What Iraquis and Americans Have in Common

Well, I might be eating my words, but I don’t think I’ll mind at this point.

I have been, for a long time, opposed to the Iraq war. I’ve not trusted President Bush’s motives, I’ve doubted the long-term value of being there, I’ve questioned the methods being used there.

But hearing the news, and reading the reports on the election have renewed my hope, and reshaped my perspectives. It might well be that this experiment could work in the long run, after all, in spite of all my still-nagging doubts.

And, as an additional note, it made me reflect on our nation as well. And on our own elections. How many of us would walk miles to a polling place, especially if we knew that we were risking our lives? How many of us would volunteer to staff a voting booth with death and bombing threats hovering over our heads? How many of us even bother to vote in non-presidential elections? How many of us even study up on the candidates and the issues?

In a lot of ways, we’ve become complacent, even cynical.

We’ve heard a lot about the patriotic service being given by the troops. We’ve heard of flag-wavers here in the country being called patriotic. I think that the most patriotic act that an American civilian can do is to cast an educated ballot.

Now, it’s still going to be tough for the Iraqis. This is a major landmark for them, but it’s still a landmark. They have to move beyond this and establish a government that works. One that can quell the violent rebels, and encourage the peaceful ones. One that can punish terrorists, yet preserve freedom.

And in America, we have to do the same thing. We have to establish government that works. A quote I heard once, “The only way for evil to win is for good people to do nothing.”

That means voting.

MRKH
Mark Hansen
http://markhansenmusic.com

Oh, Hondo...


OK, something weird is building up, I can feel it…

About a week ago, my MTC mission companion hit my website and signed up for a Pass-it-On CD. It was a lot of fun to correspond with him. I’ve not talked to him since ’84! He lives in Washington State, now. We corresponded a bit over companions and others in our MTC group.

Then, my colleague here at work tells me about this site called mission.net, and I go check It out. I find my mission’s home page, Honduras Tegucigalpa, and start flipping through the alumni database. Right off, I find one of my old companions, Elder Cooper. One of my seniors while I was in Belize. Then, I found Elder Bonilla, one of my old District Leaders.

Suddenly I was walking the streets of 3 de Mayo and Comayaguela again. Slogging through the mud in Torocagua. Sweating in the muggy air of Orange Walk Town. Someone had posted some pictures. This one struck me with a reminiscent smile. I remember there were a lot of power and phone lines strung overhead in Hondo, and there were these mosses and plants that would catch in the wires and grow. They’d make the whole line look like it’d been attacked by dust bunnies. Sometimes, they’d get pretty big. The ones in this picture are actually kinda small!

Anyway, I don’t know why all of a sudden I’m thinking about my mission, and why it keeps cropping up.

It’s interesting to look back on it in retrospect. I can’t honestly say that my mission was the best two years of my life. A large part of that is because, frankly, there’ve been a lot of good years in the two decades or so since then. My wife, my kids, my music have all given me some wonderful experiences.

My mission was, at the time, the hardest two years of my life. Especially if you include the year or so that followed of re-assimilation into the wild. Everything I am to day is built on the spiritual foundation that got poured when I was in Honduras and Belize.

But I like to think that I have built on it and grown on above and beyond it. I’ve built a house on that solid foundation. Sometimes, that house has shaken in the wind and the storm, and I haven’t always built it as strong as it could be, but its foundation, my testimony of the gospel of Jesus Christ and the Prophets of the old and latter days, is strong. So, even if parts of my house shake and creak, the entire structure will not fall.

MRKH
Mark Hansen
http://markhansenmusic.com

The Taker, Revisited

I was thinking about my kids today and I was reminded of a moment that happened a few weeks ago. I was riding in my car, with my two boys in the back seat. I was listening to some of my "Generation" mixes, getting them ready for the CD.

Now, often when my kids hear me listening to my songs, they'll sometimes sing along. That, in and of itself, feels really good. I like that my kids like my tunes. I know that there'll come a day when they'll hear my stuff, roll their eyes, and say, "Sheesh, Dad. That song is soooo '90s!" And considering just how '80's my stuff already is, I'm in real trouble.

But for now, they still think I'm cool.

But this one particular day, after they'd been signing along for a while, "The Taker" came on. This time, Brendon, the seven-year-old, sat there listening. I just drove and soaked up the mellow groove of the song. Then I hear his voice from the back seat...

"Dad?"

Yeah?

"What's it mean, 'He wore the thorns'?"

I had to catch the lump in my throat. He was referring to the chorus of the song:

"I was the taker
He was the giver
I the forsaker
He the forgiver
He wore the thorns
And I was the sliver
He was the dyer
That let me live again..."

So, I told him the story of how the Roman soldiers, when they heard that he was supposed to be the "King of the Jews" had made the crown of thorns and put it on his head.

"That would hurt"

Yes, I bet that would.

"But at least they said He was the king."

I thought about that. I remembered that some of them, after all the storms and earthquakes, had marveled. I thought of the verse that said "The devils also believe, and tremble".

And then we went on listening to the other songs, and I thought to myself how wonderful it was to have such a teaching moment, even if I'm not entirely sure which of us was being taught.

MRKH
Mark Hansen
http://markhansenmusic.com