My Father

17 Sunday Jun 2018

Posted by jrwmacdonald in family, Living, People, Uncategorized

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Ron MacDonald Circa 1969

It seems to me that fathers are less easily forgiven than mothers. Carrying, birthing, feeding, and nurturing a child covers a multitude of sins, and rightfully so. My experience tells me there is a natural bond between a father and his biological children but that bond is much looser and requires, possibly, a greater degree of maintenance. Some of the very first memories I have of my father are of him secreted away in the basement of our home fashioning Christmas treasures for his children. I still remember the wooden castles I received from him along with the workable miniature catapult and the buckets of plastic warrior figurines.

I also remember camping trips where my dad would roll out his bedroll in the back of our station wagon while I slept in a tent, sometimes alone, but often with a sister or two. I have a memory of playing something like Trivial Pursuit around a campfire with him and my sisters (Robyn and Alison). He’d ask a question and we’d guess the answer and I wanted so badly to get those answers right. I think he sensed this in me and so for Christmas one year I received the full 15 volume set of thin Charlie Brown’s Cyclopedia. I read them all. Also on that camping trip I recall the battery died in our station wagon. We were stuck, in my child’s mind, in the middle of absolutely nowhere on a lake with no other people along a dirt road very seldom travelled. To me we were doomed. My dad, it seemed, was not much bothered and we just waited to hail, eventually, a passing pickup that could give us a jump.

My dad was brave, and smart, and kind except when he was not. Once I was fighting with a younger sibling and my dad intervened. Those interventions were always loud and scary and painful. I was getting older though, my early teens or preteens, and I left the house in a rage. I was never coming back. I wandered the neighbourhood for a time before I realized the futility of that activity and returned home determined to have it out with my dad. I was becoming a young man that could nearly look my father in the eye and naively believed this made me something of an equal. We stood toe to toe in the living room and exchanged a few heated words. I said to him “what will you do dad, hit me!” He might have but what I recall was far more powerful than that. He escorted me to his bedroom and sat me down on the edge of his bed and then lowered himself to my level. He spoke for a while. I can’t say I recall all the words he said but I do recall these words “Son, I love you.” That was enough for me and we embraced. I think that day was the day I left my childhood behind.

Some future reader may think to judge my father but I caution you. Today we tend not to strike our children and we think that enlightened. Maybe it is. My father came from a different time. He was raised by grandparents that fought in the first world war and by a mother who would not have the support of his father at at time when society was not very accepting of that. He would have the benefit of a step-father from about 6 to 16 before an untimely death. So, my father learned to work hard and to do hard things. He was and is a brave man, indeed, he was endowed with a bravery I think seldom seen today. He saw something good in the two missionaries that came to his door when he was 16 and he pursued that goodness. It took him to Idaho and Utah and away from everything he knew at a time when that separation was severe. Our modern electronics have gratefully robbed us of that type of sacrifice.

The first time I recall seeing the ocean it was in Prince Rupert, British Columbia with my dad. The summer I turned fifteen my dad loaded me into the car for a week and we drove out to Prince Rupert together. We stopped at every creek and lake we could find to do some fly fishing. We took our time there and back and we caught one lousy fish. He’d want me to be sure to say that he was the fisherman that landed it. I’m sure he was. It turns out we are terrible fishermen. I’m okay with that. We only ever saw the ocean from a distance. My father is a brave man but also wise. He hates the ocean, and heights, and anything fast. For all that, I’ve no doubt, he’d dive in, or climb high, or hold on if it were ever necessary.

A few short years later we made a similar trip. This time we drove north to Fort Nelson, British Columbia where we would spend some time visiting my sister Robyn and her growing little family. On our way home we were camped for the night and were chatting at a picnic table. This would be our last trip for some time. I’d received a mission call to Southern California. Our trip was winding down and we could both sense that this would be the end of an era. I would be gone for 2 years and accessible only by letter. I recall with clarity his words to me. “Son, you don’t have to go. You know that you can stay here and that would be okay.” It was a tender moment. There was no way, truly, that I could stay and be happy with myself. He knew that and so did I but what he communicated to me was that he loved me no matter where my choices would take me. I did not need to earn his love.

My father is not perfect but he is the perfect father for me. He taught me by example to give freely and love openly. At odds with the generation that raised him he learned to be vulnerable and has passed that vulnerability on to his children. There is no love without vulnerability. If you asked for my father’s help he would be there, to those that would borrow of him he’d freely give. To me he gave time and his ear. To his children, his grand children and his great grand children he’ll be a patriarch worthy of emulation.

I love you too, dad.

Dad and Me. Venice Italy, November 2, 2015.

Here I am. Pick Me!

30 Monday Apr 2018

Posted by jrwmacdonald in Living, Religion, USA

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I suppose now that I am dragging my family off on another adventure I should begin again to keep a blog. Utah is not as exotic as the Middle East but it is proving to be something of a culture shock nonetheless. I’ve been down here since late March and without Lisa or the kids since April 2. Being a part so long is much harder than I even imagined. I hope to never repeat it.

So much has happened over this last month that I could share. I don’t have the energy or inclination to put it all here but I think the following experience is worth a mention.

I went to my new ward in South Jordan today. There were 450 people in attendance. The chapel and the entire gym were filled. They had two Sunday School classes. When I asked which one I should attend I was told just pick one and if it is full go to the other. I managed to get a seat just barely.

It was 5th Sunday so all the adults met together for the 3rd hour in the chapel. There were so many people we had to use the overflow. They announced that our stake was responsible next week for cleaning the temple (Oquirrh Mountain Temple). I thought I’d like to volunteer. They started passing around a clipboard to sign up. I was only a few rows away from it and I watched it slowly make its way back to me. It seemed there would be no way any volunteer spaces would be left. I was actually a bit anxious about it. The clipboard did make it to me and there was one space left for the week (9:45pm to midnight on Thursday). I breathed a sigh of relief and signed my name.

