The Civil War and Mr. Kevin Giddins

In an effort to keep ourselves culturally sound and well-rounded (ahem, we may be failing anyway), Annie's parents have been getting us season tickets to the Hale Center Theatre for the last few years as a Christmas gift. We love going to these plays and look forward to them every time they come around.

I'm constantly in awe of the performers that make that tiny theatre feel like it has all the resources necessary for a caliber production worth far more than the price of admission. Every single time we go to one, I am filled with envy of each of the performers and always tell myself I'm going to audition for the next play and fulfill one thing on my bucket list (then the next one comes and goes and I say I'm going to do it next time, etc).

But my lack of any plays on my acting resume is not the focus of my thoughts tonight.

Tonight we saw The Civil War performed at HCT. Usually the plays we see there are comedic in nature and we leave having laughed the entire time--but this musical had a much different feel to it, as you can imagine. The stories told and the journey into that time in our country's history are significant and worthwhile. If you haven't seen it, you should go see it. Click here for tickets and support local theatre! (I get zero commission for tickets sold).

I had many thoughts and observations during this musical, two of which I think are worth noting:

1) I am amazed at how great of hair so many men in this valley have and I'd kill for just one day with the hair I used to have, which I think was equally as great. You should see some of the locks of hair flowing in The Civil War...and the facial hair, don't even get me started on the facial hair. I mean, as if I'm not already jealous of these guys for them being in plays and being able to sing and act, etc, I am green over the ease they boast with regards to facial hair. Ugh. If only.

2) The racial lines are clear in this play and, obviously, the topic of slavery is at the forefront. In the play, there is a married older couple--black slaves, Clayton and Bessie Toler. Coincidentally enough, the characters of Clayton and Bessie were played by two African-Americans who are in fact married outside of their theatrical responsibilities.

Lita Little Giddins played the role of Bessie, and she was fantastic, emotional, and quite endearing.

The role of Clayton was played by her real life husband, as I mentioned, Kevin Giddins. While I was impressed with the way that Kevin and Lita portrayed their characters on stage and the way they let emotion tell the story of what the slaves must have been going through during that time, I was even more impressed with what I think is probably Kevin's life philosophy--and I read it in his bio in the show program.

After mentioning his work outside of theatre it goes on to explain that he was raised in a home with eleven brothers and sisters. Then, Kevin says something very interesting in his bio--which I'm assuming he wrote and believes wholeheartedly in.

"His father was Catholic and his mother was Baptist while he, being raised in a Jewish community, a high school girlfriend who was Pentacostal, and boyhood friends Jehova Witness, his sister's a Muslim, and Kevin served an LDS mission. Kevin's middle name is 'Diversity' and a civil war NEVER erupted in his home because there was an awareness of what was...a hope of what could be...and, love."

There were several instances in the musical that nearly brought me to tears (or maybe did bring me to tears), but these words in Kevin's bio struck the same type of emotional feelings. I found it so fitting to read those words, especially during this time in our country where tolerance of ALL people's beliefs and ideas is lacking.

Kevin's family and social circles sound as diverse as one could possibly be, and he made it a point to stress the respect they all had for each other's beliefs and thoughts--so much respect that a civil war NEVER erupted amongst his family. I love the way that is worded in his bio.

My family features many different types as well--straight, gay, Mormon, Catholic, Baptist, Athiest, Agnostic, drug addicts, alcoholics, and so on and so forth. Yet, I've seen some civil wars erupt in our family. Fortunately, I've also seen those civil wars seem to be repaired, at least a little bit, but it's still sad to see it happen sometimes.

The point is, I know there are so many families that allow a civil war to erupt because they aren't willing to just have an awareness of what was, a hope of what could be, and love. And it really isn't worth the loss.

Support gay marriage...oppose gay marriage...so what? Just respectfully believe what you believe and love each other regardless. Think the Mormons are a cult...or that the Catholic church is corrupt...or that Athiests just don't see the point...or that believers of God are in fact often blinded...or whatever the case may be? Fine. Great. Respectfully believe it and don't let these issues cause a civil war to erupt in your families.

My hope for my little Etta is that she can become a well-rounded, culturally sound young woman and be able to see people for who they are and respect all walks of life--regardless of her personal thoughts on the subjects at hand.

I love the diversity and differences in my family. There may be areas where I differ slightly, but I think that's ok, and it doesn't change how much I love my family. And it certainly doesn't change my respect for them.

Sometimes the world scares me when I think of Etta growing up in it. But, the majority of the time, I'm fine because I truly think that, like Ann Frank said, people are mostly just good, despite all the evil (I'm paraphrasing and too lazy to look it up exact
ly, but you get the point).

So, in conclusion, conduct yourself in ways so as to not allow a civil war to erupt amongst your families, and I'll help Etta do the same. :)

Also,  I understand Kevin Giddins lives here in Orem...if anyone knows him, tell him thank you and great work on The Civil War.

Thanks Mitchell and Luke

Tonight I read a post on the Facebook page for Mitchell's Journey.

If you aren't familiar with Mitchell Jones, it would be worth visiting the Facebook page and reading the articles that have been posted online here, here, and here recently.

