The Stranger --A few years after I was born, my Dad met a stranger who was new to our small town. From the beginning, Dad was fascinated with this enchanting newcomer and soon invited him to live with our family.The stranger was quickly accepted and was around from then on. As I grew up, I never questioned his place in my family. In my young mind, hehad a special niche. My parents were complementary instructors: Mom taught me good from evil, and Dad taught me to obey. But the stranger... he was our storyteller. He would keep us spellbound for hours on end with adventures, mysteries and comedies. If I wanted to know anything about politics, history or science, he always knew the answers about the past, understood the present and even seemed able to predict the future! He took my family to the first major league ball game. He made me laugh, and he made me cry. The stranger never stopped talking, but Dad didn't seem to mind. Sometimes, Mom would get up quietly while the rest of us were shushing each other to listen to what he had to say, and she would go to the kitchen for peace and quiet.(I wonder now if she ever prayed for the stranger to leave.) Dad ruled our household with certain moral convictions, but the stranger never felt obligated to honor them. Profanity, for example, was not allowed in our home - not from us, our friends or any visitors. Our long time visitor, however, got away with four-letter words that burned my ears and made my dad squirm and my mother blush. My Dad didn't permit the liberal use of alcohol but the stranger encouraged us to try it on a regular basis. He made cigarettes look cool, cigars manly, and pipes distinguished. He talked freely (much too freely!) about sex. His comments were sometimes blatant, sometimes suggestive, and generally embarrassing.. I now know that my early concepts about relationships were influenced strongly by the stranger. Time after time, he opposed the values of my parents, yet he was seldom rebuked... And NEVER asked to leave. More than fifty years have passed since the stranger moved in with our family. He has blended right in and is not nearly as fascinating as he was at first. Still, if you could walk into my parents' den today, you would still find him sitting over in his corner, waiting for someone to listen to him talk and watch him draw his pictures. His name?.... We just call him 'TV.' (Note: This should be required reading for every household!) He has a wife now....we call her 'Computer.' Their first child is "Cell Phone". Second child "I Pod" And JUST BORN THIS YEAR WAS a Grandchild: IPAD

How To Make Smart Decisions --Success is largely a matter of making wise choices. As F. W. Boreham said, "wemake our decisions and then they make us." That's why every decision has an element of risk to it. We cannot always predict the outcome. Are you dealing with any difficult decisions these days? Try following these eight steps for decision-making from the book of Proverbs in the Bible. --Step 1: ~ Pray For Guidance.(Principle of Inspiration) -Start by asking God to help you see His perspective on the problem. Intuition is often wrong. "A man is foolish to trust onlyhimself. But those who use GOD'S WISDOM are safe." Prov. 28:26 --Step 2:~ Get The Facts! (Principle of Information) -Don't make decisions out of ignorance. Find out all you can first. "Every prudent man acts out of knowledge" Prov. 13:16 "How stupid to decide before knowing the facts." Prov. 18:13 ""Get the facts at any price.. . . "Prov. 23:23 ) --Step 3: ~ Ask For Advice. ( Consultation) -Talk to someone who has already taken the rise if possible. It's wise to learn from experience - but it is even wiser to learn form the experiences of others! That way you don't have to learn everything the hard way. "Get good advice and you will succeed. Prov. 20:18 ) "The intelligent man is always open to new idea - in fact the looks for them Prov. 18:15 ) --Step 4: ~ Set Your Goal. ( Selection) -Be sure you understand the reason and purpose for the decision you're about to make. You can't chase two rabbits at the same time. "An intelligent person AIMS at wise actions, but a fool start off in many directions." Prov. 17:24 --Step 5 : ~ Count The Cost~ ( Evaluation) - This is called "calculated risk". :Ask yourself (1) Is it necessary? (2)What will it cost. . .in terms of time, energy, money? (3) Is it worth it? "It is a trap to dedicate something rashly, and only later to consider your vows." Prov. 20:25 --Step 6: ~ Plan For Problems ~ (Preparation) - Remember Murphy's law - and he was an optimist. Don't ignore problems - they won't ignore you. So be prepared. "Don't go charging into battle without a plan." Prov. 20:18 "A sensible man watches for problems and is prepared to meet them. The fool never looks ahead and suffers the consequences."Prov. 22:3 --Step 7: ~ Face Your Fears ~ (Confrontation) -Fear is not a sign of weakness - it is a sign of your humanity. Courage is not the absence of fear, but rather it is moving ahead in spite of your fears. "Fear of man is a dangerous trap, but to trust in God means safety." Prov. 29:25 --Step 8: ~ Go For It! (Initiation) This is the point at which you must stop talking and start acting. You must begin! "Commit to the Lord whatever you do and your plans will succeed." Prov. 16:3

A Quote and a response ---As I make my slow pilgrimage through the world, a certain sense of beautiful mystery seems to gather and grow. - A. C. Benson --On the darkened horizon, however comes a spark, followed by a cold vapor, muffling the solemn ravenous call. I recoil from the slow, deep bass, blatant mouthed demand of rigid, severe, exact, mechanical realism. --Escape into wonder! Only to be taken under siege, by engine and fire, to be driven forth by the demand of reality; blinded by maddened tears, bereft of beauty by smoke and howl, to shiver, screened through waste and ruin, slinking and hiding until a fever of exhaustion drops me into oblivion; only to be blasted awake, again wrung from the dregs, in constant fear of discovery and denunciation, of abandonment to the bullying menace; a threat to be cut down and decimated by the slash and burn, scorched earth tactics of the realism driven, fantasy abhorring, mystery inquisitioning minions who surround and sneer and creep and mutter and spy out and watch. © 2013 J. Daniel Hastings

I sent this out 10 years ago, time for another dose) -Subject: A Poem I found... ...that demonstrates succinctly how I will never be able to write decent poetry. -Poem: Athanasia by: Oscar Wilde -To that gaunt House of Art which lacks for naught Of all the great things men have saved from Time, The withered body of a girl was brought Dead ere the world's glad youth had touched its prime, And seen by lonely Arabs lying hid In the dim womb of some black pyramid. But when they had unloosed the linen band Which swathed the Egyptian's body, - lo! was found Closed in the wasted hollow of her hand A little seed, which sown in English ground Did wondrous snow of starry blossoms bear And spread rich odours through our spring-tide air. With such strange arts this flower did allure That all forgotten was the asphodel, And the brown bee, the lily's paramour, Forsook the cup where he was wont to dwell, For not a thing of earth it seemed to be, But stolen from some heavenly Arcady. In vain the sad narcissus, wan and white At its own beauty, hung across the stream, The purple dragon-fly had no delight With its gold dust to make his wings a-gleam, Ah! no delight the jasmine-bloom to kiss, Or brush the rain-pearls from the eucharis. For love of it the passionate nightingale Forgot the hills of Thrace, the cruel king, And the pale dove no longer cared to sail Through the wet woods at time of blossoming, But round this flower of Egypt sought to float, With silvered wing and amethystine throat. While the hot sun blazed in his tower of blue A cooling wind crept from the land of snows, And the warm south with tender tears of dew Drenched its white leaves when Hesperos up-rose Amid those sea-green meadows of the sky On which the scarlet bars of sunset lie. But when o'er wastes of lily-haunted field The tired birds had stayed their amorous tune, And broad and glittering like an argent shield High in the sapphire heavens hung the moon, Did no strange dream or evil memory make Each tremulous petal of its blossoms shake? Ah no! to this bright flower a thousand years Seemed but the lingering of a summer's day, It never knew the tide of cankering fears Which turn a boy's gold hair to withered grey, The dread desire of death it never knew, Or how all folk that they were born must rue. For we to death with pipe and dancing go, Nor would we pass the ivory gate again, As some sad river wearied of its flow Through the dull plains, the haunts of common men, Leaps lover-like into the terrible sea! And counts it gain to die so gloriously. We mar our lordly strength in barren strife With the world's legions led by clamorous care, It never feels decay but gathers life From the pure sunlight and the supreme air, We live beneath Time's wasting sovereignty, It is the child of all eternity.

