Saturday, February 21, 2009
letter to the editor of The Commercial Appeal, Feb 09
I was delighted to read the heading of Wendi Thomas' Sunday column, "Adoption is what is best for children." I had spent a fair amount of time Saturday talking to my daughter and reminiscing over her choice several years ago to place a baby for adoption. It was an excruciatingly painful decision for her, but one which she has never regretted because she knows it was what was best for her child (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KGCxBmoAIAE). Reading Wendi's remarks within the column itself, though, left me heartsick. While it is true that the foster system is far from perfect, I am not by any means persuaded that a baby needs two fathers and no mother, more than being placed in the foster system. Make no mistake: the world we live in is so full of contradictive family situations that it is only by grace that many children become fully healthy adults. The pattern, however, the ideal that we all need to strive for, and the one that has proven by far, hands down, most effective and beneficial, is a mom and a dad, married to each other and fully committed for life. Settling for less is not where our mindset should be; we ought always to strive for the best. Perhaps, just perhaps, instead of wanting to "impose his religious beliefs on all unmarried couples," Rep. Stanley is just trying to stand up for what is true.
notes to those who might read some stuff here
Just want y'all to know that I just started this blog business, and I got excited and posted things that were hanging around in my files, that I've known I ought to share for years. I ought to have put those first, because now what I wrote years ago is the first thing you see. That's not bad, because what I wrote is pretty important, if I do say so myself; it's just that the things that you'll see further on are more recent and less portentious...maybe.
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
Snatched
(Note: This is a talk I wrote during the Easter season, sometime around 1995)
Have you ever had the falling sensation before, the sense of impending collision, only to be snatched away at the last moment, and carried to safety? Literature, music, television and movies are full of this image: someone in jeopardy, unable to save himself, when suddenly along comes someone mighty -- some super hero, some lovely creature out of the best fantasy -- to the rescue. Thank goodness!
As we watch, hear, or visualize, we reach out empathetically: Oh no! Look out! Help! Somebody save him! Somebody save her! We feel this tremendous compassion; we’ve been there ourselves somehow, somewhere; that rescue is in some way a beacon of hope to each of us in our own moments of imminent danger.
I believe we feel this way because in each of us is an intense awareness, as spirit children of our Father in Heaven, of our own mortality, our fallen nature. We sense the current of mortal life leading us inexorably down into the whirlpool of mortal death. “Oh no! Look out!” something in us continually cries, “Help! Save me!”
“Now we see,” says Alma, “that Adam did fall by partaking of the forbidden fruit, according to the word of God; and thus we see, that by his fall all mankind became a lost and fallen people.” (Alma 12:22)
I believe we have an inborn sense of “fallen-ness”. It is said that the only things a baby instinctively fears are loud noises and falling. It is said that when a person dreams he is falling, he always wakes up before crashing, because if he sees that, he will die. Whatever the case may be, suffice it to say that we know, intrinsically, that we are in some kind of dire predicament that we cannot, try as we might, pull ourselves out of -- a nose dive that has no pull-out mechanism.
We try not to think about it too much. Some of us manage, as we grow up, to hardly think of it at all. We find other targets for our attention, other diversions that occupy our minds. Like Alma in his youth, perhaps, we opt for outright rebellion. “If I rage furiously enough against it,” runs the rationale, “it will go away.”
Alma had to face it, though; he had to face it really hard. You might say that Imminent Destruction walked right up to him with a glove across the face and challenged him to a dual. What was he to do? What could he do? Oh no! Look out! What Alma faced with that angelic warning to repent or perish, and what we all must face, are two specters: the death of our bodies, and the consequences of our choices.
“I was racked with eternal torment,” Alma told his son Helaman, “for my soul was harrowed up to the greatest degree and racked with all my sins. Yea, I did remember all my sins and iniquities, for which I was tormented with the pains of hell…” (Alma 36:12-13)
So, here we have the human predicament: plummeting toward death, and faced with destruction, body and soul. What to do, what to do? “Oh, thought I, that I could be banished and become extinct both soul and body,” said Alma. Small wonder that there are so many philosophies of men that label mortal life a mere cosmic accident, with no causal beginning and with an end which is best described as a mere “snuffing out.” Alma knew better. We all know better.
Help! Save him! Save me!
“And it came to pass that as I was thus racked with torment, while I was harrowed up by the memory of my many sins, behold I remembered also to have heard my father prophesy concerning the coming of one Jesus Christ, a son of God, to atone for the sins of the world. Now, as my mind caught hold upon this thought, I cried within my heart: O Jesus, thou Son of God, have mercy on me, who am in the gall of bitterness, and am encircled about by the everlasting chains of death.” (vs. 17-18)
In that moment of overpowering anguish, on the very brink of hell, Help arrived - not on a galloping steed, not whizzing though the air, cape flowing in the wind - but in a way so real and so intense as to not be properly described, the Lamb of God himself reached down into the swirling abyss and caught that helpless, falling child in the gentle, mighty palm of his own hand.
