My Incredible Disappointment

We are pleased to introduce the following guest post, by Andrea Wright, our dear older sister:

I felt totally blind-sided as I left Kaysville’s Dollar Theater Saturday night with my terrified children. What happened? I had so looked forward to taking my kids to see The Incredibles. My husband was out of town for the weekend, the movie was finally playing at the cheap theater, why not take the kids and do something fun instead of moping around missing Dad? My parents hadn’t seen it either and like me had heard nothing but rave reviews, so they jumped at the chance to accompany us and be extra hands in case my youngest didn’t make it through. That day had been a long one, beginning with the escape of our new gerbil. After holding the loveseat up for 20 minutes so my 6 year old could wriggle in between the lining and the frame and chase him out, we caught him. Anyway, the day dragged on but knowing we had a fun night out to look forward to got us through.

We managed to get to the theater and get in and seated just before they sold out. Whew, we made it, I could now relax and watch my kids enjoy this movie! Opening scene: guns shooting. I think to myself, “Hmm, okay this is about super-heros, what was I thinking -- of course there’s going to be some violence, but I’m sure it’s at a minimum – it’ll be great.”

Next -- more violence, more uneasiness, more talking to myself. “Okay, I think the violence is over, the Super-Heros are now confined to normal life and so it will be fine now – relax and enjoy.” My twenty-one month old throws his pacifier and I feel around for it on the floor in the dark and find many things before finally finding his pacifier. “This is great, seriously, totally worth it, the girls are going to love this.”

Yep the violence has mellowed and now this former super-hero is lying to his wife. Then there’s lots of arguing with his wife. Then he tells really big lies to his wife and begins working for a blond lady with a seductive voice and skimpy outfit. His wife finds a blond hair on his clothing and thinks he’s having an affair. Cute, huh? “What are my kids thinking, how much of this are they picking up on?!”

From there the violence picks right up again, but now to lighten the mood the children join in the fun. Their mother tells them, “These are not like the bad guys in the movies you watch, these bad guys will kill you.” I tell myself, “Okay I am just being paranoid and ultra-sensitive, the girls are probably enjoying it and not picking up on the intensity.” My three-year old climbs over the row to sit with my Dad. My six year old holds onto my arm like she’s hanging on for dear life. My little boy isn’t scared, he’s busy spilling ice all over me. I reassure myself, “They’ll be fine, it’s just intense for a minute, they’ll be fine.”

That intense moment lasted for about 30 minutes and then it finally ended. My girls and I were completely drained, my little boy was completely oblivious and tired. We drove home and they sobbed for their Daddy and then slept with me.

Why didn’t I leave you ask? I don’t know. I just knew it was going to be great, so I just kept thinking I was over-reacting and that any minute it was going to get great. Plus I’m stubborn and I had invested a lot in that night and refused to admit that it was a failure.

Had I seen it without my kids I think I would have really enjoyed it. It was very well done, the animation was amazing. It had some good messages and some sweetness to it, but overall I thought the messages were for adults. The main characters were definitely the adults with the kids playing very minor roles. Unfortunately, I did see it with my kids and thought it objectionable and irrelevant for them.

I usually only let my kids watch movies with a G rating. For some reason I never even checked the rating, I just assumed it was rated G, it’s not – it’s PG. Obviously, I didn’t do my homework and it was a good wake-up call to not be so naive next time. Lessons learned, but I’m curious to know what you all thought. Did anyone else feel the way I did? Do you disagree and think it a great kids show, if so, why?

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Am I the Only One . . .

That misses Ed Enochs (and his various false identities)? I doubt I'm the only one, I really do. Things just haven't been the same without him. Come back, Ed. Come back.

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Our Eternal Agency

That's the topic of the sacrament meeting talk I'm supposed to give next Sunday. Does anyone have any must-read talks or articles on the topic they can suggest?

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More Thoughts on Time

I wrote about my problems with the LDS take on time here. I actually thought that was a pretty interesting post, but my audience apparently disagreed. Not one to be borne down by such petty considerations, I soldier on, and herewith issue a second meditation in continuation of that theme. (I do not think the ideas that follow are quite as interesting when grappled without the context of the previous post. Or prescription painkillers).

My basic premise in the first post was that we Latter-day Saints are unequipped to acknowledge the importance of temporal events. That's because we focus on the long-term, most significantly represented by eternity. The initial insight was that this has the effect of downgrading the importance of what goes on in our earthly lives-- anything that lasts is important, and anything that passes quickly is trivial, that's the message.

Well, some new twists on the theme occur to me now: Latter-day Saints are sent to earth to place permanent markers in the passing temporality of mortal existence. Picture time as a river flowing quickly down a hill. All of my actions in earthly life can be thought of as pebbles thrown into the river. The more important the action, the bigger the rock, but regardless of size, they all have the same effect on the river-- maybe you'll see a splash or one or two ripples from the biggest rocks, but they have almost no effect-- the river flows on, heedless of the little intrusions, unmarked and unchanged.

However, every once in a while, I do something special. For example, twenty years ago I got baptized. When that happened, instead of throwing in a rock, I placed a stone on the river floor, heavy enough to sit unmoved by the current, and tall enough to show a surface above the water. This stone, unlike the smaller rocks I threw in, alters the current and produces ripples and eddies. The big rock has changed time. When I received the Priesthood, when I became endowed, got married, and blessed and named my children, I placed other large stepping stones into the flow. As my life has progressed, I've done millions of things that did not affect the unstoppable flow of history, but I've done a small number of things that are eternally memorialized, that mark time, and exist on a plane beyond the temporal. These become a pattern of stepping stones that can be used to cross beyond the river.

In essence, ordinances are a bridge between the temporal and the eternal, and they fufill this function in a very strange way. The time it took me to receive my endowment was roughly equal to the time it took me to watch Finding Nemo. And yet, the former activity is an absolute nothing-- a nullity in my overall existence. The endowment on the other hand, lasts forever. As I sat renewing the covenants of that ordinance last night, it occurred to me that I had actually made those covenants only once, at some discrete moment in the flow of my life, and for some reason, they were efficacious enough to bind me for eternity. The feeling was sort of joyful, and sort of crushing. Why should such a limited, temporal moment exist on a non-temporal plane, with consequences counted in the range of infinity?

There is great beauty in the ordinances of the gospel. I especially like the chance we have to renew covenants in so many different ways, revisiting the rituals we once took part in ourselves. These are great helps to the forgetful mortal mind. But we must remember that the renewals are not personal covenants. My proxy exercise in the temple has only incidental effect on my own soul. No, I am bound, and will be forever, not by my many return trips to the temple, but only by something that took place over two hours in a twenty four hour day in a hundred-day year in an eighty year life in a billion lifetime eternity. How strange, given our attitude on the insignificance of short, temporal events, that that moment became an anchored stepping stone, instead of a pebble.

