Mountain Prayer

I came up here to say a prayer
Not really knowing where I’d be
Perhaps beside this ancient tree
With branches in the mountain air

If age grants wisdom to a man
What meaning in a grove of these
Whose shuffling branches still withstand
Through centuries of frost and breeze

How can I know the language here
That fills this ancient solemn grove
So fluent with the God I seek

In truth He seems not far away
I think He’s been right here before
And knows the words I cannot speak

A Life Surrounded by Books

My earliest memories used to go back to when I was 5 or 6 years old. They include incidents from kindergarten and from playful moments in my backyard on 6^th East in Salt Lake City. I say that these have been my earliest memories, but this has recently changed. A few months ago I discovered that I have a memory that precedes all others by perhaps as much as two years.

This memory came back unsolicited – as memories often do – while I was going through some of mother’s old books. One book in particular, The Story Book of Nick and Dick, was tucked away in a book cabinet in a place that only mother visited. It was behind a glass door and covered-up with various knickknacks. I had not seen the book in over 4 decades.

As I slowly turned the pages, it seemed to me that I had seen the pictures before. Then as I began looking through the chapter about The Thirteenth Pig I remembered having read these stories with my mother on our living room couch. I must have been 3 or 4 years old at the time.

Then I began reminiscing about other memories I have of books. I began to wonder if I didn’t have some sort of predilection for bookish remembering. I have often joked with Kathy about her remarkable memory of meals (and my laughable inability to even remember what I ate yesterday for diner). Now I was beginning to wonder if I might have her ability - but for books and stories.  

Soon I was flooded with thoughts from all decades of my life. These were all pleasant memories and I began to realize that they form a very significant part of who I am. Books have been my companions and friends all my life. At times I begin to second-guess myself and the thousands of books that fill our home. Do I really need so many books? Maybe I should get rid of them, I wonder.

But soon I realize what a mistake this would be. I could not deny my love of (and need of) books without creating a very large hole in the person I am.  Books and I are (and always have been) together for keeps.

My Sister Else taught me to read in what was the basement garage (that had been converted into a living space) of our house. I must have been around five years old. I still remember how proud I was marching upstairs to read a page or two to my parents.

I remember reading through the storybook Madeline and a collection of children’s stories that we kept in the living room on the shelves above the stairs. And then there is a gap in my book memories right at the time of our move from Salt Lake City to Orem. This was a hard time for my mother. She became less settled and her epilepsy was often aggravated by the many changes in our new life.

I fit in fairly well at school but for some reason the schools I attended didn’t do much reading (during the 70’s and 80’s). I remember a reading program in 4^th grade that involved reading paragraphs from large cards, but our teachers didn’t read to us very much. I remember only a few books such as Where the Red Fern Grows and Little House on the Prairie. Now, in my 50’s, I find myself reading children’s literature with Kathy as a way to recapture this lost opportunity from so many years ago. Kathy is a good reading partner. She has read so much more of this literature than I have.

I remember distinctly a walk I took, as a teenager, down our long driveway in Orem. I was frustrated that I wasn’t reading more – that I couldn’t keep interested long enough in a real book (I meant by this a long storybook) to read it all the way through. I wanted to love to read. I wanted to read all kinds of very hard books, but my reading record was not very good.

I decided then and there with stern resolve to read some book all the way through. With this goal I took the few dollars of my allowance (that I hadn’t already spent on candy) and managed to find a ride to Deseret Book in the University Mall. I walked up and down the aisles looking at all kinds of titles. They all seemed so difficult. Finally at the back of the store I found a shelf with several books by Edgar Rice Burroughs. Many of them were from his series Tarzan of the Apes. Here, I knew, I had found what I needed. I bought the first book and hurried home.

I had trouble getting through Chapter one. It was about the perilous voyage of Tarzan’s parents and of their shipwreck along the coast of Africa. I wondered if the book was too hard for me to read, but I remembered my goal and started Chapter Two. From then on, there was no turning back. The story captured my imagination and before the year was over I had read all 24 books in the series. In later years I would read most of the rest of Burroughs’s books.

My time as a Mormon Missionary is Spain was a very significant and formative period in my life. But it wasn’t a time ideal for reading. We were encouraged to read from the scriptures (which I did each day) and then there were only a few other books that we were permitted to read (such as James E. Talmage’s Jesus the Christ and LeGrand Richard’s A Marvelous Work and a Wonder).

