Stuck in the Second Act of Truth’s Three-Act Play


“Truth” is not as it seems.

If you were told that a certain son of vagabond, ne’er-do-well parents had organized a rag-tag group of friends into crusaders who went around challenging the respected ways and, having no visible means of support, apparently financing their operation through stealing, you would likely be disgusted. If you were told that the leader of the group claimed to have magical powers that He reportedly picked up in his travels, your estimation might sink even lower. You might speculate that the description fitted some nefarious cult leader.

The description also fits Jesus as seen by many of His contemporaries (Nibley, 1965). Some detractors went so far as to say that Jesus was the result of an illicit liaison between Mary and a Roman soldier.

Those of us who believe that Jesus is the Son of God find it easy to dismiss such perceptions as unsavory and unfounded rumor-mongering. Yet there is a type here. Every story has many versions. Who is to say that the scriptural version of Jesus is more accurate than those of secular historians, or contemporary playwrights and filmmakers? How can we know the truth? “Who of all these parties are right; or, are they all wrong together?” (Joseph Smith—History 1:10).

Truth is rare

Truth may not be as available and commonplace as we assume. Maybe it is impossible to size up any meaningful truth using human means alone. Maybe all of our accounts of Jesus are narrow and provincial.

When I have read biographies of Jesus, it was often much like any book learning. Yet, once in a while, something surged inside me. The study of His life occasionally opened a window in my soul and a flood of light filled me. Several times I felt a profound sense of awe. I knew truly that He was the Son of God and I felt to kneel at His feet.

That is the kind of truth that cannot be conveyed in mere words. A study of His life can prepare us, but the flooding of our souls cannot be compelled or controlled. “The wind [of the Spirit] bloweth where it listeth” (John 3: 8).

Truth is mystery

In the Church we commonly use the word mystery in two very different ways. One way is to describe an area of inquiry that is not fitting for human study or discussion. For example, the nature of marital intimacy in eternity is a mystery. We are not prepared to understand it and it is probably unproductive to speculate about it. It is enough to know that the union of two devoted souls in the eternal worlds must be lovelier than anything we can imagine here.

There is another meaning for the word mystery. A mystery is anything that can only be known by revelation. For example, “no man can say that Jesus is the Lord, but by the Holy Ghost” (1 Cor. 12:3). In the absence of revelation we can still respect Him. We can know much about His history. But we only know that He is the Son of God and Redeemer of the world when a window is opened and we are flooded with heavenly light.

In fact, maybe all the interesting truths are mysteries. We do not understand the “great plan of happiness” until the finger of God touches that stone of truth and makes it glow. We do not know that Joseph Smith is a prophet of God unless we have a divine experience in which God opens our minds and souls.

The mystery of other humans

Perhaps even the ordinary task of understanding each other is a mystery. We commonly size each other up and connect motivations with traits and develop a personality theory. We feel that we have a handle on other people. I suspect that we are mistaken. We are much like theatre-goers who dash through the theatre in the midst of the second act of a three-act play. We capture a few surface details. We hear a few lines of dialogue. But we see only a small slice of the second act. We have no access to the first act, that premortal world where God tutored and mentored us. Even as we observe those around us in this second act of mortality, we understand very little of the inner workings and histories of those we know best. As for the third and final act, “eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither have entered into the heart of man, the things which God hath prepared for them that love him” (1 Cor. 2:9) We do not—and, by our own powers, cannot—comprehend God’s amazing doings. Our view of each other and God’s purposes with each of His children is severely limited.

Even when we have lots of information about another person, our interpretation of the information is tainted by our own biases and assumptions. We simply have neither enough information nor enough perspective to assess each other. Think of Pilate standing face to face with the source of truth and asking “What is truth?” (John 18:38). Many of us, like Pilate, do not recognize truth when He stands before us.

Choice comes first

A pair of insightful scholars (Taylor & Brown, 1999) have observed that “humans act more like charlatans than scientists.” Rather than systematically gathering data on which to build conclusions, the human tendency is to form a conclusion and then look for data to support it. This human tendency can work for us or against us. Faith is a determination to see goodness and God in everything that happens. Faith can be based on experience but it always invites us to go beyond our evidence. We step into the darkness. We start the journey of faith with the resolve to see God in everything. With that resolve in place, we can consistently find the confirming data to justify our faith.

The same principle applies to disbelief. No one knows enough to disprove the existence of God. A person simply chooses to doubt. (Many call it “choosing to be honest.”) A person may have pains and disappointments that are the basis of the doubt, but disbelief is a choice. Then, looking through the murky lens of skepticism, a person sees darkness everywhere. The assumption is proved. It is just as self-fulfilling as faith.

In human relationships, we can base our attitudes and actions on a conscious choice. We can choose to love or to judge. If we make the stubborn resolve to love another person, we can find plenty of evidence that the person is deserving. Or we can choose to collect complaints with a predictable outcome. Or we can choose to “wait and see” which usually leads to something less than love—in a telestial world most people will disappoint our lofty expectations unless we have committed to loving them. Love does not come automatically in mortality.

Stress tries to pre-empt our choices

Captain Moroni was a model of valor and courage. He was also human. When the Nephite war for freedom was going badly, He “began to doubt” (Alma 59:11). He did not doubt God, but he began to doubt their ability to triumph in battle. Under such terrible stress, he shot off an accusing missive to Governor Pahoran. Moroni condemned him of being in a thoughtless stupor, neglect of duty, wickedness, slothfulness, idleness, even being a traitor. He threatened to bring the sword of justice and smite him.

Sometimes we are much like valiant Moroni. We put together our fragments of sense data and draw very firm conclusions. Since we know neither the full story nor the heart of others, we often miss the mark. But Pahoran was the one with heavenly moorings. In spite of the immense stresses in his circumstances and an undeserved rebuke from Moroni, he chose to see rightly. “In your epistle you have censured me, but it mattereth not; I am not angry, but do rejoice in the greatness of your heart” (Alma 61:9). Oh! That we might all be Pahorans. His response stands in stark contrast to our usual human tendency to judge everything based on its effect on us.

The Urim and Thummim of discernment

There is one way we can get a true measure of each other. It is when we have the mind of Christ. When we are filled with Him, we see as He sees and love as He loves. This blessed gift that the scriptures call charity does not come without effort. “Wherefore, my beloved brethren, pray unto the Father with all the energy of heart, that ye may be filled with this love, which he hath bestowed upon all who are true followers of his Son, Jesus Christ” (Moroni 7:48). When we partner with Christ, we will look on fellow travelers with love and appreciation.

We may know that we have properly sized up another person when we are filled with overwhelming, Christlike love for that person. Any time we feel otherwise, we are missing the mark. Any objective analysis of another person is simply mortal fiddle-faddle. My “truth” is really nothing but a parody, a caricature, a spoof of truth. It takes a small fragment of a person and views it through a dirty, distorted lens of my needs and my wisdom. The only true assessment is the one that Christ can give us. He has seen each of us in all three acts. He sees redemptively—an enormous and glorious bias! When we see others as He sees them, we are inevitably filled with awe.

This New Testament passage has priceless instructions on finding truth:

“This then is the message which we have heard of him, and declare unto you, that God is light, and in him is no darkness at all. If we say that we have fellowship with him, and walk in darkness, we lie, and do not the truth: But if we walk in the light, as he is in the light, we have fellowship one with another, and the blood of Jesus Christ his Son cleanseth us from all sin. (1 John 1:5-7)

John equates following him with being in light and knowing the truth. (See also D&C 84:45–46; and 88:6 for more insight on truth, light, and Spirit.)

C. S. Lewis (1949) observed with inspired wisdom that “it is a serious thing to live in a society of possible gods and goddesses, to remember that the dullest and most uninteresting person you talk to may one day be a creature which, if you saw it now, you would be strongly tempted to worship. . . . There are no ordinary people. You have never talked to a mere mortal” (pp.14–15, italics in original).

The source of truth

We only get to meaningful truth about God or people when we set aside all our preconceptions and surrender to Him. He is the truth (as well as the way and the life) (John 14:6). He is the One who energized the first act of this eternal “play,” directs the second act, and triumphs in the third act. It is He who understands truth because He is truth. He creates the magnificent reality through His grace. He allows us to see things as they truly are through the lens of His redemptiveness. “For we know in part, and we prophesy in part. But when that which is perfect is come, then that which is in part shall be done away. For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known. (1 Cor. 13:9, 10, 12)

Maybe in mortality we should be very modest in our claims to knowing truth about anyone or anything. We have tiny fragments of soiled suspicion. The only important things we truly know are those that are a gift from Him. We are wise, as Elder Maxwell has counseled, to “inventory our insights.” We can collect and cherish every divine truth given us. We can base our lives on His light. He is the reliable guide because He is filled with grace and truth (see Moses 1:6). He sees a bigger picture than we and He sees it through redemptive lenses.

“He that ascended up on high, as also he descended below all things, in that he comprehended all things, that he might be in all and through all things, the light of truth; Which truth shineth. This is the light of Christ” (D&C 88: 6–7).

We might also seek more truth by seeking diligently to be mentored by Him. While cherishing those truths He has given us we can deliberately seek His counsel in all things.

“Behold, ye are little children and ye cannot bear all things now; ye must grow in grace and in the knowledge of the truth” (D&C 50: 40).


Lewis, C. S. (1949). The Weight of Glory. New York: Macmillan Co.

Nibley, H. (1965, January). Early Accounts of Jesus’ Childhood, The Instructor.

Taylor, S. E., & Brown, J. D. (1999). Illusion and well-being: A social psychological perspective on mental health. In R. F. Baumeister (ed.), The self in social psychology. Philadelphia: Psychology Press.