And here's the most amazing part: the most eternal, universal, cosmically altering event in all of time and non-time occurred in roughly the same amount of minutes as did my endowment. Jesus' suffering in the garden did not last more than a few hours, and the complete act of atoning for a fallen universe ended but a half day later. These events, in which very few actors played even minor roles, in an obscure backwater city, with just a handful of witnesses, seem to define the word 'finite.' Everything about the story is small and humble. And yet, for some reason, those few hours, as opposed to the few hours before or after, or the few hours of millions of other days, last eternally as an act that fully defines the whole course of events that will take place in all of temporality and beyond. It's remarkable that such a thing can happen in time at all, let alone in time that can be passed in one game of monopoly. Jesus found a way to take limited and narrow dimensions, and achieve something infinite.

While these musings must be quite boring to those who do not thrill over distantly relevant insights, I'm simply astounded that time and mortality, those curses to be transcended, those dusty shrouds to be shaken off, can be employed so spectacularly, to such far-reaching effect. And this is the answer to my questions in the first post. Our view of eternity doesn't denigrate mortal time. It exalts it. We will look back on a select few moments of our lives, which occurred in the midst of grocery shopping and bill-paying and shoe-tying; but those events will be gone by then-- washed away in an irresistible temporal flood. What will be left will be a few shining moments in which every limit in the universe was burst, and we placed beacons in the arc of heaven. If lived correctly, our lives here will not be seen as a simple shopping trip for a body and a spouse. They will be collections of moments that weren't moments at all-- they were windows to infinity. We are building eternity now, and marking heaven-- with constellations made of stepping stones, and stepping stones made of minutes.

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Christmas on Michigan Ave.

On the day before Christmas, the day Rex turned two years old, he and I went out all bundled up to deliver small gifts to our neighbors. Few people were home that morning, so after letting him knock on each door for a while, I'd hand him the small bundle of treats to be left there, and let him place them on the doorstep. The first time he did this, he seemed hesitant to just leave the treats there for absent people-- treats that might be greatly enjoyed by a two year old who was entirely present. Nonetheless, he did as he was asked, stood up, and off we went to the next house. As we rounded the walk from that first house though, he stopped and turned to view the goodies once more and said "bye-bye tandy."


This sad scene was played out three more times that morning, on an otherwise very happy father and son winter walk. At each house, Rex would get a bit sad that these treats were being abandoned, as if to express to me what a good home he'd be willing to give them. And each time, he submitted, surrendering the candy to another impassive doorway. It sort of made me sad that today, the day before Christmas, and his birthday, I was forcing him to march around in the cold and give all these desirable treats to other people, and that once we were finished there would be nothing left in our bag for him. These are not things I dwell on much, though-- and we soldiered on through the snow.

Finally, Rex had delivered everything, and nothing was left in the bag. The series of sad farewells had taken a small toll, and I wish I could have explained to him the beauty of giving, and how much we get back when we give to others. But this was not a lesson he could understand.

As we walked home, I noticed a crowd in the street ahead of us, surrounding a car stopped in the middle of the road. When we got closer, I could see that the car was a convertible, and it carried a very jolly Santa Claus perched on the back seat as if in a parade. Santa passed out presents to the group of kids gathered around the car, and then drove forward down the street. Another group of people had assembled a few houses down, and Santa pulled up to them just as we did. Rex was excited to see Santa (as long as we kept a good fifteen feet away from him), and talked about him happily. Santa had presents for all the children of that street, pre-arranged by thoughtful parents, I'm sure.

When he finished with them, he looked over at us-- the strangers on the street, standing and smiling at the display of neighborhood cheer. He reached into his sack and pulled out a little bag, tied with ribbon-- stuffed with cookies and a big, sticky candy cane. He tossed the bag to me and smiled, and then the car drove off to the next house.

When I caught the bag, Rex began to examine it, and saw all the cookies inside. Then he started talking about cookies and candy canes, until I could get the bag open and let him stuff his mouth with them.

As we walked home, I thought about the nice little lesson that was no doubt lost on Rex. Still, it meant something special to me. After a whole morning of giving that involved no small sacrifice for a two-year old, Christmas delivered on its promise, Santa came, and we received in proportion to what we had given. Maybe someday I'll tell him this story when he can understand it. But right now, there's no lesson he understands better than candy canes and cookies from Santa himself.

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The SJ of Christmas

I was raised on the Myers-Briggs Personality Typology the way most kids are raised on food. Once on a far-off vacation during some kind of children's workshop, all the litle seven year old kids were asked to say something describing themselves. Some kids said "I like horses." Others said "I'm a fast runner." I said "I'm an introvert." In retrospect, maybe that was weird.

But I'm okay with the weirdness, because that's how I was taught to think about myself. And the system has proven useful at times, as well as occasionally annoying. As a frame of reference, it has persisted in my thinking.

And it provides the theme of this post. For the uninitiated, I'll try to give explanations as I go. Or, you might want to just walk away.

I'd like to talk about why Christmas is steadily becoming more troublesome every year for me. I come to this crisis as an ENTP, perhaps the most enlightened of personality types, and one that I expect is quite common in the bloggernacle (with some I's and J's lumped in, but with the N and T being a strong majority). As an intuitive thinker perceiver, I spend my time dealing with ideas and abstracts, and find the concrete and material rather exhausting. On top of that, planning, organization, and structure make me cranky.

Imagine my consternation when my sensor wife (one that is exhiliarated by physical things and conrete thinking) and my judger family (taken with planning and scheduling and wringing the joy from an otherwise well-managed, spontaneous life), begin to intrude on the abstract and fancy free holidays of my youth, which were always full of symbolic magic and deep sentiments tied to eternal or cultural truths.

Alas, I cannot blame my loved ones completely, since the SJ of Christmas is forced on anyone who suffers the unfortunate onslaught of adulthood. Where I used to enjoy gift-giving and decorating and baking and preparing in a carefree, do-it-when-I-please sort of way, my current responsibilities force me to be more calculating and organized about everything. Knowing that I can be easily overhwelmed with constant conversations about what to get for the neighbors and where to put the tree and when to try on the the shoes that might be given to me by my in-laws, poor Macy does her best to keep such conversations to a minimum. Still, she cannot be faulted for needing input from me on the insane amount of materialistic decisions every household is forced to make during the holidays. Does it have to be this way?

