“Whom seek ye?”
“I am he”
(Wise men still seek Him).
“Jesus of Nazureth.”
“I am he.”
“Where is he that is born King
Of the Jews?
For we have seen his star in the East
And are come to worship him.”
“Whom seek ye?”
The Great I Am.
They fall back before such majesty,
Those servants of the dark
Who come out as against a thief,
With swords and staves.
“Whom seek ye?”
"Jesus of Nazureth."
"I am he."
“Let us now go,” said the shepherds,
And see this thing which is come to pass.”
And they found the babe,
Wrapped in swaddling clothes
And lying in a manger.
Herod said, “Go and search diligently for the young child;
And when ye have found him, bring me word again,
That I may come and worship him also.”
“Whom seek ye?”
“Betrayest thou the Son of Man
With a kiss?”
“Whom seek ye?”
For light or for darkness -
We all seek Him,
To follow, to become Like -
Or to destroy, to make
Nothing.
Be not mistaken:
The Prince of Darkness seeks Him
With fangs bared.
Lord, let not anger turn me
From the Light;
Let not pride make of me
A servant of the dark.
"Woman, why weepest thou?
Whom seekest thou?"
May I say,
Always and ever: "Lord, Thee."
Friday, October 9, 2009
Monday, September 21, 2009
I am Olive
I had an epiphany in the Salt Lake Temple. I realized that I am Olive. Olive is my granddaughter, a three-year-old bulwark of individuality, a dark-eyed, adorable little firecracker of a child with a glorious halo of impossibly curly blonde hair. The realization that I am Olive came to me like a spiritual/mental firecracker. Given my 57-year-old persona, I would not have thought it of me. Pity; evidently, to paraphrase Wordsworth, the world has been "too much with me" for too long. How did I go from being Olive to ... my present persona: staid, measured, timid almost, when it comes to engaging with people: not wanting to impose myself upon anyone. Holding back - holding back my true self when I could be blessing lives with my true self - because I fear offending.
Olive on the other hand, has no qualms about being her true self. She tells it like it is, remarkably adroitly. She recognizes her supreme right as a child of the universe to be, nothing withstanding; she makes no apologies, nor demands any from others.
One day she was disgruntled, injured over something (I can't remember what) that had happened to her as a result of her own behavior, and her aunt remonstrated, "Well, that's what you get."I am still trying to figure out what was behind Olive's reaction; her head snapped up, there was a look of ... what was it? a look of utter incomprehension -"that does not compute" - along with a quizzical expression - “What does this mean?” and I found myself fearing lest she should believe those words, but I was not quite sure why. I have been trying to figure this out ever since (we were visiting at the time).
I felt as if there were some profound truth in her reaction, the pure, unsullied response of an innocent child (all children under the age of eight are innocent; see Moroni 8:7-23 and D&C 68:25). What I have been asking myself is, what is that profound truth?What had happened, and I think it had to do with sibling wrangling, was a logical consequence of that wrangling, so in that sense it was indeed "what you get;" but I think her reaction said: "You are telling me that I deserved this?"
How can the answer to that question be, "Yes?" How can one imply culpability upon an innocent person by claiming that she deserves retribution? To answer "yes" to that question, it seems to me, would be to say, as Moroni so strongly exhorts against, that little children sin and therefore need repentance; Moroni "boldly" admonishes against that kind of thinking "That's what you get" implies “you deserved it,“ which in turn implies “you are lacking in some vital essential.“
That statement is verily true for us, who are “grown.” We have to rely upon and plead for the blessings and grace of the Atonement, have to toil all our lives back to the point where little children are. But little children are enough, through the Atonement of Jesus Christ.
Perhaps the statement, "That's what happens when people fight with each other," would be more appropriate. That statement would be true, would be helping the child to understand what she is in for while in this mortal coil, that certain behaviors reap certain consequences, yet with no intimation of intrinsic shortcoming.
I don't know exactly why, but at some point in my young upbringing, I assimilated the idea that children - that I as a child - don't count, that children are second-class citizens whose feelings, thoughts, opinions...needs?...don't matter. I think it was a false tradition of the age, a lingering effect of the industrial revolution (people became programmable machines too); even, perhaps of the eons-old misconception that "children should be seen and not heard." For some reason and to some degree, I bowed down to that idol; I surrendered - not completely, but sufficiently for it to determine some of my attitudes and behaviors - to being "less than."
I think, in fact, that almost all of today’s cultures have been steeped in some false tradition that diminishes the worth of children. If the children of the world had the maturity and wisdom that ought to come with age, they might rise up in retribution. In some ways, in the amazing things they do and say, they do exactly that in their own subtle way.
I just want to know how to help them grown up, knowing how to perpetuate the truth. So - I am Olive. I am going to try to be more like Olive, so that I can help her grow up to be more like Jesus.