“Well begun is half done.” -Mary Poppins plagerizing Aristotle

The Currant Bush -You sometimes wonder whether the Lord really knows what he ought to do with you. You sometimes wonder if you know better than he does about what you ought to do and ought to become. I am wondering if I may tell you a story that I have told quite often in the Church. It is a story that is older than you are. It’s a piece out of my own life, and I’ve told it in many stakes and missions. It has to do with an incident in my life when God showed me that he knew best. -I was living up in Canada. I had purchased a farm. It was run-down. I went out one morning and saw a currant bush. It had grown up over six feet high. It was going all to wood. There were no blossoms and no currants. I was raised on a fruit farm in Salt Lake before we went to Canada, and I knew what ought to happen to that currant bush. So I got some pruning shears and went after it, and I cut it down, and pruned it, and clipped it back until there was nothing left but a little clump of stumps. It was just coming daylight, and I thought I saw on top of each of these little stumps what appeared to be a tear, and I thought the currant bush was crying. I was kind of simpleminded (and I haven’t entirely gotten over it), and I looked at it, and smiled, and said, “What are you crying about?” You know, I thought I heard that currant bush talk. And I thought I heard it say this: “How could you do this to me? I was making such wonderful growth. I was almost as big as the shade tree and the fruit tree that are inside the fence, and now you have cut me down. Every plant in the garden will look down on me, because I didn’t make what I should have made. How could you do this to me? I thought you were the gardener here.” That’s what I thought I heard the currant bush say, and I thought it so much that I answered. I said, “Look, little currant bush, I am the gardener here, and I know what I want you to be. I didn’t intend you to be a fruit tree or a shade tree. I want you to be a currant bush, and some day, little currant bush, when you are laden with fruit, you are going to say, ‘Thank you, Mr. Gardener, for loving me enough to cut me down, for caring enough about me to hurt me. Thank you, Mr. Gardener.’ ” -Time passed. Years passed, and I found myself in England. I was in command of a cavalry unit in the Canadian Army. I had made rather rapid progress as far as promotions are concerned, and I held the rank of field officer in the British Canadian Army. And I was proud of my position. And there was an opportunity for me to become a general. I had taken all the examinations. I had the seniority. There was just one man between me and that which for ten years I had hoped to get, the office of general in the British Army. I swelled up with pride. And this one man became a casualty, and I received a telegram from London. It said: “Be in my office tomorrow morning at 10:00,” signed by General Turner in charge of all Canadian forces. I called in my valet, my personal servant. I told him to polish my buttons, to brush my hat and my boots, and to make me look like a general because that is what I was going to be. He did the best he could with what he had to work on, and I went up to London. I walked smartly into the office of the General, and I saluted him smartly, and he gave me the same kind of a salute a senior officer usually gives—a sort of “Get out of the way, worm!” He said, “Sit down, Brown.” -Then he said, “I’m sorry I cannot make the appointment. You are entitled to it. You have passed all the examinations. You have the seniority. You’ve been a good officer, but I can’t make the appointment. You are to return to Canada and become a training officer and a transport officer. Someone else will be made a general.” That for which I had been hoping and praying for ten years suddenly slipped out of my fingers. -Then he went into the other room to answer the telephone, and I took a soldier’s privilege of looking on his desk. I saw my personal history sheet. Right across the bottom of it in bold, block-type letters was written, “THIS MAN IS A MORMON.” We were not very well liked in those days. When I saw that, I knew why I had not been appointed. I already held the highest rank of any Mormon in the British Army. He came back and said, “That’s all, Brown.” I saluted him again, but not quite as smartly. I saluted out of duty and went out. I got on the train and started back to my town, 120 miles away, with a broken heart, with bitterness in my soul. And every click of the wheels on the rails seemed to say, “You are a failure. You will be called a coward when you get home. You raised all those Mormon boys to join the army, then you sneak off home.” I knew what I was going to get, and when I got to my tent, I was so bitter that I threw my cap and my saddle brown belt on the cot. I clinched my fists and I shook them at heaven. I said, “How could you do this to me, God? I have done everything I could do to measure up. There is nothing that I could have done—that I should have done—that I haven’t done. How could you do this to me?” I was as bitter as gall. -And then I heard a voice, and I recognized the tone of this voice. It was my own voice, and the voice said, “I am the gardener here. I know what I want you to do.” -The bitterness went out of my soul, and I fell on my knees by the cot to ask forgiveness for my ungratefulness and my bitterness. While kneeling there I heard a song being sung in an adjoining tent. A number of Mormon boys met regularly every Tuesday night. I usually met with them. We would sit on the floor and have a Mutual Improvement Association. As I was kneeling there, praying for forgiveness, I heard their voices singing: “It may not be on the mountain height Or over the stormy sea; It may not be at the battle’s front My Lord will have need of me; But if, by a still, small voice he calls To paths that I do not know, I’ll answer, dear Lord, with my hand in thine: I’ll go where you want me to go.” -I arose from my knees a humble man. And now, almost fifty years later, I look up to him and say, “Thank you, Mr. Gardener, for cutting me down, for loving me enough to hurt me.” I see now that it was wise that I should not become a general at that time, because if I had I would have been senior officer of all western Canada, with a lifelong, handsome salary, a place to live, and a pension when I’m no good any longer, but I would have raised my six daughters and two sons in army barracks. They would no doubt have married out of the Church, and I think I would not have amounted to anything. I haven’t amounted to very much as it is, but I have done better than I would have done if the Lord had let me go the way I wanted to go. -I wanted to tell you that oft-repeated story because there are many of you who are going to have some very difficult experiences: disappointment, heartbreak, bereavement, defeat. You are going to be tested and tried to prove what you are made of. I just want you to know that if you don’t get what you think you ought to get, remember, “God is the gardener here. He knows what he wants you to be.” Submit yourselves to his will. Be worthy of his blessings, and you will get his blessings. -Elder Hugh B. Brown, “The Currant Bush,” New Era, Jan. 1973

Poem- Just fallen snow --The snow just fell. -After, the sun just hung there in the haze; The afternoon just cold, drear, grey. All around, the snow just heavy, wet; the tall weeds in the meadow just sticking out of the sodden ground, like a field of just cut straw, just recovering. -by Danny Hastings