This is not a rant about the commercialization of Christmas. That trend, deplorable as I find it, has been well-documented. This is a lament about the triumph of the sensors and judgers on the battlefield of Christmas, and a plea for mercy for the vanquished. Those of us who have been swept from the field ask only for an occasional respite from being asked to think about stuff. I simply cannot take another conversation about what outfits the family will all wear for the big family photo, or what night we can fit in the wassail drinking party with the sister-in-law. I understand that such conversations are necessary, but I have a congenital aversion to them, so I ask only that they be carried on somewhere else, and that I can just be briefly apprised of the resulting decision. I concede that we probably ought to give some token to our neighbors and friends, but how high must the standard be? Can't we just spend an hour at Fred Meyer looking for some trinket in bulk, instead of making a sort of twelve nights of Christmas of thinking about and considering and looking for and buying and cutely packaging and elusively delivering our little presents?

Someone, somewhere has to devise a solution. At least half of us, the non-sensors and non-judgers of the world, need an escape from what Christmas has become. We need a carefree, pressure-less holiday driven by spontaneity and conversation, rather than calendars and knicknacks. Is there any way such a holiday could come to pass? Someone please help us poor NTP's.

I hate to hate Christmas, don't like it at all.
But it makes my heart shrink-- to two sizes too small.

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The Just World Philosophy in Amateur LDS Apologetics

It's a common occurrence to hear someone give an explanation for a church policy or doctrine that totally surprises you, or at least rings untrue. We everyday members often do the work of church leaders ourselves, by stating the unstated purposes for church actions, or justifying policies that have not been explicitly justified. Regardless of one's education or background, to be a Latter-day Saint always means, in some small part, to be an apologist.

I think that many of our attempts to explain some of the more prickly issues of LDS history and doctrine grow out of something referred to in the discipline of sociology as the "just world" philosophy. The just world philosopy is a common way of viewing life in our world, in which we assume that people generally get what's coming to them. In sociology this is useful in explaining why people are generally unsympathetic to the poor or underprivileged, and why they seem to take pride in their own privileged status. Though few people actually articulate the thought, many of us pass that beggar on the street because we subconsciously believe that he's done something to deserve his current trouble, and he's only being dealt with justly.

Paradoxically, those who believe in a perfect supreme being are more likely to pass up the beggar using such a justification-- because we are the ones most certain to believe that there is justice in the universe. There's plenty doctrine, whether explicit or implicit, in most religions that suggests that we blessed souls are the deserving righteous, and those out in the cold have angered God with their rebellion or sloth.

You can see how Mormons would be susceptible to the temptations of the just world perspective. But I wonder about a similar phenomenon in the LDS world-- what you might call the Just Church Philosophy. The tendency to believe that the church only does things based on righteous motives is, of course, nothing but laudable. But it seems we sometimes want to push God into the most obviously righteous position possible, rather than letting him wait and explain how his decisions are the best ones. So, when you hear that venerable old chestnut that polygamy was instituted out of pity for the many women in early Mormondom who overwhelmingly outnumbered the men, you'll know you're witnessing the just church philosophy in action.

Combine this approach to church doctrine and policy with the fact that we are all amateur apologists, and bam! you get a lot of mostly benign but really false beliefs floating around our church. You simply start from the position that God is perfectly good (true), and then make up facts that will show how his action truly is perfectly good (risky). The only obvious way to make the Priesthood ban just is to make members of the black race deserve the ban. I don't think anyone really wanted doctrines that demeaned black people, or had any personal interest in teaching that they were less valiant in the pre-existence, but when that is the cost of buttressing the goodness of God, the sacrifice was somehow worth it. (To be clear, there never were any such doctrines officially promulgated-- but there were plenty disseminated privately among church members by unofficial actors).

While I have already written that I think the impulse behind these creative new beliefs is noble, it also suffers from what can only be called an embarrassing lack of patience and faith. Just as the Lord doesn't need help steadying the ark, I don't think he wants us putting words in his mouth just to help him appear just and kind. God is Just. He is Kind. It's not our job to make him so. When confronted with difficult questions, it's hard for a people full of certainty and faith to say "I don't know," especially when we know our God is a just one. But when it comes to the tricky problems of the church, sometimes that's the best answer we have.

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Bloggernacle Virus?

Two days ago, I received an email from Greg Call-- yes, the Greg Call that resides at Times and Seasons as a permablogger. There was no text in the email, but there was an executable file called Manufacture.exe. Given that I have never emailed Greg Call, nor has he ever emailed me, I was suspicious about the attached file, so I immediately opened it, and my law firm has since fired me.

No, actually, I emailed him to ask if he knew anything about this. He responded that he had no idea what that email was, and found it especially odd, given that my email address has never been in his inbox. The coincidence was that he'd received a strange attachment in an email that day from Nate Oman, another T&S blogger.

Today, I got a notification in my email account that stated that a message I had attempted to send to dhb@wump.info had been rejected because it had included a suspicious file called manufacture.scr. Now that I'm suspicious about it, I realize this is the second such message I've gotten--I received a similar one on the day I received the email from Greg-- so that's twice that I've attempted to send an attachment to Danithew, without my knowing it.

Today I got another email from Greg Call, this time with an attachment called joke.scr.

Of course it's nothing special to see strange messages with suspicious files popping up in your inbox, nor is it anything crazy when your own account starts sending such things to others. What intrigues me is the strange way this chain of events seems to be focusing on members of the bloggernacle. So far, to my knowledge it involves Nate Oman, Greg Call, Danithew, and me. So I'm posting to find out who else has started seeing strange emails to or from other members of the bloggernacle? Could it be that someone has constructed some sort of malware to target us? Is that the most ridiculous notion in the world? Perhaps someone who knows more about viruses than what can be learned by watching "The Net," could weigh in and give some guidance? I'm very curious.

In the meantime, if you get a message from me that includes an attached file and no recognizable text, you know what to do. Pass it on to another bloggernacker!

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Facing Failure

In finally made it back to see my law school, which I happily left a year and a half ago. I wanted to go back and see the old buildings I'd spent so much time in, but mostly wanted to explore the new building they opened right after I moved on. The new building was even more amazing than all the alumni-mailer hype made it out to be. I was blown away to see a breathtaking, cutting-edge and truly enormous facility designed almost solely for the well-being of the students-- including a huge lounge with fireplaces and cafes and overstuffed chairs, an ultra-modern fitness center, and a massive top floor basketball court that glows in the night across the city through an enormous wall of ceiling-to-floor windows. It made me sad to have missed out on this center devoted to balance and well-being, because that's what I needed so badly in my years at that once cold, uncomfortable institution.

It would give the wrong impression to say that I was a failure in law school. I was able to pass all my classes and go on to a good job that I find very satisfying. But by all the standards that matter personally to me, I was a dismal failure in law school. For some reason I never really made any friends there, nor did I ever feel a part of the institution, or any of its five thousand different groups, from the Gilbert and Sullivan Society to the Winetasters club. I even used to pass the Kosher kitchen with regret, wishing there was some place like that for people like me.