I could hardly believe that as I signed my name I had a little pang of guilt. There were several hundred more people that would not get this clipboard and the chance to serve… ridiculous, I know. Yet, it made me think of home and how needed we all are. Here in Utah there are so many saints that it seems I’ll need to elbow others out of the way for the opportunity to serve. Leaving Prince George I joked with others how I was looking forward to a low-key calling. Now that I am here it is a little sad to think how easy it would be to just drift into the background; to bury my light under a bushel, so to say.

I imagine they’ll soon split this ward into two and things won’t be quite so crowded. I realize this isn’t the experience everywhere in Utah. I miss my ward family in Prince George today. I’ve got a home under contract here and it has a spare room. I sure hope to see some of you in the future.

Oquirrh Mountain Temple (South Jordan, Utah)

Vimy Ridge

18 Monday Jul 2016

Posted by jrwmacdonald in Europe, Living, Traveling

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Canada, Canadian War Memorials, France, World War One, WWI

Canada mourns the loss of her fallen sons from Vimy Ridge, France.

124 years ago today, July 18th 1892, my great grandfather, George Andrew McDonald, came screaming into the world. In his 24th year he enlisted with the Canadian military and entered the Great War. He volunteered likely believing the war would be over by December and thus set sail for England, I imagine, excited for adventure. I know very little of the man though he was one of my father’s principal early care givers.

When I graduated from high school my father gifted me George’s WWI service medal. That gift seemed to somehow connect me to this man. From the regiment number stamped on that medal I obtained his attestation paper from his military enlistment. Library and Archives Canada (LAC) has made these available online. I then went on to pay the photocopy fees to obtain his service record from the LAC. Practically everything I know about the man comes from these documents. It isn’t much.

George Andrew MacDonald

George was five feet six inches tall and likely weighed around 140lbs. He had light brown hair and grey eyes and I imagine that if he and I were standing side by side we might just be mistaken as brothers. He was 23 years old when he enlisted in late November 1915 in Sarnia Ontario. He was assigned to the Canadian Forestry Corps and the 70th batallion. His initial medical report indicates that he had no distinguishing physical marks. Within a year there’d be scars: physical and mental. He was discharged August 23rd, 2018 “being medically unfit for further general service” the record states. He had taken a bullet just above his left knee, “external to the joint,” though I wonder if he walked with a limp from then on? He took that bullet somewhere along the Somme, France on the 12th of October 1916 nearly 100 years ago.

The Somme was a muddy, bloody cess pool. Men literally rotted in trenches as we struggled to learn this new “modern” warfare. His record tells a grim story of the aftermath of that experience though in the most clinical and perfunctory way. One doctor reports that he “claimed” to be shell-shocked 4 or 5 times. I know he was at the front but how long exactly I can’t say. He was in France for 5 months. He developed a slight tremor in his hands that could be seen also in his tongue. He couldn’t keep his food down and lost about 20 pounds. He was nervous all the time and easily excited. If he was anything like me his resting pulse rate should have been in the mid to low 50s. After his time at the front it was 108.

When I learned I would be going to France I hoped that my travels would take me close enough to the Vimy Ridge memorial. George didn’t fight at Vimy (that was a few months after he was wounded). Vimy is the Canadian war memorial to see in France. It is widely regarded that our victory there was the birth place of the nation. France gifted the ridge in perpetuity to the people of Canada and on its hallowed ground stands an inspiring monument to the sacrifice made there.

TO THE VALOUR OF THEIR COUNTRYMEN IN THE GREAT WAR AND IN MEMORY OF THEIR SIXTY THOUSAND DEAD THIS MONUMENT IS RAISED BY THE PEOPLE OF CANADA.

It was raining as we drove through the French countryside, avoiding the toll road, toward Vimy Ridge. The country is flat here and well cultivated. We passed through many small French villages where row homes of weathered brick pressed close against the narrow road. The steeples of Catholic Churches rose majestically above each community against the back drop of storm darkening skies. Then suddenly between villages appeared the familiar white font on black background of Canadian government signs, a small red maple leaf in the corner. This could not be a sign for Vimy Ridge as it was too soon but I was intrigued. I made a left as directed and followed the signs to an unknown, to me, Canadian memorial. The narrow road narrowed more and more until it was essentially a single paved lane winding through French fields. Then just off the road was a small plot, maybe 30 meters square, of fenced coniferous trees with close cropped grass. In its centre lay a rock monument with the statue of a caribou dominating its top. Gueudecourt. I would learn that a regiment from Newfoundland fought bravely and won here at extraordinary cost. Newfoundland was not a part of Canada at that time. It wouldn’t become Canada’s tenth province until after the 2nd World War. Yet, a Canadian monument all the same.

Gueudecourt Memorial

The small grounds of this memorial are meticulously kept. Even the shallow trench at the foot of the caribou statue was filled with well groomed grass. The rain fell lightly as I reflected on the beauty now found here. I wondered if George felt the sting of that bullet somewhere close by. Perhaps it was a rainy day much like this one and he was in this trench at my feet. His feet rotting in his boots as he anticipated the command to climb out of the mud and charge the enemy. I learned that this line, this trench at my feet, became the front line of the Somme. Indeed along this line some where George had fought. Along this line now stretching off into well cultivated fields George had sat in the mud as explosions shook the ground around him and men died in squalor. Yet, when he arrived the trench had already been dug and the ground watered with the blood of Newfoundland’s boys and when he was done others would come to make their sacrifice. It was sombering to stand there in the rain.

We drove on to Vimy Ridge. Every Canadian has seen this monument. It is on our 20 dollar bill. Two granite spires reach out of the earth toward heaven and at its base a single tomb to represent the thousands lost here and elsewhere in the war. Above the tomb the lone figure of a woman, Canada, shrouded in her granite cloak mourns the loss of her sons. Her eyes are downcast staring at the silent tomb unable to see the view presented by the ridge she stands upon. It was for that view of the plains her sons had fought and died. Fought and died. Sixty thousand Canadian soldiers; 1 in 10 from a force of 600,000. 1 in 10 from a country of a mere 7 million.