After reading through all of the permitted books twice, I decided to ask my Mission President if I might read something else. He was impressed with my study habits and agreed to let me read Boyd K. Packer’s The House of the Lord and John A. Widtsoe’s Teachings of Brigham Young. I quickly asked my Dad to send these to me and enjoyed them immensely when they came in the mail.

Even with these additional titles, however, I soon found myself reading from the Bible Dictionary as we spent time travelling to and from appointments. When I returned home from Spain, I was sad to see that part of my life come to an end. I had grown a great deal through my experiences teaching the gospel and made many of my mission habits part of my continuing life.

One thing certainly did change, however, upon being released. I began getting up early to study – not just missionary-approved literature, but many other books as well. I remember plodding through my college biology text. I would also spend hours walking through the stacks of books in the Harold B. Lee Library at BYU looking for interesting things to read.

It was while wandering through the religious books one day that I came across Hugh Nibley’s Lehi in the Desert. I was completely captivated and unable to put the book down. At this same time Deseret Book (and FARMS) were reprinting Nibley’s collected works. I spent what little book money I could gather on this series.

In the spring of 1984, I met Kathy Vernon in a music class. We were married a year later and moved in to our first home – an old converted garage south of BYU campus. Our first bookcase was an inherited homemade collection of shelves that we used as a room divider. We affixed wallpaper to the back to add color to the small kitchen.

Those shelves held all of our books (with the exception of a few insect texts that I kept at the Bean Museum where I had a desk). There may have been 100 total, maybe a few more - nothing that would hint of my future love of acquiring great books. Little did I then know that I would be building many more bookshelves in coming years as my research adventures led me from one book deal to another.

My goal was not to acquire a lot of books. In fact I remember being turned off by a book collector once while attending a book sale in Salt Lake City with my brother-in-law Will Quist. This man approached us wanting to show us his collection so we obliged him and walked a few blocks to his house. All his rooms were lined with bookshelves – floor to ceiling – with mostly cheap paperback books. Upon asking him what he preferred reading (or if he was studying anything particular) he avoided the question and began commenting on Utah culture.

I think the reason I wasn’t impressed with his collection is that my own book hunts were motivated to find books on subjects I was actively learning about. As the years have come and gone, however, I have discovered that I have accumulated several nice collections anyway. Now, in addition to looking for interesting reads, I also keep my eye open for collectible items, or for authors I respect.

In fact just last week while driving through a dusty town in California’s Salinas Valley, I found a couple of collectible books in the local thrift store. I have learned that when a town is too small (or disinclined to read books) for a used bookstore, the thrift store (or the occasional library book sale) is the only real option for finding books at inexpensive prices.

(I should point out tangentially that my own library is worth a good bit more than what I have actually spent on it because I am constantly on the lookout for book sales. The most memorable sale I visited was a library sale in Loveland, Colorado that I attended with my sons Spencer and Erik and our friend Aaron. A few minutes after the doors had opened and the long line of people waiting outside had been ushered in, a fight broke out between two women over a particular romance novel. For some unexplainable reason, we all thought the scene quite comical – a paperback romance novel worth fighting over! Who would have guessed?)

In the Salinas Valley thrift store I visited, I worked my way through the costume aisle and discovered the single bookshelf in a back corner. (For some reason, thrift store books are always located in the back of the store). I was perhaps twenty feet away when I noticed two volumes from the Franklin Mystery series. I have recently started collecting these (who wouldn’t) whenever I find them like this because they are quite valuable. Franklin Press is no longer in business but their books were leather-bound classics. And they keep (or increase) their value.

I quickly grabbed the two books and discovered, to my great pleasure, that both were books I didn’t have. They were priced at three dollars each, bound in full leather with embossed spines and gilded page margins. I don’t always get so lucky, but such moments of triumph keep me constantly on the lookout. (When I returned home and checked the internet for typical asking prices, I discovered that they are going for $30 to $100 each.)

I can’t help it. I love to learn and I love to read books. The outcome of this duality is a house that could easily double as a library. So be it. Like most habits we love, they come with both good and bad elements. On the good side, my children also love to learn. And this love ranges in psychological demeanor from balanced enjoyment of books to book-mania like their father. But they have also done very well in school (all three boys receiving college scholarships and graduation at the top of their class). Then again, one of my sons recently told Kathy that he had a hard time sleeping unless he was in a room surrounded by books. I laughed. I think Kathy cried.

I used to dream of being a great scholar and helping the world. Now I realize that people usually don’t care much for the things I write about. My few publications (including my one very abstruse book on insects) might fill a couple of resume pages, but they interest very few people. Now I keep reading (and writing) because that is what I do.

