Sunday, May 31, 2009

Ask The Bishop

Question: How can something that feels so good be so wrong?

Answer: Well, I'll need you to be more specific, but if you're talking about wearing Sansabelt Slacks, there's nothing wrong at all. In fact, I'm wearing a pair right now.

New Callings This Week

Ward Fireman - Cal Nesbit
Ward Steward - Stewart Ward
Ward Costume Designer - Ben Noland
Ward Ear Nose and Throat Specialist - Mel Selcho
Ward Scape Goat - Trevor Kennard

Sunday, May 03, 2009

Get To Know Your Ward Members

In his own words, today's profile comes from Norman Wagler.

Growing up with one leg shorter than the other wouldn’t have been so bad, but I also had a hook for a hand. So many people thought I limped because the hook was so heavy. They had no idea that at age ten, bone was removed from my left leg, just below the knee. That’s why one leg was shorter than the other. Not because I was born that way. I wasn’t. I was born with both legs the same length and I used to be able to wear pants right off the rack with no need for alterations. Then the hook hand. That’s a whole other story. Don’t get me started on the hook hand. But can you believe I met and married a girl that also has a hook hand. And a baboon heart. Boy, are we a pair. A match made in heaven. A match made in heaven and in the hospital. We’ve got so many health problems we may as well live in a glass room at the hospital where doctors can probe and observe us all day. (Obviously, there would be a curtain we’d pull during certain intimate times between the two of us. I probably shouldn’t say this--no I won’t say it. Well ok. I’ll tell you. She loves sex.)

Her name is Martha. Lovely, isn’t it. Admit it. When you hear the name Martha, you don’t just assume that’s a person with a hook hand. I mean, if you got a call from your office partner and he said, “Guess what. I’m going on a date with a girl named Martha.” I’ll bet you don’t think, “Martha, huh. Try not to get your fancy shirt snagged on the hook.” Your first thought is probably something like, flowers or baked apple pie or a sunset on a beach that doesn’t smell like rotting fish. That’s Martha.

We met at a support group for people with prosthesis. I didn’t notice her at first because I was watching another girl demonstrate how quickly she could remove her prosthetic foot, use it to hit a whiffle ball in the air, then re-attach the foot and catch the whiffle ball in her mouth before it hit the ground. Impressive, to be sure. But the foot’s titanium and that has a lot to do with it. I didn’t notice Martha until I had attended the support group two more times.

Martha and I have been married for 17 years now. We don’t appreciate the stares we get when we walk down the street, hook in hook. But what can you do? You just deal with the cards you were dealt. Martha limps too, now. A condition that the doctors are calling a sympathy limp. I think it’s sweet. I think it’s a sign of her love and devotion for me. It’ll be nice when we both get to heaven and our bodies will be restored to their perfect state. And I’ll say to that other girl, let’s see you hit a whiffle ball now, hot-shot.

Friday, May 01, 2009

Ask The Bishop

Question: Have you ever done anything that would cause your parents to hang their head in shame?

Answer: Yes. And I'm sorry about what I did. I put extra pepper on my father's soup, knowing it would make him sneeze. And sneeze he did. He sneezed so hard his glasses fell in the soup. I had to go to bed without any supper and from that point on we were not allowed to have pepper in the house. I felt ashamed. To make up for it, I bought him something I thought he would enjoy. A cowboy hat. He did enjoy it, until he found out I had just used his money to buy him the hat. That's when we were no longer allowed to buy or wear hats or use each other's money. I really felt bad about that, so I decided to get up real early one morning and milk some cows. I had always heard farmers talking about how that would really teach a boy a lesson in hard work and responsibility. Get him up early and make him milk cows, they always said. So that's what I did. Afterward, I brought home the milk, thinking that my dad would be so proud of what I had done, but as it turns out, it was Sunday, and he was mad that I worked on Sunday. So from then on, we weren't allowing to drink milk. Now, what's the question you asked? How I get my calcium then? Oh, I take supplements. Thanks for asking. Good question.