Larry Burns: Here Am I, Send Me

Here am I, Send Me…

In the doctrine and canonized scripture of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, there is a belief and understanding that before this Earth was created a Great Council was held.  This Council was led by God, our Heavenly Father.  The goal of the Council was to present to us, His spirit children, a plan that would allow us to progress and to become more like Him.  This plan involved us leaving His presence, to pass through a veil of forgetfulness and to have our spirits enter mortal bodies.  With these mortal, physical bodies, and with no clear memory of our pre-existence, each of us would be tested and tried to see if we would be faithful to return to our Heavenly Father and receive eternal life with Him.

Key to this plan was the fact that all of us would fall short of what was required to return to dwell with our Heavenly Father.  All of us would make mistakes and sin.  All of us would struggle with the appetites and weaknesses of a physical body.  In order for us to be cleansed, a Savior was required.  This Savior also would be required to receive a body, to face and experience all of the temptations, sufferings, and sorrows common to humanity…and to be perfect, to be clean.  This Atoning sacrifice would bring pain that we cannot comprehend.

The great Father of us all asked: “Whom shall I send?”

One of His Sons, who sought to glorify his Father and save and exalt the others, said: “Here am I, send me.”

The Father accepted the offering.  Jesus Christ came to Earth to save mankind.  In the Garden of Gethsemane, prior to His death, the pains and sorrows of humanity began to settle upon Him.  Twice He asked the Father if the “cup might not pass away from me.”  Both times He accepted the Father’s will and drank the bitter cup.

For the past week, as I thought of Larry Burns, I can’t help but think of how he emulates our Savior Jesus Christ.  Larry made the choice to be a law enforcement officer, to serve and protect the people of his community.  During that time Larry chose some of the most dangerous assignments by serving in and commanding the SWAT team.  Each day that he, and every other law enforcement officers, put on his or her uniform, they are offering up their lives on behalf of others. 

In the New Testament, Gospel of Matthew chapter 10 verse 39, we read:

“He that findeth his life shall lose it: and he that loseth his life for my sake shall find it.”

Each day, Larry willingly offered up his life, and because of that he found it in a life of service and influence.  His wife and children made the same sacrifice throughout his career.  Each day they walked out the door not knowing when or if he would come back home.

We also read in the New Testament, Gospel of John chapter 15 verse 13:

“Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.”

With each action and door entry as a member of SWAT, with each traffic stop, with each welfare check, or community engagement, Larry laid his life upon the altar for his friends, those he knew and those he didn’t.  Just because the Lord didn’t take the offered sacrifice, doesn’t diminish the value or sincerity of the offering.  Larry loved his friends.  His friends were his community.  His friends were everyone. 

With retirement, Larry didn’t pick up his offering and walk away.  His time, his talents, his resources, and his life remained upon the altar available to any who were in need.  Last week, God leaned over and picked up his sacrifice, taking Larry home to him.

For some reason, a few decades ago, Larry stood when he heard the call and said, “Here am I, send me.”  Then he said the same thing every day for the rest of his life.

Godspeed, Larry Burns.  God bless his family and loved ones.

Glen the Angel

Last night, after a day of meetings in Salt Lake City, I ducked into the Deseret Book across from Temple Square to buy a few things for my wife.  With the cold, damp air of winter, it felt good to step inside the store.  I used the opportunity to make a quick call for work.  I walked to an area of the store away from most other patrons to avoid disturbing anyone.  As I was talking, a middle aged man in a dark overcoat and beanie approached me.  He appeared to be listening to something on his headphones.  

I walked away from him to continue my conversation.  When I turned around he was standing close again, looking at me.  As we made I
eye contact, he gave me a beautiful, innocent smile.  I smiled and nodded.  He walked away and I thought that was it.  When I wrapped up my conversation I went to look for the books I was sent to get.  This gentleman again walked right up to me.

Seeing that he wanted to talk, I turned to engage with him.  As soon as he started to speak, I knew he was one of Heavenly Father’s special souls.  He asked me what I was looking for.  He asked if I was from Salt Lake.  He asked me what calling I had in my ward.  After I had answered a slough of questions, I started to ask him some of the same questions.  I don’t remember if he answered many because suddenly he asked if he could shake my hand.  I did so gladly, taking his hand that was inside a knitted glove.  As we clasped hands he immediately leaned into me, put his other hand on my head to pull it to his.

Heavenly Father must have known that I needed to feel loved that evening.  That feeling of love overwhelmed me.  

As he stepped back, he said, “I’m glad you like special people.”