I wandered around the monument lost in my thoughts, grateful for the sacrifices made and saddened that it was ever necessary. I placed my hand upon the names of the fallen carved in that granite and felt a small touch of survivor’s guilt. George was only a boy who likely had little concept of the fate that awaited him when he signed that attestation. Sure there was some courage there, some patriotism, some sense of duty but it was probably the uniform, the call of adventure, the smiles of the girls that compelled him to the theatre of war. The dark clouds roiled above us but did not obstruct our view of the valley which seemed to stretch out a hundred years and into our prosperous lives.

Just a few days later Lisa and I joined hundreds of thousands of Parisians at the foot of the Eiffel Tower to celebrate Bastille Day. A day of freedom. Later that night when the fireworks had ended we learned that a man had used a truck as a weapon at a similar fireworks show in Nice, France. He indiscriminately smashed through the crowds killing and maiming men, women and children. In a great act of evil he took the lives of nearly 100 people and injured twice as many. Tens of thousands more mourn their loss. Their eyes are fixed on the tombs at their feet. It is a new “modern” warfare. There is no trench to climb into and if there were those firing from the other side are surrounded with innocents. Is there a weapon made with hands that could find our enemies without giving rise to more? I won’t claim to have the answers but it seems clear to me that the soil at our feet has an infinite capacity to drink the blood of man.

: A mourning Canada.

: A lone tomb representing our fallen.

: Canada comforts the suffering.

: The names of fallen Canadian soldiers on French soil during WWI.

: The Canadian war memorial at Vimy Ridge, France

Home Sweet Home

10 Sunday Jul 2016

Posted by jrwmacdonald in Living

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In January 2007 I completed my graduate work at the University of Alberta in Library and Information Studies. I was a newly minted librarian looking for work and desperate to take whatever I could find. It turned out that I really didn’t need to worry. As I entered my final semester in the fall of 2006 I was very nervous about my prospects for work and a career. Are there really jobs out there for librarians? Turns out there are and I had several offers of work. I had choices and I chose Northern Lights Library System in Northeast Alberta. It is a regional public library system headquartered in Elk Point. Elk Point, it turns out, is a town of just 1500 people and a couple hours outside of Edmonton. It’s oil and farm country.

I arrived in Elk Point in late December looking for a home for my family. Oil was doing well at that time and there was hardly a rental available. What was available was less than desirable. I stopped in at Elk Point Realty hoping they might have a lead on something half way decent. On the window was several advertisements of properties for sale. I was just a starving student; there was no way I could afford anything… But wait… There was an old (1974) mobile home practically across the street from my new employer. The advert said “lot for sale, owner willing to negotiate removal of old trailer” or something to that effect. Clearly the trailer wasn’t meant to be inhabited but how bad could it possibly be?

There wasn’t a proper step up to the trailer. At first I had to turn over a 5 gallon pail as a step held in place by the ice and snow. The power had been off for sometime in the trailer so stepping inside wasn’t much of a relief from the bitter prairie cold outside. It was filthy. Boxes of junk, old clothing and long abandoned personal affects were strewn throughout the house. Entering I found myself in the kitchen. I kicked aside a box to reveal a 2 x 2 foot hole cut in the floor. I could see straight through to the ground. Sometime this or a previous winter the water pipes had frozen and burst. The owner cut into the floor to get at those pipes. “I can fix that,” I thought.

Venturing deeper into the trailer I stepped into the utility room. The floor here was completely gone. There was no clean cut through the floor boards. It appeared that an axe or some other destructive implement was used. I learned later that the pipes, having frozen and burst, were gushing water out of the trailer and down the street. The owner had hacked away mercilessly to get to those pipes. He never did fix the problem. The trailer, to be liveable, would need all of its plumbing replaced.

The bathroom looked in slightly better shape. It was an ugly 1970s green but it might work out. The outside wall the bathtub was set against was clearly rotten. It would need to be replaced. Walking in, just past the sink and approaching the toilet the floor changed. It was spongy, clearly also water damaged and rotting. This would be a big job. A vision was forming nonetheless and I new the place was for us. Fortunately I took a little walk through video after I bought the place. I sent it to Lisa to show her our new home, have a look:

Lisa is the right girl for me. I’m not completely certain she knew what she was getting into when she married me but she takes it all pretty well. When I called her about the trailer she had one condition: there must be running water before she or the kids would come out to join me. How hard could it be? I had no idea what I was doing. It took me a few days of research to figure out how to begin. There is this great plumbing material called Pex. It is incredibly easy to install. My dad was good enough to come out and help me rebuild floors and walls too. So it was, that I was working as a librarian during the day and then retreating to my broken down trailer every night to work into the wee hours of the morning. I think it took about 3 weeks to get the job done or at least sufficiently to convince Lisa to join me.

I took this video shortly after the family moved in:

We survived in this place for about 2 and a half years. Lisa very graciously lived through a stream of renovations until finally she convinced me it was time for a real home. So our little trailer turned rental property and we moved across town to a lovely little place. That lasted about 6 weeks but that’s an entirely different story. Before moving we did what we could to get the trailer worthy to rent. Our first tenant turned out to be a colleague from work. Here is yet another video in the transformation of the trailer:

That video would be the last I’d see of the trailer for about 5 years. In the past 5 years we’ve travelled the world leaving little Elk Point to become nearly a distant memory. Lisa’s sister has been living in Elk Point this whole time (yet another story) and taking care of the place for us. She has done an excellent job. These last renters though were not exactly desirable. Leah is moving away from Elk Point and there are not property management companies in the area. Suddenly Elk Point and the trailer have become a thing in our lives again. So last weekend Lisa and I loaded up the van with tools and drove the 1000 kilometers out to Elk Point to inspect the damage from these last not so great renters.