An Olive anecdote:A neighbor made tutus, those stiffly flouncing ballerina skirts, for the birthday of Olive and her seven-year-old sister Abbey. Olive wore hers every day thereafter. One day she and I went down the street to make a visit. She was barefooted. Her costume consisted of a slip overlaid by the tutu. She was riding her bike, which is a training-wheel-less two wheeler without pedals, which she scoots along the sidewalk with great prowess and good balance. A businessman getting out of his car in a parking lot observed, watching her, "It doesn't get any better than that: you got your bare feet, you got your bicycle, and you got your ballerina skirt." As we crossed the street toward the neighborhood bakery, upon the sidewalk of which stood a cluster of people, her bicycle gained momentum. With total aplomb, Olive shot right through, announcing without artifice, " 'Scuse me, guys. Bike coming through."
May Olive always be Olive, and may the “Olive“ in me come through.
Olive on the other hand, has no qualms about being her true self. She tells it like it is, remarkably adroitly. She recognizes her supreme right as a child of the universe to be, nothing withstanding; she makes no apologies, nor demands any from others.
One day she was disgruntled, injured over something (I can't remember what) that had happened to her as a result of her own behavior, and her aunt remonstrated, "Well, that's what you get."I am still trying to figure out what was behind Olive's reaction; her head snapped up, there was a look of ... what was it? a look of utter incomprehension -"that does not compute" - along with a quizzical expression - “What does this mean?” and I found myself fearing lest she should believe those words, but I was not quite sure why. I have been trying to figure this out ever since (we were visiting at the time).
I felt as if there were some profound truth in her reaction, the pure, unsullied response of an innocent child (all children under the age of eight are innocent; see Moroni 8:7-23 and D&C 68:25). What I have been asking myself is, what is that profound truth?What had happened, and I think it had to do with sibling wrangling, was a logical consequence of that wrangling, so in that sense it was indeed "what you get;" but I think her reaction said: "You are telling me that I deserved this?"
How can the answer to that question be, "Yes?" How can one imply culpability upon an innocent person by claiming that she deserves retribution? To answer "yes" to that question, it seems to me, would be to say, as Moroni so strongly exhorts against, that little children sin and therefore need repentance; Moroni "boldly" admonishes against that kind of thinking "That's what you get" implies “you deserved it,“ which in turn implies “you are lacking in some vital essential.“
That statement is verily true for us, who are “grown.” We have to rely upon and plead for the blessings and grace of the Atonement, have to toil all our lives back to the point where little children are. But little children are enough, through the Atonement of Jesus Christ.
Perhaps the statement, "That's what happens when people fight with each other," would be more appropriate. That statement would be true, would be helping the child to understand what she is in for while in this mortal coil, that certain behaviors reap certain consequences, yet with no intimation of intrinsic shortcoming.
I don't know exactly why, but at some point in my young upbringing, I assimilated the idea that children - that I as a child - don't count, that children are second-class citizens whose feelings, thoughts, opinions...needs?...don't matter. I think it was a false tradition of the age, a lingering effect of the industrial revolution (people became programmable machines too); even, perhaps of the eons-old misconception that "children should be seen and not heard." For some reason and to some degree, I bowed down to that idol; I surrendered - not completely, but sufficiently for it to determine some of my attitudes and behaviors - to being "less than."
I think, in fact, that almost all of today’s cultures have been steeped in some false tradition that diminishes the worth of children. If the children of the world had the maturity and wisdom that ought to come with age, they might rise up in retribution. In some ways, in the amazing things they do and say, they do exactly that in their own subtle way.
I just want to know how to help them grown up, knowing how to perpetuate the truth. So - I am Olive. I am going to try to be more like Olive, so that I can help her grow up to be more like Jesus.
An Olive anecdote:A neighbor made tutus, those stiffly flouncing ballerina skirts, for the birthday of Olive and her seven-year-old sister Abbey. Olive wore hers every day thereafter. One day she and I went down the street to make a visit. She was barefooted. Her costume consisted of a slip overlaid by the tutu. She was riding her bike, which is a training-wheel-less two wheeler without pedals, which she scoots along the sidewalk with great prowess and good balance. A businessman getting out of his car in a parking lot observed, watching her, "It doesn't get any better than that: you got your bare feet, you got your bicycle, and you got your ballerina skirt." As we crossed the street toward the neighborhood bakery, upon the sidewalk of which stood a cluster of people, her bicycle gained momentum. With total aplomb, Olive shot right through, announcing without artifice, " 'Scuse me, guys. Bike coming through."
May Olive always be Olive, and may the “Olive“ in me come through.
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
Private Mourning Trumps Public Affair
I saw a news item in our Memphis Commercial Appeal today, dateline Hailey, ID, which happens to be my hometown. I don’t know the people mentioned in the little article - after all, it has been a decade or two since I visited Hailey - but the subject of the article sparked a line of thought that I have followed on occasion. A family (I won’t state their name out of respect for their wishes) requested privacy from newshounds and sensation seekers as they deal with the heart-jolting notice of the capture of their son, an Army private in Afghanistan. Citizens of Hailey, desiring to show commiseration in some way, and I think fittingly, decorated the trees on Main Street with yellow ribbons.