What you're thinking right now is what everyone thinks when I gripe about my law school days-- what about the LDS students? I have no answer. I blame a phenomenon that only law students can understand, and even then only a small subset of law students. Simply stated, it is the quiet fog of mortal fear, a fear that had never before so much as dented my granite walls of confidence and comfort. When I got to law school, all my security vanished, and I began to learn to avoid people rather than talk to them about the upcoming moot court try-outs that I hadn't heard about, or the reading in Con law that I hadn't understood, or the night at the bar last night with everyone, that I had missed. In every possible way, I was an outsider-- even to the LDS students, who were perhaps more driven than the rest to prove they could be in. And once you're on the outside, you'll never hear about all those other things that help you stay in-- the study groups, the parties, the hilarious rumor about that professor leaving the silent auction with a student!!! Because I was above all of this, I lost out on a million associations and probably a bushel of happy memories of this place. It's easy to get lost in the biggest law school in the country. But it's also easy to use the size of the place as an excuse. Still, I haven't figured out why law school brought a long string of success and happy achievement to a dead stop.

You know when you revisit some important place in your past, and you get a little nostalgic and wish for it to notice you, to show you that you were meaningful to that place in the moments you spent there? It would have been nice to run into someone that remembered me, or maybe find some plaque somewhere with my name etched warmly in with the hundreds of other honorees that emerge from this place every year. I wandered around for a while, almost happy to tell the security guard I was an alumnus in order to enter, and then wished for something to happen. Then I realized that this was impossible. Aside from a few acquaintances and one or two adjuct professors that coached a competition team I was on, no one at this hollow institution ever knew who I was. It's as if I never went there at all.

So this monumental, gleaming new building makes me happy and sad. I'm glad it will be there for future students desperate for some way to relate to other kids beyond the rigors of legal chitchat. I'm wistful thinking about my chances for success if I'd been able to make a few friends on the basketball court or in one of the racquetball rooms. But it makes me sad that none of these new circumstances came in time to mitigate the one great failure of my life. These faint hints of the possibility of success only make me feel more alien in this strange, familiar place.

But neither the happiness or sadness lasts very long. In such a visit-- a return to a place that has had such an effect on a person-- the strangest emotion is to feel nothing at all. And that neutral numbness resonates in my footsteps down these empty corridors, as if the old buildings are telling me the feeling is mutual.

Ah well, failure faced. Then its time to get back to the life I truly love.

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On the Dubious Desirability of Doubts

What follow are some thoughts in response to John Hatch's recent post at BCC. I want to make the disclaimer that this post is not meant as a rebuttal of John Hatch. My posting it here rather than as a comment to his post is simply due to the fact that I wanted to think about it for a minute. I admire John for writing his post, and have always respected him as a person who goes out of his way to be sincere in his arguments and tries to avoid contention.

Anyway, an excerpt from John's post that I wanted to discuss:

Not only do I not know how to make such doubts go away, I don’t want them to go away. I don’t want to pretend like they don’t exist for me, like prayer and scripture study just make it all better. Believe me, I’ve been there, and while prayer and scripture study do make life better, they won’t drive the doubts from you. They are there, in the deepest parts of my soul - asking me to not have them is like asking a believer to stop believing.

I find this paragraph helpful, because I think it encapsulates the position a significant minority of Latter-day Saints take about doubts. Again, while I don't wish to pick apart so personal and thoughtful an expression, I do hope to use it to talk about the disparate value we Mormons place on our doubts.

John's statement is helpful because of its assumptions. He starts by saying he doesn't want his doubts to go away, and continues to say he doesn't want to pretend they don't exist, as if ridding himself of doubt and pretending it doesn't exist is the same thing. The assumption, then, is that people, or at least many people, can't really live without doubts, but some of us sort of push past them, and some confront them. This is all premised on the next line, which suggests that scripture study and prayer can't solve our doubts for us- indeed, nothing really can.

I only point this out because it's representative of many people I've heard speak about the doubts about the LDS faith. A few months ago I read a series of essays published by Sunstone, written by five active people expressing why they are still active despite their many doubts- it may have been called "why we stay." I think these are admirable people for finding ways to survive the cognitive dissonance and stay a part of the church. Far preferable for someone to hang on to a few doctrines that he does believe, than leave the church becuase of the ones he can't.

And yet I can't agree with their position on doubt: that it is inevitable, that it cannot be conquered, that finding ways to live with it is one of the goals of life. In my mind, this position could not be more wrong. Many months ago, I read one blogger downplay the significance of mistakes, arguing that this life is for us to make mistakes. Again, this confuses the reality with the ideal. Yes, we have doubts and we make mistakes. But why on earth should that suggest that those things are desirable? I would suggest that a purpose of life is, rather than to make mistakes and carry doubts, to grow beyond making mistakes, and completely vanquish doubts. The mere reality that we struggle to do these things is simply not enough evidence to convince me that they are a good to be accepted. They are a challenge to overcome.

Promises of certainty abound in scripture and prophetic speech. Most recently, I can remember a touching First Presidency message a few years back by President Hinckley on "certitude." He promised that we may achieve certainty, and that the scriptures, prayer, and the Holy Ghost are the prescribed vehicle to that end.

This topic strikes a personal nerve with me, because I have those close to me that have struggled with certainties, and had to learn to live with doubts. It would be stupid of me to suggest that this is not the reality. My point is that, rather than say that such a condition is simply part of life, one ought to think of it as a temporary setback that can and should eventually be resolved. Doubtfulness is not a destination. It's a part of the journey; the destination is perfect knowledge.

The other part of John's statement that caught my eye was the final sentence: "[my doubts] are there, in the deepest parts of my soul . . ." This struck me because there's another thing I've always heard of as touching the deepest part of one's soul-- the Holy Ghost. It cannot be coincidence that the Spirit of God, which is God's designated agent for dispelling doubt and supplying solace, is the only thing we know in this life that can reach as far into us as the fears and frustrations that Satan can plant. Where deduction and sermonizing can convince us outwardly, the Spirit can change us fundamentally. His power certainly includes bearing a testimony that should convince the most unsure of us.

To John and others who live with doubts, you have my sympathy and respect for carrying on as you do. But I think it's a mistake to accept doubt as a necessary part of life. There are too many promises that say the opposite. With persistence, and yes, prayer and scripture study, I believe all doubt can be dispelled and the spirit filled with knowledge and light. What are the reasons for thinking otherwise?

