It’s been awhile. Like a really long time.

Contrary to popular belief, I do have a blog. See, it’s right here in front of you.

It would be so easy to disconnect this sucker, pull the plug, turn out the lights and walk away forever. 

It would be easy to look at the warehouses full of blogs on the Internets and wonder what else I might add.

It would be so easy to blame those distractions. Man, how they plague me. It’s so easy to feel less like a laser-guided missile in life, and more like a paper airplane.

Elder Neal A. Maxwell, one of my most favorite heroes and thinkers, totally got how hard it is to go through the “mighty change.” I thought about this statement long after I heard it while on the treadmill last night.

“‘Mighty’ changing, however, is mighty hard work, a labor made more difficult by heeding the unflattering urges of the natural man. Too often our possibilities have been muted by the mundane.”

The more I think about it. I can see it happening right now, very imperceptibly at times.

I could see it even more after writing these 202 words.

That could be a sign.

On most days, Facebook is my playground, my personal sandbox to create, joke, poke, like or simply watch from a street corner of my virtual neighborhood.

It changed today, once we heard the news. Instantly, the virtual world became a group therapy session for us all.

When we learned of the unspeakable horror from Newtown, Conn., I saw you express your shock, your disbelief on how this could happen. Jokes, games, “bored” status updates and political debates didn’t matter anymore.

It’s been awhile since something stopped me like this. Because I’m a cynical, jaded journalist who’s numb to these alarmingly more frequent displays of evil. When the recent mall shooting happened in Oregon, I expressed my shock and horror before quickly diving back into the bologna of life.

Today was different. This one punched me in the gut, stopped me cold. Several times through out the day, I fought back the tears as I saw the images from Sandy Hook Elementary. Suddenly, the joking ceased in the newsroom. Nobody wanted to talk.

“Nothing to say today. I just keep thinking of those children in Connecticut … and crying,” one of you said on Facebook. I imagined most of us nodded our heads in agreement.

My friend and former colleague wrote this wonderful piece that moved quickly around the Internet. Her words comforted me, offered me some peace as I struggled just like you to make sense of this.

Others of you shared news tidbits as they poured in real-time.

“Our hearts go out,” more than one of you said.

Some revived the gun control debate and we watched as our president fought back tears as he spoke to the nation. At that point, I could care less about his political ideology. All I knew is that was a dad just like me. (A dad with more financial assets and a much bigger house.)

Others shared pictures of Jesus Christ holding little children on your Facebook walls.

When you talked of hugging your own children, fearing for their safety and never letting them go, it made me think of my own boys. About all those times I shoved them out the door in the morning with a rushed attitude and words with more gruff than love.

Today reminded me again that they could be like those little children in Newtown. If I got that call from a police officer or a school official, could I live with my last words.

I watched as more than one of you asked the question: Now what? How do we go on?

Grabbing our loved ones and barricading ourselves in a secure room seemed very appealing at first. Until I read this quote from my friend Dezi on Facebook.

“Many tragedies occur in this world. We can allow those events to consume us to the point where hide inside our homes, segregate our families, and just generally live in fear. But those tragedies will still inevitably occur. And although we could probably save ourselves and our children from some of those tragedies simply by secluding ourselves from the world, we will ultimately lose our lives in a different way, which would take much longer and be even more tragic. For we would fail to live.”

 

The virtual world that links us together across the world served its purpose today. But it will all be for naught if we don’t look up from our phones and gadgets and look around the real world.

Not with fear or sense of foreboding. But with the resolve to reach a little higher, be a little nicer to those around us and live the best we can each day.

Sadly, it probably won’t make despicable acts evil like we saw today disappear. But it could give us just a little more trust and faith during these turbulent times.

With all the good examples of humanity I saw today, I like our chances.

Nobody makes fun of the mouse in the gym.

It’s amazing that with my advanced age (it feels like it after this cinnamon roll) that I still try to cheat and look for shortcuts.

Take the Path of Least Resistance, for nothing tough will happen.

It’s such a happy place this road, full of stops with late-night TV, mindless Facebook and falling asleep on the couch. So hard to focus on what’s important, and we want to get there with the least amount of effort as possible.

Get me a pill to lose weight, a remote to get my work done during the day and somebody to stand in for me in church.

Speaking of church, I recently sat in the back of the chapel and watched a little kid sit and play with an iPad. On the surface level, it worked like a charm. He didn’t utter a peep. Mom and dad didn’t have to take him out or warn him at all.

Later after the Sacrament, I watched as he and his sister enjoyed large juice packets and a box of chips.

Genius.

But look where we were at. We were sitting at the Well of Living Water, provided for all those who thirst. We are told to bring our jugs to soak in what’s given to us, but most of the time, I still find myself guilty of sneaking onto my phone.

Hopefully I can summon up enough focus to sit still for an hour.

I remember speaking with a professional coach about learning discipline to accomplish my goals and how tough that was.

She looked at me directly from across the table and told me something I will never forget.