My question: how is it that private mourning becomes a public affair? In fact, how is it that private feelings of any kind are deemed by “investigative reporters” as justifiable to expose to others, whose lives in general do not at the time follow some parallel track and who therefore have no business to know, nor need to be informed of such individual matters of the heart?
There is, on the one hand, the assault on the sufferer, who hardly knows how to process what is happening to himself, let alone the value or appropriateness of sharing that process with people with whom he is not acquainted. Any such intrusion compounds the difficulty of processing the traumatic events in his life in a way that eventually brings meaning and understanding, which are so necessary in being able to continue living an altered life.
On the other hand, there is the casual observer, the reader of the paper or the television spectator, who has just enough on his own plate to manage, and who is invited through this unwarranted introduction into someone else’s experiences, to be distracted from his own affairs, and perhaps to neglect them in favor of attending to someone else’s, and therefore less personally demanding, issues.
There is as well the enticement to the innate desire in everyone for attention; but attention in this manner, whether the giving or the receiving of it, is of no healthy nature and only serves to retard, rather than to encourage, personal fulfillment; and personal fulfillment, after all, is at the base of the desire for attention.
In short: this effort to go after private feeling for public entertainment is a lose-lose proposition. Those who report the news - or who bring us "reality" shows - ought to have the personal honesty to see and to understand that, and to exercise the courage, therefore, of walking away from an “easy” story, or from easy money.
My question: how is it that private mourning becomes a public affair? In fact, how is it that private feelings of any kind are deemed by “investigative reporters” as justifiable to expose to others, whose lives in general do not at the time follow some parallel track and who therefore have no business to know, nor need to be informed of such individual matters of the heart?
There is, on the one hand, the assault on the sufferer, who hardly knows how to process what is happening to himself, let alone the value or appropriateness of sharing that process with people with whom he is not acquainted. Any such intrusion compounds the difficulty of processing the traumatic events in his life in a way that eventually brings meaning and understanding, which are so necessary in being able to continue living an altered life.
On the other hand, there is the casual observer, the reader of the paper or the television spectator, who has just enough on his own plate to manage, and who is invited through this unwarranted introduction into someone else’s experiences, to be distracted from his own affairs, and perhaps to neglect them in favor of attending to someone else’s, and therefore less personally demanding, issues.
There is as well the enticement to the innate desire in everyone for attention; but attention in this manner, whether the giving or the receiving of it, is of no healthy nature and only serves to retard, rather than to encourage, personal fulfillment; and personal fulfillment, after all, is at the base of the desire for attention.
In short: this effort to go after private feeling for public entertainment is a lose-lose proposition. Those who report the news - or who bring us "reality" shows - ought to have the personal honesty to see and to understand that, and to exercise the courage, therefore, of walking away from an “easy” story, or from easy money.
Monday, June 15, 2009
'Tis High to Be a Judge
Deep unmet needs. Pres. Kimball says that they are what sins result from. When we feel sinned against, we must ask ourselves, rather than choosing to be offended, “Does this action represent a deep unmet need?” Even though we feel hurt, does it follow that the intention was to hurt? Or even that if it was, that we have the right to feel offended, rather than to act compassionately?
Satan knows that sin occurs through unmet needs, and he takes advantage of that knowledge to tempt us into thinking that by doing thus or so, our needs will be met. There are people on the earth, but in much the smaller minority, who understand this also, and who take advantage of it. These people are perhaps past the unmet needs point, to deliberate choice, and are therefore truly wicked.
But come, we know our loved ones (they by whom we are tempted to be most offended) - we know that their desires are overwhelmingly good and righteous. Only God, indeed, only God, can judge the heart’s intent, so that we cannot even claim the truly wicked are wicked (unless as a priesthood steward one is inspired to do so) in the sense of standing as judge over them. How much less can we stand as a judge over a loved one, and claim in our hurt that he is wicked, to soothe our own hurts - our own unmet needs?
Surely this cannot be so. Thus, we see that ours is not to judge, not even to be offended. We can only take our hurts to the Healer, seek his grace in our behalf, and also in behalf of the offender, that we might be filled with grace toward him, and be a part of that healing balm of which he is in need.
Satan knows that sin occurs through unmet needs, and he takes advantage of that knowledge to tempt us into thinking that by doing thus or so, our needs will be met. There are people on the earth, but in much the smaller minority, who understand this also, and who take advantage of it. These people are perhaps past the unmet needs point, to deliberate choice, and are therefore truly wicked.