Obituary - Andrea Hastings Lemmon --It goes without stating that the most profound change in my life this past year, let alone for many years was the passing of my daughter Andrea. She died on her mother's birthday, July 9, 2012 very suddenly and unexpectedly of a silent killer, spinal meningitis. We had no warning, no way to intercede and counter the desease, which was not identified until after her death. I thought it fitting, considering my intent to update this blog and write a little in the future to include her Obituary.. Andrea, we all miss you. Love you. Andrea Hastings Lemmon who currently lives in Houston, Texas passed away unexpectedly, Monday, July 9, 2012 in Las Vegas, Nevada at age 32. A beloved and devoted wife, mother, and daughter, Andrea was born in Provo, Utah, January 21, 1980. From early childhood, she was a resident of Las Vegas, Nevada. She was active in music, dance, sports, and worked as a lifeguard and swimming coach. She attended Valley High School and graduated from Silverado High school in 1998. Andrea received her Bachelor’s degree teaching Physical Education from Brigham Young University. Andrea met the love of her life, Kyle David Lemmon in college and they were married in the Las Vegas Temple of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints on August 16, 2002. She was a lifelong, faithful member of the Church, devoting her time in teaching and sharing the gospel of Jesus Christ. Andrea taught high school until the birth of the first of her three precious daughters. Her family was the focus of her love, time, and effort. She found great joy in encouraging those around her to exercise and was always willing to help and support others. She loved spontaneity, going on family adventures, everything BYU, going to the beach, reading books, spending time with her family, and doing all she could to make her husband and three daughters to feel happy and loved. She is survived by her husband, Kyle; daughters, Brooklyn Michele, age 7; Karalee Jo, age 4; and Katelyn Jane, age 2; her parents Danny and Michele Hastings and siblings, Nathan (Liz), Ryan (Kacy), Loralee (Taylor) Warner, Julina, and Karalyn (Paul) Groesbeck. A funeral was held Saturday, July 14 at 10:00 AM at the Paradise Stake Center, 1725 Palora Ave. in Las Vegas. There was visitation Friday evening, July 13 from 5:00 to 7:00 PM at Palm Mortuary, 7600 S. Eastern Ave., Las Vegas and at 9:00 AM at the Palora chapel on Saturday before the funeral service. (Note; It rained the day before the funeral and dramatically cooled down the temperature in Las Vegas. During the viewing there was a beautiful rainbow across the Eastern sky and many people saw it, and commented on it, and were comforted by it as a sign.)

January 2013 update

I haven't done anything with this blog for a long time. Over the last couple of years, I have focused much of my communicating in the spider Web over Yahoo email (which is dependable)and then on facebook (which is very rewarding, but tedious and which is a drama queen in and of itself) and then in my facebook group, 'Stuph', which has been OK for me as a sub category in which to put more spiritual things, but which has been a disappointment to me personally, considering that there are almost 500 members and only a hand full have ever responded or used it as a means of expanding a base of spiritual awareness, sharing of testimony, etc. Although facebook has it's place,I am weary of those formats. I also enjoy Goodreads, which is more interesting and horizon broadening. As I get older I feel more intensely the need to spend more time reading/writing and less time chatting in social media. A friend encouraged me to write more. It seems that this is a more appropriate format for sharing what may come from time to time. So I may be putting more posts up in the coming days. (As Stephen Stills wrote, "For what it's worth")

The Atonement - A study guide for Easter

The Atonement- The last week of the earthly ministry of Jesus Christ

Study Guide for Easter - April 2012

compiled by Danny Hastings



Sources:
The Scriptures; Bible Dictionary, p.693- Harmony of the Gospels;

Our Lord of the Gospels, J. Reuben Clark, p.361;

Jesus the Christ, James E. Talmage, Chaps.29-37;

Doctrinal New Testament Commentary, Bruce R. McConkie, pp. 573-851.



Introduction- John 11:1-46 Jesus raises Lazarus from the Dead, Effect upon the Jewish

hierarchy; Talmage, pp. 496-8; McConkie, pp. 518-523.

Luke 18:31-34 Jesus foretells his own death

Notes- 1. Jewish Days- Begin at sunset, not at midnight; Talmage, p.593, fn. K.

2. Differences in the Four Gospels:

- Matthew- Publican, educated, eyewitness, Apostle, written to the Jews.

- Mark- Peter’s Gospel- “living picture of a living Man”.

- Luke- Paul’s missionary companion, physician, miracles, to the Gentiles.

- John- Beloved Disciple, written last, contrasts Jesus with Jewish authority.



Sixth Day before the Passover- SUNDAY, (begins Saturday Evening); Talmage, p. 510.

John 12:1-9 Dinner in Bethany with Lazarus, Mary, Martha

esp. vs. 3 Mary anoints Jesus’ feet

John 12:10-11 Chief Priests plot against Lazarus; McConkie, pp.573-4.

Matt. 21:1-11 Triumphal entry into Jerusalem; (see also John 12:12-16).

Luke 19:41-44 Jesus weeps over Jerusalem



Fifth Day before the Passover- MONDAY, Spent at the Temple; Talmage, p. 524.

Mark 11:15-18 Cleansing of the Temple



Fourth Day before the Passover- TUESDAY, In the Temple at Jerusalem

Matt. 21:23-27 Pharisees challenge Jesus’Authority, Jesus responds in parables

Matt. 21:28-32 Two sons

Matt. 22:1-14 Marriage of the King’s Son; McConkie, pp. 596-9.

Matt. 22:15-22 Tribute to Caesar

Mark 12:1-12 Wicked husbandman

Mark 12:28-34 The Great Commandment

Mark 12:41-44 The Widow’s Mite;

Matt. 23:1-36 Jesus condemns the Pharisees, (woes)



Third Day before the Passover- WEDNESDAY, (Tues evening), Mt. of Olives; Talmage, p.569

Matt. 24:1-51 Discourse, signs of the Second Coming

(see also Mark 13:9-13, Luke 21:7-31, 34-37).

Jesus then gave the following “Parables of Passion-tide” to the Disciples

Matt. 25:1-13 Parable of the Ten Virgins; (see also D&C 45:56-59)

Matt. 25:14-30 Parable of the Talents

Matt. 25:31-46 The Last Judgment, (sheep/goats)



Second Day before the Passover- THURSDAY, Bethany to Jerusalem

(First Day of the Feast of Unleavened Bread); Talmage, p.592.

Matt. 26:1-5 Prophecy of His own death

Matt. 26:6-16 Feast with Simon the Leper; McConkie, pp. 697-700.

Luke 22:3 Judas conspires with the Sanhedren, (see also John 12:4-6).

Mark 14:12-16 Disciples sent to prepare Passover



Eve of the Passover- FRIDAY, (Thursday evening); Talmage, p. 593, fn. I.

Matt. 26:19-30 Last Supper, (elements:)

Matt. 26:20 Eating the Paschal Lamb; Talmage, p. 617, chap. note 1.

Matt. 26:21-25 Betrayer identified

Matt. 26:26-29 Sacrament instituted

John 13:3-17 Disciples feet washed; McConkie, pp. 707-11.

John 13:10-11, 21-30 Judas goes out to betray Jesus, (and it was night)

John 13:31- Chaps.14-16 Jesus’ discourse, instructions to 11 Disciples

John 17:1-26 Intercessory Prayer

Mark 14:27-31 Disciples declare their loyalty

Matt. 26:30 Journey to the Garden of Gethsemane, Mt. of Olives

Mark 14:32-42 Suffering in the Garden, (amazed); Talmage, p. 610.

(see also D&C 19:15-19; Mosiah 3:7, Blood from every pore)

Mark 14:43-45 Betrayal, arrest; (see also Luke 22:47-48).

John 18:12-14, 24 Hearing before Annas

Mark 14:53-64 Hearing at night to find false witnesses, (before Caiaphas)

Matt. 26:69-75 Peter’s denial

Luke 22:63-65 Officers mock, smite Jesus



FRIDAY Morning From Jerusalem to Golgotha (Calvary)

Luke 22:66-71 Formal Jewish Trial; Talmage, p. 644, chap. note 4.

John 18:28-38 First hearing before Pontius Pilate

Matt. 27:3-10 Death of Judas Iscariot

Luke 23:6-12 Hearing before Herod, Tetrarch of Galilee

Luke 23:13-23 Second Hearing before Pilate; (see also Matt. 27:17-19).