When we walked in I thought it might be easier to just light a match and walk away. The place was a disaster. Filthy really. It took us 2 and a half days of some serious elbow grease, along with several cans of paint, to clean it all up. We had help of course. Huge thanks to the Coleman family, president West, brother Bullock and sister Hatch. They all turned out to give us a hand getting the place put back together. These are friends made 6 years and more ago who didn’t really know we were even coming to town. We showed up in town on a Sunday and they were out helping within hours. The Colemans even spared us sleeping on thin air mattresses in the trailer by opening their home to us. I like to think sometimes that the success I’ve had in life comes generally from a willingness to take risks and to work hard. I might be tempted to say that I am responsible for any success I have in life but it’s really not the case at all. That risk taking and work ethic comes from a lifetime of support from good family and good friends. The longer I live the larger that network of support becomes. I’ve done pretty well thus far, I’m happy, and it’s not really because of me but inspite of me. I’m surrounded by good people that refuse to let my follies let me fall too far.

The trailer is now up for sale. With the economy the way it is I’m not certain we’ll find a buyer. So a sale may not be possible. Failing that I hope we can rent it out. I took one last walk through video after we got it cleaned up. It is a long way from what it was 9 years ago. If you know someone looking to buy in Elk Point, Alberta we’ve got the place for them. If they just need a place to rent we may be able to arrange that too. One last walk through:

Check out the property listing on Realtor.ca

An update from Lilli

22 Friday Mar 2013

Posted by frogmatador in Living

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Me! A recent picture from our family photo shoot

Hi everybody. It has been a long time since I last wrote. I thought I’d give everyone an update on how I am doing. We are still homeschooling. Most of my classes are online. I like sleeping in and doing my school work in my PJs… well mom doesn’t usually let me wear my PJs but sometimes I get away with it. My French class is super duper easy and I don’t have to do it everyday which is kinda lame. I guess my teachers thought the French class was too easy for me too. They just skipped me a level – so now I have to start a whole new French course. I don’t mind though because I like French.

In September I am going to a regular school. Well, I would not call it regular… There are kids from 53 different countries at this school. Oh and the school has a pool! They’ll soon have two pools because they are building a bigger indoor one. The school is called Scholars International Academy. I’ll have to take the bus to school but that sounds kind of fun. We will have to wear a uniform. I’m not to happy about that but at least I don’t have to worry about what to wear. I get to take French classes there and Arabic classes! i’m not sure about the Arabic classes but it might be fun. Insha ‘Allah.

We play a lot of sports and exercise quite a bit here. Tomorrow I am competing in a duathlon. Thankfully I’m not doing the whole thing by myself just the biking part. My friend Miriam will be doing the running… actually roller blading. I have to bike 5km! It won’t be too bad though because we do a fun run or bike every month. I play soccer too – its called football here. I was the only girl on the team! My friend Sakina just joined too! Oh and we go still go to the Epicenter everyday after school. You can read my brother’s earlier post to learn about the Epicenter – it is pretty awesome.

We do a ton of camping here. Its is pretty fun to go exploring in the desert. I like to

One of the little frogs we found.

climb the giant sand dunes and ride the boogie board down them. You do end up with a lot of sand in your pockets though. We also go looking for swimming holes in Wadis. Wadis are riverbeds. Mostly they are dry but dad says when it rains they get really flooded. Last time we found some orange looking frogs.

Frogs I can handle but we’ve also found scorpions and really ugly spiders. The scorpion was kind of cool though.

This spider was on our friends tent – it is missing some legs.

I am having lots of fun here in the UAE. There is lots to do and I’ve made quite a few friends. We are going to Oman again in a couple weeks on a camping trip. It is our spring break. I miss all my friends back home. I hope you are all doing awesome. Until next time. TTYL.

Repent, Forgive & Enjoy

09 Saturday Mar 2013

Posted by jrwmacdonald in Camping, Living, Outdoors, Religion, wadi

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It has been a few event filled weeks since I last wrote. They have included a couple trips out to a local Wadi and the dedication of the first purpose built LDS chapel in the Middle East. I want to begin my post with a few words about that dedication and the visit of Elder Jeffery R. Holland. To do that I need to start with a little background.

The new LDS chapel in Abu Dhabi

Twice a year the LDS church has a worldwide conference broadcast from Salt Lake City. The first weekend in April and the first weekend in October are the dates for these conferences. Strangely, they are some of my favourite weekends every year. The LDS people have, in part because of these conferences which have been happening for just shy of 200 years, developed an interesting love of the spoken word and beautiful music. As I write this I am listening to a long running LDS program called, well… “Music and The Spoken Word.” This program features the iconic Mormon Tabernacle Choir and the Orchestra at Temple Square. Check out their youtube channel. This is what I’m listening to right now:

So, at each of these conferences we generally hear from each of the members of the quorum of the twelve apostles and the first presidency of the church, among others. Members of the quorum of the twelve apostles and the first presidency serve from the time they are called until their death. The longest serving member of the quorum becomes the president of the church. It is actually a fascinating form of ecclesiastical government. What I am getting at here is that we hear from these men quite a bit. Some of them have been serving as apostles longer than I have been alive! I’ve heard them all speak many times. My favourite among them is Jeffrey R. Holland. The content of his speeches and his delivery consistently combine to inspire me and to draw me in.

I was more than elated to find out that Elder Holland would come to dedicate the chapel in Abu Dahbi. Not only did we get to hear from him during the dedication but that evening he was the main speaker at a small devotional in Dubai. A rare opportunity to hear from him twice in one day and in such an informal setting. He did not disappoint. More than any words he could have uttered though was the sermon of his actions. Elder Holland is one of the younger members of the quorum at 72 but I expect he only arrived in Dubai the night before (that is a long flight). He not only spoke at length in the morning he returned to speak at length in our intimate devotional. We packed as many as we could into that little villa in Dubai. He spoke and then hung around to shake the hands of every member.

