The Burnt-Over Blog: My Happy Boy

Wednesday, January 11, 2012

My Happy Boy

While getting ready for the eventual move to Japan, I was going through some old pictures of Lincoln. I have to say he was the happiest and silliest baby! Just thought I would share some of the cute pictures and the silly things he would do as a baby.

One of Lincolns favorite things to do when he was little was pull out all the pots and pans and then climb in the bottom drawer of the oven.

And not only would he pull out all my kitchen stuff but loved to sit in the George Foreman grill!

Lincoln would love to lay down with Teton and look outside with him.

He also loved and still loves to feed the dogs good food like fries and steak!

He loved to give hugs to everyone and luckily still keeps that up today.

Lincoln was always doing something funny with his clothes, whether that was putting pants on his head, Amma's clothes on, or daddy's ties around his neck.

He also loves playing with his cousins, or using them to lay on!

My boy is the happiest little guy there ever was!

You just can't beat his smiling face.

We love you Lincoln!

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Doctrine and Covenants 163:10a-b

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I ain't never seen 'em, but my common sense tells me the Andes is foothills, and the Alps is for children to climb! Keep good care of your hair! These here is God's finest sculpturings! And there ain't no laws for the brave ones! And there ain't no asylums for the crazy ones! And there ain't no churches, except for this right here! And there ain't no priests excepting the birds. By God, I are a mountain man, and I'll live 'til an arrow or a bullet finds me. And then I'll leave my bones on this great map of the magnificent...

The Meaning of Christ on the Cross

At the heart of divine love is sacrifice-the willingness to be diminished so that another may be increased. This is the meaning of Christ on the cross. God, who could have insulated himself from pain, descended to earth, assumed the aspect of his children, and bore the greatest pain in his own person. Rather than hoard the heavenly feast for himself, he invites beggars to his table. He breaks bread with us and drinks from the cup our lips have touched. When he speaks to us, it is no longer from a great white throne, centered in a vortex of light, surrounded by celestial griffins, warding off the unwashed. He speaks to us eye to eye, from a traitor’s gibbet, with his blood and sweat and shame upon him for all to see, and with his wounds forever open. He comes not as king, but as slave. He comes not as judge, but as accused. He comes not as patriarch, but as bastard. He comes not to punish us, but to let us punish him. He does not ask us to love him until we are first certain that he loves us. He is the great failure who saves us from our success. He is the great fool who spares us from our wisdom. He is the rejected lover who will not, in turn, reject his love. He is a prophet without honor, a citizen of a despised nation, a poor relation, an unwanted guest. He is the voice of one crying in the wilderness of every human heart. He is the God of grief and sorrow who is the joy of our desiring. He is utterly good because he loves us in our sins and imperfections, because he freely made himself equal to us, and because he freely opened the way whereby we may be made equal to him.

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