The story of Mitchell Jones first came across my view from a post from a Herriman, Utah resident linking me to the Facebook page for Mitchell. I read a little bit about the young man and followed his story as best I could through the Facebook page and through the posts from people who lived in Herriman close to his family and knew his family.

I didn't know Mitchell and I don't know his family. But I'm so incredibly thankful that they opened the undeniably sacred and exclusive doors to Mitchell's Journey to all of us because it will forever change the way I view trials and tribulations.

His story has made major headlines and has accumulated a following of thousands of people online--many of whom I believe experienced the same emotions and feelings I did through following his story.

The Jones family posted some heart-wrenching photos of the funeral preparations on the Facebook page. The agony and pain that is so clear and obvious is undeniable. Yet, the hope and understanding they eloquently portray that accompanies those negative emotions is even more so undeniable.

This story has made me appreciate every single day I have with Etta. It's made me realize what a precious gift she is. So many things change in our lives, but that's one thing that will never change--she'll always be my little girl, no matter what, and that is such a happy emotion.

I can't imagine going through what the Jones family has gone through. I don't even want to try to imagine it. But their hope made way for my hope to grow stronger. And I'm thankful to them for that.

Mitchell passed away on Saturday, March 2. According to the Facebook page, the night before he passed away his best friend and neighbor, Luke, wanted to come over and hang out with him. The family very lovingly obliged.

You can find this post on the Facebook page, it's titled Boys Made of Clay. It's written by one of Mitchell's parents and it's one of the most beautiful tributes and one of the most shining example of people who get "it."

I wanted to include it in this post, so the following is from Boys Made of Clay from the Mitchell's Journey Facebook page. Thanks Mitchell and Luke.

Boys Made of Clay

"The night before Mitchell passed away we sensed that time was running out. As the sky quickly darkened the air grew eerily cold … and with each breath we felt a heavy, somber feeling grow within our hearts. That abyss that was inching to devour our son had its mouth stretched wide and was beginning to take away my son.

We were preparing to cuddle with Mitch in his room and read him stories and comfort him when we received a call from his best friend and next-door neighbor who wanted to see if he could play. Unaware that Mitchell was already slipping away and was coming in and out of consciousness (mostly out), we asked this young boy if we could speak to his mother … which we did … and described what was happening. We quickly learned that Luke wanted to come over and say goodbye to our baby, his best buddy.

What I then witnessed in the quite of Mitchell’s room was the most tender interaction between two young boys I have ever seen. It was a sacred exchange between two boys made of clay – each being shaped by experience, hardship, sacrifice and love.

Lying on the bed was our young boy much too young to die, standing next to him another young boy holding his hand, bearing his young soul … much too young to say goodbye. It was not my place to ask God why such heavy things were required by hands of these two innocent souls. Rather I began to ponder deeply and pray in my heart to understand what we were meant to learn from this hardship. These aren't the only two children to experience this, and they won’t be the last. But they were our kids … and we love them so. And it hurt so very much to see.

This young boy, who had loved Mitch like a brother and faithfully served him with all his heart told Mitchell how much he meant to him, that because of Mitch he learned what it meant to be a true friend and that he would never forget him. Luke struggled to hold back the tears, his voice was broken with emotion, as Mitchell lay unable to move or speak as he listened to tender words of affection and friendship. My wife and I wept as we witnessed love and friendship in its purest form.

I knew that Luke, Mitchell’s faithful little friend, was breaking inside. I hugged him and told him how much my wife and I loved and appreciated him. I told him that I was sure if Mitchell were awake he would tell Luke that he loved him like a brother and that he appreciated how he was always there to help him when his muscles were too weak, and to cheer him up when he was sad. I told Luke that he taught Mitchell and his parents what it meant to be your “brother’s keeper” and that we were so grateful to him.

Later that evening I couldn't help but think of that tender experience between these two young boys who were forced to grow up much too fast. I pondered the meaning of human suffering and the difficult experiences we are sometimes required to endure. I have learned to appreciate an old Jewish proverb that basically states "Don't pray for lighter burdens, pray for a stronger back". It would seem that in all religious texts, no matter your religion, God makes no apology for pain and suffering. In fact, I have come to understand there is a sacred relationship between suffering and spirituality, if we learn to listen and endure it well.

I admit the burden of losing my precious son has my knees trembling and hands shaking and my soul in tremendous pain. There exists no word in the human language to describe this pain. It is simply, utterly, bewilderingly heavy. But, like all suffering, the sting of that pain can make way to a deeper compassion toward others, a greater capacity to love, a stronger desire to reach toward God and understand His purposes.

The truth is we are [all of us] no different than these two little boys. We are all made of clay. And with each choice we make, each reaction to events in our life, we carve out something beautiful or something hideous – something that loves or hates. We need only look at our own life experience to know this is true … we have all seen some let the clay in their hearts harden and become brittle or unmovable. Others allow the tears of suffering to keep their clay soft and pliable.

Today my clay is soggy. But the tears will eventually dry and I will do all that I can to remain pliable."