I debated whether to get in line to shake his hand. You could tell he was tired. Personally I’d have blown off that meeting and gone to the hotel for a nap if I was him. Eventually I decided I’d better go shake his hand. I may never have the opportunity to stand face to face with an apostle again. I was shocked at the power in his grip. He was still shaking hands when we left around 10pm. His schedule for the next two weeks will take him to a different country in Europe every day. I’m sure he will stick around to greet the humblest of members at every meeting. I’m struck by the love he has for the saviour. I think of Peter when Christ asked “Peter, lovest thou me?” and then counselled him to feed His sheep. I could not help but think that Elder Holland is doing what the saviour would have him do.

I should pause here to say that every one that spoke that day did an incredible job. The dedication of the Abu Dhabi chapel will rest in my memory as one of the most spiritually poignant experiences of my life thus far. This chapel represents answers to many prayers. I could not help but feel that God was pleased and smiling upon these people. May it ever remain so.

So what was it that Elder Holland said in the two sermons he gave? A good deal. I’ve mulled over his words these last couple weeks. In the devotional he recalled a conversation he’d had with Hugh Nibley at Brigham Young University many years ago. Brother Nibley suggested that all we really need to do in life is repent and forgive (slightly different than pay taxes and die). Elder Holland expanded on that sentiment, his first reactions to it and his growing understanding of it over time. I thought it a fitting message in an Islamic country – though I’m not sure that he planned it that way. The word Islam means submission to the will of God. From dictionary.com we learn that Islam comes from the “…root of aslama “he resigned, he surrendered, he submitted,” causative conjunction of salima “he was safe,” and related to salam ‘peace.'” So with our Islamic friends we wish to utterly submit to the will of God or repent and forgive. There is simplicity and power in this approach to life.

Elder Holland expounded on many beautiful doctrines that day. In the end I came away with the message to repent, forgive and enjoy. Though he did not say those words exactly, much of his message, I think, is summed up in that phrase. Should we endeavour to live the first principles we should have the privilege of enjoying all of life. This does not mean that life will be without upset, difficulty or long stretches of darkness. Yet, through submission there is at least peace.

So on to the joy of life. I played a game with the kids the other day and now they beg me to play it every night. Indeed we’ve played it nearly every night for the last few weeks. We call it Mission Impossible. Before bed the kids arrange the furniture in the dinning room and living room and then shut out all the lights. I take my place with a flashlight on the back of the couch at one end of the room and the kids begin after the count of 3 on the other end of the room. They try to sneak through the room to a pillow resting at my feet. If they can touch the pillow they win the game but if they are caught in my flashlight’s inner beam they are out. When I shine the flashlight I can’t move it around the room and the kids have to freeze while it is on. When I turn it off again I have to count to 3 slowly and out loud before I can turn it on again. The kids let me know if I’m counting too fast. Of course, the idea is to move from hiding place to hiding place during those 3 seconds. Then when you are in reach make a dash for the pillow.

The kids love this game and like to argue over who gets to deign the “course.” If you play this with your kids be warned that they are moving about in the dark rather quickly. We’ve had our fair share of banged heads and stubbed toes. Lilli got a bloody nose yesterday. They insist on playing despite the injuries. We’ve also found that it is no fun to be caught out too quick. The kids get at least a couple chances. If I catch them they have to spell a word properly before they get a do over. Well, the spelling test has actually given way to singing and dancing… they love that! Indeed, Lilli would probably be bored with this game by now if the singing and dancing in the flashlight’s glow hadn’t begun. She is probably the least successful at reaching the pillow.

We spent the night out at Wadi Shawka last weekend. It was spectacular. A great fire with good friends. Joe brought his Ukelele and we sung late into the night around the camp fire. We had a big group out again for this camping trip. Watching a near full moon break over the horizon to dim the view of a starry sky was as usual breathtaking. The next day we hiked into the Wadi and spent hours swimming in the biggest pool and bouldering the rock faces around it. Jaron and I went exploring a ways up the river bed and then made the brave or possibly foolish move of taking an alternate route back to the pools. Jaron insisted that we climb up the mountain and follow the thin goat track along the cliff face inches from sudden death. I naturally can’t refuse my children anything. That little experience has demonstrated that Jaron is as reckless as his old man. He has the same “whats on the other side of that hill” fascination. I couldn’t help but think “is this what my friends have put up with all these years?” How many times have I led people into difficult situations because of my insistence that that mountain could be climbed, or that ravine ought to be explored…? I can only hope that it works out as well for my son as it has for me. Geez it is kind of annoying though – sorry guys.

Lisa took all the pictures and she is in Abu Dhabi tonight as a leader at the church youth conference. Hopefully, she’ll write a little more about the wadi and post the pictures and videos she took. We wish we could share all the great times we are having with friends and family at home. You are all missed.

A first night apart

16 Saturday Feb 2013

Posted by jrwmacdonald in Camping, Living, Outdoors, UAE

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Yesterday after church about 25 men and a few young men rode off into the desert for a guys night of desert camping. What happens when you send a bunch of men into the wilderness who are eager to recapture some of their youth and a few boys eager to be men? Well, potentially a good deal. Thankfully, Our night was relatively uneventful but satisfying. It was an interesting cultural experience too. A Canadian, two Americans an Ozzy and a large group of Filipinos go camping in the desert… what’s the punch line?

I’m not sure where they got it but the night featured a 15kilo suckling pig roasted

picture by Edmond Meshi C. SanBuenaventura

methodically on a spit over a bed of coals. They filled the belly with garlic and herbs and sewed it up for the roasting. I’m going to have to do this myself sometime in Canada. It was delicious.