Matt. 27:24-25 Pilate washes his hands

Mark 15:15-20 Jesus is scourged, mocked by the soldiers

Luke 23:26-31 Jesus led away to Golgotha, (Daughters of Jerusalem)

Mark 15:22-25 Crucifixion (Third hour, 9:00 AM); Talmage, pp. 654-662.

Luke 23;44-45 Darkness covers the earth (Sixth hour, Noon)

Matt. 27:50-54 Death of Jesus (Ninth hour, 3:00 PM); McConkie, pp. 814-7.

John 19:31-37 Messianic prophecies fulfilled; McConkie, pp. 834-5.

Luke 23:50-56 Burial of Jesus’ body by Joseph of Arimathaea

John 19:39-42 Nicodemus’ interaction



Passover SATURDAY, (Friday evening)

Matt. 27:62-66 Sepulchre made sure, (seal and watch); Talmage, p. 665.

D&C 138:1-60 Jesus visits spirits of the dead; Talmage, pp.670-677.



First day of the week SUNDAY, Easter morning

Matt. 28:1-8 Angel opens the sepulchre

John 20:1 Mary Magdalene visits the empty tomb

John 20:2-10 Mary runs to tell Peter and John, who run to the tomb

John 20:11-17 Mary sees Jesus

Luke 24:1-8 Other women visit the tomb

Matt. 28:11-15 Chief priests bribe the soldiers

Luke 24:13-32 Road to Emmaus, the Lord appears; McConkie, p. 850.

Luke 24:33-50 Other appearances to the disciples; Talmage, p.699,
chap. note 3.

Being Dad, and Being There

Being Dad, and Being There
by Joseph Walker

It would be something of an overstatement to say that I played on the school basketball team in junior high.

I was on the team. I practiced with the team. I ran out on the floor and did lay-ups before the game started, then I sat on the bench and waved a towel and cheered for the guys who were actually going to play in the game.

As far as I was concerned, it was a pretty good arrangement. I enjoyed the camaraderie with the players, the workouts kept me in shape, and I had a great seat for all of the games. But I didn’t feel any of the pressure that comes with knowing that the outcome of the game may rest on your bony adolescent shoulders.

I don't know how my dad felt about my bench-warming status. In retrospect, I imagine it was hard for him. Two of my older brothers were high school sports stars. Dad was used to going to games to watch his sons play.

Still, Dad was always there. I'd make eye contact with him during pre-game lay-ups - it would've been uncool to smile or wave. And then I forgot about him until after the game, when he'd come up to me and smile and shake my hand and tell me: "Good game!" Even though I never actually did anything to make the game good—until the last game of the season.

We were playing our archrivals. It was a great day for the Mustangs, as we galloped off to a big lead. We were up by about twenty points with two minutes to play when Coach finally felt comfortable enough to look toward my end of the bench.

"Walker!" he barked. "You're in!"

The next two minutes are still kind of surreal to me. I remember running up and down the court a few times. I remember getting a rebound on defense and then running up the floor as the Pep Club started counting down the last seconds of the game. I remember hearing the guys on the bench behind me shouting "Shoot!" as I faced the basket. I remember watching the ball bounce off the backboard and through the hoop as the buzzer went off. I remember hearing everyone scream and yell like I had just won the game, even though it just meant that we had won by twenty-two points instead of twenty.

And I remember wondering what to do. I mean, I knew what to do when we won a game while I was sitting on the bench. But I was completely unprepared for what to do when we won a game and I had hit a last-second shot - meaningless though it may have been. Instinctively, I looked for Dad. And he was there, where he always was, smiling at me as he always did.

For the next thirty-five years, that was always the case. Through good times and bad, Dad was always there to smile, to encourage, to support, and to love. I came to depend on that, even toward the end of his life when smiling was about all that he could do. It helped to know that, no matter what, Dad was there.

And now I'm the one who is in my fifties, struggling to keep pace with a teenage basketball player in my family. I think about Dad on Father's Day, or whenever I'm tempted to not be there for my children. To be honest, I'm not as good at it as Dad was. But I keep trying because I know how much it can mean for Dad to be there you hit that big shot.

Or especially when you don't.

The Ancient Tale of the Blind Girl

There is an ancient tale of a blind girl who hated herself because she was blind.
She hated everyone, except for a boy, who was her best friend.
He was always there for her. She told her friend,
'If I could only see the world, I would marry you.'

One day, someone donated a pair of eyes to her.
When the bandages came off, she was able to see everything, including her friend.
He asked her,'Now that you can see the world,
will you marry me?'

The girl looked at her friend and saw that he was blind.
The sight of his closed eyelids shocked her.
She hadn't expected that. The thought of looking at them the rest of her life led her to refuse to marry him.

Her friend left in tears and days later wrote a note to her saying:
'Take good care of your eyes, my dear, for before
they were yours, they were mine.'
_________________________________________________________

Too often this is how we react when our life condition changes
for the good. Only a very few remember what life was like before,
and who was always by their side in the most painful situations.

Life Is a Gift!
Today before you say an unkind word -
Think of someone who can't speak.
Before you complain about the taste of your food -
Think of someone who has nothing to eat.
Before you complain about your husband or wife -
Think of someone who's crying out to GOD for a companion.
Today before you complain about life -
Think of someone who went too early to heaven.
Before complaining about the distance you drive -
Think of someone who walks the same distance on their feet.
When you are tired and weary of your job -
Think of the unemployed, the disabled, and those who wish they had your job.
And when depressing thoughts seem to get you down - Put a smile on your face and think: you're alive and still able to give and share and love!

"Out of the wreck I rise"

“Out of the wreck I rise”

Who shall separate us from the love of Christ?
(Romans 8:35).

The Lord does not keep a man immune from trouble; He says—“I will be with him in trouble.” It does not matter what actual troubles in the most extreme form get hold of a man’s life, not one of them can separate him from his relationship to God. We are “more than conquerors in all these things.”

Paul is not talking of imaginary things, but of things that are desperately actual; and he says we are super-victors in the midst of them, not by our ingenuity, or by our courage, or by anything other than the fact that not one of them affects our relationship with the Lord. Rightly or wrongly, we are where we are, exactly in the condition we are in. I am sorry for the Christian who has not something in his circumstances he wishes was not there.

What is there in the world that can separate us from the love of Christ?

“Shall tribulation . . .?” Tribulation is never a noble thing; but let tribulation be what it may—exhausting, galling, fatiguing, it is not able to separate us from the love of God. Never let cares or tribulations separate you from the fact that God loves you.

“Shall anguish . . .?”—can God’s love hold when everything says that His love is a lie, and that there is no such thing as justice?

“Shall famine . . .?”—can we not only believe in the love of God but be more than conquerors, even while we are being starved?

Some extraordinary thing happens to a man who holds on to the love of God when the odds are all against God's character. Logic is silenced in the face of every one of these things. Only one thing can account for it - the love that the Lord has for us.

“Out of the wreck I rise” every time.

Chambers, O. (c1935). My utmost for his highest:
Discovery House Publishers.

for Mother's Dad - "Before I was a Mom"

Before I was a Mom,
I never tripped over toys
or forgot words to a lullaby.
I didn't worry whether or not
my plants were poisonous.
I never thought about immunizations.

Before I was a Mom,
I had never been puked on.
Pooped on.
Chewed on.
Peed on..
I had complete control of my mind
and my thoughts.
I slept all night.

