LO, HOW A ROSE E'ER BLOOMING

LO HOW A ROSE

(Extra verses)

Lo, how a Rose e'er blooming
From tender stem hath sprung
Of Jesse's lineage coming
As seers of old have sung
It came a blossom bright,
Amid the cold of winter
When half spent was the night.

Isaiah t'was foretold it, 
The Rose I have in mind
With Mary we behold it, 
The Virgin Mother kind.
To show God's love aright, 
She bore to us a Savior,
When half spent was the night

Blessed sweet be the maiden
A Rose amid the thorns
Upon her child be laiden
The earth, its tears and scorns
And bring to all a light
The babe's breath pierced the darkness
When half spent was the night

Gabr'el the Rose had lifted
Her name among the fair
Brang he news God had gifted
A holy son to bear
Wondered then on this sight
Of heaven's hand delivered
When half spent was the night

I wrote two extra verses to this beautiful song. I love the reverence gives to the mother, Mary. I tried to emulate that same reverence in the last two verses.

WHAT MORE COULD I HAVE DONE

WHAT MORE COULD I HAVE DONE

[Chorus]

Come let us all who labor
In the vineyard of God's Son
Think on the words our master sued,
"What more could I have done?"

[Verse 1]

Behold, our Lord and Master
Of his house of Israel
Would liken to an olive tree
That is tame and rich and well.

And in his vineyard planted there
This tree of olive wood
To bear the sweetest fruits of truth
In a spot that's choice and good

[Chorus]

[Verse 2]

Each day the servant labored long
With the love his master sent;
The branches pruned and dug about,
To the roots gave nourishment.

Yet, as the Olive Tree bore fruit
It grieved the master sore
For he looked upon the harvest fruits,
Half were good, and half were poor.

[Chorus]

[Verse 3]

O tree of Israel's labors
Why could you not withstand
The loftiness that faileth,
The pride of mortal man?

Thy branches reached for riches
Thy trunk grew thick with pride
O Israel, young and tender
Decaying from inside.

[Chorus]

Come let us all who labor
In the vineyard of God's Son
Think on the words our master sued,
"What more could I have done?"

[Verse 4]

O Wake ye servant, nourish strong
The branches grafted in
Entwine them all together
That they grow and thrive as one

Preserve the roots of Priesthood power
Through obedience to thy Lord.
O, heed the Spirit's whispering call,
And live His every word.

[Chorus]

Come let us all who labor
In the vineyard of God's Son
Think on the words our master sued,
"What more could I have done?"


Note: this hymn is sung to a slightly modified If You Could His To Kolob, where the first 4 stanzas are repeated. The last 4 stanzas of the original song serve as the chorus for this hymn.

Tom Christensen, a good friend of mine and a spiritual mentor to me help provide the inspiration for this hymn/poem. The reference comes from Jacob 5 in the Book of Mormon. Jacob wished to write the words of Zenos regarding his allegory of the Olive Tree. The Olive Tree referred to the house of Israel. It was once planted as a tender tree in good soil, but soon waxed old and decayed. The Master of the vineyard desired to preserve the tree and it's roots. Through much labor and great pains this was accomplished, but only be casting most of it into the fires and grafting in wild branches.

During all of these trials in the vineyard the Master repeatedly asks his servant, "What could I have done more for my vineyard?"

When reflecting upon the Master's words, Tom said they haunted him. What more could he do if he were to try to emulate the path the Savior walked. I told him that the Lord does not ask this of us. This question is upon himself. In all that we do wrong in this world God continues to want to do more to make things better. He loves us so immensely that he will fight for us, struggle for us, and cross the darkest chasm to save us from our errors. He will never give up on us. Let us never give on him.

RUDYARD KIPLING'S IF

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too.
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,

Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream—and not make dreams your master;

If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim;

If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster,

And treat those two impostors just the same;

If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken

Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,

Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,

And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make a heap of all your winnings

And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,

And lose, and start again at your beginnings

And never breathe a word about your loss;

If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew

To serve your turn long after they are gone,

And so hold on when there is nothing in you

Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!"

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,

Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch,

If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,

If all men count with you, but none too much;

If you can fill the unforgiving minute

With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,

Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,

And—which is more—you'll be a Man, my son!

What a great poem from Rudyard Kipling! This poem was written in a paternal tone towards Kipling's son, John.

