i love this trailer

i was so close

It is a well known fact among my peers and family that I have never given a talk at church during my entire BYU-Idaho experience. This is well known because I advertise it whenever topics of church callings and are discussed. See, it is a very rare desire that I have. I do now know how to explain it, but, I wish that I could just give ONE talk in church here at school before I graduate. Most people commend me for this current feet of going here for 5 years and dodging the inevitable task. Most people would ask me how it is done. And the truth is, I don't know. I mean, who actually WANTS to speak in church? I know, weird.

If you knew me before my mission it would be completely different. I remember being 13 and being asked by Brother Wallace a week ahead if I would give a talk. I FREAKED!!! Couldn't tell you anything I said except for the obvious reaction of my face turning bright red (I later learned to cover this reaction by getting a really bad sunburn the Saturday before you give a talk or lesson to avoid any blush...works like a charm). Then when my brother Scott left on his mission he asked me to speak at his farewell...yuck (plus Jamie pretty much wrote the whole thing for me and I couldn't even tell you today anything I said...thanks Jamie). And I remember my sis-in-law Anita afterwards exclaiming, "And you didn't even turn red!!!!" Whew!!

Then there were the annual Seminary Sacrament Meetings where you have four minutes to explain your gratitude for Seminary and prayer and The Savior and one thing you learned that year. Those were pieces of cake, and by then I was getting used to the public eye...at least at church.

Then in college I was discovered. But not for speaking, but for another prized gift: piano. And ever since then, my life has never been the same. Of course, on my mission I learned to love speaking in public and giving talks and lessons at church. Loved it. But ever since then, since playing the piano is a forte of mine, I have been used and abused. But I think I've figured out why: Ever since I've been back I've had a music calling at church. I've been the Ward piano player, choir piano, Priesthood piano...even Relief Society! (just kidding...well, I was a few times on the mission but that's another story...). So, Bishopric members and quorum leaders see that my name is already on the program or schedule and so they think, "Oh, he already is doing too much," or, "He's already doing something." Not that I'm complaining at all, but I would just like to give a talk once a year or something. (Even Salinas takes advantage of me as I have spoken there TWICE since returning home from my mission: TWICE!). I have even asked Bishopric members here if I could talk and they say "of course" and nothing happens. I mean, really? But I guess they don't want the willing.

So today, May 17 2009, I was flabbergasted when the First Counselor in the Bishopric, Brother Drudge, approached me before Elder's Quorum and asked if I could give a talk in two weeks (May 31) at church! I responded "Yes" and inside whispered to myself: "FINALLY! The streak is ruined!" I could hear the angels above singing harmonically through the windy Rexburg air. He didn't give me a topic yet but I was feeling good. I know: weird (My mom is probably going, "This is not my child!" right now...) Anyway, we went through the opening announcements of Elder's quorum and then they excused the Bishopric for their business. But, I could tell Brother Drudge was walking a little out of his way to leave the room, then walked down my aisle and made eye contact with me. He stopped at my chair and leaned over and whispered, "Craig. I forgot I already had someone to speak that Sunday so you no longer have to. Sorry," and then left. Most people would be full of joy at such a comment; full of relief and gratitude. I was stuttered. I was stupefied. I was upset. I had my fingers on the treasure and then gravity pulled it away from me. I was ahead of Michael Phelps the entire race and then lost by one hundredth of a second! I was so close.

And so I'm left with hope. Hope that one day! Somehow! I may give a talk in church during my college career. I still don't know what it is that I love about it, but it just gives me a high you can't get anywhere else. Maybe it will be in a month, or maybe I have four Sacrament Meeting musical numbers to conquer again before I get the chance. But it will happen even if I have to stampede the pulpit next April the week before I graduate! Until then, Amen.

the curious case of my tire

When an embarrassing thing happens to me, I love sharing it. In this case it wasn't entirely humiliating and didn't involve just myself, but nevertheless was semi awkward.

Last Tuesday (April 28) I had to finish printing a project at 7 a.m. before my graphic design class at 8 a.m. I got up at 6:30 and got ready and walked out to my car around 6:45 only to find my front right tire was completely flat. Was this punishment for procrastination? Was it karma? What in the world would make it so that at this exact moment in time, when slowness was not an option, something like this would happen?

Regardless, I momentarily panicked and decided I had to walk briskly to the library where I could print my stuff. I also had my shaver with the intent of doing so in the car, but ended up having to shave while walking across campus. It was quite hilarious.

The rest of the week I had no time to tend to my flat tire because of busy school work. On Friday night I called Brother Ladle (my sister's father-in-law) and asked if he had a tire pressure pump thing and he came Saturday morning at 8:30 a.m. to see if he could help (thank you Brother Ladle!) He tried to fill the tire with air and it wasn't filling, and he didn't have much time so he had to get going. So my friend Mike and I decided to put the spare tire on. We jacked the car up (which was a hilarious process all on its own...) and got it high enough to where the tire was off the asphalt. We used the wrench thing to get the five lug nuts off and they came off easily. Then, all heck broke loose.

We tried to pull the tire off the car but it would not budge. We huffed, and we puffed, and we showed that tire what was up; still to no prevail. Even the ultimate way of fixing something (try kicking it) didn't even work! After a few minutes we realized that there was a lug nut in the dead center of the tire that appeared to be keeping the tire connected to the car. I didn't have a wrench the size of this lug nut so I was hopeless. So the next step? Call Triple A.

Well, I searched everywhere for my Triple A card my dad sent me a year ago. I thought it was in my wallet but it wasn't. I searched my room high and low...nothing. I called my dad to see if he had my Triple A number or something and he didn't. Just after the conversation I found a piece of paper I had written my Triple A number on and was so thankful. I called them and they sent someone out; his name was Barney.

Barney arrived at 9:45 a.m. in my parking lot in his HUGE, LOUD-ON-A-SATURDAY-MORNING truck. He was a nice guy with magical fingers, because all he had to do was touch the tire and the tire slid off as smooth as butter. Oops!...our bad! I don't know what happened! but it was very embarrassing. I mean, he literally grabbed the tire and slid it off extremely easily. Why couldn't we do it? He explained that the lug nut in the center of the tire wasn't holding anything together. Our jaws dropped open. We were shocked. He kinda chuckled at us and said it was no big deal and then said, "Since I'm here can I put your spare tire on so I feel like I did something?" It was quite humiliating. We didn't know what to say. And still don't.