Thomas S. Monson once encouraged us to build a home with a library of learning. I can certify with a clear conscience that this is one principle I have no difficulty living. (Although I hope no one ever asks him for a number clarifying how many volumes such a library would involve. What would vacation be like if there wasn’t always the hope of finding last year’s Pulitzer prize-winning titles for only a few quarters?)

So here I sit – in my library surrounded by books. I have lived half a century and there is no chance of finishing all the volumes that surround me. Some people think I must be crazy. I probably am. In extremes, people like me are accused of bibliomania (defined unofficially as the hoarding of books with no use or intrinsic value to the collector). But as long as I am motivated to pull myself out of bed an hour before I need to each morning – just to read a few more chapters – I guess I retain a semblance of clinical normality. But then again, with book-lovers you can never be quite sure!    

References

The Story Book of Nick and Dick by Arthur I. Baker and Franklin T. Baker was published by The Macmillan Company in 1937.

Faith and Depravity

As an opening question to the often overlooked parable of the Pharisee and the publican, Jesus asks “when the Son of man cometh, shall he find faith on the earth?” He then goes on to compare a self-righteous Pharisee, who thanked God that he was better than other men, to a publican (a tax collector) who pleaded with God to “be merciful to me a sinner” (Luke 18:10-14). We are left to consider the great significance of the faith of a sinful man who seeks the mercy of Heaven.

For many Christian faiths – including Latter-day Saints – it is a troubling thought to imagine that we are so depraved. Yes, we recognize that the Lord is capable of saving us from our fallen and depraved condition. But we have no desire to dwell on our imperfect natures. Clearly we are better off enjoying the optimism of Christ’s “good news”. This parable, however, is a warning lest we deceive ourselves. Optimism is one thing, forgetting our dependence on Christ is something very different. When our optimism turns into self-justification – as evidenced by the Pharisee – it’s time to take a closer look at our faith. For this parable – shockingly – teaches us that the faith required for salvation is a faith that achingly recognizes our own unworthiness before God.

In this parable Jesus taught that the outwardly righteous Pharisee was not justified; whereas the humbled publican was. There is no statement indicating that the publican was really free of sin, or that he had only committed minor sins. We are left to conclude that he was, in fact, a sinner as he freely admitted. Nonetheless Jesus is clear in this particularly paradoxical case that, in the end, it is the humble that will be exalted.

And then, as if to answer Jesus’ initial question by implication, we ask ourselves how it is that a humble sinner has this kind of saving faith. And maybe more tellingly, we ask ourselves, how it is that a devoted religious man ended up lacking this faith.

It would seem that there is a particular kind of repentant self-abasement that wins the approval of Heaven? The self-possessed seem to lack this divine favor; whereas, the most disadvantaged among us often don’t. I am reminded of one line in my Grandmother’s favorite scripture: “And if men come unto me [meaning Christ] I will show unto them their weakness” (Ether 12: 27 – in the Book of Mormon). The scripture then goes on to show that weakness can lead to humility; which, when affected by Christian faith, can then lead to strength.

In both of these examples, it is our own deficiency and recognized dependence upon the grace of Christ that wins Heavenly favor. We seem to appreciate the comforting promises of God that come to those with faith. But this is a different sort of blessing. It is a promise that God will lead us to the point of failure if we are serious about following Him.  

This is a doctrine that is noticeably sequestered (or frankly denied) in most Christian congregations these days. I suppose this is indicative of the spiritually shallow world we live in. And I find it somewhat unfortunate considering the fairly unambiguous statements about human depravity and sin that are present in both the New Testament and the Book of Mormon. Among the religious descendants of Calvin it ought to be much more apparent - because the Geneva reformer had so much to say about human failings. Following is a typical statement of his regarding depravity and improper desire (concupiscence):

“...our nature is not only destitute of all good, but is so fertile in all evils that it cannot remain inactive. Those who have called it concupiscence have used an expression not improper, if it were only added, which is far from being conceded by most persons, that everything in man, the understanding and will, the soul and body, is polluted and engrossed by this concupiscence; or, to express it more briefly, that man is of himself nothing else but concupiscence.”

Part of our misunderstanding stems from doctrinal history and the confusion surrounding the idea of depravity and free will. Augustine, in his zeal against Pelagius, made much about the works needed for salvation. And it was the hopelessness of ever being able to overcome human depravity with works that ultimately lead Luther to his understanding of faith alone (sola fide) as the way to salvation.