“I was in the darkest abyss, but now I behold the marvelous light of God,” proclaimed Alma to those who, fasting and praying, had gathered around his inert body for two days and nights. “My soul was racked with eternal torment, but I am snatched, and my soul is pained no more.” (Mosiah 27:29)
Thank goodness! Thank God. For when Adam and all mankind fell, and “it was appointed unto men that they must die, and after death [[that] they must come to judgment” -- when that horrendous edict was pronounced, “God did call on men, in the name of his Son, (this being the plan of redemption which was laid), saying: If ye will repent, and harden not your hearts, then will I have mercy upon you, through mine Only Begotten son, unto a remission of [your] sins; and [you] shall enter into my rest.” (Alma 12:27,33-34)
So, onto the stage of mortality entered a precious Babe, in a stable (what more obvious symbol of mortal life could there be?), the Only Begotten Son of God, born, you might say, to die; because only He, mortal via his mother Mary, and God via his Immortal Father (“For as the Father hath life in himself so hath he given to the Son to have life in himself’) -- only He, perfect and sinless, could submit himself to that awful Fall, and then - can it be? It is! - climb back out again: Victor, forever, over both death and hell.
He made it! He made it!
And behind Him, blinking incredulously in his Son-light, come all the rest of us. We, like Alma, are snatched, snatched by his resurrection from physical death, and by his Atonement, from spiritual death, conditioned only upon our faithfulness. When we go down into the water in baptism, it is as if we are going down into the grave; and when we come up out of the water, it is as a living symbol of the Resurrection, being brought out by virtue of his redemption, in “the hollow of his hand.” Every Sabbath day, we witness our willingness to continue in that state of grace as we partake worthily of the sacrament.
“O how great the goodness of our God,” exults Jacob, “who prepareth a way for our escape from the grasp of this awful monster; yea, that monster, death and hell…And because of the way of deliverance of our God, the Holy One of Israel,…death…shall deliver up its dead; which death is the grave. And…spiritual death [which] is hell…must deliver up its captive spirits,…and the bodies and the spirits of men will be restored one to the other; and it is by the power of the resurrection of the Holy One of Israel.”
Thank goodness! Thank God. We are snatched! Praises be unto him as we celebrate this Easter season, and forever and ever after.
Have you ever had the falling sensation before, the sense of impending collision, only to be snatched away at the last moment, and carried to safety? Literature, music, television and movies are full of this image: someone in jeopardy, unable to save himself, when suddenly along comes someone mighty -- some super hero, some lovely creature out of the best fantasy -- to the rescue. Thank goodness!
As we watch, hear, or visualize, we reach out empathetically: Oh no! Look out! Help! Somebody save him! Somebody save her! We feel this tremendous compassion; we’ve been there ourselves somehow, somewhere; that rescue is in some way a beacon of hope to each of us in our own moments of imminent danger.
I believe we feel this way because in each of us is an intense awareness, as spirit children of our Father in Heaven, of our own mortality, our fallen nature. We sense the current of mortal life leading us inexorably down into the whirlpool of mortal death. “Oh no! Look out!” something in us continually cries, “Help! Save me!”
“Now we see,” says Alma, “that Adam did fall by partaking of the forbidden fruit, according to the word of God; and thus we see, that by his fall all mankind became a lost and fallen people.” (Alma 12:22)
I believe we have an inborn sense of “fallen-ness”. It is said that the only things a baby instinctively fears are loud noises and falling. It is said that when a person dreams he is falling, he always wakes up before crashing, because if he sees that, he will die. Whatever the case may be, suffice it to say that we know, intrinsically, that we are in some kind of dire predicament that we cannot, try as we might, pull ourselves out of -- a nose dive that has no pull-out mechanism.
We try not to think about it too much. Some of us manage, as we grow up, to hardly think of it at all. We find other targets for our attention, other diversions that occupy our minds. Like Alma in his youth, perhaps, we opt for outright rebellion. “If I rage furiously enough against it,” runs the rationale, “it will go away.”
Alma had to face it, though; he had to face it really hard. You might say that Imminent Destruction walked right up to him with a glove across the face and challenged him to a dual. What was he to do? What could he do? Oh no! Look out! What Alma faced with that angelic warning to repent or perish, and what we all must face, are two specters: the death of our bodies, and the consequences of our choices.
“I was racked with eternal torment,” Alma told his son Helaman, “for my soul was harrowed up to the greatest degree and racked with all my sins. Yea, I did remember all my sins and iniquities, for which I was tormented with the pains of hell…” (Alma 36:12-13)
So, here we have the human predicament: plummeting toward death, and faced with destruction, body and soul. What to do, what to do? “Oh, thought I, that I could be banished and become extinct both soul and body,” said Alma. Small wonder that there are so many philosophies of men that label mortal life a mere cosmic accident, with no causal beginning and with an end which is best described as a mere “snuffing out.” Alma knew better. We all know better.
Help! Save him! Save me!
“And it came to pass that as I was thus racked with torment, while I was harrowed up by the memory of my many sins, behold I remembered also to have heard my father prophesy concerning the coming of one Jesus Christ, a son of God, to atone for the sins of the world. Now, as my mind caught hold upon this thought, I cried within my heart: O Jesus, thou Son of God, have mercy on me, who am in the gall of bitterness, and am encircled about by the everlasting chains of death.” (vs. 17-18)
In that moment of overpowering anguish, on the very brink of hell, Help arrived - not on a galloping steed, not whizzing though the air, cape flowing in the wind - but in a way so real and so intense as to not be properly described, the Lamb of God himself reached down into the swirling abyss and caught that helpless, falling child in the gentle, mighty palm of his own hand.