There were a few scorpions but no stings. A stuck 4×4 but no permanent damage. A gorgeous evening sky with shooting stars and satellites ( the occasional 747 too). A brilliant crescent moon descending beneath the horizon prompted a run to the top of a large sand dune in pursuit and then an hour swapping stories with the Ozzy as we watched the glow of the campfire below.

The sweet but mournful ukelele was lovely to listen too. It was later supplanted by the rhythmic experienced strum of a guitar. Classic soft rock from the 70s, 80s and 90s brought back some excellent memories and certainly created a great new one. Our Filipino friends knew the lyrics to every song. Turns out karaoke is extremely popular in the Philippines.

I realized as I crawled into my sleeping bag that this was the first night I’ve been away from the family since arriving in the UAE. It is now Saturday afternoon and I am alone in the house. Lisa got on a bus with the kids this morning going to Abu Dhabi. The bus will take them to a well know mosque for a tour and then on to the other big cultural experience in the UAE, a mall. They should be back around 4pm and I can hardly wait to hear all about it. I expect Lisa will post something about the experience.

I miss the pines and spruce, the clear streams and green hillsides of my home. Yet, I’m learning to love the desert.

Scary Possibilities

08 Friday Feb 2013

Posted by jrwmacdonald in Living, Religion

≈ 1 Comment

All week I’ve been thinking about what it is I want for my children. What would I need as a parent to feel successful? More importantly what do they need as children to be “successful” as adults?” In the midst of my pondering we had a small scare that really got me thinking. On Tuesday night Lisa dropped Kirsten off at Hula. Yes, she has a hula class where she learns to use a hula hoop with other like minded girls. I haven’t seen her use a hula hoop since she began lessons last semester. I imagine she is quite good at it now. Perhaps I can convince her to share a video sometime.

The plan was for Lisa to walk over with the dogs to pick Kirsten up and walk back. The wellness centre where Kirsten practices is about a kilometre from here. Lilli volunteered to make the walk over instead. She left about 15 minutes before Kirsten’s class was due to end. 20 minutes later Lisa jumped in the car to meet the girls over there and see if they’d like to walk back or get a ride. In another 20 minutes Kirsten showed up at the house alone. She hadn’t seen Lilli or Lisa. Another five minutes passed and Lisa returned home, again without Lilli. This is when I started to get nervous.

Lilli left the house with the dogs 40 minutes earlier and no one knew where she was. So much can happen in 40 minutes. I forced those thoughts down and reasoned that some miscommunication had taken place. I jumped in the car and drove to Lilli’s friends home down the street… she was not there. As I entered the first of several round-abouts on my way to the wellness centre I was finding it more difficult to suppress thoughts of worst case scenarios. Strangely the emotion I was feeling most was anger. There is not much between the wellness centre and our home that could happen to a person to put them in danger so thoughts of the ill designs of depraved men kept rattling around in my skull. My parental defensive instincts were fully charged but I had no child to defend, and no target to set my sites on.

Just as I emerged from the second round-about there was Lilli walking down the street with the dogs in the lead. When she opened the car door and hopped in I could tell she was on the verge of tears. It turned out she had gone to the wrong side of the building. It was, after all, simply a little miscommunication. As we reentered the round-about on the way home I spotted Lisa walking down the sidewalk in search of Lilli. I could see the worry written across her face and then the instant relief as she saw Lilli in the passenger seat. The door was soon flung open and Lilli’s tears she’d so valiantly kept at bay spilled out to mingle with Lisa’s. The crisis had passed, the storm abated and all was well. There was never any danger only the fear of possibilities.

This little incident, something every parent likely experiences at least once, pushed me to consider whether I should fear those possibilities at all? Could something horrible and terrifying happen to my children my wife or me? Yes. Will I make reasonable and consistent efforts to lessen those possibilities? Absolutely. Should I fear them? If they occur how should I respond; how would I respond? These are more difficult questions to answer.

One of my favourite fairy tales is Disney’s Sleeping Beauty. I tend to like other tellings of it too. The idea of good fairies that bestow gifts on the fair princess has always been a source of contemplation for me. In the LDS church we perform an ordinance of naming and blessing our newborn babes. I always think of Sleeping Beauty every time a baby is blessed. If I could bestow a single gift on each of my children would it be protection (insulation) from the evil designs of others? I imagine my children growing to then become wealthy and powerful which are the two things (wealth and power) I believe have more potential for spiritual and mental harm than anything else. The reasons for that belief are too many for this post though. Let it suffice that wealth and power are not high on the list of things I hope for my children if they make the list at all.

Ultimately I cannot protect my children from all the dangers of the world. What then would I “bestow” upon my children if I could? To answer that I’ve mulled over what would give me the most pleasure to see develop in my children as they grow. Would I like to see Kirsten become a renowned artist, Lilli an esteemed academic and Jaron a fine athlete? How about simple health and happiness? Trophies, awards and accolades for feats of determination, perseverance and consistent good work would all be quite gratifying. Certainly I would be pleased to see them raise wonderful families with a person they love. All of these things would be nice but not necessary.

I picture Jaron at school one day and a boy prompting him to play a small trick on another student and Jaron declining to do so because he knows it would hurt the others feelings. I picture Lilli seeing a little girl every lunch hour without a lunch and Lilli sharing hers quietly with her each day. I picture Kirsten being bullied by a girl at school but sensing this girls’ motivations learns all she can about the “bully” and after considerable effort discovers her true motivations and makes a lifelong friend rather than an enemy. In other words, I wish for my children a generous portion of charity. Should they be called to drink deep from bitter cups may they not in turn become bitter. Should their lives prove a cornucopia of wealth, power and riches may they determinedly resist gluttony and instead willingly and generously share their wealth with all. This is my fondest hope and desire for them.

Would it not be lovely if we could invite a few fairies to visit the cradles of our children and bestow such a gift upon them? Sadly it does not work that way. When LDS children are given a name and a blessing their fathers ought not suppose that the blessings they pronounce are granted by God in some magical fairy like way. No, the words those fathers utter in blessing may instead be called upon as evidence in their future judgement (either for or against). I am convinced that by our examples we daily wave our magic wands over the fates and the lives of our children.

