I've looked at this from every possible perspective, and I've finally come to one completely inescapable conclusion.

I was a stud in the pre-existence.

Not the barnyard kind. The Arnold Friberg kind. Like in his painting "Helaman and His Two Thousand Stripling Warriors Flexing Their Way to Battle." Or "Samuel the Lamanite Dodging Arrows Shot By Nephites With Muscles So Thick It's No Wonder They Can't Aim Very Well." Or "Ammon Getting Ready to Whack Some Wimpy Lamanite Arms."

Clear of eye. Strong of will. Bulging of bicep — spiritual and otherwise.

You know — studly.

And that was me in the pre-existence. It had to be. It's the only thing that makes sense.

Take my wife, for example (and no, there's no "please" added to the "take my wife" line, my affection for Henny Youngman notwithstanding). Anita is incredible. She is my superior in almost every respect (I am taller and heavier and I snore louder — that is the extent of my superiority in this relationship). Her faith is stronger than mine. Her gospel understanding is more comprehensive than mine. She is more patient, more loving, more charitable and more kind. She is more faithful in every respect.

So how did I get her?

According to the 130th Section of the Doctrine & Covenants, "when we obtain any blessing from God, it is by obedience to that law upon which it is predicated." Since Anita is the greatest blessing of my life, it doctrinally follows that I must have done something to earn her.

But when? I can flat-out guarantee you that I didn't earn her as a teenager. Just ask Jim and Dave and Carolyn and Wanda (on second thought, don't ask Carolyn — some things don't need to be revisited). And even though I was mostly a good full-time missionary, the "Escondido Incident" (don't ask) alone was probably enough to disqualify me for the Anita Blessing. And the months after my mission leading up to the time I met Anita . . . well, let's just say I spent most of that time working on a political campaign and leave it at that, shall we?

So when did I earn her? Only one thing makes sense: the pre-existence. I figure that in order to earn such a significant blessing in this life, I must have been a real stud before. Then you add five terrific children and the world's most adorable granddaughters (trust me, this can be documented), and I'm thinking I was the Mahonrimoriancumr of pre-existent spirits.

And we all know what a stud HE was.

All of which tells me that I've had this whole "eternal nature of man" thing backwards. For most of my life, when I've done stupid things (look in the Topical Guide under "Bonehead"), I have assumed that I did them because I was one of Heavenly Father's naughty children. When I messed up, I sort of shrugged my spiritual shoulders and said to myself, "Well, what did you expect? I'm an eternal loser. Messing up is inevitable."

And when I did well, or others thought I was doing well, I shuddered for fear of discovery. "If they knew the REAL me," I worried, "they'd know what I'm REALLY like."

But it turns out that the real me — the eternal part — is good. Studly, in fact. That simple paradigm shift has filled me with hope. Suddenly I realize that I'm not fighting against my eternal nature; I'm just trying to find a way to unleash it. And when I do, I'll be a stud in this life, too.

Too bad Brother Friberg won�t be around to paint THAT.