Pro Opere et Gloria Dei

There are few experiences more fulfilling to parents than watching their children immersed in the joy of life: playing, exploring, learning and inevitably growing up. My oldest daughter, Mindy, has always been possessed of that rare and wonderful spirit that not only inspires by example but also fills the world around her with love. It is that undeniable spirit that is occasionally beset with the kind of earthly trials that are meant to help us grow as children of our Heavenly Father. It is one of life's ironies that these times of testing seem to come more frequently to those who are strongest, those who have long since been proven in adversity, those who are loved for what they have already given to a world so in need of their special gift. When for a very long time I was not able to be with Mindy and her sister Fiauna, I often recalled not only their times of joy but their times of pain and fear, when as a consoling father I held them and loved them that much more. In their abse...

The vast universe of cable TV has a rich assortment of exciting documentary programs with which one may expand his or her awareness of things unexplained. I refer mostly to the sudden explosion of material dealing with paranormal phenomena: hour upon hour dedicated to the proposition that all spirits are created equal - or are they? Some show up as full-fledged apparitions, while others just cause a needle to move on a little meter. Meanwhile, there's the invasion of the extraterrestrials, who now reside chiefly at Area 51. I've watched the amazing autopsy films from Roswell, and marveled at the magic metal that once formed a real flying saucer. And who hasn't been persuaded by all that eyewitness evidence of Sasquatch, the Loch Ness Monster, and all the other creatures lurking in the wilderness? Well, in our home there is at least one true believer. I'm learning new and exciting things about the nature of life and the origins of the universe. Finally, it all makes sens...

(2008) Luc and I made the trip to Palmdale, California to attend the 20th anniversary celebration for the B-2 bomber. After standing in line for 45 minutes with 7,000 other people, we decided to take off and wander around aimlessly in the Mojave Desert. Luc wanted to hunt for lizards, and I had hopes of taking some exciting pictures. (Sorry, I can't take credit for the top photo). Luc was very persistent, looking under every rock and tumbleweed he could see. We spotted a couple of Jackrabbits but nothing else. I, however, had some exciting results. I found a living room in the desert, complete with TV: And there was this elegant sofa! Needless to say, you just can't expect to find a lot of scenic wonders when you're wandering aimlessly in the desert hunting for lizards. Actually, we did manage to get a few good shots coming to and from the desert, like the shot below of the California Aqueduct (kind of pretty at sunrise). In the mountains above San Bernardino, after years o...

I keep a personal journal. On the shelf, that is. I know the importance of maintaining an ongoing narrative of one's life experiences, both as an important step toward improved self-awareness and as a gift to future generations who might find it interesting to know how people like me managed to get through this whole business of mortality in one piece. A journal well-kept is a personal treasure. My journal covers over twenty years. All in only twelve pages. Months and even years pass between entries, and most of those are a single paragraph. I even have one entry that reads something like "I had the most interesting experience today." Then nothing. I have no idea what it was that was so interesting, and it obviously will be a mystery forever. The real mystery is how, on such an important subject, I have neglected to follow the rules. I cannot count how many times I have been asked if I remember something that happened years ago, only to find out half my life has faded awa...

The gradual, then sudden reality of age brings with it an almost inaudible rustling of air. The mind and spirit reluctantly sense the whispered message: I’m past my allotted three-score and ten, and the chaotic chatter of existence has become a somehow beautiful but discordant melody mixed with both joy and melancholy. It’s a time when looking both ways - backward and forward - presents a wrinkled but seemless tapestry of hopes and memories, filled with regret, gratitude, joy and the ever-present unknown 

February 3, 2019 was Super Bowl Sunday, a day enjoyed by everyone in the house except me. I found myself pounding away on my computer, working on church records. I had found the work to be stressful and slow, and long hours were the order of the day, everyday. At one point Angelina stepped in, asking me to come out and help her with something when I had a minute. I thought nothing of it, though I was a little curious about what I could do that nobody else could, At an opportune time, I stepped away from my desk and went out to the living room. After asking Angelina what she had needed, I was met by a roomful of incredulous stares, not the least of which was Angelina’s. I was told that she had never come to my room, and furthermore there was no favor that she needed from me. Hallucinations like this happen from time to time, though most of my experiences are unremarkable, predominantly audible phenomena. Still, after the initial shock, I find it can be entertaining to look back on these...

