Recently my friend, Travis, told me he had two and a half months to live – or so his doctor said. I sat amazed as he still smiled and cracked jokes. Travis thinks he will live longer than that. “It’s a state of mind and your will,” he said matter-of-factly. “Your will is stronger than the doctor’s diagnosis. That’s why I try to keep a positive attitude.”
I remarked to Travis that he was a hero. He asked why and I replied, “You inspire me. I’ve never met someone with so much enthusiasm for life in spite of personal challenges.” It’s a trait Travis has exhibited his whole life.
Travis Payne was born one of two twins in Gadston, Alabama. His other twin passed away a couple hours after birth. “I guess I was just stubborn then,” he said. “I was born with challenges. I have had challenges my whole life. That’s what has made me strong.”
Born with Cerebral Palsy, Travis was unable to walk for the first eight years of his life. A corrective surgery fused his knees together allowing him to use crutches. Travis had new mobility. “I’ve never been able to take the word no or can’t.”
“I lived my life as a healthy, normal kid,” said Travis. His father insisted that Travis attend a public school and not a school for special needs. After moving to Texas, he attended high school in Dallas and was on the disabled track team. “I ran with crutches. I had to keep buying new shoes and extra tips because they wore out all the time.” I asked when Travis gave up racing. “I think I still race,” he replied with a smile.
While attending Kilgore Junior College, Travis received word that two of his brothers had been in a boating accident. By the time he reached the hospital, they were both deceased.
Travis moved to Salt Lake City in 1994 and was diagnosed with MS shortly after. He continued his college education but was forced to give up the crutches for a wheel chair. “I have to thank God I’m able to take care of myself.” He refuses to be a prisoner in his own house. When hospice started to assist him, Travis refused to let them stay for more than three hours. “I don’t have very long to live and I’m going to live it the way I want to.” Travis still gets out and about and travels long distances in his wheelchair.
About a year ago Travis was diagnosed with Cancer. It appeared to go into remission for several months but was active again by December of 2007. At that point he was told he had six months to a year to live. When asked if that made him nervous, Travis replied, “Yes, a little. I don’t want to die yet.”
Travis recently saw the movie, “Bucket List,” where two men preparing to die make a list of things they want to do first. Afterwards, Travis decided to make a bucket list with a mutual friend named Brian. “Never in my life have I gone fishing, flown a kite, learned to drive, or learned to swim.” Together he and Brian have started working on the list. Unsure of whether he will get to do it or not, Travis put skydiving on his list. “I’m not going to have it said that I wasted my life.” One of the most important items on his list is to spend one full day with a good friend.
Travis still had a smile on his face (he is not in want of a sense of humor). When asked how he had found strength for each of his challenges, he told me a story.
“I find strength from my friends. I draw strength from anywhere I can get it. I find strength when I don’t think I have any left. It has to be the Lord,” he said. “It has to be the Holy Spirit.”
Travis said he was fifteen when he went to see a good friend in Kansas. Candy Jones was the step-daughter of his father’s best friend whom he and his father would occasionally visit. On that particular visit Candy seemed happier than he remembered seeing her before. Travis asked her what made the difference. “You need to read this book,” Candy replied, and then she handed him a copy of The Book of Mormon.
Travis decided to begin reading the book that night. He read about prophets in ancient America. He read the testimony of Joseph Smith, Jr. who translated the book. After reading for some time, Travis said he felt a calm peaceful feeling come over him. The next morning he told Candy about what he had read and the feeling he had had. “That is the Spirit,” Candy said.
Feeling the influence of the Holy Ghost was something that Travis was not familiar with. Candy explained that the feelings he had felt were how God let’s us know when things are true. Travis made arrangements to learn more when he got home. Believing the message to be true, Travis was baptized a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints soon after on his sixteenth birthday.
“The gospel has given me understanding and peace in life. If I didn’t have the Lord in my life, and the belief in my life, I don’t think I would be smiling now.”
As I reflected on Travis’ story, I thought about my own experiences with the Holy Spirit. I also thought about the witness I had received concerning The Book of Mormon. I too know it is true. The word of the Lord is sweet to me as is the Holy Spirit. Like Travis, it gives me strength to keep going. The Savior, himself, told his disciples the key, “Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you: not as the world giveth, give I unto you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid.” (St. John 14:27)
Thank you, Travis.