“I was in the darkest abyss, but now I behold the marvelous light of God,” proclaimed Alma to those who, fasting and praying, had gathered around his inert body for two days and nights. “My soul was racked with eternal torment, but I am snatched, and my soul is pained no more.” (Mosiah 27:29)
Thank goodness! Thank God. For when Adam and all mankind fell, and “it was appointed unto men that they must die, and after death [[that] they must come to judgment” -- when that horrendous edict was pronounced, “God did call on men, in the name of his Son, (this being the plan of redemption which was laid), saying: If ye will repent, and harden not your hearts, then will I have mercy upon you, through mine Only Begotten son, unto a remission of [your] sins; and [you] shall enter into my rest.” (Alma 12:27,33-34)
So, onto the stage of mortality entered a precious Babe, in a stable (what more obvious symbol of mortal life could there be?), the Only Begotten Son of God, born, you might say, to die; because only He, mortal via his mother Mary, and God via his Immortal Father (“For as the Father hath life in himself so hath he given to the Son to have life in himself’) -- only He, perfect and sinless, could submit himself to that awful Fall, and then - can it be? It is! - climb back out again: Victor, forever, over both death and hell.
He made it! He made it!
And behind Him, blinking incredulously in his Son-light, come all the rest of us. We, like Alma, are snatched, snatched by his resurrection from physical death, and by his Atonement, from spiritual death, conditioned only upon our faithfulness. When we go down into the water in baptism, it is as if we are going down into the grave; and when we come up out of the water, it is as a living symbol of the Resurrection, being brought out by virtue of his redemption, in “the hollow of his hand.” Every Sabbath day, we witness our willingness to continue in that state of grace as we partake worthily of the sacrament.
“O how great the goodness of our God,” exults Jacob, “who prepareth a way for our escape from the grasp of this awful monster; yea, that monster, death and hell…And because of the way of deliverance of our God, the Holy One of Israel,…death…shall deliver up its dead; which death is the grave. And…spiritual death [which] is hell…must deliver up its captive spirits,…and the bodies and the spirits of men will be restored one to the other; and it is by the power of the resurrection of the Holy One of Israel.”
Thank goodness! Thank God. We are snatched! Praises be unto him as we celebrate this Easter season, and forever and ever after.
How My Life Has Been Influenced by the Living Prophets
(this is a talk I gave around 2003, as I traveled around the stake as Stake Primary President during ward/branch conferences)
Elder Neal A. Maxwell of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles shares this story, as recorded by Wilford Woodruff: At a meeting of the brethren, “…the Prophet Joseph Smith turned to Brigham Young and said, ‘Brother Brigham, I want you to take the stand and tell us your views with regard to the written oracles and the written word of God.’
“In response to that invitation, Brother Brigham ‘took the Bible, and laid it down; he took the Book of Mormon and laid it down; and he took the book of Doctrine and Covenants, and laid It down before him, and he said, “There is the written word of God to us, concerning the work of God from the beginning of the world, almost, to our day. And now,” said he, “when compared with the living oracles those books are nothing to me; those books do not convey the word of God direct to us now, as do the words of a Prophet or a man bearing the Holy Priesthood in our day and generation. I would rather have the living oracles [meaning the mouthpieces of God] than all the writings in the books.” ‘ “
“At the end of these remarks, the Prophet Joseph said to the congregation: ‘Brother Brigham has told you the word of the Lord, and he has told you the truth.’ “
Long ago when I served a mission, the missionaries had the blessing of meeting with the prophet in the solemn assembly room of the Salt Lake Temple. The prophet was President Harold B. Lee. President Lee told us that at times during those meetings, some of the missionaries would ask for scriptural documentation of some response they had been given. The prophet reminded us that a prophet, when speaking as the Lord‘s mouthpiece, need give no other documentation, for as the Lord stated in section 1 of the Doctrine and Covenants, verse 38, “…whether by mine own voice or by the voice of my servants, it is the same.”
What a precious gift we enjoy in these Latter Days, what a privilege, to be led by a living prophet of God! I believe that long before I understood that we need a living prophet, I accepted that we have one. One of my dearest possessions as a child was a little burgundy-colored volume given to me by my parents at my baptism, entitled, A Child’s Story of the Prophet Joseph Smith, written by Emma Marr Petersen. I devoured that book, and came to know and appreciate the great Prophet of the Dispensation of the Fullness of Times. My soft child’s heart was forever impressed when I read of the heroic struggle of the young boy Joseph to undergo a painful operation on his knee, having refused to drink alcohol to deaden the pain. I suppose that story, as much or more than any other, forged my own solid commitment to keep the Word of Wisdom.
Just as with our Primary children today, my young life was laced through with stories of the modern prophets: how Heber J. Grant overcame weakness; how Lorenzo Snow saved the Church from financial ruin by recommitting the membership to the Law of Tithing; how Joseph F. Smith stood up to would-be mobsters with unflinching courage, to affirm that indeed he was a “Mormon”, “died in the wool, true blue, through and through.” The imperative to listen, listen to the Still, Small Voice was forever burned into my soul as I read the story of how Wilford Woodruff saved his family from death and injury by heeding the prompting to get up in the middle of the night and move his wagon.
My family was able to travel from our home in Idaho to Salt Lake City many times to attend General Conference. How my heart soared within me to stand as the prophet entered, and to sing, along with thousands of the Saints, “We Thank Thee, O God, for a Prophet”. From the year I was born till I was a freshman at Brigham Young University, the prophet and President of the Church was David O. McKay. Merely to say his name makes my heart swell and my eyes become wet. I loved President McKay! I stood at the rear exit of the tabernacle with a small cluster of members as he emerged from a concluding session of conference, still tall at ninety-plus years of age, with that beautiful full head of wavy white hair. He seemed an angel in our midst! One Saturday evening after General Priesthood session, the automobile carrying President McKay even cruised alongside us as we circled Temple Square prior to fetching my father and uncle, who had been in attendance at the session. There was the prophet, straight across from me, going the very same direction! A moment to treasure.