THE LORD THY GOD FIGHTS FOR YOUR SOUL

THE FIGHT FOR YOUR SOUL

The Lord thy God fights for your Soul

Who so desires to make you whole

To take you from this world of pain

And in His kingdom rule and reign.

Do not give way, give up, give in

To those temptations brought through sin;

For there's another here below

Who'll drag you down to depths of woe.

He hates that you're a child of God

So hold fast child that iron rod.

His strength and wit cannot surpass

The grip you pledge, so just hold fast.

God is with you do not despair.

He'll make the cross seem light to bear.

First, pray to Him that this may be;

He stands prepared, and gives freely;

His gift of peace, a treasured trove,

Can wrap you in his arms of love.

Now rise up child from knees prepared

To spread this gift which he has shared.

And take in hand His shield of Hope,

To give you strength that you may cope,

And fend against the fiery darts

So you may heal your broken hearts.

I wrote this poem for a talk I gave in September 2018. I had been working on the poem the first time I gave this talk several years ago. Yet, I did not have it finished. The meter was wrong back then. I fixed the meter and made it flow better with better language.

I have passed through my own trials that have strained me as a person. In many instances I wanted to give way, give up and give in. But I didn't. And, I am so glad that I did not. God is real. He is aware of us all. He is aware of you. You possess greatness and can overcome all things that you experience in this life. Here is the final excerpt taken from that talk:

"YOU are the greatest gift that God above all else. Think about everything that He has risked and sacrificed so that you can be on this Earth at this very time. Share THAT gift with others. Share of yourself! This is the single greatest thing you can do for our Heavenly Father is to make his gift\, which is you\, touch as many\, and as deeply as it possibly can. Remember though, just because you are in the service of God does not mean that you will do things perfectly. He expects that. He desires that his work is done as such, 'But God hath chosen the foolish things of the world to confound the wise; and God hath chosen the weak things of the world to confound the things which are mighty;' '..by small and simple things are great things brought to pass' "

COME WALK WITH US, DWELL BY OUR SIDE

COME WALK WITH US

Dear God, Holy Father oh hear us now pray

And let us remember this day

That we may e'er serve thee with strength and our might

And do all that's good and right

We'll cry for thy mercy, we'll pray for thy love, 

That pours from the heavens above

We'll praise thee by day and we'll thank thee by night

For all that is good and right.

Jehovah dear savior we'll lengthen our stride

Come walk with us, dwell by our side

Our souls doth now hunger for grace and thy truth

Revealed to us oft in our youth

From kneeling in prayer let us rise and take flight

To find all that's good and right.

Now open to us and please share from thy Word

So that our spirits are stirred

Within us our hearts will burn warm with delight

It's when we do good and right.

Jehovah dear savior we'll lengthen our stride

Come walk with us, dwell by our side

Our voices as one we will fill up the air

With sweetest fair music we'll share

For songs of the heart are just prayers in thy sight

We'll sing all that's good and right.

And all the day long we will try to dispel

All foes of Israel.

Embracing the gospel that gives us our might

We'll love all that's good and right.

Jehovah dear savior we'll lengthen our stride

Come walk with us, dwell by our side

Luke 24:32; Enos 1:4

And they said one to another, Did not our heart burn within us, while he talked with us by the way, and while he opened to us the scriptures?

_______________________________

And my soul hungered; and I kneeled down before my Maker, and I cried unto him in mighty prayer and supplication for mine own soul; and all the day long did I cry unto him; yea, and when the night came I did still raise my voice high that it reached the heavens

Ever since I learned my Church was open to receiving entries for new hymns, I have been wanting write one. I was asked to perform a duet (might be a trio) for Sacrament meeting, and decided to write my own song. Tom Christensen is sing with me. I asked him what his favorite scripture was. He gave me the two above. I used those as the inspiration for the poem/hymn.

LA RECETA DE AREPITAS DE YUCA

AREPTITAS DE YUCA

Take two to three large yuca roots
From Winco near the veggies and fruits

Then take them home and wash them good

Peel off the skins 'cause they're tough as wood

Now with a knife cut off their tips

Then use that knife to make cubes or strips

Once into cubes toss them to boil

In one large pot while you prep some oil.

You'll need at least four cups or so

Of oil for fryin' in a pan on low.

There'll be a lot of pops when fried

So just make sure the pan's deep and wide.

Cook down the cubes of yuca, please

Until they're soft but still firm to squeeze

A colander will help them drain

So leave them there while they cool and strain.

Once cool just shred each yuca fine.