The Accidental Architect

The First Division Monument in front of the Old Executive Office Building - Washington, D.C.

Imagine a house created by a tornado. It might have a fascinating combination of building materials including car parts, street signs, and tree branches together with soaked wallboard and fragments of PVC pipe. The host of materials might make the do-it-yourselfer fill with envy. Unfortunately it is not likely to be inhabitable and it surely will not be functional.

It is easy to see our lives as equally random and uninhabitable, especially if we are not feeling close to the Architect. There is no apparent order and nothing seems to work in our lives. Sometimes we suspect that we deserve just such a wreck.

The counsel in heaven

In addition to the Grand Council in heaven, I speculate that we had our individual counsels in heaven. It is my suspicion that God met with each of us individually. (I believe that a God who is infinite and eternal has time for each of us, In fact maybe He has an eternity for each of His children.)

In our heavenly one-on-ones, God may have shared the scrapbook He has kept for us since the beginning of time (a phrase which, of course, is of questionable meaning for eternal beings). He helped us identify our strengths and celebrate our premortal accomplishments. We glowed. Then He asked us the pivotal question: “Where would you like to spend eternity?”

In answer to the question, two powerful reactions clashed within us. “Of course I want nothing more than to be with you and the family.” But another voice within us worried, “How could I ever hope for such a lofty station in eternity?”

Father knew our thoughts. He always has. So He rephrased the question: “Where do you want to spend eternity?” We blurted it out: “Oh, Father, I want to be with you if there is any way possible.”

He beamed. “And I want you home with me.”

The great plan

I don’t think God is one to sneak the pain into the small print. Once we declared our hopes, I think He said, “Do you mind if I show you exactly what you will need to experience in mortality in order to be ready to return to be with us?” I imagine that we were excited for a preview of our own personal mortal journey.

So God, our Father, had a counsel in heaven with each of us. Together we designed a life that would help us grow so that we could not only return to be with him but would be prepared to join him in the family business, the glorious work of loving, saving, and blessing.

Our lives are not the result of random events. We saw all the struggles and triumphs. I believe we helped plan even the pain and disappointment. With the whole show carefully designed and fully previewed, He asked, “Are you willing to go through all that?”

When we saw it all laid out before us, we might have been daunted by the prospects. But, brightened by the hope of our eternal home, and sitting by His regal side, we ultimately felt confident. “I would gladly do all that and more if I could be with you again someday.”

He nodded with pleasure.

And He sighed. “The hard part about mortality is that you will not see everything as you do now. You will sometimes be quite unsure about the purpose of the journey. You will feel quite lost.”

Preparing for the journey

A cloud of concern shadowed our brows. He continued. “The fact is, that in that distant and dark land, you cannot make it unless you get help from your brother. He will light the path. He will clear the way.”

“How will we know him? How will we find the path?”

“I will send my special helper who will whisper guidance to you. Listen to Him. You will never be alone.”

I’m sure He told us much more about how to tune in to that still, small voice in order to connect with heaven. He warned us that the counsel of that heavenly guide would sometimes be swamped by the mortal cacophony. But He counseled us: “Listen for the sweet voice of heaven.”

Before we left, He gave us a father’s blessing. He embraced us: “I will look forward to your return.”

Lost in the fog

So here we are in mortality. He was right. Sometimes we feel hopeful. Sometimes we are quite forlorn. Sometimes we even come to fear God, our dearest friend and surest refuge.

I have asked people what they would do if God knocked on the door and asked to talk to them. “I would hide under the bed.” The fog of mortality causes us to forget the sweetness of His embrace. We are tempted to run from Him. Yet, even when we are soiled and silly, He yearns to help and bless us.

Better ways of thinking about badness

We tend to think of our failures and errors as evidence that we are on the trail to a dismal outcome. “If I were truly celestial material, I wouldn’t make such mistakes.” The evidence doesn’t support that conclusion.

Elder Hafen offers comfort to those of us who fret about our shortcomings. “So if you have problems in your life, don’t assume there is something wrong with you. Struggling with those problems is at the very core of life’s purpose” (The Atonement: All for All, Ensign, May 2004, p. 97). Our mortal discontent can even be a sign of our growing yearning for home. “As we draw close to God, he will show us our weaknesses and through them make us wiser, stronger. If you’re seeing more of your weaknesses, that just might mean that you’re moving nearer to God, not farther away” (Ibid., p. 97).

Most of us suspect that our stubbornness and contrariness get in the way of God’s redemptive plans for us. Brigham Young taught otherwise. “There is not a single condition of life that is entirely unnecessary; there is not one hour’s experience but what is beneficial to all those who make it their study, and aim to improve upon the experience they gain” (JD 9:292).

Perhaps God uses our mistakes to further our education. Certainly He is not surprised by them. Perhaps God sees order, purpose, and growth where we see only mess and disappointment. Elder Robert D. Hales described it like this: “In the school of mortality, the tutor is often pain and tribulation, but the lessons are meant to refine and bless us and strengthen us, not destroy us.” (“Faith through Tribulation Brings Peace and Joy,” Ensign, May 2003).

When God knocks on our door, rather than hide, maybe we should take a deep breath, bow our heads, and run to Him. We know we should be better than we are. We also know that He gladly refines us if we accept His tutoring. “Let us therefore come boldly unto the throne of grace, that we may obtain mercy, and find grace to help in time of need” (Hebrews 4:16).

As embarrassed as we may be by our shambles of our mortal effort, we should welcome the Master Architect and Builder. He will never forget the plan we developed in that premortal counsel. He will take the broken branches and fragments of plastic that we offer him and create a castle. We will be amazed. In fact our knees will bow and tongues confess that He is the Master Builder.

Then we will join him in that glorious work.


What is Real?

The word real gets used in many ways. “Get real!” is a common invitation to confront ugliness. For example, in the course of a conversation about life’s challenges we might express an optimistic sentiment. In reply a battle-hardened soldier of life might snort, “Get real!”

Real. What is real? Is the real found most truly in the gritty, sharp-edged, crushing experience of life?

Grim reality

I remember a ward member asking me a “real” question in an interview when I was serving as her bishop: “This stuff I’m doing is supposed to be wrong, yet it is the most real stuff in my life. I feel most alive when I am sinning.” Clearly a challenge hung in the air: “How do you explain that, Bishop?”

Choosing a reality

What are the “real” moments on your emotional landscape? Are they the supposed thrill of sin and excitement of misdeeds? Or have you discovered the serenity of faithfulness and the sweetness of gratitude? Do you see God moving in majesty and power (D&C 88:47) and feel the awe? Do you sometimes feel an unexpected heavenly embrace as you march through life? Does your soul ever flood with gratitude as you sense that “God’s in his heaven and all’s right with the world” (Robert Browning, “Pippa Passes,” pt.1)?

Each of us chooses Satan’s troubled reality or God’s serene one. We can predict the effect of our experiences by their source. Satan is the father of grim, pained awfulness. Father is different. Father creates love, joy, and peace—which are infinitely varied yet unfailingly enriching. Everything He creates is intended to “please the eye and to gladden the heart” (D&C 59:18) even as it enriches our souls.

To the young woman who claimed that sin was the most real thing in her life, I might recommend hooking two wires into an outlet and grabbing hold of the bare ends. 120 volts can provide quite a jolt. Very energizing. Memorable. But it kills us as it energizes us. The pleasure surge that draws people to cocaine also damages the circuitry that makes pleasure possible. Sexual immorality damages our ability to feel trusting and loving with anyone. Greed dampens the ability to enjoy the commonplace. The more we follow Satan, the more miserable, empty, desperate, and despairing we become.

If we want satisfying lives, we must choose to follow God.

An outbreak of little realities

The landscape is littered with heavenly miracles when we see through the eyes of faith. God invites us to notice them and to celebrate them. His gifts may be modest, but they are wonderfully real. They fill our lives with meaning, purpose, and sweet assurance.

Standing at the edge of the Arkansas River with a dozen saints, we celebrate the sweet blessing of covenants as Dylan is led into the chilly waters by a fellow student who, over the course of months, recognized his earnest spirit and pointed him to God. As we sang hymns and spoke of covenants, passersby gawked. When John compared Naaman’s healing from leprosy through bathing in the waters of Jordan with our healing from sin through washing in covenants with Jesus, I felt the shock of truth. While a glass bridge in another part of Little Rock was drawing the attention of the world, this covenant bridge to eternity was built without fanfare. Though we were a ragtag and obscure company of pilgrims, somehow this little event seemed historic, even cosmic. It felt beautiful and true. Real.

A few weeks ago I met with Harold Lewis, my high priest group leader, for a personal priesthood interview. It doesn’t happen often that my priesthood leader takes half an hour to provide a spiritual check-up. he asked simple questions: “How are your prayers going?” “How do you feel about the scriptures?” “Are you current in your repenting?” “What great experiences have you had with the Spirit?” The questions could have easily been answered with monosyllables: Fine. Good. Yes. Uhhh. But they evoked a groundswell of joy. I felt myself wanting to burst as Harold invited me to reflect on the sweet gifts of a mortality supervised by a perfect Father. Very real.

A colleague at a breakfast meeting was talking about her family and the challenges of working with a daughter with disabilities. Yet she exploded: “I am wild, crazy in love with my daughter.” It was a simple statement in the midst of a long conversation. Yet again came that surge of joy. It felt more real than all the citrus in Florida.

In a regional priesthood leadership meeting, Elder Russell M. Nelson told stories of home teaching. There were no magical moments or amazing miracles in his stories. Only consistent, loving care. The results, over the course of decades, were changed lives. It felt real.

Sitting in a meeting with work colleagues, I unexpectedly felt peace.