Lisa shared a poignant commercial on the power of example on Facebook the other day. It shows parents acting poorly and kids mimicking their behaviour. I think the message would have been better served had they depicted parents acting nobly and their children acting accordingly. Consider the power of these two videos with similar messages but different approaches:

This next video is actually a Coca-Cola advertisement (the use of which may be my mind’s deep desire to break my personal cola ban) but I think that while both messages are similar (clearly not exactly the same) the positive approach of the second will more likely inspire people to positive action than the negative approach of the first. (Certainly Coca-Cola believes drinking their product would be positive).

This too long post has finally brought me to the conclusion of this weeks pondering. What I want for my children is ultimately what I want for myself to live a charitable life regardless of the circumstances. If I can live a life of charity and focus that example in a positive way I believe that is the most likely way to pass the blessings of a charitable life on to my children.

So I suppose, in the end, if my life is a Coke commercial I’ll feel that I’ve succeeded.

Health and Happiness

01 Friday Feb 2013

Posted by jrwmacdonald in Living

≈ 4 Comments

This will be the first post written on our… wait, I mean my new 27 inch iMac (I really must think more selfishly). The computer is beautiful. I can’t afford a BMW but I can eek out the cost of one of these. I ordered it December 11th and it arrived yesterday. It was a long wait. I suspect this thing will not offer any improvement in my writing, sorry. It is, however, much nicer to write on than my little 13 inch laptop. This is computer paradise.

When the computer arrived yesterday we had to go out to Ikea to find a desk for it. While out we picked up another electronic. A scale. Yes, I am going to start tracking my weight. Sadly, I am terribly afraid of getting round in the middle. I suspect that like a receding hair line it is inevitable. Unlike the hair though I can do something about the waist.

I recently read Timothy CaulField’s “The Cure for Everything: Untangling Twisted Messages About Health, Fitness, And Happiness.” The book was entertaining and occasionally enlightening. I don’t agree with some of his conclusions (i.e. Yoga is a waist of time) because I don’t think that science has definitive answers in some of these areas (more research is needed) but his arguments are sound and engaging.

When I jumped on the scale last night my fears were confirmed… the scale read 149.8 pounds! Okay I know most of you hate me right now – for those of you who are still reading let me explain that 145 pounds has been my maximum… until now. I am obviously not overweight or in any real danger of being so in the near future but it is mildly distressing nonetheless. Having seen so many people try and lose weight I realize that if I put the weight on there is little chance of me taking it off.

So what am I doing to maintain my weight? We are very blessed here at the American University of Sharjah to have access to the “Wellness Centre” facilities for faculty and staff. This means access to personal trainers, exercise classes and great facilities. This term I will register in circuits early in the morning three days a week and for the other two days I’m going to participate in running club. The weekends always have something active going on – except Fridays as they are my day of rest. So, I’ll remain active.

Exercise is good but it isn’t going to keep my belly from expanding… if that was all it took I’d have nothing to worry about. Ultimately, if I want to keep the pounds off I have to pay attention to the calories. I think we make relatively healthy meal choices already but there is room for improvement. The first thing is smaller portions. Honestly, I do not need that second or third helping at every meal. And the Coca Cola has to go. Can you here me crying as I write this?

If I could drink a Coke just once and a while I would. I can’t though. If I drink one I’ll drink another the next day and the day after until I’m drinking a litre everyday. I have not had any soda pop of any kind since New Year’s Eve. I’m convinced I will fail miserably at trying to kick the habit… but it won’t be today.

Outside of the fact that I am getting a little older, seasoned is more accurate, it is the Middle East that has me focused on my weight. The UAE has one of the highest obesity rates in the world. As I’ve mentioned in earlier posts fast food is prevalent and cheap here.

At the grocery store yesterday Lisa and I walked past a little kid – maybe 8 years old – who was drinking a juice box. When he was done I was shocked when he tossed it on the ground and walked away. This wasn’t a casual oops, ha ha, I dropped my juice box and no one noticed so I’ll just keep walking. The kid threw it on the ground like it was what one is supposed to do. (Having been here a while this really should not shock me but it does). What does this have to do with weight gain – I’m not sure but somehow I think they are related.

One of the more interesting findings of “The Longevity Project: Surprising Discoveries of Health and Long Life from the Landmark Eight-Decade Study” is that conscientiousness is connected to long life and health. That juice box is an indication of sickness but a sickness that is taught.

Getting older, fatter and balder is the inevitable course of life. I just don’t want to give up living before I have to and want to enjoy every ounce of life I have. Despite my best efforts that may not be up to me… But that won’t stop me from trying anyway.

One last thing… The new LDS church in Abu Dhabi will be dedicated later this month (the first purpose built LDS chapel in the Middle East). My favourite speaker will be here to dedicate the building, Elder Jeffery R. Holland. Because the building can’t fit everyone from the region our congregation has to watch by web cast – sad. But, Elder Holland will be holding a meeting for those that can’t attend the dedication that night in Dubai! I don’t think I can express how happy that makes me. My dad has quipped that I must have been born with a lucky horseshoe shoved up my… ahem. Well, I think I’d know if I had one of those in there but occasionally I think I must have been born under a lucky star.

Staycation

19 Saturday Jan 2013

Posted by jrwmacdonald in American University of Sharjah, Dubai, Living, UAE

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I’m not sure when my last post was… likely nearly a month ago. This is a sure sign of the normality life has taken on here. I believe we are all doing very well. Kirsten had a real bout of serious homesickness last Friday but she seems to have rallied very well. There are some hard lessons to learn in life but I’m thrilled with how Kirsten internalizes, contemplates and then comes to a healthy approach to difficult situations.

