"Beaches," babies, and the Bishop's Storehouse

Me at the Palmyra temple







The gang after the Bishop's storehouse enjoying a walk around the temple.


The Sacred Grove...a beautiful natural wonderland of Western NY forest.


Standing on the line in-between Wayne and Manchester counties...I'm supposed to look confused if you can't tell.

Inside the visitor's center at the Hill Cumorah, admiring a collection of Book of Mormons--now in print in 107 languages throughout the world. I couldn't find K'iche' or Guarani among the mix, but there was Kaqchikel (in the old orthography), Chiapan Mayan, and Tzotzil.



The momument atop the Hill Cumorah. Soon to be overlooking the famous Hill Cumorah Pageant.


Playing disc golf...that's right it's actually a sport including regulated holes, tee-off points, and "discs" not to be confused with Frisbees.



Yes, the official Jamesville Beach State Park Speed Limit is a whopping 17 mph...as a future public administrator I guess I should know why that is, but at this point in time, I thought it was just worth a picture.




Luis and Jason njoying the 4th of July barbecue...mmm mmm mmmm!


Despite the official start of graduate school last week, the four-day colloquium was a real get-to-know your classmates and didn't involve any real class work. It was a great introduction to the people in the MPA department, my new classmates, and the general layout of Syracuse University. But, all that cake-walking is coming to an end as I head into Public Budgeting (affectionately called Boot Camp) on Monday.

Celebrating my last weekend of freedom before entering the gauntlet of graduate school classes, I discovered disc golf with a few other classmates at nearby Jamesville Beach State Park. The "beach" was really pretty and well-maintained but the real splendor lied in the 18-hole disc golf course on the grounds. We rented a set of discs and I soon learned just how much skill was involved in chucking a small round piece of plastic towards an iron basket 400 feet away. There were 3 discs in the set--one for long-range, one for mid-range, and one for putting/approaching. And, as we learned, each had it's own technique and purpose. I had no idea such a sport would be so technical! Plus, you can't throw it like an ultimate frisbee--the only way I really know how to throw--but more like a discus. After the first nine holes, we were all pretty exhausted, so we hunkered down to some picnic food and chatted about international politics.

In the middle of the joys of beach bumming, I got a phone call from Suzanne confirming that she had, indeed, given birth to a bright-eyed baby girl on July 2. I had been desparately trying to call anyone in the family to get the latest news but had to wait 2 days before getting anything official. So, welcome new niece!!

Later on, a front porch barbecue ensued, followed by some chillin on the side deck with a group of MPAs. We decided to drive over to the fireworks being launched at the State Fair Grounds only to find ourselves in an hour-long traffic jam to get off the freeway and get parking. My leg was throbbing from holding the clutch in for so long and I couldn't help but complain about the aggressive drivers that felt entitled to zoom to the front of the line and then barge in...at one point a lady in an Expedition rolled down here window and signaled that she wanted me to let her in, but I shook my head and promptly received a barrage of colorful language and hand gestures as they drove off looking for another entrance. Again, welcome to New York driving.

We didn't get far after parking the car before the fireworks started, so we just plopped down at the nearest patch of grass. I can't honestly say if it was worth the drive and frustration, but being my first 4th of July in the United States since 2004, I enjoyed at least the chance to be part of the tradition of barbecues, fireworks, and good company. Interestingly enough, all 4 of us in my car heading for the fireworks turned out to be non-drinkers. We commented on how it was hard to find people that don't drink because, well, you don't exactly congregate to not drink while those of the alcohol find themselves together a lot easier. So, the Lord definitely has His way of letting me know that things are OK and that I'm not alone even if I'm in the minority.

Early Saturday morning, I headed down to a small town outside of Palmyra NY to do some service at the Bishop's Storehouse. One of 4 from the singles group, I had a great time filling bags with dairy and meat along an assembly line of volunteers. There was an older lady in charge of the fresh produce that completely stressed me out as she rushed everybody into making mistakes are really defeating the fun we would otherwise have had. But, in the end, we found little ways to enjoy the tasks and ended up filling 40 orders for families throughout Central New York, filling 2 trucks with basic foodstuffs as produced by the Church's welfare department. The best part of the trip, though, was the following couple of hours as we visited the sites around Palmyra.

First, we hit the Hill Cumorah, complete with the preparations for the Hill Cumorah Pageant that will start next week. Groups of youth practiced their fight scenes while others mastered the choreography of the trumpet-blowers. We headed into the visitor's center and I immediately saw that the Sister Missionaries that greeted us had their nametags in Spanish. I began to converse with one, finding out she had come here from Puebla, Mexico and, with only 4 months of experience, understood my pain of trying to transition into another language and culture.

The Spirit was overpowering as we toured the Smith farm--from the log home where the family first lived and where Joseph had first seen the angel Moroni to the fields he had tilled and worked to the sacred grove and the sight of the First Vision. Incredible. I received my own testimony of the Church a long time ago but more as an extension of my witnesses of the Book of Mormon itself and the doctrine of the Restoration. But, I had always struggled with the reality of a boy prophet and the conduit of that restoration coming through a typical 14-year-old. I had accepted it but always struggled to really say that I knew Joseph was a prophet. That may sound odd, but it's true. But, as I walked the fields and stepped into the replica of the log home, somehow it just came alive and I knew that he had, indeed, been called of God. The Spirit was just so strong that nothing else fit in my head, neither the constant intonation from the tour guide nor the intermittent distractions of the surrounding countryside and the subtle sounds of the other tourists in the visiting centers...nothing could dissuade the strength of the calming reassurance that the place was sacred.

We finished touring around and headed into Palmyra where we grabbed a pizza at one of the 2 restaurants in the entire sleepy town. We then scuttled over to the one LDS bookstore in the area, surprisingly complete, sporting everything from scripture totes and Spanish scriptures to youth T-shirts and Relief Society lesson ideas. I was really tempted to grab some CDs or even replace the scriptures that are reportedly in the mail since I accidentally left them at home...but decided to wait it out until at least pageant-time.

So, anyway, things are going at lightning speed, like normal. Hope all is going well with everyone in their respective homes. Until the next post...