Slogging down the concourse of the airport I notice tired parents dragging exuberant children who still think that life is an adventure. I perk up because of their vibrance.

None of these events is likely to be recorded in a history book. They are simple experiences easily forgotten. Yet they are messages from heaven. They are letters from God. They are hints of eternity. Unlike the thrill of sin, the realities of heaven leave us peaceful, refreshed, hopeful, and loving. Happiness—sweet, enduring happiness—is found only by following Him.

So, in the marketplace of life, how do we discern that which is life-affirming from that which is life-destroying?

Testing reality

When Alma teaches us how to cultivate faith in our spiritual gardens, he provides us great measures for testing the truths that can guide our lives:

swell within your breasts
enlarge my soul
enlighten my understanding
delicious to me
swelleth and sprouteth
swelled your souls
sprouted up
understanding doth begin to be enlightened
mind doth begin to expand

These measures have one thing in common: They all describe edification. God teaches about edification in latter-day revelation: “And that which doth not edify is not of God, and is darkness. That which is of God is light” (D&C 50:23–24).

Brother Dayley has wisely observed that “edification is characterized by a perception of goodness, a noticeable enlarging of the soul, and enlightenment of the mind. Those who desire to learn by faith must continually reject darkness and seek light” (K. Newell Dayley, 1994 “And Also by Faith.” Brigham Young University 1993–94 devotional and fireside speeches. Provo, Utah: Brigham Young University.)

Alma teaches the same principle. The real is that which is Light. “O then, is not this real? I say unto you, Yea, because it is light; and whatsoever is light, is good, because it is discernible, therefore ye must know that it is good” (Alma 32:35).

Maybe God is teaching us, “I have planted a garden in your soul. Water it with faith. Tend it with patience. It will ‘take root in you’ providing ‘the fruit . . . which is most precious, which is sweet above all that is sweet, and which is white above all that is white, yea, and pure above all that is pure; and ye shall feast upon this fruit even until ye are filled, that ye hunger not, neither shall ye thirst’” (Alma 32:42).

It is intriguing that the Lord compares truth to delicious fruit. A feast. Life-sustaining joy. God might counsel us: “Don’t become malnourished. Come to the feast of goodness. Partake gladly. My creations will delight your senses and enlarge your soul.”

The way to grow a life-sustaining garden is to tune in to the heavenly instructions in our souls, to notice and value that which is Light. The flowers in our gardens give us both the reason and the power to deal with weeds.

I agree with Alma, that which is most real is light. Jesus, the Light of the world, is the Good News of existence. He lights the path of mortality. He is the Manna from heaven that sustains us on the journey. He is the Water that can slake our thirst. He is our Advocate who will open the gates of heaven.

May we see him and His goodness in every corner of His creation. May we choose His reality with all our hearts, might, minds, and strength. And may gratitude be our heartfelt response to all that He offers.


A Predictable Process for Joy

We all want joy. And we know the formula for getting it. Yet we often muddle along in misery instead of climbing toward joy.

Intriguingly the research on optimal human experience says that people are likely to experience different varieties of joy when they savor experience, use their talents, undertake a cause, or exercise. Yet many people choose nightly television over joy and growth even though watching television tends to put people in a mildly depressive state.

Television hardly seems like a demon. In fact, Moses was probably not thinking of idle television viewing when he challenged His people:

“I call heaven and earth to record this day against you, that I have set before you life and death, blessing and cursing: therefore choose life, that both thou and thy seed may live” (Deuteronomy 30:19).

Every evening each of us chooses to enlarge our souls or coast along in the vast media wasteland. Maybe nightly choices of television bring us closer to spiritual and intellectual death while nightly choices of growth and service fill us with life. We can turn off the television and enjoy nature, work on a project, visit a neighbor, or take a walk. Any one of those is likely to bring joy—which is spiritual life.

I suspect that the Book of Mormon was describing the vegetative state induced by modern media when it warns of latter-day perils:

“And others will he pacify, and lull them away into carnal security, that they will say: All is well in Zion; yea, Zion prospereth, all is well—and thus the devil cheateth their souls, and leadeth them away carefully down to hell” (2 Nephi 28:21).

Choosing joy

In writing this article my intent is not to rant against television but to describe a remarkably predictable process for flooding our souls with refreshing joy. Are you interested in joy? Consider the scriptural invitation:

“. . . nevertheless, be of good cheer, for I will lead you along. The kingdom is yours and the blessings thereof are yours, and the riches of eternity are yours. And he who receiveth all things with thankfulness shall be made glorious; and the things of this earth shall be added unto him, even an hundred fold, yea, more. (D&C 78:18–19)

There is hardly anything that will refresh our souls more than the “attitude of gratitude.” When we receive all things with gratitude, we are made glorious—and not just in some distant future, but right now.

Do you want a stiff jolt of joy? Sit down and record those things for which you are grateful. After recording those that come easily, push yourself to frame challenges as blessings. See what happens. Don’t qualify your gratitude: “Well, sometimes I’m glad for my parents, but . . . .” Cut loose. Find the good and celebrate it.

I tried this process myself just this morning. May I share the results with you? You may not be interested in my blessings, but perhaps you will feel the power of gratitude as you watch a fellow traveler trot toward joy as he tallies heaven’s bounty.

There is the risk that you will say, “Well, you have blessings, I have none.” I will not deny that I am blessed. But gratitude is a state of mind. It is the choice to see the roses among the thorns of mortality. So here are a few of my thank you’s to friends, family, and heaven.

Flooded by joy

I am grateful for great ancestors. Especially I am grateful for those who left letters, photos, and journals—even scribblings. Beyond those who have left identifiable evidence, I know that unknown others left traces of faith and goodness that distill into my soul unnoticed.

I am thankful for Harold E. Wallace for whom I am named. I revere his name. I am thankful for hundreds of teaching moments including the times that he took me “for a malt” and ended up equipping me with back-to-school clothes.

I am thankful that, when Grandma Wallace scraped frosting off her cake, she recognized a boy who loved frosting. And, when I spent the night at her house, she made extra bacon for breakfast. Grandma knew how to show love to a little boy.

I am thankful for all the times I heard Grandpa J. Percy Goddard recite “This is the domiciliary edifice erected by John” at family gatherings. he—and those before him—provided their descendents with a serious gospel focus and an appreciation for joy.

I am thankful for grandma Verna Lisle Wright Goddard who died when I was only a baby but left a rich legacy of believing and loving.

I am thankful for an extended family—aunts, uncles, cousins—full of grace, kindness, and exuberance.

I am grateful for a spiritual childhood home that taught me in my youth the true principles and meaning of life. Not only do I know that Orson and Bea are right, I also know they are good.

I am thankful for siblings who tolerated my telestiality and have taught me through their remarkable talents and goodness. They had reason to expect more of their big brother but they share cheese enchiladas and pecan brittle with me without resentment.

I am thankful for teachers like Rhea Bailey and Ray Gilbert who saw and noted something good in a goofy boy.

I am thankful that my family valued and modeled education. We were always encouraged to learn.

I am thankful for in-laws, Dale and Marilyn, who filled their family with examples of generosity.

I am thankful for the beloved children Father has sent to Nancy and me. They are treasures! As if they were not enough, each of them has brought a blessed addition to the family as they have married.

I am thankful for grandsons who remind us of the miracle of life and the blessing of joy as they gather furry caterpillars.

I am thankful for the chromosomal translocation I have that made conception difficult and every child more blessed.

I am thankful for the dozens of miscarriages Nancy and I have had and the way Father transformed our disappointment into faith. I am less likely today to demand that Father explain His doings to me. “When God sorts out weather and sends rain, Why, rain’s my choice.”

I am thankful for foster children who humbled us with the realization that we don’t have all the answers to life’s tough questions.

I am deeply indebted to sweet temple workers who knew me well enough to be judgmental but, following the Master’s gracious example, greeted me with loving smiles and warm embraces.

I am grateful to (and humbled by) those I have offended who have forgiven me.

I am thankful to those who haven’t forgiven me. They have taught me about the very real consequences of my thoughtless, careless or even wicked acts.

I am thankful to those like our many students and our friend in Midland who have looked past my imperfect teaching to my earnest beliefs. They are like the patient children who continue to love their dog in spite of slobber, chewed furniture, fleas, and an unruly and energetic tail.

I am thankful for friends like Clif, Irv, Jeff, Myke, DeArmon, John, Sue, Mary, Sandy, and others who have chosen to spend time with me and have found good in me despite abundant reason to be annoyed.

I am grateful for people who have given me a chance in life, people like Phil Ellis, Cory Maxwell, John Covey, Maurine Proctor, and many others.

I am grateful to prophets, leaders, and teachers who have pointed toward the bright lights of the City of God—people like Nephi, Bishop Brown, Alma, Howard W. Hunter, Aunt Ruth, Neal A. Maxwell, Jeffrey R. Holland, Gordon B. Hinckley, Grant Jacobsen . . . . There are too many to name.

I am thankful for wise and perceptive writers who have opened their minds and hearts so we might be warmed and blessed, people like Frederick W. Farrar, Richard Cracroft, Stephen E. Robinson, Eugene England, Hugh Nibley, Catherine Thomas, and Stephen Covey.

I am everlastingly thankful for my wife, Nancy Thacker Goddard, a mild, gentle, sweet soul, who has done more—save Jesus only—for the salvation of my imperfect soul than any other person who ever lived on earth.

I rejoice in the Lord Jesus Christ who not only empowered the Great Plan of Redemption, but who sustains my life, and lives to bless us all. The landscape is littered with His abundant goodness. He is the Light and Life of the world.

I thank Father for a perfect plan and perfect love.