Long before we had PC's we had typewriters. Not electric, self-correcting models, but mechanical boxes with levers and rollers. I hear there are still a few of them around (in museums). This snappy model (pictured with me at the "keyboard") wasn't too bad. At least I thought so. It didn't really have a keyboard. Instead, it had a round dial with the alphanumeric characters on the edge. Pressing the "space bar" pushed the top-most character against a ribbon, resulting in real words, accurately spelled without exception by a seven-year old author. That was how I "wrote" in the fifties, laying the foundation for a brilliant blogging future. Now I still write in the fifties - my fifties, that is. It's almost as fun now as it was then. I only hope my spelling has improved - just a little.

Deep depression continues. But twinged with anger and resentment. The negative emotions persist. It’s easy to detest most people. I’m relentlessly plagued by impulses toward self-destruction. Many occurrences of real events that constitute major developments but are forgotten.

The past two days (May 3 and 4, 2022) have been filled with visual and audible hallucinations, ranging from human voices to mere undulations of perceived visual reality . Just making note. Changes may follow as necessary.

This is a transcription from a handwritten journal. I have since entered my thoughts and experiences in this blog. I am unloading various comments for which there is no order. Just comments in whatever chronological order they were originally logged in. I plan to record in this journal recollections and experiences on a day to day basis (with obvious flashbacks of things past). I’m currently (2019) being treated with an antidepressant (Zoloft) two mood stabilizers (Lamictal  and Depakote) and Risperdal, an antipsychotic. I am bothered by frequent hallucinations, delusions (mostly paranoid) and various negative symptoms, such as avolition and poor hygiene. I have to date encountered bouts of suicidal depression, to the extent that I have seriously attempted suicide, with full intent of succeeding, on three occasions. The third such attempt got  Me committed on a 72-hour hold. Nothing more, since I was able to convince the resident psychiatrist that it was only an attempt to get...

During the daily course of my career, it was my habit to stop on my way home to do what little shopping might be needed for the evening. One such night (ca. 2004) I entered a shopping center parking lot, behind the buildings where there was more open space.  I encountered several canvas canopies, identical to those used in graveside burial ceremonies at cemeteries. Amidst the canopies, a large crowd had assembled to view the burial, which it turned out was the final ceremony for a small boy. Two women were hovering above the coffin, as if fighting over the body of the child.  I drive alongside the scene, finding a parking space at its far side. Upon stopping the engine and stepping out of the car, I turned to get a better look at the scene. However, as soon as I turned my head to see things more clearly, the entire vision evaporated, leaving nothing but the view of a single unoccupied vehicle. This hallucinating is noteworthy, in that it was the first occasion I took note of s...

Okay, so my references to geometric logic and strawberries was a bit oblique. Here’s a clue. If you still don’t get it, I highly recommend the movie (or the book).

Some events force us to acknowledge where we are in life, and how we got here. In the wake of my son Benjy's life-threatening experience I have been doing just that, evaluating and re-evaluating what I’ve been doing with my time on earth. I suppose everyone feels some emptiness when they think of things not said or done, things that would have made a real difference in their lives, and those of others as well. For a parent, such lost opportunities are especially painful to contemplate. We see with time that while we may have done some things very well, there are myriads of things we wish we could revisit, applying the wisdom of experience and age. If we only had those choices to make again. In my past I have been frequently too concerned with my own welfare and the quality of my own life. I once thought I was missing some invaluable life experiences, and in many ways that was true. Poor choices have a way of propagating themselves, and each decision I made too hastily ended up limi...

September 26, 2010 was the day my father passed away. In the time since that event, I have been unexpectedly serene. Though I long feared facing the loss of a parent, something that is an almost universal rite of passage, the experience has proven to be a source of reassurance and comfort. My father wasn't one to show his pain, and the cancer that eventually took his life progressed undetected as he stoically endured the initial discomfort. When I learned of his terminal condition, I knew immediately that it wouldn't be long before he passed on. As it turned out, we had two months in which to say goodbye. It was a tender mercy, as it turned out, allowing me to reach a place spiritually where I could be comfortable when God actually called Dad home. During those first few days after his passing, I recalled a lifetime of memories as I composed his eulogy. The following words are from that tribute, which I gave at the funeral October 1. Ronald Allen was to those who knew him a tr...