President Joseph Fielding Smith, President Lee, President Ezra Taft Benson, President Howard W. Hunter, and President Gordon B. Hinckley, all visited our stake for conference at some time or other, as apostles, and I was able to meet each one personally. Surely President Spencer W. Kimball visited us, too, but such was my acceptance of the FACT of a living prophet that I do not specifically recall! President Kimball was the President of The Church when our first child was born. She wasn’t two years old before she knew to recognize a portrait of the prophet. “Pimbo,” she would say, pointing to his picture. I cherish the anecdote concerning President Hunter, whose visit to the Church Museum of Art and History, prompted a little child to take off after his wheelchair. When asked by his parents where he was going, the child replied, “To follow the prophet.”
How have the modern prophets influenced my life? I do not believe there is a piece of me that does not resonate with the testimony that there is a prophet of God on the earth today, even Gordon B. Hinckley, that he leads and guides The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints under the direction of the Savior himself, and that by listening to and abiding by his counsel, we will be a blessed and beloved people indeed. The knowledge of a living prophet sings through all the moments of my life, lending meaning and security through the joys and through the struggles. I believe I understand, if only to a small degree, the fervor in President Brigham Young’s heart when he exclaimed, “I feel like shouting Hallelujah, all the time, when I think that I ever knew Joseph Smith [or David O. McKay, or Spencer W. Kimball, or Gordon B. Hinckley], the Prophet whom the Lord raised up and ordained, and to whom he gave keys and power to build up the Kingdom of God on earth and sustain it. These keys are committed to this people, and we have power to continue the work that Joseph commenced, until everything is prepared for the coming of the Son of Man. This is the business of the Latter-day Saints, and it is all the business we have on hand.”
I fervently pray that we will prove ourselves worthy of the blessings of living in these Latter Days, under the direction of the Lord’s living mouthpiece, by carrying out the “business of the Latter-day Saints,” and I leave this with you in the name of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ, Amen.
Elder Neal A. Maxwell of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles shares this story, as recorded by Wilford Woodruff: At a meeting of the brethren, “…the Prophet Joseph Smith turned to Brigham Young and said, ‘Brother Brigham, I want you to take the stand and tell us your views with regard to the written oracles and the written word of God.’
“In response to that invitation, Brother Brigham ‘took the Bible, and laid it down; he took the Book of Mormon and laid it down; and he took the book of Doctrine and Covenants, and laid It down before him, and he said, “There is the written word of God to us, concerning the work of God from the beginning of the world, almost, to our day. And now,” said he, “when compared with the living oracles those books are nothing to me; those books do not convey the word of God direct to us now, as do the words of a Prophet or a man bearing the Holy Priesthood in our day and generation. I would rather have the living oracles [meaning the mouthpieces of God] than all the writings in the books.” ‘ “
“At the end of these remarks, the Prophet Joseph said to the congregation: ‘Brother Brigham has told you the word of the Lord, and he has told you the truth.’ “
Long ago when I served a mission, the missionaries had the blessing of meeting with the prophet in the solemn assembly room of the Salt Lake Temple. The prophet was President Harold B. Lee. President Lee told us that at times during those meetings, some of the missionaries would ask for scriptural documentation of some response they had been given. The prophet reminded us that a prophet, when speaking as the Lord‘s mouthpiece, need give no other documentation, for as the Lord stated in section 1 of the Doctrine and Covenants, verse 38, “…whether by mine own voice or by the voice of my servants, it is the same.”
What a precious gift we enjoy in these Latter Days, what a privilege, to be led by a living prophet of God! I believe that long before I understood that we need a living prophet, I accepted that we have one. One of my dearest possessions as a child was a little burgundy-colored volume given to me by my parents at my baptism, entitled, A Child’s Story of the Prophet Joseph Smith, written by Emma Marr Petersen. I devoured that book, and came to know and appreciate the great Prophet of the Dispensation of the Fullness of Times. My soft child’s heart was forever impressed when I read of the heroic struggle of the young boy Joseph to undergo a painful operation on his knee, having refused to drink alcohol to deaden the pain. I suppose that story, as much or more than any other, forged my own solid commitment to keep the Word of Wisdom.
Just as with our Primary children today, my young life was laced through with stories of the modern prophets: how Heber J. Grant overcame weakness; how Lorenzo Snow saved the Church from financial ruin by recommitting the membership to the Law of Tithing; how Joseph F. Smith stood up to would-be mobsters with unflinching courage, to affirm that indeed he was a “Mormon”, “died in the wool, true blue, through and through.” The imperative to listen, listen to the Still, Small Voice was forever burned into my soul as I read the story of how Wilford Woodruff saved his family from death and injury by heeding the prompting to get up in the middle of the night and move his wagon.