But come, we know our loved ones (they by whom we are tempted to be most offended) - we know that their desires are overwhelmingly good and righteous. Only God, indeed, only God, can judge the heart’s intent, so that we cannot even claim the truly wicked are wicked (unless as a priesthood steward one is inspired to do so) in the sense of standing as judge over them. How much less can we stand as a judge over a loved one, and claim in our hurt that he is wicked, to soothe our own hurts - our own unmet needs?
Surely this cannot be so. Thus, we see that ours is not to judge, not even to be offended. We can only take our hurts to the Healer, seek his grace in our behalf, and also in behalf of the offender, that we might be filled with grace toward him, and be a part of that healing balm of which he is in need.
Sunday, May 10, 2009
Stand Up - Eve Approaches (Mother's Day 2009)
Truth is, I didn’t get anything out in the mail in time - to my mother, to my daughters. That is a shame, because each one deserves a special wish for a happy Mother’s Day and recognition for how she brings her own precious, irreplaceable touch to the appellation “Mother.”
I was thinking recently, how my mother, Donna-Rose, seems to be taking on angelic attributes without the usual requirement of having to “pass on” to the next life first. She is more truly beautiful every time I see her; there is more light emanating from her, so that even her hair, her coiffure, is transformed into a halo.
Her voice has always had a musical dimension that is uniquely hers; when asked to say one thing about my mother during a Relief Society lesson, I answered, “My mother’s voice is like music.”
I delight in saying that. What a gift her voice has been in the lives of me and my siblings, let alone all the other treasures we cherish because of her: her patient love; her mildness - surely once or twice she must have raised her voice, but I don’t remember it; her pleading, gentle admonishing, always inviting us to come up, to be better, to do more, to reach out, to give, to understand. She was wholly involved in everything we did, our best editor, cheerleader, manager. Though not a "born Mormon," her testimony and commitment were rock solid and valiant.
Mom, if you have ever worried about it (because I know that as a mother, I have), I would gladly, with the breath of kindness “blow the chaff away,” for my mother is, it must be admitted, not quite a perfect person. Just almost.
Next, my daughter, Amy, who, though she insists she just “wants her body back,” nevertheless relinquishes it with fierce devotion to the care and nurture of her four children. Though she is full of fervor for saving the world and its people, she unquestioningly submits herself to the little circle of people that is her first priority, sacrifice of her time and zeal notwithstanding, while still managing to do an astounding deal of good in the at large world. She is virtually indefatigable. Her children are in for an adventure! Her world is a glorious, raucous profusion of glitter and dust, for she is refining and being refined, but always a queen.
Next, my daughter, Tamra, whose constant, pleading faith on behalf of her child is “long distance”, for she is a birth mother. This means that she loved her little one so very much that she gave him away, breaking her own heart in the process, allowing him because of that act, a twice-blessed life in the care of an additional loving mother, and father. He is always, I know, first in her prayers still, and she cherishes hope for the day when she will be able to see and know him, and to enjoy fellowship with his extended family, who is also hers in a very special way. Her love multiplies as she helps other young women with similar stories, and other families with similar needs. She is forever giving in some way or other to the benefit of others, especially to the “strays” of all species. She is a rising star.
We are blessed and privileged to have four lovely daughters-in-law as well, to whom we are very grateful for the love, joys and talents they bring into our sons’ and to our grandchildren's lives, and to ours by extension:
Sara, Andrew’s wife, is cheerful, fun, talented, creative, with seemingly inexhaustible energy. An anecdote: we were visiting them in Florida for Christmas, and I had taken Gabriel, 3, to the park. At one point he unexpectedly took off running toward what I perceived to be a ditch. Afraid I could not catch up with him in time, I called out, “Gabe, stop!” And he did. Immediately. Wow. Sara said that after an incident the preceding summer, when he had almost run in front of a car coming out of a hidden alleyway, she had decided to play a game with him. She would have him run up the hall, and when she called stop, he would stop, for which he would receive big kudos. That "game" translated into safety. Simple, yet phenomenal.
Alison, Jared’s wife, impresses me with her quiet devotion. The girl is true blue. She is happy, happy to be a “domestic goddess,” which is an especially good thing, given that because of the nature of their living situation, she simply can’t be gone from home much. Because of her uncomplaining willingness to “be the mom“, with all that implies, I know that Jared is a contented husband and father. She nurtures and nourishes little Madison with her time and attention, and is always interested in learning new and better ways. She is an artist and a good writer - some of her work adorns their apartment, and her blog is always interesting reading. She is a keeper!
Bergen, Matt’s wife, is a jewel that we almost missed in our crown (long story, but they would be glad to tell it to you if you have a couple of hours). She is a mom-in-waiting, come August. Bergen works with autistic young adults; her willingness alone to have that kind of job is admirable in the extreme, but she does it because she has a huge capacity to love. Little children adore her; ask Andrew and Sara! Or any of the other sibs, for that matter. I have been told many times that she looks like my daughter, which is an inexpressible compliment, for she is very lovely, but I have to say it is also gratifying, for I don’t know if I would have been quite so willing to give Matthew up if it were not so (somehow Matt and I were kind of “joined at the hip” spiritually and emotionally)! She is one hundred percent devoted to the Gospel and to the part family plays in it.