Before I was a Mom,
I never held down a screaming child
so doctors could do tests.
Or give shots.
I never looked into teary eyes and cried.
I never got gloriously happy over a simple grin.
I never sat up late hours at night
watching a baby sleep.

Before I was a Mom,
I never held a sleeping baby just because
I didn't want to put her down.
I never felt my heart break into a million pieces
when I couldn't stop the hurt..
I never knew that something so small
could affect my life so much.
I never knew that I could love someone so much.
I never knew I would love being a Mom..

Before I was a Mom,
I didn't know the feeling of
having my heart outside my body..
I didn't know how special it could feel
to feed a hungry baby.
I didn't know that bond
between a mother and her child.
I didn't know that something so small
could make me feel so important and happy.

Before I was a Mom,
I had never gotten up in the middle of the night
every 10 minutes to make sure all was okay.
I had never known the warmth,
the joy,
the love,
the heartache,
the wonderment
or the satisfaction of being a Mom.
I didn't know I was capable of feeling so much,
before I was a Mom .

The One Source for Happiness

(From Meridian Magazine, by Wallace Goddard)

It was always nice to sit with my Dad and talk of the gospel, his favorite topic. From time to time his words come back to me.

"Many decisions are difficult because we are trying to justify a choice beneath our highest standards."

The things he taught become truer and truer, more and more meaningful as the years pass. His wisdom was reaffirmed for me recently. A friend called and asked for my advice. He told me of many years in a loveless marriage. At work he has become friends with a wonderful woman with whom he had beautiful gospel conversations. She was also in a loveless marriage. Recently they had shared their feelings for each other: They discovered that they were both very much attracted to each other. "What should we do?" he asked me. The next day she called me and asked the same question.

From the phone conversations it was clear that both of them were ready to do almost anything to open the way for their relationship. Both had begun to think about ways the Lord might open the way for them. It was also clear that both generally had garden-variety discontents in their marriages. Neither was being destroyed. They were tired of their current marriages.

My initial questions to them may have seemed quite unrelated to their dilemma: "Do you love the Lord Jesus Christ? Do you trust Him completely? Do you know that He will always act in your best interest?" Affirmative answers to these questions are very liberating. Submission to God is the path to happiness.

And whoso knocketh, to him will he open; . . . and save they shall cast . . .away [learning, wisdom and riches], and consider themselves fools before God, and come down in the depths of humility, he will not open unto them. 2 Nephi 9:42

We often walk away from sacred promises for alluring prospects. We turn our backs on yesterday's impressions in order to grasp today's whims. We devalue past joys as we lunge at prospective satisfactions. We reduce covenants to mere options.

The veil obscures our pre-mortal enrollments. In that heavenly setting long ago, many of us may have signed up for advanced courses on long-suffering, gentleness, meekness, and love. When we get to mortality, and the challenging assignments almost overwhelm us, some of us quickly drop classes. Stretching experiences surprise and discourage mortals who have forgotten their long-term education and career goals.

Brigham Young taught us boldly:

There is no enjoyment, no happiness, no comfort, there is no light to my path, for me there is no real pleasure or delight only in the observance of truth as it comes from God, obeying it in every sense of the word, and marching forward as a good faithful soldier in the discharge of every duty. (Journal of Discourses, Vol.19, pp.42-43, emphasis added)

Dishonor does not lead to goodness. Wickedness never was happiness. The only path to enduring peace is obedience. Working at our appointed station doing the pick and shovel work of relationship-building may seem unglamorous and unpromising. But those who are faithful in duty will enjoy eternal rewards that are unimagined--even unimaginable--in our mortal way of thinking. Even as we labor along, God will hum hymns of comfort and joy to our souls. Duty and drudgery will be burnished to a bright finish. There is consolation in growth.


I recommended to both the man and the woman who called that they do everything in their power to make their respective marriages work. After they had done all they can, they still should pray for the Lord to provide miracles to open further ways to bless their marriages. Only as we honor our promises with our best efforts and heaven's help can we expect to find happiness.

When we imagine happiness to be in some exotic place outside our mundane commitments, we will be everlastingly disappointed. When we chase happiness, we will be frustrated. When we obey with full purpose of heart, a peace beyond understanding distills upon us. Brigham Young gives the example of Lyman Johnson who left his covenant obligations for something that seemed more promising.

Lyman E. Johnson said, at one of our Quorum meetings, after he had apostatized and tried to put Joseph out of the way. . . . "Brethren--I will call you brethren--I will tell you the truth. If I could believe `Mormonism'--it is no matter whether it is true or not--but if I could believe `Mormonism' as I did when I traveled with you and preached, if I possessed the world I would give it. I would give anything, I would suffer my right hand to be cut off, if I could believe it again. Then I was full of joy and gladness. My dreams were pleasant. When I awoke in the morning my spirit was cheerful. I was happy by day and by night, full of peace and joy and thanksgiving. But now it is darkness, pain, sorrow, misery in the extreme. I have never since seen a happy moment.." (Journal of Discourses, Vol.19, p.42)

What a keen irony! We often do something because it seems more promising in our current mood--even though it may not be in total harmony with the counsel of God and His servants. We imagine that we know better than they or that unusual circumstances justify our desertion. For example, we resolve to pay tithing after the bills are paid. We determine that food storage is folly. We take on debt with disregard for counsel and conscience. We minimize those parts of the Book of Mormon that do not agree with our advanced educations or humanistic philosophy.

O that cunning plan of the evil one! O the vainness, and the frailties, and the foolishness of men! When they are learned they think they are wise, and they hearken not unto the counsel of God, for they set it aside, supposing they know of themselves, wherefore, their wisdom is foolishness and it profiteth them not. And they shall perish. (2 Nephi 9:28)

As I talked to the woman who called about her relationship with her co-worker, I saw a miracle. She originally called with the desperate sense that she could not be happy without him; when I encouraged her to honor her promises and entrust her happiness to God, she did not resist. She embraced God as the only true source of happiness. She trusted Him.

The miracle grew--as it always does when we trust God. She called the next day to report that she had gone home and apologized to her husband for her coolness and unkindness. They had spent a joyous evening together--something she had never imagined possible. Their marriage is not suddenly idyllic, but there is hope.

And I will also ease the burdens which are put upon your shoulders, that even you cannot feel them upon your backs, even while you are in bondage; and this will I do that ye may stand as witnesses for me hereafter, and that ye may know of a surety that I, the Lord God, do visit my people in their afflictions. (Mosiah 24:14)

There are, of course, marriages that must end because of abuse or betrayal. Those who need to end a damaging relationship have the right to specific direction from heaven. But Satan would lead millions more than the unavoidable ones out of their sacred promises by prospects of something better, sweeter, or finer. But Satan is a liar. He will "not support his children at the last day, but doth speedily drag them down to hell" (Alma 30:60).

Satan weaves elaborate fantasies to deceive us. He mixes mild discontent in our current relationships together with idealization of a prospective partners. Then he stirs in some hints of divine purpose and inspiration. He is quite able to make preposterous options look wise and inspired. There is always, however, some voice in us that protests: "Please don't do this. Please don't dishonor your promises. Please don't give in to the father of lies."

There is only one Source of enduring happiness. When we act contrary to promises, covenants, counsel, and impressions, we are acting contrary to the nature of happiness.

