My dad has always been one of my heroes. He is a faithful priesthood holder, a great father and husband, a funny man, a smart man. He has been a hard worker all his life, working as a farmer/dairyman for many long, hard years. He also is a wise man. Let me tell you a story.
Now, my mom was a rather ... excitable gal (a bit like me). My dad, however, is just the opposite. One afternoon many years ago, as Dad sat in his favorite easy chair, reading the newspaper, he heard my mother's excited voice from the kitchen.
"Myrl! Come here!"
Thinking maybe something was on fire, he jumped up and ran into the kitchen, where my mother was looking out the window.
"Look!" she cried, pointing outside.
As he looked, he saw that a famous (infamous) Idaho wind was whipping across our farm. As it blew, it was grabbing the neat windrows of cut hay and blowing them all over the fields.
Dad said he realized he had four options:
(1) Stop the wind.
(2) Go out and try to sit on the hay to keep it from blowing around.
(3) Wring his hands and get an ulcer.
(4) Go back to reading his paper and, when the wind stopped, go out and clean up the mess, which is what he did.
When things spin out of control in my own life, I try to remember Dad's wise advise. I may not be able to stop the wind or sit on the hay; I sure don't want an ulcer; so maybe I'd best just relax and do what I can.
Thanks, Dad.
