there'by.

The first two, and the final five.

"The children"
at first, their was three.

So young she was
when they came

Just a child herself

Just young to luv.

"The husband"
Not the first
He was the last.

50 years they shared.

Young luv,
It explores.

"The false first"

He was first,
Then off to war.

"Then the second, and the miscarriage"

The shot gun,
It rested by the fireplace.

Unloaded it was now.

Both parents
Urged the young luv,
to simmer out.

"On her death the discovery"

She saved the letters
Of the first.

50 years latter,
At her death,

In the ceder chest
Still, the puzzle

"The fourth child come to heal, and complete"

A fourth did come
A gift to, renew

To begin anew
Afresh.

With time, and age.
She repaired the mistakes
With the first three,

The final one,

Unplanned, he was

mourned the remainder of her life "

She will meet him now,
This time they share.

On death , or life

They, lived with it

Or, It with them

It was their,

with them.

With them,

Always.

Like an unwelcome dinner guest,

 it comes.

This death

Alone,

leaves it not.

When it does,

A beloved then too.

Together,

They, return not.

It comes again,

With out shame.

Ask it not, 

Then to leave,

Remain it must,

This unwelcome guest.

For to live with death

Is to live the same.

On being driven, to Vulgarity ...

A  poem about a vulgar prophet, people forget that he swore from the pulpit.  Most of his speeches have been edited by his children and followers to remove the vulgarity. I wish we could return the vulgarity for he was a common and vulgar man who taught men to reach for the stars. 

Born common he was...

She died, while he was young

Father left him, for the one 

who replaced her.

Methodist,
at first was he not?

In tongues, yet he spoke
In the language, of their god.

Having been left,

by those he loved.

No one could drive him,

Like a tamed mustang, or mule.

He learned to swear on the open prairie.

Tell him shit, they would not.

Death could do that to one.

Make you more vulgar, a little less common.

Discord in the church,
 cost him,  the life,

of the one, who, could form him, shape him,

prophet, priest, and king.

He would drive them,
 from Nauvoo,
to that place 

Where they would raise, an Ensign to the nations.

Tell him shit, They would not,
these apostles, these men of god.

As he became

A little less common. A little more Vulgar.

Then he raised up their eyes,

and lead them to reach, For their God.

February 2, 2016

after reading a new biography of Brigham Young.
Brigham Young: Pioneer Prophet
by John G. Turner  

Brigham Young

I believe firmly in the value of all vulgar notions, especially of vulgar jokes. When once you have got hold of a vulgar joke, you may be certain that you have got hold of a subtle and spiritual idea. The men who made the joke saw something deep which they could not express except by something silly and emphatic. They saw something delicate which they could only express by something indelicate. ..... In order to understand vulgar humour it is not enough to be humorous. One must also be vulgar, as I am.
(G.K. Chesterton, All Things Considered, P.11)

The book she gave him

The book was blue,

Or was it.

It was the second

she gave him.

The first he lost

While serving his god.

It is worn now,

a little too "real"

One page is missing,

his daughter removed.

When one was small,

together they read.

Twas an accident,

a gift they now share.

In the closet sat it,

other things replaced it.

Now she is gone,

out if the closet it came.

Will it become,

even more real.

And a little less blue,

to unite them still.

The Choice ...

"Was he a good man,

or only just "real"?

he came home

a little too tired

a little too madd?

his momma and daddy 

good where they not...

or only just "real".

He learned to forgive,

He learned to forget

the ones that he luved?

he wasn't quit sure.

how do be good,

or just, to be "real"

like a pot that He see's, 

 He watch'ed there'fore.

To never, to boil.

time, will it tell?

to seek to be good,

or only, just "real" .

steven bassett

01-28-2016 01-29-2016

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Velveteen_Rabbit
by Margery Williams

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Together, and Apart

"Together, and Apart"

she loved him
she loved him not

that is the question

he wondered
as did she.

they came together
and apart

she understood him
and understood him not.

this is a mystery.

together so long
yet still apart.

each day they commit
to come together.

even if,
they are apart.

steven bassett

1-15-2016

On why God weeps

"God’s response to the manifold creatures by whom he is surrounded, the movement of his heart and will in the direction of those other beings, establishes the pattern of his divine activity. As" Joseph "Smith’s Book of Mormon pronounced, “He doeth not anything save it be for the benefit of the world; for he loveth the world.” And an 1830 text elaborated, “For this is my work and my glory, to bring to pass the immortality and eternal life of man.” ...