This is a complicated issue over which much ink (and blood) has been spilt. I do not intend to recapture this doctrinal history here (I am not well-enough read to do so). But I do want to point out that this simple parable of the Pharisee and the publican obviates so much of the confusion over this issue. In spite of centuries of controversy, this parable makes clear that a particular kind of faith is necessary. It is the kind of faith that accepts God the Father and recognizes how utterly dependent we are on His grace for our very existence. It is a faith that is humbled before the majesty of the Father and the Son.

And yet, this humility before God can (and has) been grossly misunderstood. Our total dependence upon Him can be considered in a number of ways. For some, this dependence has been seen as the dependence of a puppet on a puppeteer. For others it is the relationship of a creature and its creator. For Latter-day Saints, the relationship is more appropriately that between a child and a loving Father.

There are differences, of course. Children grow up and become less dependent upon their parents. While there is no indication that our dependence upon the Father or upon the Son will ever be less than it is now. This should be something we think about a bit more than we do. In our focus upon overcoming the world – of keeping the commandments and our covenants – we very often forget that we still stand helpless before God.

This can begin to sound like we are mere puppets in the hand of God. And, in fact, it’s easy to see why many bright thinkers have fallen into this trap. There is no easy line to draw between an exalted view of man and the depravity of the publican. And yet both views are correct. This seeming conflict helps explain why we are forever coming up short - and why the need to be ever watchful lest we allow pride to blind us from our sin.  

In Shakespeare’s King Henry VIII, Cardinal Wolsey is forced to confront the grim reality of a lifetime of pride when his secretive scheming against the King, and even against the Pope himself, has finally been discovered. Says Wolsey:

Vain pomp and glory of this world, I hate ye:

I feel my heart new open'd. O! how wretched

Is that poor man that hangs on a prince's favours!

There is, betwixt that smile we would aspire to,

That sweet aspect of princes, and their ruin,

More pangs and fears than wars or women have;

And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer,

Never to hope again.  

Hopefully, we have less to be worried about then conspiring against a king or a pope. But nowhere in scripture is there any indication that sinning against a high official is any less severe than sinning against our neighbor. The grim reality is that we are not capable of escaping the “wretched” world of our fallen existence. In fact, we can’t escape from it on any given day.

I know this sounds quite medieval – so contrary to our traditions of humanist emancipation. Our world has conveniently forgotten the sinful publican because he reminds us that happiness and sin cannot co-exist in the same soul. Our modern myth, on the other hand, is based on the fiction that they can.

We need Christ. He alone can make things right. He alone is the “High Priest of good things to come” (Hebrews 9:11). No, we never have been divine puppets. And we do have the potential of being like our Father in Heaven. Even so we are nothing without Him. Neither are we capable of anything at all without the mercy of Christ. We are so much more dependent on Them then we can possibly understand.

In the end, it takes faith to understand this. It sometimes takes a falling away from the light that is in Christ to recognize how much we need Him. But when we get to this point, it makes perfect sense that we would join the publican and beg for help – “again and again”. This, after all, is the kind of faith the Lord wants us to have.  

References

Cardinal Wolsey’s soliloquy is found in Shakespeare’s King Henry VIII (Act III, Scene 2). The quote from Calvin is from his Institutes, Vol. I, Bk. II, Chap. 1, Para. 8 – cited in: The Five Points of Calvinism by Herman Hanko, Homer Hoeksema, and Gise J. Van Baren, 1976 (Reformed Free Publishing Association). For a masterful discussion of “again and again” see Craig Cardon’s talk in General Conference (of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints – April, 2013).

Anya Knows

Little Anya came to stay

So beautiful and small

Upon our spinning vital earth

And learn about it all

It’s funny that the rest of us

Who think we know our way

Seem much less certain of the place

She left just yesterday

And I am left considering

How innocence like this

Can come into our fallen world

And fill it with such bliss

How to Be Happy

Children can teach us a lot of things. Before they begin to second-guess the world around them, they are amazingly innocent. They laugh when they are happy, cry when they are sad, and (despite our condescending habits) really pout when they are mad.

I have had the good fortune of being able to observe this very revealing childhood laboratory of human nature for a long time. My daughter Alicia (now 21 years old) has been a child for over two decades. She suffers from a form of epilepsy that has rendered her mind aphasic in many ways. She sees the world differently than most of us, and her emotional life is very basic. She can be very happy or sad but doesn’t get overly bothered by the moods of others.