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The First Annual Bloggernacle Awards

It needed to be done, and we're doing it. 2004 was quite a ride for the Bloggernacle. In fact, by my reckoning, it was basically the first year for the Bloggernacle. Insults were hurled, testimonies were shattered, and alliances were formed. At the end of 2004 an interesting and vibrant community exists where none stood before. All of which deserves to be memorialized by The First Annual Bloggernacle Awards, hosted by Intellecxhibitionist.

To this end, I'm proposing the following categories; I'm accepting suggestions for other categories as well as nominations for the ones I've listed below until midnight, EST, December 17th. You can make nominations in the comments, or email them to me at davis_bell2002@yahoo.com (in case you want to nominate yourself for something, but are too embarrased to do it in the comments). Once the categories and nominations are settled, we'll submit them to a vote, and then present awards at star-studded gala MC'd by John Hatch and Dan Peterson. Word on the street is Heather Oman bought a gown that shows her clavicles for the occasion. The Strengthening Church Members Committee has kindly offered to film the whole thing, free of charge.


Best Blog:

Best Blogger:

Best Post:

Best Comment Thread:

Best Single Comment:

Worst Post (don't nominate this one, or I'll ban you from the awards ceremony):

Worst Comment Thread:

Worst Name For A Blog (I think we have this one locked up):

Best Blogger Rivalry:

Hottest Blogger (Just kidding):

Hurry and submit your ideas!

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Stage 2 -- Alignment, or, Adam Greenwood: Saint or Sinner?

The second in a continuing series. For the first installment, see here (or turn your mousewheel two times, you spoiled, lazy baby).

Stage 2 -- Alignment, or, Adam Greenwood: Saint or Sinner? While still in Ecstasy, you begin to notice that you find yourself nodding when you read some posts or comments, and shaking your head and clicking your tongue when you read others. Nothing new there. A little while later, though, you realize that the head-nodding posts/comments are written by the same people. Hmmm. And what's this? The same holds true for the tongue-clicking posts/comments! Curious.


Even more interesting is the fact this phenomenon holds true regardless of the specific topic. Some people just hit the nail on the head, whether they're talking about religion or politics or entertainment. Others can't seem to find the mark no matter what they're writing about. Yes, that Matt Evans fellow seems be one smart cat. Steve Evans, on the other hand, well, I don't know, he just seems kind of, well, mislead. And mistaken. And wrong. And probably hates babies. Or, vice versa. (I don't really think Steve or Matt Evans are any of those things. I just chose them because they represent opposite ends of the spectrum, and have the same last name. It's like the Civil War. Brother against brother. Father against son. People with the last name of Evans against other people with the last name Evans.) Regardless, the posts of those with whom you agree continually make a great deal of sense, and accord with your experience and thoughts. You're surprised to see how strenously people disagree with these eminently sensible people -- they're just saying what everyone knows, or ought to at any rate..

And before you know it, you're Aligned. You have favorite posters at T&S and BCC and the smaller blogs. You also have posters that, well, aren't your favorites. Regarding your not-favorites, those tongue-click inducing troublemakers, you're not sure whether you're more perplexed by the sheer wrongness of their positions, or their willfulness in not recognizing it (especially in the face of the overhwelming evidence you and your cohorts have lovingly and articulately presented). One insightful observer coined the terms The Right Reverend Right, The Moderate Middle, and The Enlightened Left; he also classified some Bloggernaclers according to these categories (and racked up a record number of comments doing so, not that that was his intent or anything. Not at all. Not by a long shot.).

Now, I don't want to oversimplify. Okay, I do, but not too much. I know that you don't agree with every single word uttered by those with whom you are Aligned. But chances are you agree with the vast majority of them (and by extension, you disagree with the vast majority of those with whom you are not Aligned). Which mens you're Aligned. Which, in turn, means you have a ready answer to the question: Adam Greenwood, Saint or Sinner? (I don't really want you to answer that question, though. Besides, I probably know what your answer is.)

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The Difficulty With Drawing Prophetic Boundaries

So many of the tussles we have with our fellow Latter-day Saints come down to differing views about the prophet's boundaries. It seems everyone has their own idea about how to determine when the prophet speaks for the Lord, and when he's stating his personal opinion. The very fact that the question is so important suggests that we feel quite comfortable dismissing the prophet's words if they are determined to be merely his opinion, but that's another conversation.

I wanted to write a bit about the motives at play in the positions we take on this issue. The basic boundaries of the dispute are easy: those who seek to live commandments with precision argue for a large area of prophetic authority. Such people frequently wonder about the smaller details involved in living a commandment, and wish to know the Lord's will on each little dilemma, so they find prophetic guidance very helpful, and therefore welcome it as authoritative.

On the other hand, there are those who believe that much is lost by placing any principle under a microscope. They are guided by a belief in moral agency and a desire to make their own choices informed by broad basic principles. To such people, even though prophets are welcome to speak authoritatively in broad strokes, a more detailed analysis from a church leader on the nuances of a given issue will cause some discomfort.

Now here's the paradox: There are small subsets of each of these groups that often try to draw the exact opposite boundaries around allegedly prophetic utterances.

Start with the conservatives. The most staunch and outspoken apologists for the LDS faith are usually numbered among the first group, since they seek to be strongly aligned with church leadership in order to strengthen their position in combatting untruths about the church. These defenders of the faith consistently rest their arguments on the rock of modern revelation, and propose wide latitude for the prophet to command as he sees fit. But there's one situation where you can get this type of conservative to completely change his tune: When you quote embarrassing passages from the journal of discourses.

Suddenly, the man who argues that President Benson's one speech condemning R-rated movies still binds the entire church today will argue that 96% of Brigham Young's collected statements were simply the light-hearted meanderings of an inquisitive mind. It's odd to hear those who take every single word of the current prophet as divine commandment opine that certain of his predecessors didn't really mean half of what they said.

The liberals have the opposite difficulty. When faced with a question of how to live their own lives, a liberal member will find many ways to explain away some position of a general authority. To such people, very little of what we hear from our leaders is binding upon the membership or the prophet. These men are not placed above us for their opinions, after all, but for the rare stroke of revelation, which we'll be happy to follow when it does come. That's why it's odd that so many liberals are equally willing to hold the church completely responsible for positions taken by past prophets. If it's so easy to blow off President Kimball's more stringent policies on repentance, why isn't it equally easy to say that the Church is not accountable for statements by early leaders about the meaning of race, or the relationship between Adam and God?

In short, some liberals and some conservatives are willing to expand or contract that latitude of prophetic authority based on when it serves their purposes. And each side sometimes wishes to take a prophet at his word, verbatim, and sometimes wishes to dilute or discard everything a prophet has said as pure speculation.

What does this opportunism suggest about us?