My family was able to travel from our home in Idaho to Salt Lake City many times to attend General Conference. How my heart soared within me to stand as the prophet entered, and to sing, along with thousands of the Saints, “We Thank Thee, O God, for a Prophet”. From the year I was born till I was a freshman at Brigham Young University, the prophet and President of the Church was David O. McKay. Merely to say his name makes my heart swell and my eyes become wet. I loved President McKay! I stood at the rear exit of the tabernacle with a small cluster of members as he emerged from a concluding session of conference, still tall at ninety-plus years of age, with that beautiful full head of wavy white hair. He seemed an angel in our midst! One Saturday evening after General Priesthood session, the automobile carrying President McKay even cruised alongside us as we circled Temple Square prior to fetching my father and uncle, who had been in attendance at the session. There was the prophet, straight across from me, going the very same direction! A moment to treasure.
President Joseph Fielding Smith, President Lee, President Ezra Taft Benson, President Howard W. Hunter, and President Gordon B. Hinckley, all visited our stake for conference at some time or other, as apostles, and I was able to meet each one personally. Surely President Spencer W. Kimball visited us, too, but such was my acceptance of the FACT of a living prophet that I do not specifically recall! President Kimball was the President of The Church when our first child was born. She wasn’t two years old before she knew to recognize a portrait of the prophet. “Pimbo,” she would say, pointing to his picture. I cherish the anecdote concerning President Hunter, whose visit to the Church Museum of Art and History, prompted a little child to take off after his wheelchair. When asked by his parents where he was going, the child replied, “To follow the prophet.”
How have the modern prophets influenced my life? I do not believe there is a piece of me that does not resonate with the testimony that there is a prophet of God on the earth today, even Gordon B. Hinckley, that he leads and guides The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints under the direction of the Savior himself, and that by listening to and abiding by his counsel, we will be a blessed and beloved people indeed. The knowledge of a living prophet sings through all the moments of my life, lending meaning and security through the joys and through the struggles. I believe I understand, if only to a small degree, the fervor in President Brigham Young’s heart when he exclaimed, “I feel like shouting Hallelujah, all the time, when I think that I ever knew Joseph Smith [or David O. McKay, or Spencer W. Kimball, or Gordon B. Hinckley], the Prophet whom the Lord raised up and ordained, and to whom he gave keys and power to build up the Kingdom of God on earth and sustain it. These keys are committed to this people, and we have power to continue the work that Joseph commenced, until everything is prepared for the coming of the Son of Man. This is the business of the Latter-day Saints, and it is all the business we have on hand.”
I fervently pray that we will prove ourselves worthy of the blessings of living in these Latter Days, under the direction of the Lord’s living mouthpiece, by carrying out the “business of the Latter-day Saints,” and I leave this with you in the name of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ, Amen.
Monday, February 16, 2009
Pruning
(note: this poem was written after driving home, witnessing the work of a brutal machine that "prunes" vegetation along the highway by ripping it out with a rotating chain)
“…Against none is his wrath kindled, save those who confess not his hand in all things…”
A tree stands wounded, broken, stripped,
Its branches hardly neatly clipped,
But left instead to dangle, mute
But weeping, on my homeward route.
Its numbers multiply along
The highway, one sick, silent throng.
It makes my stomach turn, this proof
Of wanton, thoughtless “work”: uncouth,
This show of cold, efficient thrift:
No recognition of the Gift.
It seems a wicked crack among
So many larger in the wall;
How long, O God, shall that be hung
Till fiery tide consume it all?
-Linda Hyde
“…Against none is his wrath kindled, save those who confess not his hand in all things…”
A tree stands wounded, broken, stripped,
Its branches hardly neatly clipped,
But left instead to dangle, mute
But weeping, on my homeward route.
Its numbers multiply along
The highway, one sick, silent throng.
It makes my stomach turn, this proof
Of wanton, thoughtless “work”: uncouth,
This show of cold, efficient thrift:
No recognition of the Gift.
It seems a wicked crack among
So many larger in the wall;
How long, O God, shall that be hung
Till fiery tide consume it all?
-Linda Hyde
An Urgent Call to Paradise
Dear Mr. C. S. Lewis,
Although, if what you imagined is true of Paradise, your continuing fame here is of little consequence to you now, I have to hope that what I am about to relate to you will be of some importance, even there. For, what I have to say speaks not only to life here in mortality, but also to the whole “further up and further in” eternal scenario.
It’s this: they’ve taken your beautiful Chronicles of Narnia and turned them into an event. In so doing, all that was pure and simple has been trampled on, left on the cutting room floor - no, not even having reached that far, never having been considered at all.
There I sat, still willing to allow for poetic license, still open, though with a growing sense of undernourishment, waiting. There was killing, Mr. Lewis - not chivalric warfare, where the protagonist respects his opponent, but bone-crunching, muscle-quelling, lung-thumping murder. And spectacle! Not royal processions and solemn ceremony, but sheer shameful spectacle, for its own sake: a phantasmic host in uniform, just for the show.
Because bigger must be better, you see. We denizens of modernity are far too sophisticated for stories plain and simply told, and standing on their own merit. No! We must have spectacle.
I thought to myself, There are small children here, come to see a children’s story! Would not Mr. Lewis forbid such a thing - that tender hearts and innocent eyes be assaulted in such a manner as to cause subtle wounds and long-lived nightmares? Is this the purpose for which The Chronicles of Narnia were written?
So I got up and left. Right as the swollen armies of the usurper Miraz were marching upon Aslan’s How, with its querulous occupants. What good, I asked myself, will this do? I had to do it, because of what I know. I know the Chronicles are simply child’s tales, direct and honest while engaging and enthralling, in their retelling of the greatest Story of all time. They need no garnishment, no special effects to fit “today’s sophisticated audience.” Today’s audience is jaded. They cry out, though they know it not, for simple, wholesome fare, for that which edifies because it is true.