For ye have sought all the days of your lives for that which ye could not obtain; and ye have sought for happiness in doing iniquity, which thing is contrary to the nature of that righteousness which is in our great and Eternal Head. (Helaman 13:38)

As Dad taught, when we make up our minds to be obedient to the counsel of heaven, we will find peace, joy, consolation. We will be happy. Forever. God knows the path to Happiness. He will lead us there if we obey Him.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

H. Wallace Goddard is a son, a husband, a dad, and a grandpa. He works as a Family Life Specialist for the University of Arkansas Extension Service in Little Rock and has written several books and programs including The Frightful and Joyous Journey of Family Life (Bookcraft) and Principles of Parenting (Alabama Cooperative Extension System). He claims to be living proof that a person who makes lots of mistakes can still be blessed with joy beyond any deserving.


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Biographical Sketch of Loyal Dee Hastings-April 2009

This is the presentation that my sister Deena gave at our father's funeral service in Mapleton, Utah, this past Tuesday.

I have been asked to give a biographical sketch of my Dad. As you can imagine, trying to summarize his life in just a few minutes is quite a challenge. So I will try to highlight the significant accomplishments in his life.

Loyal Dee Hastings was born on October 28, 1932 in Norman, Oklahoma to Joel Henry Hastings and Alvaretta Marie Haynes.

He was the youngest of six children with two older sisters and three older brothers.
His early years were spent in Norman, where his family operated a laundry service out of their home and took in occasional boarders.

Dad was raised during the great depression and the lessons of thrift and industry that characterized his life began there.

Dad's uncle Monroe Hastings was introduced to the gospel in Pietown, New Mexico by Mormon Missionaries from across the border in Springerville and Eagar, Arizona. He convinced his brother, Joel, my grandfather to leave the dustbowl of the depression laden Oklahoma. He sold everything they had in Normon and subsequently moved to a small farm in Albuquerque, New Mexico.

Joel and Alvaretta and their younger children listened to the missionaries and were baptized members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

In High School, Dad was the lead in several musical theater productions and was known for his glorious singing voice and larger than life personality.

Upon completion of High School, he went to Provo, Utah to attend BYU. While there he was president of the Tausig social unit and participated in the Air Force ROTC program.

Work and self sufficiency were always important to Dad. He painted houses, mowed lawns, and worked as a soda jerk at B&H pharmacy in downtown Provo to work his way through college.

Dad was anything but shy and late one winter night after losing a bet to his room mates he went to pick up ice cream at the Malt Shop. Dressed in a coat and boots pulled over his pajamas he walked into the shop and met the love of his life, Janice Mendenhall, a petite black haired beauty from Mapleton Utah.

For Dad it was love at first sight. He actively pursued Mom and would call down to her from his bedroom window at Mrs. Baird’s boarding house and walk to school with
her.

After a year long courtship they were married and sealed for time and all eternity in the Manti Utah temple on June 18, 1953.

He graduated from BYU with a degree in political science finishing near the top of his class and was commissioned as a 2nd lieutenant in the USAF.

Their first son, Danny was born while they were at BYU.

Flying was one of Dad’s passions. His distinguished 22 year military career as a fighter pilot was the highpoint of his life. Patriotism and loyalty to his country were a key part of his character.

He was a highly decorated officer and quickly rose though the ranks in his chosen profession.

As their family grew, they began the tradition of naming their children beginning with the letter “D.”

“D” number 2, Diane was born while they were stationed at Bartow Florida for basic pilot training.

As basic training contiued at Williams AFB in Arizona, “D” number 3, Debby joined the family.

“D"s 4 and 5, David and Douglas were born during the time they lived in Clovis New Mexico where the family was stationed at Cannon AFB. There he flew the F100 fighter.

During their time at Cannon, he was selected as an air training officer and had an assignment to go to the newly created Air Force academy at Colorado Springs.
Upon his return to New Mexico, he received a new assignment sending them overseas to RAF Bentwaters in England, where they lived for three years.

Upon returning stateside they settled once again in Utah where Dad taught in the AF ROTC program at BYU and obtained his Masters Degree in Public Administration.
Then came “D” number 6, Deena.

Dad’s next assignment took them to Davis- Monthan AFB in Tucson Arizona, where Dad served as a flight instructor, for pilots training to fly the F4 Phantom jet.

He willingly served a year in Vietnam at Cam Rahn Bay. This was a time of great personal and spiritual growth for Dad. He was called to served as the LDS serviceman's group leader, which provided Sunday services and spiritual support for servicemen in that area. They had several conversions. ONe of the men who attended Dad's funeral service was a man athat Dad baptized 40 years ago in the South China Sea.

After he tour of duty in Vietnam, the family left Tucson, but stayed in Arizona and moved to our current home in Glendale where “ D” number 7, Dawna was born.

The early 1970’s brought change once again as the family was stationed for 3 ½ years in Japan.

This was a time of great professional and church responsibilities for Dad. He was called to serve as the LDS serviceman's District president when the Tokyo Temple was announced.

In 1976 the family returned home to the states and spent 6 months at Hill AFB in Ogden Utah where Dad retired from his military service.

When they returned to Glendale our 8th “D” Deanna or Annie was born and our family was complete.

Post retirement he continued to work hard including being managing partner of a Lube and Oil change business, and as a project manager for the painting contractor at the SRP pumping stations. He also taught business classes at Glendale Community College.

After the children were grown, he retired and in 1999, Dad and Mom realized a lifelong goal to serve a mission with his sweetheart to the Washington D.C Temple.

Dad loved to visit temples and perform temple ordinances. It was his goal to perform ordinances in all the temples in the continental United States and Canada, a goal he and Mom accomplished.

Service to others was a way of life for him. Although he served in many capacities over the years, one of the most important to him was being a Home Teacher. There was no service too small or inconvenient for Dad.

His gospel knowledge was broad and extensive and his love of the gospel and the scriptures, total and complete. But most of all, Dad loved the Lord.

As the family grew, so did his love for our mother. Dad loved and enjoyed his 36 grandchildren and 18 great grandchildren. They were the joy of his life and he spent countless hours in service to them and in fun with them.

Dad passed away unexpectedly April 21, 2009.
Our hearts are broken and we will miss him, but we stand united as his children and loved ones, to the gospel and values he taught us and to his legacy of lov

Poverty

One day, the father of a very wealthy family took his son
on a trip to the country with the express purpose of
showing him how poor people live.

They spent a couple of days and nights on the farm
of what would be considered a very poor family.
On their return from their trip, the father asked his son,
'How was the trip?'

'It was great, Dad.'
'Did you see how poor people live?' the father asked.
'Oh yeah,' said the son.
'So, tell me, what did you learn from the trip?' asked the father.

The son answered:
'I saw that we have one dog and they had four.
We have a pool that reaches to the middle of our garden
and they have a creek that has no end.
We have imported lanterns in our garden
and they have the stars at night.
Our patio reaches to the front yard
and they have the whole horizon..
We have a small piece of land to live on
and they have fields that go beyond our sight.
We have servants who serve us, but they serve others.
We buy our food, but they grow theirs.
We have walls around our property to protect us,
they have friends to protect them.'

The boy's father was speechless.
Then his son added,
'Thanks Dad for showing me how poor we are.'

Isn't perspective a wonderful thing?
Makes you wonder what would happen if we all gave thanks
for everything we have,
instead of worrying about what we don't have.
Appreciate every single thing you have, especially your friends!