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Traveling Alone

Sometime tomorrow, our blog will welcome its ten thousandth visit. We're very excited about this event, so we're going to do something huge to celebrate. No, it will not involve the unveiling of a new slate of distinguished co-bloggers, nor will we introduce a fancy new site or location. We intend to celebrate this milestone with a truly revolutionary new approach to blogging: We're going to write and publish a few posts over the coming weeks! Yes, we're excited about the idea, and we hope it goes over as well as our past practice of letting the blog moulder idle in cyberspace.

Herewith the first of these upcoming "posts:"

I recently took a trip back East. The odd thing about the trip is that I went alone. This is a common occurrence for many, but for a husband of four and a half years and a father of two (people), travel rarely happens in solitude. Airports and plane rides and connections and shuttles are all associated in my mind with difficulty and stress. of course, I strongly prefer to have my loved ones with me, but in those moments of transition from one mode to the next, being a dad can be quite cumbersome.

I never knew that fact until I traveled alone this week. It was strange, lonely, and amazingly liberating to stand up at the end of my flight, stretch my arms, and pick up my little carry-on and amble off the plane.

It made me realize how much living a family life requires the unconscious carrying of routine, unwieldy burdens. A forty minute drive to my in-laws' for a one night stay calls for literally hours of preparation between Macy and myself, packing bags, filling the car, preparing kids, locking down the house, collecting and depositing children in their proper travel constraints, ect. Every time we do that, I notice the time I take loading and unloading the car, which is ngeligible compared to time spent (usually by Macy) packing diapers and PJs.

So now I have something to compare that to. What a strange life I must lead to be so domesticated that a moment of not being depended upon feels like walking in antigravity. For all the joys that come with being the proton in the nucleus of a family (who everyday grow to appear more and more like whizzing electrons), I find that these people also serve as a bit of dead weight. Families are a vehicle for perfection, but they achieve it by offering both joy and exasperation, just as the flesh offers both great potency and severe limitation.

To a small extent, life seems meant to beat us down. The habitual requirement of carrying at least three carry-on bags off of any given plane renders that service quite efficiently. But I can't deny that in such natural trappings of mortality as family, the virus and the vaccine are always delivered in the same dose. How could I toss off these unsolicited uncumbrances when they so often giggle in my ear and even embrace me as I drag them around?

We should all take a walk on the moon sometimes, if only to make us think about the reasons for our having been created earthbound. As we move across the earth, we inevitably collect barnacles, or parasites, or some other metaphorical source of benevolent drag. But then, in a test of stamina, resistance, patience and solidity, drag is not such a horrible thing. Especially when the barnacle always smiles straight at you right after it spits up.

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Davis' Stages of Blognitive Development: Stage 1 -- Ecstasy

I think I'm on to something big here. Huge big. Today I was reading a long series of comments over at the Microsoft of the Bloggernacle (not to be confused with the Apple of the Bloggernacle, which, its studied contrarian image notwithstanding, has rather more in common with the Microsoft of the Bloggernace than not). And as I was reading these comments, it hit me like a bolt of lightning: I forgot to turn in my accounting homework. And after I turned in that homework, something else hit me, although not really like a bolt of lighning: every time I read a long series of comments at T&S, I notice a few commenters whom I've never seen comment before. And when I see these people, I think to myself, "Ah, to be young and in love with the Bloggernacle again!" And I think back to my own experience in the Bloggernacle, which, if I remember right, is going on a year now. To this end, and in the spirit of Jean Piaget, I propose the following Stages of Blognitive Development.


Because each of my stages ended up being a bit longish, I'm going to present them in a few different posts.

Stage 1 -- Ecstasy, or, I Thought I Was The Only One!!!: This stage takes place in the first few weeks after you discover the Bloggernacle. Actually, making it to this stage presupposes that you end up sticking around after your initial encounter. I think perhaps the most common reaction people have when they first discover the Bloggernacle is a combination of contempt ("You people need to get lives"), bewilderment ("I can't believe anyone wants to talk about Zelph"), righteous indignation ("I'm submitting all of your names to the Committee for Strengthening the Members of the Church"), and dissapointment ("I thought Intellecxhibitionist.com was the webcam of hot philosophy co-eds").

So, assuming you one don't have these reactions, you're ecstatic. You're thrilled to find other members of the Church who are so smart and who share your interests. You've never been able to interest your friends and family in Zelph, and here are a bunch of people who want nothing else in life than to talk about him, and Onandangus, and the rest of the gang. (Unfortunately, this probably means you were that annoying missionary who went around telling other missionaries -- or at least thinking -- "Oh, if you only knew what I knew. It's probably a good thing you don't, though. The Salamander Papers would bring your pretty little world crashing down on your closely-cropped head.")

You're ecstatic to know that there are other members of the Church -- there certainly aren't any in your ward -- who are annoyed by the same things that annoy you, and who think and worry about the things you do. Even better, many of them seem very smart and well educated, so you can bounce your ideas and questions off of them (the ones you don't mention to your mom or your bishop for fear they will call a family or ward fast for your spiritual welfare, or, at the very best politely feign interest for a few mintues -- "I don't know, honey. I've never really wondered if there are chiasmus in Elder Maxwell's conference talks. It sounds very interesting. You're very smart.").

Now, depending on your level of confidence, you may dive right in, commenting up a storm, or you may lurk in the background, basking in the brilliance of others. If you do comment, you start hitting refresh every 10 seconds after commenting, checking the internet day and night to see if someone -- maybe that dreamy Nate Oman!!! -- responded to your comment. You're too excited by the whole thing to care that most likely no one has. You sincerely and lengthily express your opinion, convinced that amongst such erudite and reasonable people the truth of any matter can be found. You're a happy camper, and the world seems a bit less lonely. Perhaps these people can help you wade through your conflicted feelings about the Church's stance on same sex marriage. Or, maybe your new friends will be interested to hear of your theories on Heber J. Grant and the League of Nations. Of course they will. And you are ecstatic.

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Happy, Happy Birthday

I think it's important for all of you to know that today, December 1st, is Ryan B. Bell's 29th birthday. I encourage all 5 of our readers to give him your best wishes on his special day. For my part, Ryan, happy birthday!

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My Latest Excuse For A Blog Entry

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Some Problems With the LDS Perspective of Time

As far as I can tell, there's one very important behavioral message the church, the gospel and God hope to convey to us mortals: short-term thinking=bad; long-term thinking = good. It's funny the message isn't dealt with more explicitly, but it's ubiquitous in LDS communication. Ever have a lesson about the difference between pleasure and joy? Ever bear your testimony about the blessing of eternal families? Is there any doubt that the entire structure of spiritual behavior from a Latter-day Saint perspective is based on delayed gratification?