Bonnie, our dear sweet China doll (!), is Benjamin’s bride as of January. Not yet a mother, but with twinkles in her eye. She is a trooper, hanging right in there with every adventurous whim Benjamin can conceive of. She is a teacher par excellence, from all that I have been able to discern, plus, as already mentioned, she is wonderfully sweet, so much so that you just want to hug her on a continual basis, feeling that some of it might rub off. She, too, is a wonder with children, and may she and Benjamin have a quiver full! I can’t wait, on their behalf (well, on ours too, a little!).
As for myself, I remembered today during church, that my patriarchal blessing says that my parents love me with a love that I would only experience when I had children of my own. I wondered, as a young mother, if I truly loved my children as much as I know my parents love me. I don’t wonder any more. I love my children with a true, tried, deep, abiding love. I try to be, today, the mother I was not always able to be when they were younger, for motherhood is like an olive tree, ever bearing fruit, ever deepening roots, ever giving shade, ever standing witness of all that is eternal.
For all that the world might give, nothing in it can ever replace the privilege of motherhood.
I was thinking recently, how my mother, Donna-Rose, seems to be taking on angelic attributes without the usual requirement of having to “pass on” to the next life first. She is more truly beautiful every time I see her; there is more light emanating from her, so that even her hair, her coiffure, is transformed into a halo.
Her voice has always had a musical dimension that is uniquely hers; when asked to say one thing about my mother during a Relief Society lesson, I answered, “My mother’s voice is like music.”
I delight in saying that. What a gift her voice has been in the lives of me and my siblings, let alone all the other treasures we cherish because of her: her patient love; her mildness - surely once or twice she must have raised her voice, but I don’t remember it; her pleading, gentle admonishing, always inviting us to come up, to be better, to do more, to reach out, to give, to understand. She was wholly involved in everything we did, our best editor, cheerleader, manager. Though not a "born Mormon," her testimony and commitment were rock solid and valiant.
Mom, if you have ever worried about it (because I know that as a mother, I have), I would gladly, with the breath of kindness “blow the chaff away,” for my mother is, it must be admitted, not quite a perfect person. Just almost.
Next, my daughter, Amy, who, though she insists she just “wants her body back,” nevertheless relinquishes it with fierce devotion to the care and nurture of her four children. Though she is full of fervor for saving the world and its people, she unquestioningly submits herself to the little circle of people that is her first priority, sacrifice of her time and zeal notwithstanding, while still managing to do an astounding deal of good in the at large world. She is virtually indefatigable. Her children are in for an adventure! Her world is a glorious, raucous profusion of glitter and dust, for she is refining and being refined, but always a queen.
Next, my daughter, Tamra, whose constant, pleading faith on behalf of her child is “long distance”, for she is a birth mother. This means that she loved her little one so very much that she gave him away, breaking her own heart in the process, allowing him because of that act, a twice-blessed life in the care of an additional loving mother, and father. He is always, I know, first in her prayers still, and she cherishes hope for the day when she will be able to see and know him, and to enjoy fellowship with his extended family, who is also hers in a very special way. Her love multiplies as she helps other young women with similar stories, and other families with similar needs. She is forever giving in some way or other to the benefit of others, especially to the “strays” of all species. She is a rising star.
We are blessed and privileged to have four lovely daughters-in-law as well, to whom we are very grateful for the love, joys and talents they bring into our sons’ and to our grandchildren's lives, and to ours by extension:
Sara, Andrew’s wife, is cheerful, fun, talented, creative, with seemingly inexhaustible energy. An anecdote: we were visiting them in Florida for Christmas, and I had taken Gabriel, 3, to the park. At one point he unexpectedly took off running toward what I perceived to be a ditch. Afraid I could not catch up with him in time, I called out, “Gabe, stop!” And he did. Immediately. Wow. Sara said that after an incident the preceding summer, when he had almost run in front of a car coming out of a hidden alleyway, she had decided to play a game with him. She would have him run up the hall, and when she called stop, he would stop, for which he would receive big kudos. That "game" translated into safety. Simple, yet phenomenal.
Alison, Jared’s wife, impresses me with her quiet devotion. The girl is true blue. She is happy, happy to be a “domestic goddess,” which is an especially good thing, given that because of the nature of their living situation, she simply can’t be gone from home much. Because of her uncomplaining willingness to “be the mom“, with all that implies, I know that Jared is a contented husband and father. She nurtures and nourishes little Madison with her time and attention, and is always interested in learning new and better ways. She is an artist and a good writer - some of her work adorns their apartment, and her blog is always interesting reading. She is a keeper!