Give [gratitude], and it shall be given unto you; good measure, pressed down, and shaken together, and running over . . . . For with the same measure that ye mete withal it shall be measured to you again. (Luke 6:38)

Try it and see. Rummage around your soul for gratitude and see if joy is not the result.


Welcoming the Messenger of Heaven

Making a neighbor unwelcome

Imagine that you have a helpful neighbor who seems to have a steady affection for you. The neighbor writes you notes and brings you treats. You do not respond. The neighbor drops by to visit and to share ideas, articles, and books but you busy yourself with household tasks. The neighbor shows regular kindnesses by picking up litter in your yard. You ignore the efforts.

It is hard to imagine such churlish behavior in ourselves. How could we fail to show all signs of welcome to one who was so gracious? Only a brute could be so unappreciative.

Yet I wonder if the situation describes each of us. Imagine the neighbor to be the Holy Ghost. He often brings us spiritual treats. Yet we ignore Him. He comes to us bringing new insights and appreciations but we are so busy with life that we do not interrupt our daily doings to be taught. He picks up the litter in our souls and refreshes us with goodness but we ignore His efforts. The Holy Ghost must be a patient fellow. He may be the most underappreciated man in town.

I know that I regularly fail to appreciate heaven’s messenger. God might well ask me: “For what doth it profit a man if a gift is bestowed upon him, and he receive not the gift? Behold, he rejoices not in that which is given unto him, neither rejoices in him who is the giver of the gift” (D&C 88:33).

All the signs of welcome

Let’s compare our treatment of the neglected neighbor with the welcome we might offer if we knew that the president of the Church were sending one of His counselors to personally visit and teach us. Not only would we prepare carefully, we would give our full attention to every word the messenger uttered. We might even take notes so that we would not forget the message. If there were some part of the message that seemed especially important, we might stitch it in needlepoint, frame it, and hang it in our home as a continuing reminder.

Yet the Holy Ghost comes to us as the personal representative of First Presidency of heaven. He travels across time and space (so to speak) to give us the considered counsel of the Father and the Son. While He is in our homes, He not only teaches us, He comforts and cleanses us.

Wow. There is no messenger to our lives who should be more welcome and more appreciated. How can we prepare for, value, and memorialize His messages? How can we make him a more welcome and regular guest?

IMG_8280 White Dove, and this one was watching the world go by

Preparing for company

Nephi knew the key to heavenly tutoring: “I, Nephi, was desirous also that I might see, and hear, and know of these things, by the power of the Holy Ghost, which is the gift of God unto all those who diligently seek him” (I Nephi 10:17).

We must seek Him. We must want him to come into our lives. Inside this desire another quality is humbly nestled: We must be humble enough to know that we need to be taught. When we feel intellectually self-sufficient, we may inadvertently turn away that heavenly Messenger.

The Lord makes an amazing invitation to all disciples: “If thou shalt ask, thou shalt receive revelation upon revelation, knowledge upon knowledge, that thou mayest know the mysteries and peaceable things—that which bringeth joy, that which bringeth life eternal” (D&C 42:61). Mysteries, joy, and eternal life—all for the asking.

Along with asking, what else can we do to encourage the tutoring of the Holy Ghost? I love Steve Covey’s suggestion that we can settle our minds and bodies and, in the peace, ask heaven specific questions: What can I do to be closer to the living Christ? What can I do to be a better family member? What do I need to do to be a better Latter-day Saint? What do I need to do to be a better student, employee, or community member? When we humbly and earnestly present ourselves for heaven’s tutoring, we are more likely to be taught.

Valuing His visits

For many years I found myself feeling blessed by warmth, insight, and joy, especially on the Sabbath. Yet, when I got to the end of the day and sat to revisit the blessings of the day, I could not remember the specific messages that had come or even the experiences that elicited the heavenly gifts. How could I receive a glorious gift and lose it before nightfall?

So I began a habit. I pull out an index card every Sunday. When I notice the Holy Ghost giving my mind or heart one of those welcome embraces, I make a note on the index card. Often the messages on the card are merely the title or selected words from a beloved hymn. There might appear to be no benefit from recording the familiar words. Yet it is my way of telling heaven that I noticed. And I am grateful.

Some of the messages I record are new insights. I think of these messages as God taking a highlighter to emphasize some message or experience in my life. Any time God makes such an effort to draw my attention to something, I want to be attentive. I not only want to make a note, I want to refer to it regularly. I assume that God had an important purpose for highlighting the message.

In fact, when I review my collection of cards from the previous months, I often find a pattern or theme. So I carry at least the previous month’s cards with me. In times of boredom I pull out the cards and reflect on recent messages from heaven. When I need inspiration for a talk or article, I pull out the cards and reflect on what God has been teaching me. I would like to be the kind of student Samuel was: “And Samuel grew, and the Lord was with him, and did let none of his words fall to the ground” (1 Samuel 3:19).

Memorializing His messages

There are some messages that command special attention. Maybe we know that they could guide us in needed growth. Maybe the messages express a special feeling of truth or appreciation. We can honor them with special attention.

My dear wife, Nancy, has a scriptural message carved in oak: “Trust in the Lord with all thine heart.” I have a poetic message that captures my feeling of appreciation carved in cherry wood: “God’s in his heaven; All’s right with the world.” A friend gave us a pillow with a cherished message: “Scatter joy.” In addition, our family room is brim with photos, keepsakes, and reminders of the noble people who are cheering for us from beyond the veil. The Holy Ghost has planted a love of these people in our hearts and we choose to surround ourselves with reminders.

All these physical reminders are intended to help us live more faithfully and joyously. They are intended to remind us of God’s specific counsel and continuing love for us.

There are other ways to memorialize His messages. Since our children were teens, we have had a Sunday ritual of inviting each family member to share their best experience of the day. It causes each of us in turn to sift through the blessings of the day and pay special honor to one of those blessings. Often we cannot limit ourselves to one but our gratitude demands that we list several. We rejoice together.

This tradition also helps us to appreciate the beautiful, customized way that God blesses each of us. Even now, as all three of our children are married and live far from us, we regularly talk by phone on Sunday evening and inevitably ask, “What was your best experience today?”

There are still more ways to memorialize His messages. My wife is a faithful journal keeper. She writes the story of her life on our computer. I am not as thorough as she. I make a few cryptic notes on my calendar and I save the calendars. At the end of each week I write a family letter that I e-mail to each family member.

My calendar helps me remember the doings and blessings of the week. The letters are a way of thanking heaven for the amazing blessing of life filled with specific lessons and blessings. Because our children are so tuned to the language of heaven, they can hear my tremors of joy even as they read the e-mails.

Embracing the Messenger of heaven

What good is the constant companionship of the Holy Ghost if we constantly treat him as a bothersome neighbor? Can’t we make him more welcome in our lives? If we fully understood the special mission of the Holy Ghost, we would cherish Him. He is our connection to home as we wend our way through the wilderness of mortality. He is our Liahona. He is our energizer and purifier.

Joseph Fielding McConkie observed that, “it is the office of the Holy Ghost to lift burdens, give courage, strengthen faith, grant consolation, extend hope, and reveal whatever is needed to those having claim on his sacred companionship” (Encyclopedia of Mormonism, vol. 2, s.v. Holy Ghost). When the Holy Ghost comes to us, He blesses us.

President John Taylor counseled that “every one of us . . . ought to cultivate the Holy Ghost in our hearts, and let it burn there like a living fire. We ought to draw near to God, and receive from him light and life and intelligence” (Journal of Discourses, vol.15, p.275).

God taught us: “That which is of God is light; and he that receiveth light, and continueth in God, receiveth more light; and that light growth brighter and brighter until the perfect day. And again, verily I say unto you, and I say it that you may know the truth, that you may chase darkness from among you;” (D&C 50: 24–25).

I hope to become more and more sensitive to His hints and intimations. If I am a horse and the Holy Ghost is the all-wise rider, I hope that He does not have to drag me by the bridle to my encounters with growth. I hope that I can learn to feel the subtlest touch of the bridle strap and respond promptly, gladly, wisely. I hope to learn to live in the Holy Ghost constantly. I hope He can feel welcome and appreciated as my constant companion and faithful guide. I hope to grow brighter and brighter until the perfect day.

And, when I die, what’s to be done with the mass of wood reminders, letters, calendars, and index cards that have helped me tune into God’s messages? Perhaps one of the children or grandchildren will find them useful as they seek to know God. Or perhaps the family will gather around the pile, start them on fire, and warm their hands by one person’s testimony that God is good, He loves us, and yearns to bless us.

May God bless each of us to welcome His messenger to our lives.


Getting From Childishness to Godliness

It is an unusual baby who arrives on the mortal scene concerned foremost about the well being of others. Imagine a newborn saying (or acting as if to say): “Wow. I can see that all of you look very worn out. Mom, you look spent! What a struggle for you! Dad, you need a rest. Doctor, thank you for making my arrival so warm and safe. Why don’t I just relax a few hours while all of you get caught up. Let me know when you would like to visit. Maybe we can chat and have a snack in a few hours.”

As much as we are delighted with the arrival of newborns, they come with a rather different attitude. “Man! That was miserable! Do you know what I’ve just been through? And I’m not that crazy about the light and drafts here. Listen. Why don’t I scream and holler until you can figure out how to make me happy. Then maybe I’ll rest for a while. But I’ll let you know when I need something. And when I scream, I expect service.”


A clod of complaints

George Bernard Shaw’s words fit the newborn quite well: “A feverish, selfish little clod of ailments and grievances complaining that the world will not devote itself to making you happy.” The baby may be demanding and self-centered—but we make allowances for being a brand new human.