Notice the break down of good and bad things in the Mormon world: inebriation (lasts a night): bad; reading (long-term knowledge gain): good . One-night stand (one night): bad; marital bliss (forever): good. Etc, etc. etc. If there is anything long-lasting, permanent, or changeless, or imperishable, we seek after these things. In fact, an easy way to predict the LDS take on any moral question is to ask the following: "regardless of short-term gains, what long-term effect will alternative X have on me?"

I think this is all as it should be. For some reason, whatever lasts a long time is more real, at least from our human perspective. I think pain is a good example of this-- once it's over with, it's like it never happened-- we can't revisit the pain and our memories are dim at best. Therefore, the pain that passes is in some sense not real.

But I see two really big problems with the long-term bias. First, a focus on eternity and permanence and perpetuity casts quite a negative contrast on our mortal life. We are taught almost to disdain this passing physical existence, to transcend it in order to see how trivial it is. Don't do what you want to do now, because if you could perceive true reality, you'd see how meaningless those little earthly baubles are.

And yet, we also know that this life is pivotal to the plan, and a gift to be cherished. Is earth life only good inasmuch as it allows us to make choices that set us up for eternity? If I meet the criteria for exaltation, and show up with a worthy spouse and some good progeny, is the rest of my life a complete cipher, from the eternal perspective? Something in me doesn't feel right about laughing off the short-term when we're talking about the whole of mortal experience. Earth life can't be as insignificant as it is sometimes made out to be in Sunday School.

Second, once we've move past this stage into an eternal life, is there any difference between what lasts and what doesn't? If all things and events are present to God, then won't my ten minutes of hedonistic cake-eating on earth be just as present to me as my million years creating planets? Which is more real? Both events occurred, and both are fully available to me in the present tense? In that present moment in which I sample each of these sensations, will I somehow experience the million years of long-term joy more intensely than the ten minutes of short-term pleasure? In God's situation-- where time doesn't apply-- don't all things become permanent? I know I'm out at the margins of our understanding (and your patience), but it's hard to figure out why any short term pleasure is less real than a long-term satisfaction, when time is irrelevant and history is constantly before you.

In short, I wonder if there's a reason we've failed to fully articulate a strong theory or doctrine of the long-term v. short-term paradigm. Although it's present in everything we discuss, it may be that we're wrong to treat earth life as simply a test to be passed and then shaken off like a snake sheds its skin. Something in me rejects these notions, suspicious of their Cartesian underpinnings: I don't believe I'm being manipulated by some evil genius, and I believe my present moment is momentous and real in every sense. What can we do to get past the "LDS Matrix" view of earthlife? Does this estate mean anything beyond simply providing data points by which my eternal station will be decided? Can I feel like my time here is real and important, even if it will not last? I hope so-- because I sort of already do.

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Privileges, Promises, and Possibilities

The following is the text of the sacrament meeting talk I gave yesterday. It doesn't break any new ground or say anything innovative as you'd like a blog post to, but as a sacrament meeting talk, I suppose it was serviceable.

When I think about gratitude, I think of the story of the man who was up on his roof doing some repairs. While reaching for his hammer, he suddenly lost his balance and began to roll down the high, sloped roof toward certain injury or death. As he rolled, he cried out in prayer, saying “Dear God, if you will only save my life now, I will give up smoking and drinking, and start going to church, and become a devoted disciple for the rest of my life.” As soon as he said those words, right as he was about to plunge over the side of the roof, his pants caught on a nail in the rain gutter and stopped his fall. Right then he said another prayer: “Dear God, nevermind about all those promises, looks like I didn’t need your help after all.”

There’s a lesson in there about gratitude. But I think this story also teaches us about the need to understand the blessings we can receive from God. Macy and I wanted to focus our talks on blessings, and where she has spoken about being grateful for our blessings, I’d like to center my thoughts on gaining greater access to God’s blessings. Specifically, how can we more fully lay claim on the marvelous blessings of the gospel?

My inspiration in this topic is Elder Maxwell, who often stated that “we live far below our privileges.” What does it mean that we live below our privileges? To me, it’s like those SPAM emails you get that say “millions of dollars in federal scholarships and pet subsidies and ethanol grants go unclaimed every year simply because no one applies for it! Sign up now and we’ll show you how you may qualify for an 800 dollar federal grant to start your very own llama co-op.”

The gospel is similar– there are so many blessings the Lord has promised us, but we so often miss out on them because we find the promises a little confusing, sort of hard to believe, or maybe just out of our reach.

A few years ago, it hit me how many promises the Lord makes to us in the scriptures. I decided to make a serious study of it– so I began a meticulous search of the scriptures and every time I found a new promise made by the Lord, to me, I’d write it down along with the conditions of the promised blessing. It was really surprising to me that as soon as I started this project, the scriptures were suddenly jam-packed with beautiful promises. I began to fill pages and pages full of easy ways to earn wonderful, specific blessings from the Lord. 1 Nephi 17:14, if you remain faithful, you’ll one day know the reasons for the tests God put you through. Alma 36:1, if we keep God’s commandments, he will make us prosperous. Mormon 9:25, if you do not doubt him, he will confirm to you the truthfulness of all his words.

Well, I never made it through all the standard works, but I filled enough pages to realize that we are, truly, living far beneath our privileges. In one of my favorite scriptures that I found from that study, 1 Corinthians 2:9, Paul sums up all the promised blessings this way: “But as it is written, 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.” What a beautiful statement– we simply do not begin to understand how wonderful the blessings are that the Lord has prepared for us.

I believe our inability to comprehend the magnitude of Heavenly Father’s blessings has a lot to do with how amazing and profound those blessings are. But Paul might also be saying that our hearts haven’t conceived of these things because our hearts often suffer from faithlessness and distraction. In other words, to truly take advantage of our “privileges,” we first must stop doubting the reality and accessibility of God’s miraculous powers.

This may sound like a simple admonishment to have more faith, and it is. But I am speaking of the specific kind of faith that allows us to read the scriptures and hear the words of the prophets and to truly believe that the possibilities they hint at are real and attainable.

There’s a good example of the good and bad approaches to gospel possibilities in 1 Nephi 15. Nephi has returned to camp after being carried away by the spirit and seeing amazing revelations concerning the coming of Christ and the rise and fall of his descendants. He received this experience because he asked Heavenly Father to help him understand Lehi’s vision of the tree of life. When he returns, he finds his brothers arguing. He asks why they are debating among themselves. Nephi’s brothers answer: “Behold, we cannot understand the words which our father hath spoken concerning the natural branches of the olive-tree, and also concerning the Gentiles.” This must have been extremely ironic to Nephi, who had just found all of these answers, simply by asking. “And I said unto them: Have ye. . . . inquired of the Lord?” And they said unto me: We have not; for the Lord maketh no such thing known unto us.” In other words, Nephi, what you’re suggesting is probably impossible, but certainly pretty weird. What are you talking about?