If you have the wherewithal in Paradise, Mr. Lewis, if it is allowed, could you not whisper in the ear of some yet-mortal artist, one with integrity, to try again?
Ever your devoted fan, Linda Hyde
Although, if what you imagined is true of Paradise, your continuing fame here is of little consequence to you now, I have to hope that what I am about to relate to you will be of some importance, even there. For, what I have to say speaks not only to life here in mortality, but also to the whole “further up and further in” eternal scenario.
It’s this: they’ve taken your beautiful Chronicles of Narnia and turned them into an event. In so doing, all that was pure and simple has been trampled on, left on the cutting room floor - no, not even having reached that far, never having been considered at all.
There I sat, still willing to allow for poetic license, still open, though with a growing sense of undernourishment, waiting. There was killing, Mr. Lewis - not chivalric warfare, where the protagonist respects his opponent, but bone-crunching, muscle-quelling, lung-thumping murder. And spectacle! Not royal processions and solemn ceremony, but sheer shameful spectacle, for its own sake: a phantasmic host in uniform, just for the show.
Because bigger must be better, you see. We denizens of modernity are far too sophisticated for stories plain and simply told, and standing on their own merit. No! We must have spectacle.
I thought to myself, There are small children here, come to see a children’s story! Would not Mr. Lewis forbid such a thing - that tender hearts and innocent eyes be assaulted in such a manner as to cause subtle wounds and long-lived nightmares? Is this the purpose for which The Chronicles of Narnia were written?
So I got up and left. Right as the swollen armies of the usurper Miraz were marching upon Aslan’s How, with its querulous occupants. What good, I asked myself, will this do? I had to do it, because of what I know. I know the Chronicles are simply child’s tales, direct and honest while engaging and enthralling, in their retelling of the greatest Story of all time. They need no garnishment, no special effects to fit “today’s sophisticated audience.” Today’s audience is jaded. They cry out, though they know it not, for simple, wholesome fare, for that which edifies because it is true.
If you have the wherewithal in Paradise, Mr. Lewis, if it is allowed, could you not whisper in the ear of some yet-mortal artist, one with integrity, to try again?
Ever your devoted fan, Linda Hyde
LETTERS TO MY CHILDREN: ON FEAR; OR, ON SADNESS
My dear children,
Today I had a thought about sadness. We spoke in Sunday School and in Relief Society about the joy and happiness of the Gospel, and about how his covenant children are most blessed above all. Therefore we ought to be of all people the happiest. I asked myself, “Why was I so sad as our children were growing up?” Especially you older ones.
The obvious answer is that we were not my ideal of a happy family; we were not like my family. Also, I was such a failure. It was so hard, and all my efforts seemed to go for naught. And on and on.
But the real reason is that I listened to the insidious little voices that whispered in my ear. I did not listen to the voice of the savior, the one that said, look to me in every word; doubt not, fear not. The voice that said, Trust in the lord with all thine heart and lean not unto thine own understanding. The voice that said I love you. Believe.
Over time and through affliction, I started believing and hoping more, and I came to the realization that happines and joy are indeed my heritage. I know that those insidious little voices come from liars, from the father of lies. I flick them off my shoulder: Be gone. You are not the spirit of truth in which I trust. If I feel sad on some occasion or because, perhaps, of some clinical genetic miswiring of the nerves, I acknowledge that it is just that, a feeling. Not a reflection of what is real.
My purpose is to warn you: growing up under the tutelage of a mother too often sad, and perhaps, born with that odd miswiring, you are dangerously susceptible, some of you more than others, to follow those voices into gray mist. Don’t wander off into it and become lost. Hold, hold, hold, to that iron rod which proclaims, “Men are, that they might have joy.” Believe that joy and happiness are pleasing to the Lord. He has no pleasure in gloom. Though we have responsibilities and obligations, burdens and temptations, to which we fall prey too often, yet joy is our inheritance, and will be ours for the seeking. Let us not be guilty of the greater sin of not allowing it in, of judging ourselves unworthy. “Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord.” Not ours.
Ways to which we have grown accustomed are always, in their odd manner, comfortable. We feel alarmingly exposed coming out of that comfort into the light of something greater and better (“See,” says Satan, “you are naked!”). In this case, though, repentance is not a case of covering our heads with dirt and lying down in sackcloth and ashes; it is a case of allowing happiness to take us over, to move us to hope, to trust, to have faith, which in turn move us to abound in good works. This process feeds upon itself to produce more hope, more trust, more faith, and more abundance in good works.
All repentance requires a stepping out into the darkness, inspite of the doubts and fears. Let us nevertheless make the attempt, and walk into joy. Continually.
Today I had a thought about sadness. We spoke in Sunday School and in Relief Society about the joy and happiness of the Gospel, and about how his covenant children are most blessed above all. Therefore we ought to be of all people the happiest. I asked myself, “Why was I so sad as our children were growing up?” Especially you older ones.
The obvious answer is that we were not my ideal of a happy family; we were not like my family. Also, I was such a failure. It was so hard, and all my efforts seemed to go for naught. And on and on.
But the real reason is that I listened to the insidious little voices that whispered in my ear. I did not listen to the voice of the savior, the one that said, look to me in every word; doubt not, fear not. The voice that said, Trust in the lord with all thine heart and lean not unto thine own understanding. The voice that said I love you. Believe.