Bergen, Matt’s wife, is a jewel that we almost missed in our crown (long story, but they would be glad to tell it to you if you have a couple of hours). She is a mom-in-waiting, come August. Bergen works with autistic young adults; her willingness alone to have that kind of job is admirable in the extreme, but she does it because she has a huge capacity to love. Little children adore her; ask Andrew and Sara! Or any of the other sibs, for that matter. I have been told many times that she looks like my daughter, which is an inexpressible compliment, for she is very lovely, but I have to say it is also gratifying, for I don’t know if I would have been quite so willing to give Matthew up if it were not so (somehow Matt and I were kind of “joined at the hip” spiritually and emotionally)! She is one hundred percent devoted to the Gospel and to the part family plays in it.
Bonnie, our dear sweet China doll (!), is Benjamin’s bride as of January. Not yet a mother, but with twinkles in her eye. She is a trooper, hanging right in there with every adventurous whim Benjamin can conceive of. She is a teacher par excellence, from all that I have been able to discern, plus, as already mentioned, she is wonderfully sweet, so much so that you just want to hug her on a continual basis, feeling that some of it might rub off. She, too, is a wonder with children, and may she and Benjamin have a quiver full! I can’t wait, on their behalf (well, on ours too, a little!).
As for myself, I remembered today during church, that my patriarchal blessing says that my parents love me with a love that I would only experience when I had children of my own. I wondered, as a young mother, if I truly loved my children as much as I know my parents love me. I don’t wonder any more. I love my children with a true, tried, deep, abiding love. I try to be, today, the mother I was not always able to be when they were younger, for motherhood is like an olive tree, ever bearing fruit, ever deepening roots, ever giving shade, ever standing witness of all that is eternal.
For all that the world might give, nothing in it can ever replace the privilege of motherhood.
Saturday, April 11, 2009
Thursday, April 9, 2009
Oh, that C.S. Lewis! How Did He Know? WHAT Did He Know?
I am such a sentimental creature! I have just finished reading Lewis’ The Silver Chair, the most recent of numberless times, and tears still start in my eyes when I read, “And out from the blackness into the moonlight - this would have been rather dreadful if one hadn’t known who they were - came, first, the long, leggy, steeple-hatted figure of the Marsh-wiggle, and then, leading two great horses, Rilian the Prince himself. …Pale though he was from long imprisonment in the Deep Lands, dressed in black, dusty, disheveled, and weary, there was something in his face and air which no one could mistake. That look is in the face of all true kings of Narnia, who rule by the will of Aslan and sit at Cair Paravel in the throne of Peter the High King. Instantly every head was bared and every knee was bent…”
The Silver Chair, at least for me where I stand today, seems to carry more symbolic meaning for today’s circumstances than any of the other Chronicles. As Aslan says to Jill at the beginning of the story, “remember, remember, remember the Signs.” How very important it is to remember, most importantly, the commandments of God, and our covenants with him to keep them. How much, how very much and how patiently through the ages He has lovingly and carefully taught us through the prophets’ words and through the whisperings of His Spirit to each of us, and has implored us to remember, remember, remember.
“Say them to yourself when you wake in the morning and when you lie down at night, and when you wake in the middle of the night,” Aslan instructs. How similar are the words in Deuteronomy: “And these words, which I command thee this day, shall be in thine heart: And thou shalt teach them diligently unto thy children, and shalt talk of them when thou sittest in thine house, and when thou walkest by the way, and when thou liest down, and when thou risest up. And thou shalt bind them for a sign upon thine hand, and they shall be as frontlets between thine eyes. And thou shal write them upon the posts of thy house, and on thy gates. (6:6-9).”
Jill and Eustace go, on errand from Aslan, seeking the Lost Prince, who is, in my mind at least and I believe almost certainly in Lewis’, a type of Jesus Christ (of course, so is Aslan himself). And how lost Jesus Christ is to the world at large today, and what a journey, fraught with adventure, danger, and hard work, it is for every earnest seeker, to truly find Him. It is not for the faint-hearted or the lover of ease.
How patiently and mercifully He helps us on our way, even when we “muff the signs.” How quickly He comes to our aid when we put ourselves on the right track once again. Even through times when all around us seems a dreary wilderness, which we may be tempted to think will go on unendingly, He is walking beside us and bearing us up; and all these things ultimately “give [us] experience, and shall be for [our] good. (D&C 122:7).”
When at last we find Him, we may not quite recognize him, for he has been shackled by the Dragon, who has sought through centuries of Apostasy to disguise him, and who has enslaved the people of the earth (the Earthmen) so that they do not recognize him even when he comes among them. Well did Aslan say to Jill, “And whatever strange things may happen to you, let nothing turn your mind from following the Signs.” Stay close to the Spirit of truth, that “giveth light to every man that cometh into the world; and the Spirit enlighteneth every man through the world, that hearkened to the voice of the Spirit. And every one that hearkened to the voice of the Spirit cometh unto God, even the Father. (D&C 84:46-47).”