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
Sunday, August 24, 2008
Flight from Independence
On a return flight from the Kansas City International Airport, I once found myself having a very peculiar conversation. The man I sat next to appeared to be about my age and well mannered. Little did I know when I boarded the plane that our families shared a colorful story on the frontier of the United States.
We started with the usual airplane small talk. I was going home and he was leaving it. We were both traveling on business. I mentioned that I was an architect and had been doing work in Independence, Missouri. He was in law enforcement. From the way things went, I would have predicted a rather short conversation. Things changed when I mentioned that three of my relatives were also in law enforcement. With a common thread, we spent the next hour and a half sharing experiences.
In the course of our conversation, my new acquaintance told me that his family had lived in Caldwell County, Missouri, for the last five generations. That caught my attention. I, too, had family who lived there several generations back.
We discovered in a few short minutes that our ancestors had very opposing views, and they were not afraid to show it. Animosity between them and others in the area escalated to a conflict known as the battle of Crooked River. My third-great-grandfather was one of the leaders in that unfortunate battle. Fortunately, neither of our families were wounded.
I thought it unique that the two of us were sitting together, realizing that our grandparents had tried to kill each other, and we were okay with that. There were no grudges or awkward feelings, just a mutual understanding. I think we both acknowledged that there are better ways of solving disputes.
The Savior once instructed his disciples, “If ye are not one, ye are not mine.” I believe this direction goes beyond just removing barriers. It means making an effort to love and appreciate others, not just tolerate them. I find the more I know about someone, the easier it is to like them, and forgive them.
Knowing someone and knowing about them are two different things. I can learn about someone from a second hand source, but my impressions are often incorrect or incomplete. Knowing someone, however, requires direct interaction and exchange. It usually involves a little more time and effort. I feel it brings me closer to being “one” as the Savior described.
I’ve since gained a greater appreciation for looking at things from someone else’s perspective, especially if they are at odds with me. The ability to do so, and at least appreciate their view for what it is, is essential in breaking down walls that divide us. Each story has two sides, and often more. This man’s family obviously had a very different point of view from mine, but I couldn’t say that they were wrong. Our conversation certainly didn’t change my beliefs, but it did change my understanding. I had a more complete picture to reference.
Following our conversation, the man and I said goodbye and we have not seen each other again. The memory, though, is clear. I am especially glad that we found a common thread for a discussion. Sometimes that’s all it takes.
We started with the usual airplane small talk. I was going home and he was leaving it. We were both traveling on business. I mentioned that I was an architect and had been doing work in Independence, Missouri. He was in law enforcement. From the way things went, I would have predicted a rather short conversation. Things changed when I mentioned that three of my relatives were also in law enforcement. With a common thread, we spent the next hour and a half sharing experiences.
In the course of our conversation, my new acquaintance told me that his family had lived in Caldwell County, Missouri, for the last five generations. That caught my attention. I, too, had family who lived there several generations back.
We discovered in a few short minutes that our ancestors had very opposing views, and they were not afraid to show it. Animosity between them and others in the area escalated to a conflict known as the battle of Crooked River. My third-great-grandfather was one of the leaders in that unfortunate battle. Fortunately, neither of our families were wounded.
I thought it unique that the two of us were sitting together, realizing that our grandparents had tried to kill each other, and we were okay with that. There were no grudges or awkward feelings, just a mutual understanding. I think we both acknowledged that there are better ways of solving disputes.
The Savior once instructed his disciples, “If ye are not one, ye are not mine.” I believe this direction goes beyond just removing barriers. It means making an effort to love and appreciate others, not just tolerate them. I find the more I know about someone, the easier it is to like them, and forgive them.
Knowing someone and knowing about them are two different things. I can learn about someone from a second hand source, but my impressions are often incorrect or incomplete. Knowing someone, however, requires direct interaction and exchange. It usually involves a little more time and effort. I feel it brings me closer to being “one” as the Savior described.
I’ve since gained a greater appreciation for looking at things from someone else’s perspective, especially if they are at odds with me. The ability to do so, and at least appreciate their view for what it is, is essential in breaking down walls that divide us. Each story has two sides, and often more. This man’s family obviously had a very different point of view from mine, but I couldn’t say that they were wrong. Our conversation certainly didn’t change my beliefs, but it did change my understanding. I had a more complete picture to reference.