Over time and through affliction, I started believing and hoping more, and I came to the realization that happines and joy are indeed my heritage. I know that those insidious little voices come from liars, from the father of lies. I flick them off my shoulder: Be gone. You are not the spirit of truth in which I trust. If I feel sad on some occasion or because, perhaps, of some clinical genetic miswiring of the nerves, I acknowledge that it is just that, a feeling. Not a reflection of what is real.
My purpose is to warn you: growing up under the tutelage of a mother too often sad, and perhaps, born with that odd miswiring, you are dangerously susceptible, some of you more than others, to follow those voices into gray mist. Don’t wander off into it and become lost. Hold, hold, hold, to that iron rod which proclaims, “Men are, that they might have joy.” Believe that joy and happiness are pleasing to the Lord. He has no pleasure in gloom. Though we have responsibilities and obligations, burdens and temptations, to which we fall prey too often, yet joy is our inheritance, and will be ours for the seeking. Let us not be guilty of the greater sin of not allowing it in, of judging ourselves unworthy. “Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord.” Not ours.
Ways to which we have grown accustomed are always, in their odd manner, comfortable. We feel alarmingly exposed coming out of that comfort into the light of something greater and better (“See,” says Satan, “you are naked!”). In this case, though, repentance is not a case of covering our heads with dirt and lying down in sackcloth and ashes; it is a case of allowing happiness to take us over, to move us to hope, to trust, to have faith, which in turn move us to abound in good works. This process feeds upon itself to produce more hope, more trust, more faith, and more abundance in good works.
All repentance requires a stepping out into the darkness, inspite of the doubts and fears. Let us nevertheless make the attempt, and walk into joy. Continually.
Seeking After Righteousness
I search Thee out,
Down boulevards of thought.
Elusive, Thou art and art not there.
It is, in truth, my own undisciplined mind,
Powerless - or weakly able -
To stay upon the Sublime,
That slips off the curb,
Stumbles in the gutter,
And up again.
I will stay myself upon Thee.
Hold Thou, I pray, on to me.
Linda Hyde
unpublished copyright, 2008
Down boulevards of thought.
Elusive, Thou art and art not there.
It is, in truth, my own undisciplined mind,
Powerless - or weakly able -
To stay upon the Sublime,
That slips off the curb,
Stumbles in the gutter,
And up again.
I will stay myself upon Thee.
Hold Thou, I pray, on to me.
Linda Hyde
unpublished copyright, 2008
Stopping the Tape in the Middle - Thoughts on You’ve Got Mail
I really like the movie You’ve Got Mail, it’s so charming and sweet - except for the fact that they’re both living with someone. That’s unfortunately not a big deal these days. Next thing you know, Kathleen and Frank are talking about how they’re “perfect” for each other, but, funny thing, they just don’t love each other, and isn’t that amusing, and Frank walks out with his typewriter, and it‘s just a part of the plot that brings Joe and Kathleen together. .
Today I found a copy of Redbook magazine in the teacher’s lounge at the school where I work, and I brought it down to our office to read in the off moments, but I only made it halfway through before I couldn’t take any more raciness. When I was a child my mom read Redbook all the time.
Kids at my school talk about same-gender relationships in the same way they talk about the latest shoe styles.
Last Christmas, it seemed as though the Babe in the manger were slipping further and further away from our celebration, and with him, the magic - even though people make elaborate, fanciful substitutions to pretend the magic is still there. You can’t have magic for long , though, while ignoring the source. You can’t hold on to it because you’ve cut off the current that produces the glow.
Relationships aren’t supposed to be casual. I am not just waxing nostalgic here; we really are losing what is precious, precious and meaningful, and we are clinging more and more frantically to - what? Fluff. Insubstantial, elaborate, showy fluff.
Relationships were never meant to be casual. Ironically, that is the very reason You’ve Got Mail is so sweet and so memorable, because we know, deep down inside, that relationships are meant to mean something, to be substantial, to last. We just know that Joe and Kathleen will be forever.
But becoming “forever” would take a major change of heart for anyone caught in the sophistry of casual relationships. All that witty, cosmopolitan (sorry, Redbook), casual, racy magazine talk is so insubstantial, so cold, so devoid of meaning, so like eating cotton candy - all you’re left with is sticky fingers, for all its gloss and surface appeal. Why do we long for that stuff? We don’t. It’s just easier to come by, more available, more accepted. It’s only a substitute for the real thing, and we wonder if there really is anything more out there.
There is! There always has been and always will be, so much more. So much more. It starts with making and keeping promises. And it builds on a rock, and it stands through everything, absolutely everything, that life can throw at you. The Apostle Paul - yes, I will quote the Bible, and not some watered-down version of it either, because the Bible is more current and more real than any of your glossy, casual, sophisticated fluff, and ever will be! - the Apostle Paul said that we ought to seek after “whatsoever things are true…honest…just…pure…lovely…of good report,” anything of virtue or worthy of praise. He exhorted us to “think on these things.”
Don’t fall for the sophistry that has us eating cotton candy - or worse. The old virtues are still the real thing. It is still possible to live by them, to hold on to them. They will surely hold on to you, if you are true to them, they really will. Don’t let anybody tell you otherwise!
Today I found a copy of Redbook magazine in the teacher’s lounge at the school where I work, and I brought it down to our office to read in the off moments, but I only made it halfway through before I couldn’t take any more raciness. When I was a child my mom read Redbook all the time.