Unfortunately our attitude doesn’t change quickly or easily as we age. Many of us in adulthood are still struggling with the same attitude. “If I’m unhappy, I intend that everyone else be miserable as well. So, if you don’t want to be tortured, get busy taking care of my needs.”

Something better

A few people break the pattern. Something is different for them. They are different from the rest of us. You know them. There is the ward member who seems to take genuine interest in people who struggle. There is the neighbor who cares for an ailing parent or a disabled child without complaint. There are those who set aside their own burdens and disappointments so that they can serve patiently and endlessly. I have been blessed by the ministering and example of many such people.

Van Wyck Brooks describes people who have moved from being narrow and contracted to being expansive: “How delightful is the company of generous people, who overlook trifles and keep their minds instinctively fixed on whatever is good and positive in the world about them. People of small caliber are always carping. They are bent on showing their own superiority, their knowledge or prowess or good breeding. But magnanimous people have no vanity, they have no jealousy, and they feed on the true and the solid wherever they find it. And, what is more, they find it everywhere.” (A Chillmark Miscellany)

I would like to be one of those magnanimous people. How do we get from the clod of complaints to noble goodness?

Ladling from life

Life provides each of us an experiential stew filled not only with chunks of vegetables but abundant weeds and rocks. The hodgepodge includes the intriguing, the indigestible, the enriching, and the toxic. We all eat stew from life’s general pot. Yet some are stunted while others flourish. Why is it that some extract nourishment for their goodness while others get only poison for their minds and souls?

People who have been served a bitter bowl of stew and still flourished have become iconic. Elijah turned national disgrace into personal discovery and continuing service. Corrie ten Boom transformed Holocaust hate into embracing forgiveness. Viktor Frankl found meaning in the concentration camp. C. S. Lewis transformed a lonesome childhood into an embracing faith. Jesus metabolized the sins and pains of creation into the triumph of love.

There are those who have eaten from the same pot and yet are spiritually malnourished. Sigmund Freud showed the nature of his own soul when he wrote that, “I have found little that is good about human beings on the whole. In my experience most of them are trash.” A cynic would argue that Freud’s bitter assessment of humans is the result of his extensive experience with them. It seems even more likely that it is the result of his corrosive cynicism and atheism.

Throughout history there have been those who would destroy others to advance their own cause. Cain. herod. Hitler. McVeigh. bin Laden. It is chilling to discover that we all have a little Timothy McVeigh in us. We may not be willing to destroy a whole community, but we stingily disburse our good will. At times we may even wish harm on this person or that nation.

The answer

So how do we move away from our churlish childishness and become more like those expansive people we admire? What is the key to this mighty change?

I reflected on the question as I sat in church. I thought of the complex answers about biological dispositions and environmental shaping. I thought about all the things research recommends for moral development. How can all these ideas be summarized?

The answer came quite unexpectedly. The organ began to play and words ascended from the seekers. “I stand all amazed at the love Jesus offers me, confused at the grace that so fully he proffers me. I tremble to know that for me he was crucified. That for me, a sinner, he suffered, he bled, and died.”

I felt flooded with the simple truth that Jesus is the way for any who want to move from tired self-absorption to glorious contributing. Even for those who have never heard His name, His persistent invitation to gentleness and goodness is resident in their souls. The Light of Christ.

“Oh! It is wonderful! Wonderful to me.”


God’s Plan—Kinder than We Dare to Expect

Abominable creeds

In 1811, Joseph Smith Sr. had a vision of an open, barren field. He was perplexed by the dreariness of the field and was told that “this field is the world, which now lieth inanimate and dumb, in regard to the true religion, or plan of salvation” (Smith, 1902, p.164). The prophet Joseph Smith, in the first vision, was told by the Savior that “the creeds [of the churches] were an abomination in his sight” (JS–H 1:19).

To a modern Latter-day Saint, these statements may seem to constitute an unduly harsh judgment of the doctrines of other churches. But to understand the literal force of the judgments, it may be worthwhile to consider some of the doctrines of salvation that were commonly accepted at the time of the restoration.

John Calvin’s doctrine was still influential in Joseph’s time. Calvin had taught that “the vast majority of mankind will be lost” (p. 58). The American Board of Missions lamented that “the heathen . . . are expressly doomed to perdition. Six hundred millions of deathless souls on the brink of hell! What a spectacle!” (p. 147).

From another commentator: “For often out of a thousand men, nay even out of ten thousand, scarcely one is saved” (p. 150). Damnation was commonly thought to apply not only to heathens but to unbaptized infants as well, though the damnation of infants “is graciously asserted to be ‘of a very slight character’” (Farrar, 1904b, p. 141; unless otherwise indicated other quotes in this article refer also to this volume).

If the vast majority of souls were to be lost to God’s redemptive purposes, what was to be their fate? Jonathan Edwards was prominent among the commentators who painted vivid and frightening pictures of their prospects. “The God that holds you over the pit of hell, much in the same way as one holds a spider or some loathsome insect, abhors you and is dreadfully provoked. . . . he will trample them beneath his feet with inexpressible fierceness; he will crush their blood out, and will make it fly, so that it will sprinkle his garment and stain all his raiment” (p. 102). According to Whitaker, the fires “burn the more fiercely, and yet never consume” (p. 103). The wildest imaginings were employed to describe the misery of the sufferers and the joy of the righteous as they viewed the horrible retribution of God. The fate of the vast majority of God’s creation was to be endless and terrible misery.

Somehow God had become the great accuser and punisher rather than the great redeemer and advocate. That doesn’t seem like good news.

A new era

In 1805 (the same year that Joseph Smith was born), Frederick Denison Maurice was born in England. In 1830, Maurice graduated from Exeter College. He was employed at King’s College in London to teach English literature and history. Later, Maurice was to become the chair of theology at King’s College (See Maurice, 1884). He was also to become the protomartyr of the Wider Hope.

In 1846, Maurice taught a series of lectures on the Wider Hope. Frederic W. Farrar, a young man in attendance at the lectures, described that he was thrilled with the love and mercifulness of God that was portrayed in Maurice’s lectures (Lundwall, p.126). Farrar was later to become the premier biographer of Christ, heavily quoted by James E. Talmage in Jesus the Christ. Farrar would also become an earnest advocate of the Wider Hope.

In 1853, Maurice published his “Theological Essays,” in which he enlarged on and formalized the thinking that God’s love might somehow reach beyond the grave with the joyous message of the gospel to bless those who had died in ignorance of Jesus Christ. Dr. Jelf , the leader of King’s Collge, attacked Maurice’s essays as unsettling and dangerous. The dreadful fear of God’s punishment was commonly seen as the best deterrent to sin. Maurice’s Wider Hope threatened that fear. Maurice was expelled in 1859 from his post at King’s College for his teaching of the Wider Hope. But Maurice’s message was to spread.

In 1861, H. B. Wilson published an essay in which he speculated that there may be opportunities for those who died spiritually immature to be nurtured to maturity in the next life. Such an idea violated the traditional Protestant teaching of final judgment at death. It opened the door to continuing repentance. The essay resulted in formal ecclesiastical hearings to censure the teaching. The council finally concluded that no definite conclusion could be drawn. Many scholars and religious leaders were indignant.

The theological debate moved to the center of English consciousness with the sermons of Frederick W. Farrar—delivered in Westminster Abbey in November of 1877. Farrar had earlier published his beautifully devotional Life of Christ, which remains popular today. Rumors about the content of his 1877 sermons were so distressing that Farrar had the sermons published in 1878 under the title “Eternal Hope” to settle the rumors. Dr. Pusey, professor of Hebrew, was stirred to an orthodox rebuttal of Farrar’s book. He published What is of Faith as to Everlasting Punishment?. Farrar, rather than seeing Pusey’s book as a rebuttal, saw it as supporting his contention of a wider hope. Farrar wrote his culminating work, Mercy and Judgment, which was published in 1881. Farrar marshals the grim condemnations of orthodox Christians and contrasts them with scripture and the statements of early church fathers.

What was the disturbing message that Farrar and his confederates, Maurice and Plumptre, presented to the world? The advocates of the Wider Hope had suggested that much popular theology (and even some of the work of the reformers) had replaced the inspired word of God with narrow and mean plans of salvation that made God into a cruel disciplinarian. Farrar suggested that such doctrines “have created the perfect fear which casts out all love” (p.109). The narrow and condemning doctrines were not consistent with the Christian view of the sweet goodness of God, according to Farrar. And they were not consistent with the scriptures. In particular, Farrar argued with four doctrines.

Hellish ideas

Farrar taught that the Biblical words that were translated as hell were not intended by the Biblical authors to suggest a neverending state of suffering and punishment. Rather, “the Latin derivative was originally formed not to express mere torture, but cleansing, correcting, delivering from the stain of sin” (p. 408). For most of those who were consigned to hell, it was intended to be temporary and corrective. The suggestion in the Bible that Christ would teach the spirits in prison (1 Peter 4:6), together with an appreciation of the lovingkindness of God, encouraged Farrar to believe that hell is not what theologians in his day had made it to be. Farrar wrote:

The death of the soul shall last as long as its willing sinfulness lasts, and its “hell” burn as long as its enmity to God continues. . . . hell and death are endless conditions so long as there is persistent impenitence. (p. 482)

Number to be saved
“I see reason to hope that through God’s mercy, and through the merits of Christ’s sacrifice, the great majority of mankind may be delivered from this awful doom” (p. 485) of living without God. Farrar did not claim to understand the details of the redemptive work that goes on beyond the veil, but the few verses that mention Jesus teaching the gospel to the dead (1 Peter 3:18–19; 4:6), together with a feeling for the goodness of God, encouraged him to think that something important could happen to bless the dead with the “good news.” Farrar also drew on the teachings of the early church fathers to support his hope.