Anchored by Faith

1839 some members of the Quorum of the Twelve left for missions in England under very trying circumstances:" 'Wilford Woodruff and John Taylor were the first to start out. Wilford, in Montrose, had been suffering for days from chills and fever. His infant daughter, Sarah Emma, also seriously ill, was being cared for by friends with more suitable accommodations. On August 8 he finally bade [his wife] Phoebe a tender farewell and walked to the banks of the Mississippi. Brigham Young paddled him across the river in a canoe. When Joseph Smith found him resting by the post office, Wilford told the Prophet that he felt and looked more like a subject for the dissecting room than a missionary. . . .
" 'It took Elders Woodruff and Taylor, traveling together, the rest of the month to make it as far as Germantown, Indiana. . . .
" 'By the time they arrived in Germantown John Taylor was so desperately ill that it was impossible for him to continue. . . .
" '[He] remained ill, sometimes near death, for about three weeks. His optimism was tenacious, however, as suggested in a tender letter to [his wife] Leonora, dated September 19 [1839]:" ' "You may ask me how I am going to prosecute my journey. . . .
I do not know but one thing, I do know, that there is a being who clothes the lilies of the valley & feeds the ravens & he has given me to understand that all these things shall be added & that is all I want to know. He laid me on a bed of sickness & I was satisfied, he has raised me from it again & I am thankful. He stopped me on my road & I am content. . . .
If he took me I felt that it would be well. He has spared me, & it is better" '
(James

The Love Letter

Stephina Roos.
Indeed, as children we were all frankly terrified of her. The fact that she did not live with the family, preferring her tiny cottage out in the South African countryside, and her solitude to the comfortable but rather noisy household where we were brought up-added to the respectful fear in which she was held.
We used to take it in turn to carry small delicacies which my mother had made down from the big house out to the little cottage where Aunt Stephina and an old maid spent their days. Old Tnate Sanna would open the door to the rather frightened little messenger and would usher him - or her - into the dark voor-kamer, where the shutters were always closed to keep out the heat and the flies. There we would wait, in trembling but not altogether unpleasant anticipation.
She was a tiny little woman to inspire so much veneration. She was always dressed in black, and her dark clothes melted into the shadows of the voor-kamer and made her look smaller than ever. But you felt, the moment she entered, that something vital and strong and somehow indestructible had come in with her, although she moved slowly, and her voice was sweet and soft.
She never embraced us. She would greet us and take our hot little hands in her own beautiful cool ones, with blue veins standing out on the back of them, as though the white skin were almost too delicate to contain them.

Tnate Sanna would bring in dishes of sweet, sweet, sticky candy, or a great bowl of grapes or peaches, and Great-aunt Stephina would converse gravely about happenings on the farm, and, more rarely, of the outer world.
When we had finished our sweetmeats or fruit she would accompany us to the stoep, bidding us thank our mother for her gift and sending quaint, old-fashioned messages to her and to Father. Then she would turn and enter the house, closing the door behind her, so that it became once more a place of mystery.

As I grew older I found, rather to my surprise, that I had become genuinely fond of my aloof old great-aunt. But to this day I do not know what strange impulse made me take George to see her and to tell her, before I had confided in another living soul, of our engagement. To my astonishment, she was delighted.
“An Englishman,” she exclaimed.” But that is splendid, splendid. And you,” she turned to George,” you are making your home in this country? You do not intend to return to England just yet?”
She seemed relieved when she heard that George had bought a farm quite near our own farm and intended to settle in South Africa . She became quite animated, and chattered away to him.
After that I would often slip away to the little cottage by the mealie lands. Once she was somewhat disappointed on hearing that we had decided to wait for two years before getting married, but when she learned that my father and mother were both pleased with the match she seemed reassured.

Still, she often appeared anxious about my love affair, and would ask questions that seemed to me strange, almost as though she feared that something would happen to destroy my romance. But I was quite unprepared for her outburst when I mentioned that George thought of paying a lightning visit to England before we were married. “He must not do it,” she cried.” Ina, you must not let him go. Promise me you will prevent him.” She was trembling all over. I did what I could to console her, but she looked so tired and pale that I persuaded her to go to her room and rest, promising to return the next day.
When I arrived I found her sitting on the stoep. She looked lonely and pathetic, and for the first time I wondered why no man had ever taken her and looked after her and loved her. Mother had told me that Great-aunt Stephina had been lovely as a young girl. Few traces of that beauty remained, except perhaps in her brown eyes; yet she looked so small and appealing that any man, one felt, would have wanted to protect her.
She looked up, and then paused, as though she did not quite know how to begin.

Then she seemed to give herself, mentally, a little shake. “You must have wondered “, she said, “Why I was so upset at the thought of young George’s going to England without you. I am an old woman, and perhaps I have the silly fancies of the old, but I should like to tell you my own love story, and then you can decide whether it is wise for your man to leave you before you are married.”
“I was quite a young girl when I first met Richard Weston. He was an Englishman who boarded with the Van Rensburgs on the next farm, four or five miles from us. Richard was not strong. He had a weak chest, and the doctors in England had sent him to South Africa so that the dry air could cure him. He taught the Van Rensburg children, who were younger than I was, though we often played together as well. I saw that he carried out their instruction for pleasure and not because he needed money. Our friendship ripened into more, as time passed, though we did not speak of our love until the evening of my eighteenth birthday. All our friends and relatives had come to my party, and in the evening we danced on the big old carpet which we had laid down in the barn. Richard had come with the Van Rensburgs, and we danced together as often as we dared, which was not very often, for my father hated the Uitlanders. Indeed, for a time he had quarreled with Mynheer Van Rensburg for allowing Richard to board with him, but afterwards he got used to the idea, and was always polite to the Englishman, though he never liked him.
“That was the happiest birthday of my life, for while we were resting between dances Richard took me outside into the cool, moonlit night, and there, under the stars, he told me he loved me and asked me to marry him. Of course I promised I would, for I was too happy to think of what my parents would say, or indeed of anything else.

A fortnight later, Richard was not at our meeting place as he had arranged. I was disappointed but not alarmed, for there were many things could happen to either of us to prevent our keeping our tryst. I thought that next time we visited the Van Rensburgs, I should hear what had kept him and we could plan further meetings…
“So when my father asked if I would drive with him to Driefontein I was delighted. But when we reached the homestead and were sitting on the stoep drinking our coffee, we heard that Richard had left quite suddenly and had gone back to England . His father had died, leaving Richard as the heir and requiring him to go back to look after his estates.

“I do not remember very much more about that day, except that the sun seemed to have stopped shining and the country no longer looked beautiful and full of promise, but bleak and desolate as it sometimes does in winter or in times of drought.

Late that afternoon, Jantje, the little Hottentot herd boy, came up to me and handed me a letter, which he said the English baas had left for me. It was the only love letter I ever received, but it turned all my bitterness and grief into a peacefulness which was the nearest I could get, then, to happiness. I knew Richard still loved me, and somehow, as long as I had his letter, I felt that we could never be really parted, even if he were in England and I had to remain on the farm. I have it yet, and though I am an old, tired woman, it still gives me hope and courage.”

“I must have been a wonderful letter, Aunt Stephina,” I said. The old lady came back from her dreams of that far-off romance. “Perhaps,” she said, hesitating a little, “perhaps, my dear, you would care to read it?” “I should love to, Aunt Stephina,” I said gently.
She rose at once and tripped into the house as eagerly as a young girl. When she came back she handed me a letter, faded and yellow with age, the edges of the envelope worn and frayed as though it had been much handled. But when I came to open it I found that the seal was unbroken. “Open it, open it,” said Great-aunt Stephina, and her voice was shaking. I broke the seal and read to myself.