Following our conversation, the man and I said goodbye and we have not seen each other again. The memory, though, is clear. I am especially glad that we found a common thread for a discussion. Sometimes that’s all it takes.
Thursday, August 21, 2008
A Visit to the Mosque
I’d never been to a mosque before. It was the 6th Annual Open Mosque Day for the Islamic Society of Orange County – an event to promote a correct awareness of the Islamic faith. With the rise of public opinions informed and sponsored by the news media, I jumped at the chance to go with my cousin, Elliott.
With friendly welcomes and greetings, we removed our shoes and entered the prayer room. It was a large room where rows of individuals would face the front and prostrate themselves in prayer. A number were already gathered for the afternoon prayer observation. We were invited to sit while some were finishing their prayers. As I watched, I felt a reverence that was very familiar to me. I also felt a peaceful calm. I wanted to pray with them, and not just in my heart.
After the prayer observation, we listened to a few presentations and the Q&A that followed. We were then invited to eat food they had prepared for the occasion. It was delicious. My regret is that I no longer remember the names of the dishes they had prepared for their guests.
My experience gave me much to ponder, both there and long after we left. I reflected on the beautiful modesty of the Hijab the women wore. I noted the friendly handshake I had received from many of the men. I felt greatly impressed by their kindness.
Certainly there were some differences between their faith and mine, but I found there was much more we shared in common. Somehow, the differences didn’t seem to stand in the way of feelings I felt in my heart. I felt that we are truly brothers and sisters worshiping the same God. Their reverence and submission was inspiring. If anything, I realized there were some ways in which they were better at living my religion than I am.
Among the several lessons I learned in my brief visit, the blessing of prayer is one that was reaffirmed in my mind. I couldn’t help but feel the love of God as I watched others offer prayers to him. Some prayers may more closely resemble recitation than conversation, but I truly believe that God answers those who earnestly seek him.
I look at my own life, and I can without hesitation say that God answers my prayers daily – not just generally, but specific answers that make it clear someone is helping me. Clearly the Christian scripture teaches, “Ask and ye shall receive,” because Father will give good things to His children who ask Him.
During the times in my life when I am least selfish, and most focused on helping other people, I feel closest to Father. I feel Him guiding my footsteps and filling my heart with peace and happiness. It is during those times that I feel closer to Him in prayer, and I feel that He answers my prayers with greater rapidity.
I feel blessed to have visited the mosque this last Sunday. I am strengthened by others’ careful practice of prayer. More so now I am inclined to ask myself, “Am I as diligent as I can be in my personal prayer? How can I be more submissive, more grateful, and more sincere?”
Thank you, my brothers of another faith. As I was greeted, “Assalamu Alaikum.” Or in English, “Peace be upon you.”
For more information about the Islamic Society of Orange County, visit www.isocmasjid.com.
With friendly welcomes and greetings, we removed our shoes and entered the prayer room. It was a large room where rows of individuals would face the front and prostrate themselves in prayer. A number were already gathered for the afternoon prayer observation. We were invited to sit while some were finishing their prayers. As I watched, I felt a reverence that was very familiar to me. I also felt a peaceful calm. I wanted to pray with them, and not just in my heart.
After the prayer observation, we listened to a few presentations and the Q&A that followed. We were then invited to eat food they had prepared for the occasion. It was delicious. My regret is that I no longer remember the names of the dishes they had prepared for their guests.
My experience gave me much to ponder, both there and long after we left. I reflected on the beautiful modesty of the Hijab the women wore. I noted the friendly handshake I had received from many of the men. I felt greatly impressed by their kindness.
Certainly there were some differences between their faith and mine, but I found there was much more we shared in common. Somehow, the differences didn’t seem to stand in the way of feelings I felt in my heart. I felt that we are truly brothers and sisters worshiping the same God. Their reverence and submission was inspiring. If anything, I realized there were some ways in which they were better at living my religion than I am.
Among the several lessons I learned in my brief visit, the blessing of prayer is one that was reaffirmed in my mind. I couldn’t help but feel the love of God as I watched others offer prayers to him. Some prayers may more closely resemble recitation than conversation, but I truly believe that God answers those who earnestly seek him.