The meaning of eternity

In studying the meaning of the words that have been translated as eternal, Farrar drew on the best language sources available and on the writings of the early church fathers. He came to the conclusion that the correct meaning for eternal should be “belonging to an era” or “something spiritual,” or “something above and beyond time.” (EH pp. 78–79).
Farrar quotes several scholars to give a truer meaning of eternal. The quotes should be of keen interest to Latter-day Saints who have been taught the meaning of the word eternal by latter-day revelation.

“I believe, as you do, that eternity has nothing to do with duration. . . . So eternal life is God’s own life; it is essential life; and eternal punishment is the misery belonging to the nature of sin, and not coming from outward causes” (p. 395). “Eternity consists, not in endlessness, but in knowing, seeing, and loving God” (p. 397). “Eternity is the timeless state; to make it a synonom (sic) of time endlessly prolonged is a conception as mean in philosophy as it is false theologically” (p. 398). “God is himself eternity . . . . Eternity without time” (p. 398).

Farrar wrote these observations in 1881. Joseph gave God’s definition of eternal (D&C 19:10–12) for Latter-day Saints in 1830: “Eternal punishment is God’s punishment” (D&C 19:10–11).

New meaning for heaven

“I believe that there will be degrees of blessedness . . .. I see reason to hope that through God’s mercy, and through the merits of Christ’s sacrifice, the great majority of mankind may be delivered from this awful [hell’s] doom” (Farrar, 1904b, p. 484).

Farrar’s assertions were unsettling to those who held to traditional doctrines. But because of the high regard in which he was held throughout England—and because no one could authoritatively challenge his assertions—Farrar was not sanctioned for his bold doctrine. Farrar’s “Mercy and Judgment” is a culmination of decades of scholarly study and public debate about the Wider Hope.

Farrar’s hope

Farrar conceded that there may be those who will stubbornly refuse God’s redemption. But in ways “unknown to us—God’s mercy may reach many who, to all earthly appearance, might seem to us to die in a lost and unregenerate state” (p. 483). He taught of an “intermediate state,” which Latter-day Saints call the spirit world.

Christ went and preached to the spirits in prison, and I see reasons to hope that since the Gospel was thus once preached “to them that were dead,” the offers of God’s mercy may in some form be extended to the soul, even after death. I believe that there is an Intermediate State of the soul. . . . (pp. 483–484).

A brave and hopeful conclusion from a man who did not have the restored gospel of Jesus Christ, but who had felt the power of God’s love.

The postscript to the debate may be the writing of E. H. Plumptre, Maurice’s compatriot, published in 1884 and titled “Spirits in Prison.” Plumptre summarizes conclusions about eternity, purgatory, and Christ’s descent into hell. He rejoiced in the epoch-making efforts of Farrar. The debates of the Wider Hope had spanned almost twenty years in England. Intense interest about heaven and hell had spanned roughly fifty years. In the United States alone, more than fifty books on heaven were published between 1830 and 1875. (McDannell & Lang, p. 228)

The debate itself [about hell] was largely concentrated between the years 1830 and 1880. (Rowell, p.17)

The year 1830 should catch the eye of Latter-day Saints. That is the year that the Restoration culminated in official organization of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. It is also the year in which Joseph Smith received a revelation from heaven defining the meaning of the word eternal. (See D&C 19) Some may argue that Joseph developed his radical ideas about the plan of salvation by drawing on the growing interest in eschatology. It is far more plausible that, at the same time that God was tutoring the prophet of the Restoration, He was also flooding the world with the Spirit of Hope to comfort His children in the last days and to prepare them to receive the Good News. Where the theologians presented speculations and wispy hopes, Joseph offered a comprehensive, coherent, and authoritative plan. And he presented it decades before the world’s best scholars. In 1830, Maurice, the protomartyr of the Wider Hope, was just graduating from Oxford. Maurice would not publish his groundbreaking “Theological Essays” for another 23 years.

The restored gospel confirms the hopes of those who taught the Wider Hope, but it goes much farther. It also teaches us transcendent details about God’s plan of redemption.

The Book of Mormon plan of salvation

The Book of Mormon plan of salvation focuses on one idea: Jesus is our redeemer. The Book of Mormon tells us only the basics about the spirit world and the resurrection. It does not teach us about the degrees of glory. But the Book of Mormon teaches the central doctrine that “redemption cometh in and through the Holy Messiah” (2 Ne. 2:6). The Book of Mormon gives a clear and unmistakable testimony of God’s redeeming mercy. Note a few Book of Mormon descriptions of God’s plan:

. . . the merciful plan of the great creator . . . 2 Ne 9:6

O the wisdom of God, his mercy and grace! 2 Ne.9:8

O how great the plan of our God! 2 Ne. 9:13

My soul delighteth . . . in the great and eternal plan of deliverance from death. 2 Ne.11:5

. . . the great plan of the Eternal God . . . Alma 34:9

. . . great plan of happiness. Alma 42:8

. . . plan of mercy . . . Alma 42:15

The Book of Mormon resonates with the message that the Savior has come to redeem us. It testifies to a confused world that God’s plan has purpose, that its purpose is joy, and that God is able to do His work of redemption! In a world plagued by doubt, the Book of Mormon message is vital.

Modern revelation and the plan of salvation

God has given a glorious gift to the Latter-day Saints. Through His prophets, He has revealed the fullness of the gospel of Jesus Christ, including an enlarged knowledge of His redemptive plan of salvation. The 76th section of the Doctrine and Covenants has the honor of being called “The Vision.” Unlike any other scripture available to us, it gives us a breathtaking view of God’s redeeming love. Joseph wrote of the Vision:

The sublimity of the ideas, the purity of the language . . . the rewards for faithfulness, and the punishments for sins, are so much beyond the narrowmindedness of men, that every honest man is constrained to exclaim: “It came from God.” (history of the Church, 1:252–253)

A new understanding of hell

Modern revelation teaches us that hell entails terrible suffering (D&C 19:15). But we also learn that the only hell that endures without end is the suffering of the sons of perdition (D&C 76:37–38). “he saves all except them” (D&C 76:44). Those who commit all manner of sin but do not deny the Holy Ghost are cast into hell to pay for their own sins. But their hell has an end. They are cleansed and are released to the telestial kingdom (D&C 76:85,106; Matthew 12:31), a degree of glory so joyous that it “surpasses all understanding” (D&C 76:89). The fact that liars, sorcerers, adulterers, and whoremongers will be allowed to pay for their sins and receive a degree of joyous glory is astonishing. It may seem to be too kind to be true. Yet, that is what we should expect from a God who is perfect in knowledge and perfect in love. His plan is always kinder than we had dared to expect.

Part of the sectarian world’s theological difficulty is that they only have an all-or-nothing plan of salvation. A person goes to bliss or to unending pain—heaven or hell. Churches define differently the critical requirements for heaven. But logic revolts at the suggestion that any requirement should divide all of God’s children into two groups with vastly different rewards.

Modern revelation tells us not only about the three degrees of glory but suggests that within each kingdom there are differences that allow for the unique expression of every human being (D&C 131:1, John 14:2). Even in the telestial kingdom, “one star differs from another star in glory” (D&C 76:98).

Number to be saved

By the world’s definition of heaven, even the telestial kingdom is heaven. So, rather than the vast majority of God’s children being lost in unending burnings, only the sons of perdition will be lastingly lost (D&C 76:43–44). Du Moulin speculated that “not one in a hundred thousand (nay, probably not one in a million), from Adam down to our time, shall be saved” (p. 151). The proportion may be correct. But the devil has reversed the direction. The restored gospel testifies that only the stubbornly rebellious, the sons of perdition, will go down to a lasting hell (D&C 76:37).

Even Joseph marveled at the reach of God’s goodness as he was blessed with a vision of his deceased brother, Alvin, in the celestial kingdom (D&C 137). But God would teach all of us that, through the atonement of Jesus Christ and ordinances for the dead (D&C 124), all who will accept His gift will be blessed eternally.


In March of 1830, Joseph revealed the meaning of the word eternal, together with the rationale for the definition: “Endless is my name. Wherefore—Eternal punishment is God’s punishment” (D&C 19:10–11). This insightful definition was given by a poor farm boy 51 years before Farrar, with all of his training and resources, published his conclusions about the meaning of the word eternal in Mercy and Judgment.

The great plan of the eternal God

Joseph was ahead of his time because he was taught by God. Yet, at the same time that the restored gospel was spreading throughout the world, truths about the plan of salvation were starting to appear in other lands. Perhaps God was preparing the world to understand and appreciate the restored plan of happiness. The Spirit of God was moving upon the people.

It is hard to get perspective on all that the Lord gave us through Joseph. While the world was debating the nature of hell, Latter-day Saints have had the visions of eternities available to them. But in the decades since the Wider Hope first became more broadly published, the devil has changed fields. The “modern” trend in theology is to “spiritualize” all religious statements. Nothing is literal or real, especially not heaven.

“The motifs of the modern heaven—eternal progress, love, and fluidity between earth and the other world—while acknowledged by pastors in their funeral sermons, are not fundamental to contemporary Christianity. Priests and pastors might tell families that they will meet their loved ones in heaven as a means of consolation, but contemporary thought does not support that belief as it did in the nineteenth century. There is no longer a strong theological commitment to the modern heaven. Scientific, philosophical, and theological skepticism has nullified the modern heaven and replaced it with teachings that are minimalist, meager, and dry” (McDannell & Lang, 1988, pp. 313, 352).

At all costs, the devil must prevent the world from discovering the truth of God’s love and the joy of the world to come. The devil’s plan is to destroy hope. The quote above comes from a scholarly history of the belief in heaven. The authors also observe that “the major exception to this caveat is the teaching of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. This type of heaven [an other-worldly society] continues in Latter-day Saint theology, contemporary popular culture, and in the glimpses of the afterlife in near-death experiences” (pp. 313, 356).