I said I liked special people, that I liked all kinds of people.  He gave me another hug.  I tried to ask him more questions and he gave me another hug.

After the third or fourth hug, he said he had to leave and said again that he was glad that special people didn’t bother me.  

As he started to walk away, I realized that I wanted to know his name, so I asked.

“My name is Glen.”

Another hug.  He started to walk away and turned back.  

“What’s your name?”

“Jarad.”

One final hug and he was gone.  He’s the one that made me feel special and was an instrument in God’s hands that night.

Bless Our Men and Women of the Thin Blue Line

Many of us have no idea when we or our loved ones might take our last breath.  We don’t know when our health might take a sudden turn or when an unexpected accident or disaster might end our life.  There are individuals among us, who every day walk out the door to go to work and face a significantly higher chance of not coming home.  I’m thinking of those that serve in the military, in law enforcement, as fire fighters and first responders.  For some reason, there are those among us that are willing to put themselves at greater risk every day to make our lives safer and more secure.

As the son of a lifelong law enforcement office and military veteran, it was normal for me to know that my dad was leaving for a shift or for an overseas deployment knowing that he might not come home.  On more than one occasion I remember my father, ready to walk out the door after some type of family strife, doing his best to soften hurt feelings.  He would say, “I can’t leave with us angry at each other.”  In case of any terrible incident at work, he didn’t want our last interaction with him to be unkind or angry.  He didn’t want that to be our last memory of our living relationship with him.

Sometimes I thought he was a little too dramatic about it.  Often, I would ride with him during his shifts, both as a deputy sheriff in a rural county and as a police office in a medium-sized city.  Most shifts were uneventful with seemingly little risk of harm.  But I remember watching him carefully approach a car he had pulled over on the side of a lonely highway late at night and wondering why everyone was moving around in the vehicle.  Questions began to run through my mind.  What if they were breaking a law?  What if they had a warrant out for their arrest?  What if they were armed?  What if they started shooting?  It was an unpleasant experience.

Another experience comes to mind when I was with him.  He and another officer responded to an alarm at an office building.  When we arrived, a door was ajar.  I watched as the drew their weapons and cleared the building, listening closely to the radio as they reported their progress.  Again, uncomfortable questions began to run through my mind.

Sitting in his police vehicle, on more than one occasion, he talked me through the importance of knowing our location in case he became incapacitated and I needed to call for more help.  He talked to me about driving his vehicle away in case things became openly violent.  It never happened, but I always payed attention. 

As far as I know, my father was never shot at while on duty as a law enforcement officer.  The same isn’t true of his decades of military service in the US Navy Reserve.  He was deployed to Kuwait, Iraq, and Afghanistan on more than one occasion, flying in and out of dangerous areas.  Together with his fellow sailors, soldiers, and marines, he survived multiple mortar round attacks. 

Every time a law enforcement officer dies in the line of service, my heart breaks.  It breaks for the officer’s family.  It breaks for the officer’s fellow officers.  It breaks for the officer’s community.  My heart breaks every time one of our brave men or women die as part of their military service.  None of these people are forced to put themselves in harm’s way on our behalf.  They chose to do it.

This past week one loss hit extremely close to home.  Tears and anxiety hit me hard when I learned that a Provo City Police Officer was shot and killed in the line of duty.  My father served the Provo City Police Department for twenty years, retiring as a lieutenant.  I know several of the officers at the department.  Some are close family friends.  I’ve ran marathons and other races with several of them.  Immediately, I started to run through the names of all of the officers.  I reached out to my father, who is serving as a Federal agent in Germany for the US Government (his retirement job).  We continued to message back and forth as we waited for the name of the officer to be released to the public.

I never met Officer Joseph Shinners, but I know him.  I know his family.  I know the worry that they felt every day he went to work.  I know the pride his family felt because of his service.  I know of Officer Shinners’ desire to do something bigger than himself, to protect others.  I know that he thought of his family often while he worked, especially when he weighed the costs and risks of his chose profession. 

In the face of all the negative press and feelings toward law enforcement, I remain deeply grateful for a group of men and women that are willing to give so much for others.  Let us not forget that they are willing to do what many of us would never consider doing.  Let us not forget that in a moment of danger and need, we want a police officer to be at the ready, present to help us.  Let us not forget that much of the safety and security exists in our communities because these men and women are willing to stand between us and those who have no respect for the law or the rights of others.  They, not us, step up to deal with the unpleasantness and the danger.

God bless the men and women in uniform.