It was not a love letter in the true sense of the word, but pages of the minutest directions of how “my sweetest Phina” was to elude her father’s vigilance, creep down to the drift at night and there meet Jantje with a horse which would take her to Smitsdorp. There she was to go to “my true friend, Henry Wilson”, who would give her money and make arrangements for her to follow her lover to Cape Town and from there to England , where, my love, we can he be married at once. But if, my dearest, you are not sure that you can face life with me in a land strange to you, then do not take this important step, for I love you too much to wish you the smallest unhappiness. If you do not come, and if I do not hear from you, then I shall know that you could never be happy so far from the people and the country which you love. If, however, you feel you can keep your promise to me, but are too timid and modest to journey to England unaccompanied, and then write to me, and I will, by some means, return to fetch my bride.”

I read no further. “But Aunt Phina!” I gasped. “Why…why…?”
The old lady was watching me with trembling eagerness, her face flushed and her eyes bright with expectation. “Read it aloud, my dear,” she said. “I want to hear every word of it. There was never anyone I could trust…Uitlanders were hated in my young days…I could not ask anyone.”

“But, Auntie, don’t you even know what he wrote?”
The old lady looked down, troubled and shy like a child who has unwittingly done wrong. “No, dear,” she said, speaking very low. “You see, I never learned to read.”

Fix One Another As I Have Fixed You

Fix One Another As I Have Fixed You
by H. Wallace Goddard
"I can't tell her about my trouble. Even if I begged her not to tell, I know she would tell everyone she talked to. And the story she told would be an awful distortion." A saintly friend spoke of a family member she had learned not to trust. "I wish I could trust her. Should I confront her about her gossiping?"
That is the beauty of family life. We are regularly pressed against people whose faults we have come to know only too well. We try to be patient but only so many assaults against fundamental values can be tolerated. We chafe.
Generally there is at least one family member who is matchlessly irritating to us. That person very efficiently does just the things that hurt, offend and annoy us.
It would seem that we have just two options: We can allow ourselves to be misused or we can confront the offender. The first option does not help the offender and leaves us injured and resentful. It just doesn't seem right.
The second option has historically been very popular. In this option we study the offender's offenses and weave them into a pattern. Almost immediately the character implications become clear. We put a label on the diagnosis. We prepare our speech. We lie in wait. At the next provocation, our considered analysis gushes out. Of course it is all done with the intent of helping our loved one grow.
But there is a problem in this popular approach: "Honest criticism is hard to take, particularly from a relative, a friend, an acquaintance, or a stranger" (Franklin P. Jones). Humans are pained and dispirited by criticism. It commonly makes people feel hurt, lonely, confused, and hopeless. And it does not help them grow.
Returning to the woman who has learned to mistrust the family member, she could lovingly confront the gossipy relative hoping for a ready reformation. Yet I am confident that the offender would be deeply hurt and numbingly confused. I think she would respond: "I thought we were friends. I have always loved you and wanted to help you. You are one of my favorite people. Why are you so angry with me?" No amount of fair and reasonable dialogue could clarify the corrective message. It would simply feel like an attack, a counter-betrayal.
For every offense and every offender there is a sterile, brittle interpretation and there is a sympathetic interpretation. The woman who has a problem with telling stories can be seen as a gossip who barters secrets for attention. She can also be seen as a person who has been bashful from childhood and never had anyone in her life who helped her understand others and who talks about bad situations as part of her effort to understand them.
Of course, there is probably some truth to both versions. Thus we get to choose. We can choose to dwell on the light or the dark. We can choose to focus on the annoyance or to focus on good intentions. Whatever we choose to focus on grows. Thereby we increase the light or increase the darkness.
When we study people's offenses with even a glimmer of compassion, we make a startling discovery: The root of the offender's behavior is humanness. We all offend and we all do it because we are human. We all grieve heaven with our narrowness, meanness, and lack of wisdom. We all have sinned and come short of the glory of God. My mortal, human imperfection is something I share with all my offenders. In the poetic expression of Edward Sill, "These clumsy feet, still in the mire, Go crushing blossoms without end" ("Fool's Prayer). I can enlarge the world's supply of pain by responding to humanness with my own provincial humanness. Or I can move us toward the divine by responding with the divine. I can respond with charity.
Charity is a choice--a choice with eternal consequences. "If you don't like someone, the way he holds his spoon will make you furious; if you do like him, he can turn his plate over into your lap and you won't mind" (Irving Becker). We are commanded to pray with all the energy of heart for the blessed gift of charity (Moroni 7:47-48) so that we can swallow offenses without getting indigestion.
The bitter irony in correction is that most attempts at correction make troublesome problems worse. They add fuel to the angry fires. The woman confronted with her "gossiping" will go running to find someone to help her make sense of the painful attack. In the effort to overcome her gossiping, she will extend it. That is why Paul warns of one of the chief dangers of being human: "O man, whosoever thou art that judgest: for wherein thou judgest another, thou condemnest thyself; for thou that judgest doest the same things" (Romans 2:1). When we judge, we become worthy of condemnation. When we fail to forgive offenses, small or large, we are guilty of a greater sin (D&C 64:8-11).
Judgment is such a delicate matter that it is to be handled only by those who know everything and love perfectly. That disqualifies most of us. "Behold what the scripture says--man shall not smite, neither shall he judge; for judgment is mine, saith the Lord, and vengeance is mine also, and I will repay" (Mormon 8:20). "Ye ought to say in your hearts--let God judge between me and thee" (D&C 64:11).
Jesus has begged us to stay out of the judging business since we are so poorly suited for it. His metaphor of motes and beams provides physical hyperbole but spiritual understatement: Humans can never see each other clearly. Nowhere do we see through glass more darkly than in our assessment of those who have annoyed us for years. We do not see that even annoying family members come "trailing clouds of glory, from God, who is our home."
So Jesus directs us away from judging and toward charity, toward seeing as He sees. Wedged between His washing of the disciples feet and His giving His life for them, Jesus delivers the breathtaking new commandment: We are to love as He loves. He does not command us to repent one another or to fix one another. He commands us to love just exactly the way He loves: with perfect redemptiveness. Such a commandment stretches us beyond human capacity. We simply cannot love as we should love unless we are filled with Jesus. Under His influence, we can view each other with compassion. We can make the good parts of our relationships more central, memorable, and common. We can carefully guide each other around our weaknesses. We can pray for each other. But we can only do it when we are filled with Him.
There is no simple answer about how much the woman should tell her talkative relative. That is the province of wisdom. She might provide a simple story of events. Or she may choose to avoid sensitive subjects with her. Irrespective of what she chooses to disclose, it is clear that she should strive to love and support her relative. Since that "offending" person has a knack for organizing, she can invite her to help organize her family history. She can make appointments for fun time together. She can cherish positive memories. God knows that love liberates goodness. If we all loved each other, the paradisiacal state would flood in on us.
Years ago it became clear to me that I do not have the right to correct anyone I do not love. There have been times when I have looked with compassion on a brother or sister and Father has entrusted me with a message for that person. Of course, at such times my "correction" felt more like celebration and encouragement than judgment, reproof or scolding.
Researcher and therapist John Gottman reminds us, we cannot change people until we love them as they are. Of course once we love them as they are, the compulsion to correct is replaced with the desire to bless. "The nearer we get to our heavenly Father, the more we are disposed to look with compassion on perishing souls; we feel that we want to take them upon our shoulders, and cast their sins behind our backs. . . . if you would have God have mercy on you, have mercy on one another" (Teachings of the Prophet Joseph Smith, p.241)
So how should we react when we are pained by the thoughtless and selfish acts of another? We should pray that God will heal our wounds and then fill us with Him so that we can "love [our] enemies, bless them that curse [us], do good to them that hate [us], and pray for them which despitefully use [us], and persecute [us]" (Matthew 5:44).
His message is love.

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