Kids at my school talk about same-gender relationships in the same way they talk about the latest shoe styles.
Last Christmas, it seemed as though the Babe in the manger were slipping further and further away from our celebration, and with him, the magic - even though people make elaborate, fanciful substitutions to pretend the magic is still there. You can’t have magic for long , though, while ignoring the source. You can’t hold on to it because you’ve cut off the current that produces the glow.
Relationships aren’t supposed to be casual. I am not just waxing nostalgic here; we really are losing what is precious, precious and meaningful, and we are clinging more and more frantically to - what? Fluff. Insubstantial, elaborate, showy fluff.
Relationships were never meant to be casual. Ironically, that is the very reason You’ve Got Mail is so sweet and so memorable, because we know, deep down inside, that relationships are meant to mean something, to be substantial, to last. We just know that Joe and Kathleen will be forever.
But becoming “forever” would take a major change of heart for anyone caught in the sophistry of casual relationships. All that witty, cosmopolitan (sorry, Redbook), casual, racy magazine talk is so insubstantial, so cold, so devoid of meaning, so like eating cotton candy - all you’re left with is sticky fingers, for all its gloss and surface appeal. Why do we long for that stuff? We don’t. It’s just easier to come by, more available, more accepted. It’s only a substitute for the real thing, and we wonder if there really is anything more out there.
There is! There always has been and always will be, so much more. So much more. It starts with making and keeping promises. And it builds on a rock, and it stands through everything, absolutely everything, that life can throw at you. The Apostle Paul - yes, I will quote the Bible, and not some watered-down version of it either, because the Bible is more current and more real than any of your glossy, casual, sophisticated fluff, and ever will be! - the Apostle Paul said that we ought to seek after “whatsoever things are true…honest…just…pure…lovely…of good report,” anything of virtue or worthy of praise. He exhorted us to “think on these things.”
Don’t fall for the sophistry that has us eating cotton candy - or worse. The old virtues are still the real thing. It is still possible to live by them, to hold on to them. They will surely hold on to you, if you are true to them, they really will. Don’t let anybody tell you otherwise!
Why Moral Issues Eclipse All Others
Okay, I’ve been thinking about whether or not same sex marriage, abortion, pornography, and all the other prevalent-but-not-so-big-a-deal-anymore moral sins ought to or ought not to be higher priority issues than poverty, environment, education, etc., or whether in fact they are just part of the overall “family issues” list along with the rest. Here are the thoughts I have on the subject:
If you mess with pro-creation, what kind of respect are you going to have, really, for the rest of Creation? Idolatry and Adultery (in the broadest sense of sexual sin) are both infidelity, ultimately to God. Unfaithful to what we have been given and to Who gave it, to the greatest stewardships possible: our physical creation. Throwing back in His face that he took on mortality and “corruptibleness” for us, in turn to lay it down, in turn to pick up, in all our behalf, immortality and incorruption.
Can a world that wholeheartedly espouses immorality (adultery, infidelity) in fact produce any kind of financial, environmental, educational well-being? No. Everything else is in jeopardy unless the fundamental building block of virtue, morality, is in place. Environment, health, education become smoke screens to mask where the attention needs to go first and foremost in order for all those other things to be assured. “If we make enough noise about those things," the thinking becomes, "we won’t have to pay attention to the still, small voice that keeps droning the same thing: honor, virtue, integrity.” The prince of this world, who never had and never will have a body, wants to distract the brothers and sisters from whom he is eternally estranged by encouraging them to get involved in secondary causes first, so that the covenants they must make to return, live with, and be like their Father never quite come to pass.I think the Brethren’s stand is in concert with this outlook. That’s why, as an issue, moral rectitude eclipses all others, because it strikes at the very heart of Heavenly Father’s Plan: that he sent his children here to gain a body, to attain unto perfection through the only means possible, by means of the Atonement: in families.
So, yes. Morality first. In my mind, that ought always to be the basis on which I make political and all other choices, because nothing else is really possible without it.
If you mess with pro-creation, what kind of respect are you going to have, really, for the rest of Creation? Idolatry and Adultery (in the broadest sense of sexual sin) are both infidelity, ultimately to God. Unfaithful to what we have been given and to Who gave it, to the greatest stewardships possible: our physical creation. Throwing back in His face that he took on mortality and “corruptibleness” for us, in turn to lay it down, in turn to pick up, in all our behalf, immortality and incorruption.
Can a world that wholeheartedly espouses immorality (adultery, infidelity) in fact produce any kind of financial, environmental, educational well-being? No. Everything else is in jeopardy unless the fundamental building block of virtue, morality, is in place. Environment, health, education become smoke screens to mask where the attention needs to go first and foremost in order for all those other things to be assured. “If we make enough noise about those things," the thinking becomes, "we won’t have to pay attention to the still, small voice that keeps droning the same thing: honor, virtue, integrity.” The prince of this world, who never had and never will have a body, wants to distract the brothers and sisters from whom he is eternally estranged by encouraging them to get involved in secondary causes first, so that the covenants they must make to return, live with, and be like their Father never quite come to pass.I think the Brethren’s stand is in concert with this outlook. That’s why, as an issue, moral rectitude eclipses all others, because it strikes at the very heart of Heavenly Father’s Plan: that he sent his children here to gain a body, to attain unto perfection through the only means possible, by means of the Atonement: in families.
So, yes. Morality first. In my mind, that ought always to be the basis on which I make political and all other choices, because nothing else is really possible without it.
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