What a powerful lesson to us, brothers and sisters. Have you ever heard someone tell of having received an answer to prayer or finding a miracle solution to a problem, and realized that you’ve always needed that same answer or miracle, but never thought to ask for it? Like Laman and Lemuel, our problem isn’t that we don’t believe God is there, or doubt that he’ll hear us– it’s that we simply can’t fathom that he’d actually give us an answer. It’s almost like we’ve never even considered such an option.

I think a lot of our ability to claim the blessings of the gospel depends on what we’re willing to ask of God, and when. Do we ask for a Priesthood blessing only as a last resort, or as a useful support in normal times of trouble and sorrow? Do we kneel to pray only when we’re positive we’re completely lost, or do we ask for help and guidance just after we lose sight of the trail?

Two different groups of people described in the Book of Mormon illustrate these ideas. In Moroni 6:4, we read of a righteous group of people:

And after they had been received unto baptism, and were wrought upon and cleansed by the power of the Holy Ghost, they were numbered among the people of the church of Christ; and their names were taken, that they might be remembered and nourished by the good word of God, to keep them in the right way, to keep them continually watchful unto prayer, relying alone upon the merits of Christ, who was the author and finisher of their faith.

By contrast, Helaman 16:15 tells of a different group of people:

Nevertheless, the people began to harden their hearts, all save it were the most believing part of them, both of the Nephites and the Lamanites, and began to depend upon their own strength, and upon their own wisdom.

I had two experiences related to law school that show the difference between relying on the arm of flesh and relying on God. In order to apply to law school, you have to take an exam called the LSAT. When I first started preparing for the LSAT, I took two practice tests to see where I was starting from. To my surprise and delight, the scores I got on those two practice tests were actually really good- good enough to get into any of the schools I wanted to apply to. I became convinced that I would ace the test. Where almost everyone does some kind of intense study for the LSAT, usually an expensive test-prep course, I blew those off, and spent an hour or two looking over a prep book, and happily reminding myself of my two gleaming practice exam scores. I rode a wave of confidence right into that exam. But when I got my results back, sure enough, my real test score was significantly lower than I’d expected– and they had somehow failed to account for how well I’d done in my practice tests. Outrageous. A lot of good the arm of flesh did me.

Well, due to divine providence, I did get into a good law school and did decide to study a little there. By the end of my third year, I had grown up some, and done a decent job and was ready to graduate, after just one more round of finals in that last semester. I studied hard and took every test very seriously. However, I was completely ambushed by my Federal Jurisdiction professor, who spent 80% of his exam on the topic of habeas corpus– something we’d only talked about for a week or so in class, and a stupid topic anyway. I was stunned. I left that exam feeling positive that I’d failed the test. And if I failed the test, I would not be graduating. What a scary place to be in– after all the years of hard work and all that money, with a job lined up an families coming out to celebrate: I might not graduate!

Well, after a lot of prayer, we decided not to tell our families to cancel the tickets to come out to the graduation. Instead, we asked them to pray for us. And Macy and I prayed and fasted over the next two weeks. I knew that this was out of my hands now, but that the Lord could soften the heart of that deluded professor, and get me a passing grade. We fervently asked Heavenly Father for help on this matter. We wanted to rely on him to direct the outcome, so I could graduate from law school and go on to the jobs I’d lined up, and not have to take our families to Denny’s during the graduation ceremony.

The night before graduation, the grades came out. No one spoke much about my little problem, but we were all a little on edge that night, wondering whether we were really going to commencement the next day. I finally slipped away to get online and check my grades– and there it was: A B+. I was overjoyed, and grateful too. My family looked at me a little weird-- who thinks they failed a test when they got a B+? I’m not sure, but I know the Lord had something to do with it– and I’m glad I had learned my lesson about relying on him, instead of on my own insignificant resources.

I love Moroni’s strong testimony of God’s power, stated in Mormon 9:

But behold, I will show unto you a God of miracles, even the God of Abraham, and the God of Jacob, and it is that same God who created the heavens and the earth, and all things that in them are. . . .And now, O all ye that have imagined up unto yourselves a god who can do no miracles, I would ask of you, have all these things passed of which I have spoken? Has the end come yet? Behold I say unto you, Nay; and God has not ceased to be a God of miracles. . . .And the reason why he ceaseth to do miracles among the children of men is because that they dwindle in unbelief, and part from the right way, and know not the God in whom they should trust.”

Each of us will make a choice in our lives, about how real we think the gospel is. For some of us, the gospel will be a healthy, sort of reassuring frame in which we can live out our lives. Others of us may decide that the gospel is a force that acts upon us every single day, bringing powerful principles to bear and providing real gifts and comfort solutions when we need them. This decision will depend largely on our estimate of the possibilities. We can stand with Lehi’s family beneath the tree of life, watching others eating their enormous glowing fruits, but content ourselves just to munch on a few low-hanging berries. Or we can reach high for one of those big glowing fruits ourselves. We can take the Lord at his word, and believe him when he says that whatever we ask in faith, which is right, he will give to us.

I hope that we may all take the time to ask what we believe is possible. Could it be that that problem I’m having at work or school might have a solution that God could show me if I asked? Does Heavenly Father really mean it when he covenants in the sacrament prayer that we can always have his spirit to be with us? Is it just an exaggeration to say that if we pay an honest tithing the windows of Heaven will pour out a blessing upon us so great that we will have no room to receive it? How much of these promises do you believe? And how much of these promises do you think would come to you, if you fulfilled the requirements?

I pray that we will not be gospel minimalists, but find use for the good news of Jesus Christ in all aspects of our lives. Let us take advantage of every privilege that is offered to us, gain access to every promise made to us, and develop a broad, God-like view of all the possibilities. It is my testimony that our God is a God of miracles, and his gospel is meant to surround us and give us power and wisdom, healing and love, throughout our mortal lives.

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Handy Reference to T&S Posts

Lest they be lost in the galactic ethereal wasteland that is the Times and Seasons archives, here are some quick links to my guest posts at the possibly most whatever yet something Onymous Mormon Group Blog. Actually, I do this just because I hate to lose anything I've written, so this will give these posts a spot on my blog. It looks like I only put up five posts-- much less than I'd expected. Still, it was a nice time and I learned a lot from the very erudite T&S commenters and fellow-bloggers.

The Links:

Spirit, Body, Brain

Religion as Secular Epistemology

You're Oppressed, I'm Oppressed (Let's Call the Whole Thing Off)

Christ and the Cosmic Conflict of Interest

What's so Great About a Good Education

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