 
           ... For Mormons, it is God’s freely made choice to inaugurate and sustain costly loving relationships that is at the very core of his divine identity."

Givens, Terryl L. (2014-10-03). Wrestling the Angel: The Foundations of Mormon Thought: Cosmos, God, Humanity (p. 88). Oxford University Press. Kindle Edition.

To preserve our future...

Hugh B. Brown as a young soldier in the Canadian forces.

Just one word: No matter what your past has been, you have a spotless future.

A week ago tomorrow night I was talking to the young people at Brigham Young University in a fireside. There were 12,500 of them present. A very inspirational time was had. I spoke to them about some of the things that have been spoken of here tonight. I told them they have a spotless future, and asked that they guard that future and remember that when the Judge shall summon them, he will not look them over for medals, for diplomas, for honors, but for scars, and I warned them to beware that there be no stains between the scars.

God help us to be worthy of the responsibility that is ours, both those who are missionaries, and those who have been on missions previously, those of us who are growing old in the work; let us continue faithfully to serve God and keep his commandments. Let us remember what the speakers tonight have said to us, and take their words home with us and put them into practice.

(Hugh B. Brown:The Improvement, December 1969)

On her Death

Anthony Frederick Sandys - Until her Death

Her Death, We speak not of;

Shall it be not her life's shadow;

The shadow she doeth cast'

What light is the source their of?.

that casteth forth;

On her death.

Steven Bassett

09-27-2014

To luv...a choice?!

The choice is to luv,

to this I do see ?

To choose thus I must?

Though painful it be.

This pain then it brings,
To me it does now.

A lesson to learn

A gift to bestow.

Steven Bassett

ON Mommas’ Afghan.

Momma loved to knit afghan’s. They helped her to pass the time when she was watching television. Her Momma taught her how to crochet as a young child. I can remember many hours watching her crochet. She had crocheted so long she no longer watched her stitching, it was a mechanical motion more like walking or chewing gum. I wonder if it helped her to think.

Momma decided each of her children needed a good heavy afghan. She had collected many small balls of yarn from previous project’s The afghan’s were heavy. They had a heavy double stitch, one color on each side. The afghan were so heavy they were best used in the winter.

Each afghan required a year to complete. She worked on those afghans for four years. Each year one of her children received an afghan for Christmas. I wonder if she thought about her children as she was knitting each one of them their afghan. One child could not read well and had difficulty in school. He was color blind and had trouble telling his colors apart. One children read well but had difficulty speaking to people his own age. He never dated much, but was fortunate to find a good woman who understood him. One child never ate enough and had to be reminded when it was time to eat. This child still struggles with her weight and is now developing M.S. One child struggled with her first marriage and lived with Mom for a couple years. Mom helped her to raise her sons until a man came along who loved her boys and adopted them as his own. They now have five more children and how do they keep her busy.

Momma married young and grew up with her children. Her husband was a challenge. Signs of high functioning Autism and hyperactivity are present in the male line of his family. Momma would never have understood these words she just knew Dad had a tough time filtering his thoughts. He spoke out in inappropriate times and in inappropriate places. My Dad and his Father were forbidden to be in the Smith Brother Lumber Company together. One of them at a time was more then a handful.

Each fall my wife pulls the afghan out of the closet and puts is on our bed. I love to fell warm and comforted by it’s weight.

The afghan reminds of my mother and her life. The afghan is no longer perfect like it was when my mother gave it to me. A few years ago I snagged it on a piece of furniture. Their is a small stitch torn out of one side. My mamma's life was like this afghan. It was no loner perfect like it had been when her Momma gave life to her. Even though this afghan is no longer perfect it is still functional and fulfills its purpose. I have ask my wife to repair the snagged. My wife is skilled in the art of crochet. She tells me it is not possible to repair the snag. Even if she did repair the afghan it would no longer be the afghan my mother crocheted. As the year go by I learn to appreciate the afghan for it beauty and its flaw. It becomes more real with time like Margery Williams Velveteen rabbit (see. The Velveteen Rabbit or How Toys Become Real )

Mamma is gone, but the is the afghan remains. My Mom, like her quilt became more real with time. She was deeply flawed. She loved her children and she loved her husband. She always tried her best and luved her family.

With time I have the shed the bitterness and enmity. I am warmed by the afghan and the memories it brings.

If you have the opportunity to live and love, to forgive and to forget, please do. And leave some memories and if possible something that is real like Mommas afghan.

a repost from oct 21 2011.

still true and I still sleep with every night.

From October 21 2011

Originally posted to facebook.com