Anyone who imagines that bliss is normal is going to waste a lot of time running around shouting that he’s been robbed. The fact is that most putts don’t drop, most beef is tough, most children grow up to just be people, most successful marriages require a high degree of mutual toleration, most jobs are more often dull than otherwise. Life is like an old time rail journey…delays…sidetracks, smoke, dust, cinders and jolts, interspersed only occasionally by beautiful vistas and thrilling bursts of speed. The trick is to thank the Lord for letting you have the ride. — Jenkin Lloyd Jones

I actually wrote the remainder of this post just after the Christmas week. I hope to get back into the writing routine.

AUS provides its employees Christmas day and New Years Day off. I’ve been so used to having those weeks off that I booked Christmas week off. That week is drawing to an end. What did we do with our time? Everything. We thought about heading into Oman and doing some camping. We have Salalah on our list of destinations to see but I’d like to go when we can get another family or two to join us. So instead we opted for a staycation!

On the 18th we were to pick up our new to us car. We bought the Honda CRV that we

Good bye new car.

borrowed for our trip to Oman. Sadly the day we were scheduled to get the car it broke down! Not a good omen. The car was stalling. We had it towed to Honda but they couldn’t find anythign wrong with it after they did some kind of computer calibration. So far it has been running fine and taken us all over Dubai this Christmas week. I’m hopeful that it will still be a good vehicle for us. The good news is that I’m not making any kind of payments on this thing.

On Saturday the 22nd we went shopping at Dubai Mall where we met up with our new friends the Villegas family. This family have three kids (12, 8 and 7 – two girls and a boy). Kirsten and Kiana, the oldest, are already fast friends. Later in the day we met up with them and more friends at a free beach in Jumeria. We had a great time digging

Lilli revelling in shell treasure

in the sand. The beach was a treasure trove of shells. It was fun to watch people parasailing up and down the beach too. The wind made it a little too cool for any serious swimming.

On the 23rd we took the family to DreamLand Aqua park. It was a quiet day at the park and we practically had the whole place to ourselves. Kirsten went there with her youth group when we first got here – she recently posted about that trip. We thought it would be fun to experience it as a family. Lisa took some great pictures and posted them to Facebook. Here they are in all their glory for those not connected to Facebook.

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The 24th found us at the Mall of the Emirates with the intention to check out Ski Dubai. It was crazy busy so we decided instead to do some shopping and try for a quieter day. That evening we went to dinner at our friends the Anderson’s with the Palmers and Johnsons. The kids put on a nativity scene and we enjoyed each others company. That night after the kids were tucked in Lisa and I put up a Christmas tree and brought out the stockings. The kids were delightedly surprised in the morning when they came down the stairs.

Christmas afternoon we joined our friends (The Ashills and several others) at the Raddison Blu hotel in Deira. They put on an excellent Christmas brunch. There are several restaurants on the same floor of the hotel that band together to provide an enormous smorgasbord. We had everything from traditional American style Christmas dinner to sushi, Indian, Italian and Mexican cuisine. We ate from noon till after 4 and then rolled ourselves out of the building and on home to a great nap.

Boxing Day found us back at the Mall of the Emirates with the Anderson’s to experience Ski Dubai. As soon as we walked into that giant refrigerator and I could see my breath I

It looks like a picture but it is an unaltered picture

It looks like a painting but this is an unaltered photo from the Mall of the Emirates

new we had made a mistake. I hate the cold. The crappy boots they gave me were hurting my feet and the gloves were inadequate. We went down the little bobsled run (Lisa smashed both her knees into the icy sides of the run). The snow was all rotten and the sled hill was itty bitty and crowded. We didn’t bother paying for skiing and just hung out in the snow park. The sledding was perfect for Jaron and he had a great time for the hour and a half we stuck it out. Though, he didn’t complain when the girls declared it was far too cold (-2) and we had to go. We enjoyed hot chocolate and cinnamon buns at Cinnabon afterward.

The 27th took Lisa and I to Mirdif City Centre Mall for iFly Dubai. We followed that up with dinner at the food court and a show, Jack Reacher. The movie was entertaining but disappointing. I suspect the book it is based on is much better. The opening scene was almost too much for me to handle.

iFly Dubai was fun but I am sore today. You are not in the wind tunnel long, maybe 30

ready for the wind tunnel

seconds each of two times, but it is a full body workout. I’m not sure it was enough of a thrill to have me go back often. I’d like it best if they’d just stick me in their for 15 minutes at a time to figure out how to do all the acrobatics. I can’t imagine what that would cost…

Today we went to church and that was just what the doctor ordered both for my back and my wallet. This week has been a whirlwind tour of theme park entertainment. I think I may have my fill. Except I still want to check out Ferrari World, the top of the Burg Kalifa and as a big fan of water slides I think we will have to get to all the water parks here (there are quite a few). Lisa ordered new tents from the states and they should be here early next week. Just a few more pieces of equipment and we’ll be fully outfitted for some real adventure.

Tomorrow is Jaron’s 7th birthday. We are having a BBQ party at Safa Park. We bought him a bike! I’m so excited for him. I can hardly believe he is 7 years old. May I never forget to thank God daily for the blessings that are my wonderful children.

And back to the present…

Turns out Jaron’s party was super fun. A water fight in the park and the bike went over

Jaron scoping out his new bike

very well. I think he is on it every day. The benefit of being in a gated community means he can park the bike in front of the house without much fear of someone wondering off with it. Of course, the problem with buying him a bike is the expectation that we buy bikes for the girls come their birthdays. I want a bike too! The campus wellness centre is holding their first duathlon in March and I want to participate… Now where to steal the money from the budget for a bike for me.

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~ Stories of MacDonald Family Adventures

Category Archives: Living

My Father

Here I am. Pick Me!

Vimy Ridge

Home Sweet Home

An update from Lilli

Repent, Forgive & Enjoy

A first night apart

Scary Possibilities

Health and Happiness

Staycation