I look at my own life, and I can without hesitation say that God answers my prayers daily – not just generally, but specific answers that make it clear someone is helping me. Clearly the Christian scripture teaches, “Ask and ye shall receive,” because Father will give good things to His children who ask Him.
During the times in my life when I am least selfish, and most focused on helping other people, I feel closest to Father. I feel Him guiding my footsteps and filling my heart with peace and happiness. It is during those times that I feel closer to Him in prayer, and I feel that He answers my prayers with greater rapidity.
I feel blessed to have visited the mosque this last Sunday. I am strengthened by others’ careful practice of prayer. More so now I am inclined to ask myself, “Am I as diligent as I can be in my personal prayer? How can I be more submissive, more grateful, and more sincere?”
Thank you, my brothers of another faith. As I was greeted, “Assalamu Alaikum.” Or in English, “Peace be upon you.”
For more information about the Islamic Society of Orange County, visit www.isocmasjid.com.
Monday, August 18, 2008
Seashells and Overcoats
California was an exciting first move away from home. With expectations full of sunshine, palm trees, and sandy beaches, my prospects couldn’t have been brighter. Life was good. I liked my new independence… until it got cold.
Somehow I had missed the part about paradise flying south for the winter. I thought that was only the swallows of San Juan Capistrano. With alternating days of cloud cover and fog banks, I found myself writing home within a week. I resigned some of my independence and gave a pleading description of my predicament to Mom and Dad. (Everyone deserves to have parents like mine.)
Shortly afterward I received a package in the mail. I was ecstatic, but the contents caught me a little off guard. Dad had sent me his own overcoat.
In my correspondence, I had mentioned my frustration in finding a coat I liked. The trend at that time was to adorn coats with an overabundance of straps, flaps, and buttons – much too fussy for my taste. Dad’s, however, was just the coat I couldn’t find.
After I had worn the overcoat for a while, I found an item that made this coat different from any other. Inside one of the pockets was a seashell Dad had left there. I’m not certain where the shell came from, but I guessed that it had come from one of his long ago visits to California. The last time I had seen the shell was a few years previous. Dad had been wearing the coat on that occasion. I remember him pulling out the shell to show me and then he carefully put it back.
Rather than remove the seashell, I decided to keep it right where I found it. Each day when I put the coat on, I would locate the shell, rub its worn and grooved surface between my fingers, and then put it back. I never did get homesick, but the reminder of home shortened the distance.
Years later, I’ve thought about that shell in relation to leaving another home, much further away. Like my Dad, I know I have a Father in heaven who thinks about his son. I’ve started looking for shells he may have placed in my life to remind me of where I come from. Fortunately for me I have found some. Each one holds a very specific meaning. Call me sentimental, but I tend to look at seashells a little differently ever since.
Somehow I had missed the part about paradise flying south for the winter. I thought that was only the swallows of San Juan Capistrano. With alternating days of cloud cover and fog banks, I found myself writing home within a week. I resigned some of my independence and gave a pleading description of my predicament to Mom and Dad. (Everyone deserves to have parents like mine.)
Shortly afterward I received a package in the mail. I was ecstatic, but the contents caught me a little off guard. Dad had sent me his own overcoat.
In my correspondence, I had mentioned my frustration in finding a coat I liked. The trend at that time was to adorn coats with an overabundance of straps, flaps, and buttons – much too fussy for my taste. Dad’s, however, was just the coat I couldn’t find.
After I had worn the overcoat for a while, I found an item that made this coat different from any other. Inside one of the pockets was a seashell Dad had left there. I’m not certain where the shell came from, but I guessed that it had come from one of his long ago visits to California. The last time I had seen the shell was a few years previous. Dad had been wearing the coat on that occasion. I remember him pulling out the shell to show me and then he carefully put it back.
Rather than remove the seashell, I decided to keep it right where I found it. Each day when I put the coat on, I would locate the shell, rub its worn and grooved surface between my fingers, and then put it back. I never did get homesick, but the reminder of home shortened the distance.
Years later, I’ve thought about that shell in relation to leaving another home, much further away. Like my Dad, I know I have a Father in heaven who thinks about his son. I’ve started looking for shells he may have placed in my life to remind me of where I come from. Fortunately for me I have found some. Each one holds a very specific meaning. Call me sentimental, but I tend to look at seashells a little differently ever since.
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