We Saints do not have to be tossed to and fro in our belief. We have been taught about our divine heritage. God is literally our Father! We were not created out of nothing, but we have an eternal identity. We have the revelations, the prophets and the whisperings of the Holy Ghost to teach us of our heavenly home. We have the instruction and ordinances of the temple to help us gain our bearings on eternity. We have been blessed with the prophets’ visions in the Pearl of Great Price. We have been given details of the redemptive work that was begun by the Savior’s visit to the spirit world. We have visions of thrones, kingdoms, principalities, powers, and dominions (D&C 132:19) to be enjoyed with our beloved families. God has revealed himself to us as a caring, tender parent who is preparing us to receive all that He has.

In addition to an understanding of God’s glorious mercy, modern revelation warns us about smugness, carnal security, and pride. It balances the message of mercy with an understanding of accountability and the eternal nature of law. The Lord intends not to redeem us in our sins but to redeem us from our sins.

Now, what do we hear in the gospel which we have received? A voice of gladness! A voice of mercy from heaven; and a voice of truth out of the earth; glad tidings for the dead; a voice of gladness for the living and the dead; glad tidings of great joy. . . . Behold, thy God reigneth! As the dews of Carmel, so shall the knowledge of God descend upon them! (D&C 128:19)

We should thank our Creator for the heavenly vision with which He has entrusted us. It seems that He is trying to tell us something. He wants us to know that He loves us and is eager to redeem us. And that is Good News.


Farrar, F. W. (1904a). Eternal hope. London: Macmillan.

Farrar, F. W. (1904b). Mercy and judgment. London: Macmillan.

Farrar, R. (1904). The life of Frederick William Farrar, sometime Dean of Canterbury, by his son Reginald Farrar. London: James Nisbet & Co. Ltd..

Lundwall, N. B. (1948). The vision: Or the degrees of glory. Salt Lake City, Utah: Bookcraft.

Maurice, F. (1884). The life of Frederick Denison Maurice: Chiefly told in his own letters edited by his son, Frederick Maurice. London: Macmillan & Co.

Maurice, F. D. (1853). Theological essays. London: Macmillan.

McDannell, C., & Lang, B. (1988), heaven: A history. New Haven: Yale University Press.

Pusey, E. B. (1880). What is of faith as to everlasting punishment? Oxford: James Parker & Co.

Plumptre, E. H. (1885). The spirits in prison. London: Isbister.

Rowell, G. (1974). Hell and the Victorians. Oxford: Clarendon Press.

Smith, L. (1902). History of the Prophet Joseph: By his mother, Lucy Smith. Improvement Era, 5(3), 160–171.


Flourishing in the Course of Life


Life can be a brutal course. There are so many ways to fail.

As a young adult I used to grade myself every day—initially in three areas, which grew to twelve areas, then seventeen areas, and ultimately twenty-eight areas. Every day I evaluated how well I had used my time, read my scriptures, kept virtuous thoughts, been patient, managed my money, gotten enough sleep, and so on. For months at a time, my life was a wave of F’s with an occasional D or C. There was not an A or B in sight.

I was not meeting my standards and I knew it. No matter how hard I tried, I could not be the kind of person I knew the Lord expected me to be.

I got depressed.

Failing alone

I kept trying to be a better person. I worked hard. I used to go to a chapel and pray for help. But the darkness persisted. I yearned for answers but found none.

During that era I was having trouble with a calculus class. I went to the instructor and told him I was lost. His answer confirmed my desperation: “That’s your problem.”

Is life a calculus class with daily quizzes and no mentors or tutors? Are we on our own? If we are not smart enough to “get it” from studying the text, is our only option to drop out of life as a spiritual failure?

I was rescued from myself by the demands of a mission. Two years of service and spiritual experiences turned me from a gloomy, weary traveler into a jubilant learner. I stopped trying to fix myself and got busy serving.

What could I have done to make my pre-mission experience more productive?

A set-up for success

A friend was recently telling me about her college experience. She said that every semester she used to sign up for many more classes than she could actually complete. During the first week of class, she studied the syllabi and the teachers. Then she dropped those classes where she was not sure she could get an A. She had found a good strategy for a good GPA—but not for getting a good education. She graduated at the top of her class but missed out on a lot of beneficial learning she might have gained from risking the more anxiety-producing, challenging courses.

My friend recognized this as a model for the course of life. God is determined to give us as much education as we are prepared to receive. We can drop the courses that frighten us in order to appear successful—but we will miss out on the learning that matters most. Many courses may seem daunting. But He is an unusual instructor.

One teacher in my friend’s college education was both a blessing and a frustration. He told his classes that he required students to submit a paper each week on the assigned topic. The students had the option of attending class or not. If the teacher found the paper acceptable, it would get an A. If he felt that the paper needed additional work, he would write comments and return it to the student. Each student could re-write the paper until it was accepted—until it got an A. It could be re-written an unlimited number of times, each time with coaching from the teacher. His attitude was, “I’d like all of my students to learn the lessons and have the experiences that qualify them for an A.” He was working tirelessly to help them learn.

The course of life is much like that. Each week we write a paper—or live a span of life. Each week we present it to Him. He accepts it—or returns it to us with suggestions for additional refinement. If we are willing to keep living and learning, He is willing to keep teaching and guiding. We can re-submit our imperfect efforts an unlimited number of times. He will continue to coach us until we get it right—as long as we don’t drop the course and don’t stop turning in our papers.

The weekly encounter

As she talked about our weekly assignments, the blessing of the sacrament seemed clearer than ever to me. It is our weekly accounting with our instructor. He invites us to bring our notes, scribbles, and compositions from the week. We may be reluctant to take our flawed creations to Him. But He invites us to “come boldly [fully, completely] unto the throne of grace, that we may obtain mercy, and find grace to help in time of need” (hebrews 4:16, alternative words for “boldly” suggested by Strong’s Exhaustive Concordance of the Bible).

We certainly have the need. He assuredly has the grace.

But perhaps the encounter is not intended primarily to evaluate us. Perhaps the Master Instructor is less interested in grading what we submit than in developing us further as His students. God will sort among our efforts during the week and accept parts: “This offering is acceptable.” He will also send us back to re-write parts that need more thought and nobler purpose. He will haul off those sins that burden us. And He will touch and stanch those issues of blood that drain us.

Each week He meets us at the sacrament table to sort us out. Over time He turns our weakness into strength.

He will set right everything that we bring to Him. Clearly we should never hold anything back. If we do not submit it, it cannot be refined.

Those few minutes when we sing a sacrament hymn and ponder His plan may be the most important time of any saint’s week. Perhaps He would like us to more consciously bring our weeks to Him. So lately I have made sure that my skimpy journal—really nothing more than a few words listing the activities of the days—is up-to-date when the Sabbath comes. Then I take the week to Father so I can be taught.

I offer my resentments and beg him to transform them into appreciations and compassion.

I shuffle my reluctance to the throne and plead for him to replace it with glad service.

I humbly drag my sins and beseech him to pay my burdensome debts.

I heave my burden of self-interest before him and implore him to change my heart.

I confess my doubts and confusion and earnestly appeal for additional insight and greater faith.

I take my imperfect performance and ask that He extend my contract yet another week.

Understanding the pained past

What should I have done differently as a young adult to avoid the endless and pointless self-evaluation, self-hate, and self-destruction?

The key is to know who will save me. It is not I. It is he.

Back then I was the judge, jury, and executioner of my tortured young adulthood. I seemed to think that if I worked hard enough and hated sin ardently enough, I would overcome it. But I cannot. He is the conqueror. Of course I do all that I can do. But I do not deceive myself. I am not the God of my life; He is.

So I try to be better prepared for my weekly encounter with the Professor of heaven and Earth. I go wholeheartedly to the weekly encounter knowing that He is able to do His work. Week after week I will return to him ready to be blessed, taught, and strengthened.

I thank him for His perfectly gracious tutoring.


The Timely and the Timeless: Passing On the Cultural Fads

The central metamessage in all Church curricula may be that the answers to life’s challenges are found in the scriptures and the counsel of modern prophets. All of our lessons are strongest when they are organized around key scriptural stories or teachings—especially the doctrinal speeches in the Book of Mormon. Yet some of our faulty cultural assumptions sneak into our classes and curricula.

While preparing a lesson from an older manual, I ran into a suggestion for cultivating charity. According to the lesson, we must “learn to love ourselves.” The suggestion seems entirely sensible in a culture that celebrates self-esteem. The American dogma is that we must love ourselves before we can love anyone else. Unfortunately the self-esteem movement is now in bad standing in the psychological community and the once-sensible suggestion is badly dated. More timeless suggestions might be taken from the scriptures.

The great Book of Mormon chapter on charity suggests that the preconditions for charity are meekness and lowliness of heart (Moroni 7:44). Further the Lord suggested that we must lose ourselves in order to find ourselves (Matthew 10:39; 16:25). This losing of ourselves is quite different from loving ourselves.

King Benjamin, Moses, and Ammon are united in testifying that we must believe in Christ rather than ourselves. We are nothing without the divine influence.

Charity is a focus on loving and blessing others; self-esteem is a focus on loving and blessing ourselves. The scriptures recommend the former and condemn the latter.

Some gospel scholars might argue that the ancient command to “love thy neighbors as thyself” justifies love of self. James Faulconer shows that the idea is at odds with the rest of scripture
( ) and is not defensible.

It is always wiser to trust the word of God than passing cultural fads.