Officer Joseph Shinners Biography

https://www.heraldextra.com/lifestyles/announcements/obituaries/officer-joseph-william-shinners/article_edcdf4dc-2e07-5d90-8fb2-deb0ff4d3986.html

Remembering Arloa and Chuck White

How many young people in Duchesne learned how to dance – square dancing, ballroom dancing, line dancing – from Mrs. White in elementary school?  How many young people in Duchesne learned to be more responsible for their own actions by interacting with Mrs. White in elementary school?

I must admit, there were times that I was a little scared of Mrs. White.  She could be a little sharp with her words and firm in her expectations, especially for a carefree young boy.  Not once, however, did I doubt that she cared about me and all the other students at school.  A person can’t work that hard at their job and not love the people they serve. 

When I was on the “dance team” in sixth grade, one of my favorite things was to see her smile or hear her offer praise to us after we had done well at a dance.  Praises and smiles came only after work, practice, correction, and more instruction.  Her passion and high expectations pushed me to work harder and to expect more of myself. 

And who didn’t love to see Mrs. White riding around town on her scooter?

It wasn’t until high school, however, that I got to know her at a personal level.  At Church, I was assigned to be home teaching companions with her husband Chuck.  He was just starting to get active in the Church and I was assigned to show him how to be a home teacher.  Spending time with Chuck was a treat for me.  He had a wonderful sense of humor and great stories about working all over the Basin and the Mountain West.  It was great to listen to him visit and share stories with the families we were assigned to visit.  We even had the privilege of working together for two summers at the school district.  One day, after I had graduated from high school and before I left on my mission, we were assigned to tear out a bathroom at Union High School.  The school year had just started.  It was time to carry a toilet out of the bathroom and throw in the back of our truck, but it was in between classes.  I told Chuck that we should wait until everyone was back in the classroom. 

He smiled and said, “No, let’s do it now.”

So I was on the front side of that heavy, industrial toilet with the front of the bowl tucked right up under my chin.  We stepped out into the hallway, completely full of students and faculty.  I endured the shocked and teasing comments in good cheer, until I saw a girl that I spent time with at a dance a week or two before.  She looked right at me, she recognized me and her face contorted in disgust.  I never asked her out.

One Sunday, after Chuck and I were home teaching companions for a bit, Mrs. White pulled me aside to tell me thank you for being friends with her husband.  I wasn’t sure what to say, but I assured her that it was an honor for me.  She then invited me to come by their home sometime to visit. 

Over the course of my last year of high school I did just that a handful of times.  Usually it was just for a dessert on a Sunday afternoon.  It also turned out that all three of us liked Ray Stevens, so we spent an afternoon watching their collection of Ray Stevens VHS tapes.  They told me about their family, about Chuck’s work in the oil field, about their family vacations.  Chuck even once called to confide in me a problem he was having and asked me, a seventeen year old kid for advice. They listened as I discussed plans for college and a mission and my dating life.

I was saddened to learn of Mrs. White's passing this week.  I was blessed to get to know Chuck and her so well.  All of us were blessed for knowing Arloa and Chuck White.

_______________________________

Blackburn Vernal Mortuary

Arloa Woolley White
September 11, 1940 ~ November 17, 2017

On November 17, 2017, we lost our dearly devoted wife, mother, grandmother and friend. Arloa was born on September 11, 1940, to Arlo and Stella Wooley in Vernal, Utah. After being raised in Rangley, Colorado, she married Charles (Chuck) White on December 21, 1957. She traveled all over the western US with Chuck's work, until settling in Duchesne, Utah in 1971. She touched many children's lives while working as the elementary secretary and teaching dance. After retiring in 2000, her and Chuck traveled all over the country in a motorhome for 11 years, finally settling in a new home in Stansbury Park, Utah. She loved to sing karaoke, and teach line dancing to her friends. She is survived by her children; Rick (Debbie) White; San Antonio, Texas; Arla (Mark) Liebmann, of Stansbury Park, Utah; 7 grandchildren; 4 great-grandchildren, and numerous relatives and friends, including siblings sister, Connie (Bill) Bankster, of Grand Junction, Colorado; Leon (Jenny) Wooley, of Rifle, Colorado; Gwen (Les) Wilson, of Pasco, Washington. She was preceded in death by her parents, and brother, Art Wooley. Funeral services will be conducted on Wednesday, November 22, 2017 at 11 a.m. at the Blackburn and Sons Vernal Mortuary. A viewing will be held Tuesday from 6-8 p.m. and one hour prior to the services. Burial will be in Maeser Fairview Cemetery, under the care and direction of the Blackburn and Sons Vernal Mortuary.