Remove from each that thin woody spine.

Now drain again the moisture loose

By squeezing out all the extra juice

Pat dry the pulp with cloth that's clean

Or press it firm through a metal screen

Whatever gets the job done well

Then set aside in the fridge to dwell.

Go gather up your spices now

To give this treat the right kick and pow.

Here's what I like but you can choose--

"Siga tu lengua" follow its cues.

Some garlic salt and onion flakes

Paprika sweet and thyme---a few shakes.

Now grab an egg, beat, set aside.

Cornmeal and flour for that crunch when fried.

This powdered mix will serve for us

A nice and crispy savory crust.

Now add some spice so it's not dull

Mix the flour-meal in a separate bowl.

Now from the fridge take out the paste,

Then add some spices and salt to taste.

Next roll some balls and dust them in

The powdered mix with a coat that's thin.

Then plop them in the beat up yolk

Next in hot grease but don't let them smoke.

The trick to this is keep the oil

The perfect temp so it will not spoil.

Three hundred sixty (F "eff") degrees;

A thermometer make this a breeze.

Each ball let cook upon each side

Removing them when they're crisp and fried.

A napkin is a clever spot

To let them cool 'cause they're piping hot

Let drain the oil from off their shell

Of crispy crust and take in their smell.

These golden treats of yuca flesh

Just eat them Quick! 'cause they're best when fresh.

2 yuca roots

1 Tbsp of onion flakes

1 Tbsp of garlic salt

1 Tbsp of paprika

2 tsp of ground thyme

4-6 cups of oil

1-2 eggs, beat

2/3 cup of flour

1/3 cup of cornmeal

1 tsp of salt (optional)

THE GAME

THE GAME: FOR JERRY

With ball in hand my time to shine 
I drove it down the court
A spin, a twirl, that move of mine 
Just thrilled to play the sport.
I dribbled past their shooting guard
And moved into the key
The way in front was now unbarred,
T'was just the hoop and me.

I laid up for the perfect shot
To move our team ahead
But suddenly there formed a knot
Of building fear and dread
And crept into my heart this doubt
My skills to score were doomed
That's when my mind heard loud this shout
"No way José!" It boomed.

For one brief flash I looked up in
The bleachers way up top
To find my fan, was sure t'was him
The one I still called Pop.
And sure enough I saw him there
Cheering me to shoot!
I filled with hope; gone was despair
My focus now acute.

I turned back to the hoop to find
Their team was rushing in
I drove in hard with shot in mind,
Adding a final spin.
I jumped with all my strength and worth
With ball raised up, aroar.
Then...SMACK!...a hand. Back to the Earth
I fell confused and sore.

The buzzer buzzed...we lost the game!
My insides began to twist
A panic set that I'm to blame
For the shot I missed.
When I thought all hope was gone
Just like the game we faced
A mighty hand I felt upon
My drooping shoulder placed

I turned my watered eyes to see
The loving arm of Dad
I stumbled out the word,--- "Sorry"
Just thinking he was mad.
He lowered from his giant height
And knelt to wipe my tear.
Embraced me with his humble might,
And whispered in my ear.

"The game is never over, Sport.
You've simply lost this win
For ever are you on the Court
Of this life you're in.
Keep shooting for that hoop you yearn.
I promise you this claim:
You'll win the prize that you earn
By staying in the game."

Today we buried my uncle Jerry Conley. As a kid, we would travel every summer to visit our family in Utah. I remember traveling out to Roosevelt to visit the Conley's one winter and sledding down a big steep hill. I am pretty sure I was not gutsy enough to go down it. I knew that I would surely die! But that didn't stop the Conley's! They were way too cool to be afraid of a few broken bones and a mouthful of busted teeth and snow. I always thought the Conley's were cool for three things:
One, they owned a fully metal transformable Optimus Prime
Two, they were always great at sports, and
Three, their dad was Jerry, a funny guy with witty humor, and one of my mom's heroes.

This poem is to remember Jerry. His love of sports and seeing their deeper meaning. His love of family, and never missing their games. His love of his Savior and the lessons he learned from the gospel and the doctrines of enduring to the end. Thank you, Jerry for being a part of my life!

And for the Conley's, whom I love, when life smacks you down with doubts and grief or sorrows you think are impassable hear the words, "No way José...just stay in the game". I know the emptiness never leaves you, but it does become more bearable. That emptiness helps us to remember and never forget. Keep playing your beautiful game!