“And secondly,” continues Aslan, “I give you a warning. Here on the mountain [symbol of what? His temple], I have spoken to you clearly: I will not often do so down in Narnia. Here on the mountain, the air is clear and your mind is clear; as you drop down into Narnia, the air will thicken [air of the Earthmen is very thick indeed]. Take great care that it does not confuse your mind. And the Signs which you have learned here will not look at all as you expect them to look, when you meet them there [the Dragon, the Serpent, seeks in every age to hide and to disguise them deep in the philosophies of men]. That is why it is so important to know them by heart and pay no attention to appearances. Remember the Signs and believe the Signs. Nothing else matters (italics added).”
Remembering and honoring the signs, our heroes, our Everymen, release the doctrine of Christ from the “vile engine of sorcery,” the Silver Chair of Apostasy, and in so doing come to see before them the true Son of the King. With the aid of the meek and humble things of the earth, embodied in the common Marshwiggle, they conquer even the Dragon or Serpent.
Yet the fight is not over. There are men’s souls to be won, and a final struggle to be made. The bright light of the Restoration shines forth, the Earthmen awake and shake their heads as if waking from a dream, and embrace the light with joy, while the conquerors go on into the Unknown.
“Doubtless,” says the Prince, “this signifies that Aslan will be our good lord, whether he means us to live or die. And all’s one, for that.”
This is a message for our times. We face an unknown path, fraught with peril. Economic hardships, terrorism, violence on the home front, and moral entrapment and devastation all loom before us. But we have a prophet and apostles, the revealed word of the Lord, the Gift of the Holy Ghost, and the covenants of baptism and the temple to guide and sustain us, with Celestial glory shining in solid light (“There I’ll pick you bunches of rubies that you can eat and squeeze you a cup full of diamond-juice.”) before us.
We have the stories of our own heroes, the Latter-day pioneers to encourage and inspire us. (While in Salt Lake City recently, I took occasion to visit the juried art exhibition in the Conference Center, “Remembering the Great Things of God.” One of the pieces was a large painting of a formidable peak in the Wasatch Range; under it was a triptych, with handcart pioneers in the first panel, facial portraits of the pioneer couple in the middle, and their Utah homestead in the third. Instantly upon taking in the whole effect, and gazing at their faces, the exhortation came to my mind as if I heard their very voices: “We did it. So can you.”).
What else can we say but what Joseph Smith exclaims in Section 128 of the Doctrine and Covenants: “Brethren, shall we not go on in so great a cause? Go forward and not backward. Courage, brethren, and on, on to the victory!”
Prince Rilian, looking upon a task the immediate consequences of which are unknown, proclaims solemnly, “Friends, when once a man is launched on such an adventure as this, he must bid farewell to hopes and fears, otherwise death or deliverance will both come too late to save his honor and his reason.”
“ ‘Do you mean you think everything will come right if we do untie him?’ ” Eustace had inquired of the steadfast Puddleglum as they determined to set the bewitched knight free from the bonds of the Silver Chair, having seen clear evidence of the Fourth Sign but fearing the consequences of following it. “ ‘I don’t know that, said Puddleglum. “You see, Aslan didn’t tell [Jill] what would happen. He only told her what to do. That fellow will be the death of us once he’s up, I shouldn’t wonder. But that doesn’t let us off following the Sign.’
“They all stood looking at one another with bright eyes. It was a sickening moment. ‘All right!’ said Jill suddenly. ‘Let’s get it over. Good-bye everyone…!’ “
That is the kind of bidding farewell to hopes and fears to which the Prince refers: one doesn’t know the consequences of doing what’s right, one only knows that one must do it.
“In the name of Aslan.”
The Silver Chair, at least for me where I stand today, seems to carry more symbolic meaning for today’s circumstances than any of the other Chronicles. As Aslan says to Jill at the beginning of the story, “remember, remember, remember the Signs.” How very important it is to remember, most importantly, the commandments of God, and our covenants with him to keep them. How much, how very much and how patiently through the ages He has lovingly and carefully taught us through the prophets’ words and through the whisperings of His Spirit to each of us, and has implored us to remember, remember, remember.
“Say them to yourself when you wake in the morning and when you lie down at night, and when you wake in the middle of the night,” Aslan instructs. How similar are the words in Deuteronomy: “And these words, which I command thee this day, shall be in thine heart: And thou shalt teach them diligently unto thy children, and shalt talk of them when thou sittest in thine house, and when thou walkest by the way, and when thou liest down, and when thou risest up. And thou shalt bind them for a sign upon thine hand, and they shall be as frontlets between thine eyes. And thou shal write them upon the posts of thy house, and on thy gates. (6:6-9).”