Going Down the Waterslide in God’s Embrace

My Dad and Nika going down the waterslide

Sara is the youngest of our three children. She was always more cautious than Emily or Andy. I don’t know why. We never tricked or deceived her. She was just more cautious. In fact, she was born two weeks late. If the doctor had not come after her, there is no telling how long she would have remained in utero.

For example, when we went to the water slide in our small Utah town, Andy immediately went to sliding, Emily gathered friends, and Sara hid in the car. Sara was only about six at the time. But it was not her age that explained her behavior. It was her temperament. She was cautious.

When I invited her to come into the water park with us, she set her jaw and declared, “I will not ride the water slide!” I assured her that she did not have to ride the slide but we would love to have her with us. She came reluctantly and warily.

When Sara had finally gotten comfortable in the park, I asked her if she would like to see what the waterside looked like. She eyed me suspiciously. But she took my hand. We climbed the stairs and watched people sit in the tube and shoot down the slide laughing. We walked down the stairs and watched people shoot out the tube into the little pool. Then again we climbed the stairs and watched people sit in the tube and shoot down the slide, laughing. We walked down the stairs and watched people shoot out the tube into the little pool. Yet again we climbed the stairs and watched people sit in the tube and shoot down the slide laughing. We walked down the stairs and watched people shoot out the tube into the little pool.

After uncounted repetitions of the process, Sara asked if I could go down the slide with her, hold her tight, and make sure she didn’t drown. I assured her that I could. So, once more, we climbed the stairs. When it was our turn, Sara sat in front of me, I held her ribs, and we launched into adventure. Sara began laughing immediately. All hint of concern was gone now that she felt safe.

We laughed our way through the drops and curves. As we approached the end of the tube, I checked my hold on her ribs. When we shot out into the pool, I pushed her into the air as I sank to the bottom of the pool. We worked our way to the side with me sputtering. As we climbed out, Sara enthused, “Let’s go again!”

The waterslide of life

For some people, trusting God is as natural as eating. It seems to be written in their natures. For others it is as hard as it was for Sara to launch into the water slide. (Lest the metaphor be misapplied, I should note that Sara has great faith, has served a faithful and loving mission to the people of Paraguay, and is now married to Mike, with whom she is raising sweet baby Gabe. She is a magnificent daughter of God.) Yet those who never climb to the top and rush down the slide—however reluctantly—miss out on the biggest adventure and central purpose of life.

There are those who study the waterslide from a distance. There are also those who read about it or write about it. There are those who hide in the restroom. And there are those who claim to be involved in worthier pursuits than water sports. But the fact remains, we all must finally say, “Okay. I’m not sure what this will be like. But Father has promised to take care of me. I will go. I will trust Him.” To fail to do so is to miss out. Or, as Robert Louis Stephenson has said, “To miss the joy is to miss all.”

I love the story—and the lessons of the story—told by Francine Bennion:

For the Dominion Day celebration in July, my parents and some friends arranged to meet in the afternoon for a picnic at Park Lake. My family and two others arrived first. Camp kitchens were filling fast, and we needed a stove for hamburgers and hotdogs. The men stayed at the entrance of the park to meet our other friends, and under a darkening sky the mothers and children walked some distance round the lake to a three-walled rectangular shelter complete with roof, two wooden tables, and a metal-covered cement stove for wood fires. A violent thunderstorm came up, splits and rumbles shaking the universe and us with light, sound, and finally a deluge. Under the sheltering roof we huddled in wonder, till an astonishing clap of brilliance, tingle, shaking, and smell came all together: lightning traveled down the chimney and exploded our stove. Pieces of cement flew into bare arms, children were thrown against walls, purple-brown lines streaked down necks to ankles, and I ran out into rain and tall wet weeds screaming my question: “I thought heavenly Father would take care of us?” No one was dead or permanently damaged, and my mother came into the rain answering me, “What do you think he did?” (p.108, 1986, A large and reasonable context. In P. L. Barlow (Ed.), A thoughtful faith: Essays on belief by Mormon scholars, pp.103–116, Centerville, UT: Canon Press).

“What do you think He did?” A wise mother saw the protection beyond the pain. This story is instructive not only for those who have tried faith and felt let down; it is also inspiring for those of us who forget our faith. Sometimes we forget to see every experience of life through the lens of faith.

In all things

President Kimball quoted Orson Whitney’s instructive observation:

“No pain that we suffer, no trial that we experience is wasted. It ministers to our education, to the development of such qualities as patience, faith, fortitude and humility. All that we suffer and all that we endure, especially when we endure it patiently, builds up our characters, purifies our hearts, expands our souls, and makes us more tender and charitable, more worthy to be called the children of God. . . . and it is through sorrow and suffering, toil and tribulation, that we gain the education that we come here to acquire and which will make us more like our Father and Mother in heaven” (Spencer W. Kimball, Faith Precedes the Miracle, p. 98).

We are commanded to give thanks in all things (Mosiah 26:39, D&C 59:7): “Thou shalt thank the Lord thy God in all things.” That is the perspective of faith. Every experience has purpose. “Faith always sees more with her eye than logic can reach with her hand” (Harry Emerson Fosdick (1918), The Meaning of Faith, p.8, New York: Association Press).

Trusting God

Some of us want God to sign a contract before we trust Him. We want assurances related to every contingency. We want guarantees. William James encouraged a more trusting stance:

Just as a man who in a company of gentlemen made no advances, asked a warrant for every concession, and believed no one’s word without proof, would cut himself off by such churlishness from all the social rewards that a more trusting spirit would earn—so here, one who should shut himself up in snarling logicality and try to make the gods extort his recognition willy-nilly, or not get it at all might cut himself off forever from his only opportunity of making the gods’ acquaintance. (p. 9 in Harry Emerson Fosdick: The Meaning of Faith, 1918, NY: Association Press.

For those who are cautious, this willingness to trust may strain every particle of courage. God graciously allows us to take baby steps in the journey toward faith. “Yea, even if ye can no more than desire to believe, let this desire work in you” (Alma 32: 27).

The perversity of faith

Faith would be simple if we had immediate and incontestable results from our mini-experiments in trust. We believe. We are blessed. We believe. We are blessed. But God is aiming for something more mature than vending-machine mentality. In response to our faith, we will often get new challenges—along with inner assurance. It seems that God is pointing us away from the evidence of convenience toward the assurance within. W. E. Orchard said it well:

Oh God, too near to be found, too simple to be conceived, too good to be believed. . . . Show us how foolish it is to doubt Thee, since Thou Thyself dost set questions which disturb us; reveal our unbelief to be faith fretting at its out worn form. . . . Teach us to trust not to cleverness or learning, but to that inward faith which can never be denied. Lead us out of confusion to simplicity. Call us back from wandering without to find Thee at home within” (Fosdick, p. 34).

So faith invites us to evaluate God and His work by something more than the material evidence. He invites us to listen to the whisperings of that still, small voice that testifies that God is good, He loves us, and He is blessing us in the way that is perfect for us.

To interpret difficulties and disappointments as blessings is a perverse set of mind that requires a lot of faith. And that is what God is looking for.

Learning faith

If a friend asked me to define faith, I would find it difficult. It is more than believing there is a God. It is more than loving Him. It includes trusting Him—but it is more. Maybe it is the willingness to do the things that we think He wants us to do. That is a complicated formula.

God often invites us by His subtle messenger the Holy Ghost—who is never announced by blaring trumpets. He gives subtle hints. When we practice noticing them and following them, we grow in faith. When we disregard them or demand more specificity, our faith turns to confusion. So faith is the willingness to listen carefully and follow gladly—even when the message is nothing more than a hint. When God heads toward the waterslide, I want to follow Him.

I also compare having faith to a horse that does not have to be dragged by the bridle. Rather, as the rider leans in the saddle, the horse senses—and follows. Or faith can be compared to going toward the light—even small hints of light. “That which is of God is light; and he that receiveth light, and continueth in God, receiveth more light; and that light growth brighter and brighter until the perfect day” (D&C 50:24).

Stretching our faith

Lest any be smug, we should all ask—even the most faithful among us, “What is the next opportunity to grow our faith?” Are we ready to see God’s goodness in our difficulties? Are we willing to see God in the ordinary? Do we seek God actively? Do we thank him for every breath we take?

With beloved, departed Elder Maxwell, I rejoice in the words of Malcolm Muggeridge:

I feel so strongly at the end of my life that nothing can happen to us in any circumstance that is not a part of God’s purpose for us. Therefore we have nothing to fear, nothing to worry about except that we should rebel against his purpose and that we should fail to detect his purpose in things and fail to establish a relationship with him. On that basis there can be no black despair, no throwing in of our hand.

You know it’s a funny thing but when you are old as I am there are all sorts of extremely pleasant things that happen to you. The pleasantest thing of all is that you wake up in the night at about, say, 3 a.m. and you find that you are half in and half out of your battered old carcass. It seems quite a toss-up whether you go back and resume full occupancy of your mortal body or make off toward the bright glow you see in the sky, the lights of the city of God. In this limbo between life and death you know beyond any shadow of doubt that as an infinitesimal particle of God’s creation you are a participant in God’s purpose and that his purpose is loving not hating, is creative not destructive, is everlasting and not temporal, is universal and not particular.

With this certainty comes an extraordinary sense of comfort and joy. Nothing that happens in this world need shake that feeling. All the happenings in this world, including the most terrible disasters and suffering, will be seen in eternity as in some mysterious way a blessing, as a part of God’s love. We ourselves are a part of that love and only insofar as we belong to that scene does our existence have any meaning at all. The necessity of life is to know God. Otherwise our mortal existence is no more that a night in a second-class hotel.

Whatever the stature and vigor of our faith, may we be strengthening and growing it. May we be reaching toward God.