If it’s important to you, you’ll do what it takes to accomplish it. Period. End of story.

Oh.

Suddenly this cinnamon roll doesn’t taste so good anymore.

What can you do when you screw up so bad that the Dad Ratings Board slaps a PG-13 rating on your morning for Excessive Ineptitude and High Levels of Jerkness.

What can you do  when you come out of the other side of that scene wondering what just happened. Did I really act like that? Did I really just say that? Not once, but twice.

What can you do? You move forward.

You see the woman next to you in line, unable to find her debit card to pay for her refreshments. An idea comes to your head and you wait until she steps aside. 

You see the kid hiding behind his mom in the office. The look on his face tells you he’s had a rough day as well. You hold out the candy jar to him and don’t give up until you see the slightest hint of a smile on his face.

You watch your youngest son get out at school and immediately begin talking with the kid next to him. You’re not sure what is said, but it reminds of that final scene in “Searching For Bobby Fischer,” The one where the two boys are walking off in the distance. You remember back to junior high and how friends were a scarce commodity. It’s a scene you won’t forget.

You see the arrangement of “O Come, Emmanuel” just released by The Piano Guys and the LDS Church. You watch it silence with headphones, not caring if another co-worker sees the tear trickle down your cheek. Your heart fills with peace again.

That’s what you do. You move forward.

So what if you didn’t conquer the world. You got out of bed this morning.

So what if you didn’t write the great American novel. Your Facebook post made somebody smile.

So what if you stayed up too late watching a movie you’ve seen 32 times in your life. At least you’re home with the rest of your family.

So what if your ship didn’t come in. At least your rowboat is paid for.

So what if you let a questionable word slip out. At least you remembered to compliment your wife earlier for a fantastic meal.

So what if you only managed baby steps the entire day today. At least you’re moving forward.

As for conquering the world? Eat some ice cream and enjoy some peaceful moments for yourself.

You can try and do better tomorrow.

Now that Newsweek is going all-digital, it’s time for me to switch as well. Some of you Negative Nellies might frown on this, fearing that the sky is falling and this is the end of the world as we know it.

Forget about all that. I see the virtual light, the light that says it’s time for me to turn into Max Headroom with medical bills.

Tell me why this isn’t a win-win situation for dads to go all digital. Meet the new Digital Mike.

1. Digital Mike can’t be asked to do any chores at home. Ever put a motherboard in a load of dishes?

2. Going digital will drastically reduce my cell phone plan. I’ll provide my own coverage.

3. My wife can program my digital snores to sound like Josh Groban singing.

4. Nobody can accuse me of spending too much time on Facebook.

5. If I do go digital, my ringtone will be the Gilligan’s Island theme song.

6. When my wife wants to have a serious discussion, Digital Mike will just switch to sleep mode.

7. Digital Mike will leave far less messes around the house.

8. My romantic overtures to Mrs. Henneke would take on a whole new meaning. (Care to reboot my software tonight?)

1. Why more states don’t have mail-in ballots. I’m talking to you, Idaho!

2. The green cloud seeping from my older son’s room. I think I hear crys for help underneath a pile of clothes from last year.

3. Kids who bring a debit card machine with them while trick-or-treating.

4. That I lied about my weight on my Idaho license.

5. Why Idaho still allows drivers to use cell phones on the road.

6. Someone might confuse me with Ryan Gosling. He could get his feelings hurt.

7. Why people make fun of Utahns when only I’m allowed to make fun of Utahns.

8. I still can’t whistle very well.

9. My wife might ask me to fix something.

10. What if all the Facebook memes stop? Then what?

11. What if Bigfoot really does exist? Or could be a Brigham Young University-Idaho student who didn’t pass the Honor Code.

12. Who apologizes for the apologists?

13. Are they really LOLing? Or is it just to make me feel good?

14. What if people don’t read this?

We’re heavier (mostly me), move slower (mostly her), rely more on pain meds and sleep while standing up.

But look what else has happened after 24 years of marriage. We might be doing something right.

At first, we would draw up legal docs to see who would change the diaper first. I pretended to be asleep when the baby woke up in the middle of the night. Now I’ll go and do her laundry without being asked. I won’t moan (as much) when she needs me to get her some medicine.

Back when we started, I used to long for stuff. I couldn’t wait for our first VCR, our first computer and first television larger than a phonebook. Now I long for when I can get home to see my family. I relish dinner conversations, thoughtful notes and tender moments with the boys at bedtime.

When we were first married, I had to be right. I knew more about cars, the right way to get into bed or the best way to cook a steak. Now it’s easier to say, “you’re right,” and really mean it.

When we were first married, it was so easy to get angry, to red in the face and stomp around the room. Now it’s easier to just smile. It’s fun discovering how powerful a soft voice can be.

When we were first married, everything was more important than listening to her. Now more and more, I sit down just to focus on her and nothing else.

Still can’t believe how much I was the slob king when we first started. Now my biggest challenge is to shut doors and push in chairs.

Check back again in 25 more years. Who knows what will happen next.