Jill and Eustace go, on errand from Aslan, seeking the Lost Prince, who is, in my mind at least and I believe almost certainly in Lewis’, a type of Jesus Christ (of course, so is Aslan himself). And how lost Jesus Christ is to the world at large today, and what a journey, fraught with adventure, danger, and hard work, it is for every earnest seeker, to truly find Him. It is not for the faint-hearted or the lover of ease.
How patiently and mercifully He helps us on our way, even when we “muff the signs.” How quickly He comes to our aid when we put ourselves on the right track once again. Even through times when all around us seems a dreary wilderness, which we may be tempted to think will go on unendingly, He is walking beside us and bearing us up; and all these things ultimately “give [us] experience, and shall be for [our] good. (D&C 122:7).”
When at last we find Him, we may not quite recognize him, for he has been shackled by the Dragon, who has sought through centuries of Apostasy to disguise him, and who has enslaved the people of the earth (the Earthmen) so that they do not recognize him even when he comes among them. Well did Aslan say to Jill, “And whatever strange things may happen to you, let nothing turn your mind from following the Signs.” Stay close to the Spirit of truth, that “giveth light to every man that cometh into the world; and the Spirit enlighteneth every man through the world, that hearkened to the voice of the Spirit. And every one that hearkened to the voice of the Spirit cometh unto God, even the Father. (D&C 84:46-47).”
“And secondly,” continues Aslan, “I give you a warning. Here on the mountain [symbol of what? His temple], I have spoken to you clearly: I will not often do so down in Narnia. Here on the mountain, the air is clear and your mind is clear; as you drop down into Narnia, the air will thicken [air of the Earthmen is very thick indeed]. Take great care that it does not confuse your mind. And the Signs which you have learned here will not look at all as you expect them to look, when you meet them there [the Dragon, the Serpent, seeks in every age to hide and to disguise them deep in the philosophies of men]. That is why it is so important to know them by heart and pay no attention to appearances. Remember the Signs and believe the Signs. Nothing else matters (italics added).”
Remembering and honoring the signs, our heroes, our Everymen, release the doctrine of Christ from the “vile engine of sorcery,” the Silver Chair of Apostasy, and in so doing come to see before them the true Son of the King. With the aid of the meek and humble things of the earth, embodied in the common Marshwiggle, they conquer even the Dragon or Serpent.
Yet the fight is not over. There are men’s souls to be won, and a final struggle to be made. The bright light of the Restoration shines forth, the Earthmen awake and shake their heads as if waking from a dream, and embrace the light with joy, while the conquerors go on into the Unknown.
“Doubtless,” says the Prince, “this signifies that Aslan will be our good lord, whether he means us to live or die. And all’s one, for that.”
This is a message for our times. We face an unknown path, fraught with peril. Economic hardships, terrorism, violence on the home front, and moral entrapment and devastation all loom before us. But we have a prophet and apostles, the revealed word of the Lord, the Gift of the Holy Ghost, and the covenants of baptism and the temple to guide and sustain us, with Celestial glory shining in solid light (“There I’ll pick you bunches of rubies that you can eat and squeeze you a cup full of diamond-juice.”) before us.
We have the stories of our own heroes, the Latter-day pioneers to encourage and inspire us. (While in Salt Lake City recently, I took occasion to visit the juried art exhibition in the Conference Center, “Remembering the Great Things of God.” One of the pieces was a large painting of a formidable peak in the Wasatch Range; under it was a triptych, with handcart pioneers in the first panel, facial portraits of the pioneer couple in the middle, and their Utah homestead in the third. Instantly upon taking in the whole effect, and gazing at their faces, the exhortation came to my mind as if I heard their very voices: “We did it. So can you.”).
What else can we say but what Joseph Smith exclaims in Section 128 of the Doctrine and Covenants: “Brethren, shall we not go on in so great a cause? Go forward and not backward. Courage, brethren, and on, on to the victory!”
Prince Rilian, looking upon a task the immediate consequences of which are unknown, proclaims solemnly, “Friends, when once a man is launched on such an adventure as this, he must bid farewell to hopes and fears, otherwise death or deliverance will both come too late to save his honor and his reason.”
“ ‘Do you mean you think everything will come right if we do untie him?’ ” Eustace had inquired of the steadfast Puddleglum as they determined to set the bewitched knight free from the bonds of the Silver Chair, having seen clear evidence of the Fourth Sign but fearing the consequences of following it. “ ‘I don’t know that, said Puddleglum. “You see, Aslan didn’t tell [Jill] what would happen. He only told her what to do. That fellow will be the death of us once he’s up, I shouldn’t wonder. But that doesn’t let us off following the Sign.’
“They all stood looking at one another with bright eyes. It was a sickening moment. ‘All right!’ said Jill suddenly. ‘Let’s get it over. Good-bye everyone…!’ “
That is the kind of bidding farewell to hopes and fears to which the Prince refers: one doesn’t know the consequences of doing what’s right, one only knows that one must do it.
“In the name of Aslan.”
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