One very noticeable part of her affliction is the lack of a sense of self. Alicia doesn’t care what she looks like or how she behaves. She has never worried about what others might think of her. It is very easy for those of us that live with her, to know how she feels. She is incapable of hiding anything.

When Alicia is happy she smiles and claps her hands. This isn’t a habitual token. It comes from her heart. And the applause isn’t intended for anybody else. It is an intense and rapid staccato that is sparked by her burst of emotional contentment. And it is quite interesting to see what makes her feel this way. Over the course of two decades, I have learned a lot about what makes her happy by trying to get her out of bad moods.

The best way to make Alicia smile is to tell her she has done a good job. It doesn’t matter too much what her accomplishment has been. Often we compliment her for reading a sentence correctly in a children’s book. Sometimes we compliment her on the way she sorts the spoons. She takes great satisfaction (and seems to be constantly clapping) when working on a jigsaw puzzle that she is good at. And she loves being recognized when she sings the right words of a song.

But more interesting to me is the other major reason that Alicia smiles. It happens when she makes other people happy. Many years ago, when she was a little girl, Alicia noticed how happy I was when she handed me a wash cloth after I brushed my teeth. She had watched me enough times to memorize my little routine, including the way I washed my face afterwards. On one particular day she decided to help. When I smiled and give her a kiss, she just bubbled with happiness and began clapping with real energy. I just had to give her a big hug.

Now, however, this fun little experience has become a good deal less entertaining. Alicia tries to help me in the same way every time she sees me brush my teeth. She has mastered all kinds of variations on the theme. Sometimes she throws me a towel. At other times she sneaks up behind me to surprise me. It has become annoying – as most things are after being repeated hundreds of times. But I don’t have the heart to let her know it bothers me. I still muster a smile and tell her how polite she is.

Alicia enjoys bringing you a glass of water as long as she knows it makes you happy. She will also willingly pass you a plate of food at dinner if you make sure to seem pleased. And she will watch a basketball game on TV (even though she doesn’t understand the game) and shout hooray if your team scores – when she sees that you are celebrating too.

I have also observed something very interesting about what fails to make Alicia happy. I mean her continuous need to acquire things. She can be annoyingly fixated on gathering the oddest objects. She will try and steal cups and water bottles in order to enhance her little backyard laboratory of bubble blowing. She will refuse to leave a parking lot if there are hair bands (however small) to be found. And if she thinks there are pennies nearby, she won’t stop looking until she finds one. More frustrating is the need she has to gather more and more books from the library shelves every time she visits (which she insists on doing almost every day).

Alicia acts out an extreme that the rest of us normally experience under better self-control. We know how fun it is to get a present or a bit of spending money. And so we believe that acquiring things is a way to become happy. Alicia’s experience is noteworthy: the psychological drive to acquire does not make us happy. In excess it can only lead to frustration. Yes, a thoughtful gift can make our day. But the belief that we constantly need more things is a childish error.

Just last week I was reminded of both of these truths in sharp contrast. I am in the process of moving my office to my home. I am now working out of my house. Part of this change involves buying several fairly expensive things. I got a new printer, new phones, other new electronic devices, even a company vehicle. It was getting quite a bit more than I ever get for Christmas or for my birthday. It was all nice, but left me none the happier. I still sought out time with my family and a good book at the end of the day.

On the other hand, I was thrilled by a note Kathy received at the same time I was buying all of these things. The note was from a friend in North Carolina (where we used to live) who had attended a class wherein students were asked to name some of the people that had made a difference in their lives. Many students mentioned bishops or school teachers. And apparently one of the students mentioned my name. When I learned this, I felt a real joy. It made me happy all week (and continues to do so as I write about it). It was a very clear example to me that helping others can make us much happier than can the acquisition of things.

We, in the Western World, are surfeited with these kinds of things. In any given week, the mere packaging of the things I might buy is of more value than all of the weekly purchases of a typical individual among the millions of the World’s poor. And yet, for those of us who have been privileged to visit these developing countries, it is obvious that we are no happier than they are. Very often the opposite is truer.

Go “sell all that thou hast, and distribute unto the poor, and thou shalt have treasure in heaven: and come, follow me.” (Luke 18:22) Such a demand from the Lord was too much for the rich young ruler. And it is certainly too much to ask of most of us today. And yet the truth has never changed. If we should spend all our days serving others – even if we only manage to help a very few - “how great shall be your joy” (Doctrine & Covenants 18:15).