I sat through Fast and Testimony meeting Sunday , enjoying the words of others as they expressed gratitude for the blessings of 2010. As I listened I reflected on the past year and its meaning to me personally. The automatic tendency was to dismiss the year as one of those that left me glad it was over. First, there was the trial of Benjy's life-threatening illness, followed by my dad's passing in September. It seems the brightest spot in an otherwise murky year had been Jay's 40th birthday celebration. 2010 had been weighed in the balance, and found wanting. But as I listened further, I came to feel 2010 really wasn't really so bad. Benjy survived his illness, and I was grateful. I thought of how proud I was of all my children, and I was grateful for their examples of strength, patience, and love. Even my father's death had proven to be less difficult for me than I had expected. Now, with Mindy facing another serious medical procedure, I was again thankful for the ...

I just wanted to share my thoughts, including some of those from the memorial service: It seems like a futile endeavor, sharing thoughts that still race too quickly to capture with words. I feel more deeply with each passing day the loss of Yvonne from my life, and I've started to get very sentimental about all the odds-and-ends that still fill the room. It's apparent that not all of them can stay. The clothes she had hanging in the closet are being donated to charity, but the act of removing them is an emotional struggle. I stare at the increasingly empty space those clothes left behind, and fight back tears. None of these things mattered much when Yvonne was living, but now it's proving difficult to say good-bye. I walk through the house, being reminded of the things that I meant to get done but never quite got to. Now those little chores, which took a back seat to other, more important things, haunt me like missed opportunities, chances I had to show Yvonne I cared. I...

I tried to find a verse in scripture that typified the life of my son, Benjy. There were many, but I found one that seemed to fit best. In Mosiah 2:17 we read, “I tell you these things that ye may learn wisdom; that ye may learn that when ye are in the service of your fellow being, ye are only in the service of your God.” In August 1972, the Allen and Everts families visited the Lagoon amusement park here in Davis County. My parents, brothers and sister, son Jay and nephew Jeremy all enjoyed the day, despite the summer heat. That is, until about mid-afternoon when my wife, Vickie, who was expecting our second child, was exposed to an unknown allergen—an insect bite or something she ate—which set off a rapid anaphylactic reaction. She quickly went into shock, with signs indicating she was not receiving enough oxygen. It would be well over an hour before Vickie arrived at the emergency room. Rapid treatment by the medical staff quickly reversed the life-threatening p...

Today I was going through some old time-worn items stuffed away in the top drawer of a top-heavy oak bureau. I managed to throw out items that might have collected cobwebs had they not been enclosed in that drawer for so many years. So many now-worthless objects that I was caught between feelings of loss and self-congratulation for at last overcoming the hoarding instinct as I decisively de-cluttered my life, jettisoning item after useless item. Then I came upon my late wife Yvonne's wallet. "This shouldn't be too hard, " I thought. " Just a bunch of expired credit cards and other meaningless memorabilia. " I decided to shred the credit cards, and otherwise dispose of all but the last Driver's License Yvonne had posed for. I thought it would be a fitting way to hold on to her memory just a little tighter. But as I removed the license, I found, carefully protected behind it, an old picture of our grandchildren, Luc (or Lucas, as he's called to...

  Confused, and... Hopeful? It’s been said that some aspects of our lives are, and should remain, private: personal issues, events, and struggles we all face. After all, we all have our own personal crosses to bear, and certainly some burdens are orders of magnitude heavier than others, including mine. That being said, I’ve decided to springboard this blog into a more extensive record of my personal, internal life, whatever the interest it might generate. What happens here will be an exploration of issues snd experiences I live through. Maybe not the most riveting stories, but facts nonetheless critical to me and potentially to others. So with this entry I hope to begin a type of journal that will document and memorialize my day-to-day life, with the hope it might be of interest to myself, my whole self and nothing but anyone other than myself.

I guess to properly lay the foundation for my various true life experiences, bizarre as they may seem, it’s necessary to briefly review significant factors and events that (likely) may have contributed to my state of mental health as an adult. It’s my understanding that the several phenomena associated with Schozophrenia can have their basis in early-life brain injury (including prenatal, intra-uterine and post/natal injury or infection), genetic predisposition, and significant stressful experiences during extreme life conditions. While I can’t speak to any predisposition with which I may have been born, the fact remains that I was born with a severely crushed skull, having an extruded eye and evidence of cerebral bleeding consistent with a major stroke. Thus, according to literature I have reviewed, I was born with major neurological injuries that suggested a high vulnerability to Schizophrenia at some point in my life. I suppose the most convenient and interesting way to proceed is t...