Swords or plowshares?

I spent much of Sunday afternoon weeping. I’d come downstairs from studying and intermittent dozing to find Dale watching the 25th anniversary of Les Mis on a PBS beg-a-thon, with Alfie Boe. 

I have loved Les Mis since I first read the Cosette and Marius love story in 9th grade French, which compelled me to plow through the unabridged edition the next summer. The musical just added to my love of this story. Particularly, Dale has sung “Bring Him Home” and brought me to tears, at the piano, as his accompanist. But Alfie Boe’s rendition completely undoes me. THAT’S the way God gave this perfect piece of music to the inspired composer. Parenthetically: in an interview after Boe was a guest of the Tabernacle Choir, he called the piece a “diamond in his pocket.” Indeed. If I close my eyes, it’s 2012, and I’m in the Conference Center again, hearing Boe perform this priceless piece of art, which only exists in time. The only year of Dale’s 16-year tenure in the choir when I selfishly kept tickets for all 4 performances for myself. What can I say? I like diamonds. 

I’ve finally been able to embrace this embarrassing fact: I cry at beautiful things.  I’m not embarrassed that I love beauty, but rather, that my tear ducts just can’t stay out of it anymore.  Tears streamed down my face as I made dinner during the beg-a-thon break, as I considered the timeless, and ergo timely themes of this magnificent novel, and the beautiful adaptation as an opera. And Jared and Denise Carman - I continue to mourn not teaching this novel to your students this spring.  

Les Miserables is the kind of novel that makes me say there is no such thing as fiction. Good fiction, well-written - a story, well-told - is simply a fresh new way of telling the truth about the human condition and eternal principles. Sunday afternoon, the timeless and timely themes caught in my throat, and flowed down my face. But because of current events, they won’t leave me.

A hardened man is told for so long that he’s irredeemable, that he believes it - until a Christ-like man points him to THE Redeemer, and he is redeemed.  From desperately stealing bread to save loved ones, to years as a hardened convict, this man manages to sink even lower with one more petty theft.  Finally, at rock bottom, he finds THE Rock, realizes he owes a debt for his redemption, and begins to build a life again.

Meanwhile, a young girl callowly gives her innocence to the man she thinks she’ll spend her life with, only to discover she’s been toyed with for sport. She’s left an unwed mother, and eventually sells herself to provide for a child who is neglected and abused by the lowest of humanity.  The fruit of repentance from the hardened criminal is real and poignant, as he gives his life to becoming a father to the broken women’s little girl. Years later, he saves the life of the man she loves. This is the man he prays over, begging God, “If I die, let me die... let him live.”  This prayer - the original name of “Bring Him Home” was “The Prayer” - signifies the beautiful fruit of repentance - of conversion - in spite of the miseries of the man’s life.

But apparently, I’m not finished weeping. Angry young men prepare to die to have their voices heard, the injustices of life filling the cup of their indignation to overflowing - with violence. They’re almost innocently surprised that any of their militant number would actually lose their lives in their uprising, and tenderly consider each fallen man as a martyr to a holy cause.  Am I watching the news? Or an artistic performance?  

And finally, the penitent man, who has born sorrows his entire life, is finished. The young woman whose child he raised comes to take him in death. And these are the words that I will never stop weeping over, truth and beauty combined in this one nearly perfect lyrical, musical passage: “To love another person is to see the face of God.”  

As the show concludes, the same stirring music from the end of the first half is reprised. In the first half, the lyrics speak of angry men changing the world by demanding blood for injustice. Now, the lyrics set to the same music speak of “climbing to the light,” and promise that “even the darkest nights will end and the sun will rise.” There is allusion to this beautiful Millennial verse in Isaiah 2:4: 

“And he [Jesus Christ] will judge among the nations, and shall rebuke many people: and they shall beat their swords into plowshares, and their spears into pruninghooks: nation shall not lift up sword against nation, neither shall they learn war any more.”

The message is unmistakable.  The first half of the story seems to imply that only fighting the injustice that IS mortality will change the world and create a utopia. The beautiful conclusion corrects - brilliantly, artistically, with the same stirring melody, and this message: the only power that will change this world is the pure love of Jesus Christ.  

Whittaker Chambers wrote an incredible autobiography, “Witness,” recounting his life as a Soviet communist spy in the U.S. State Department during the 1920’s and 1930’s. He read and reread “Les Miserables” as a child - as young as 8 or 10! - and his exquisite writing is a brilliant illustration of his repeated exposure to such high literature.  

In his book, Chambers bears witness of his journey from the darkness of communism into the light of faith. He asserts that “Les Miserables” was the book that convinced him communism was the only way to change the world: an ideology of division, force, and the promised lie of a utopia that could never be achieved, because it can’t bear to acknowledge the only perfect Bearer of Peace the world has ever had. 

Then, incredibly, Chambers also writes that “Les Miserables” was also the book that convinced him communism was not just wrong, but evil -  and that only in a world with freedom and free will, could humanity ever CHOOSE to love their neighbors as themselves. 

Considering this beautiful story of humanity, on Sunday afternoon, I tearfully concluded that Victor Hugo agrees with Whittaker Chambers. For the record - so do I. 

Happy Anniversary to Me

        The Salt Lake Temple is about to close for 4 years. I didn’t think I felt as deeply about the loss of this temple for a time until the last few times I’ve gone this year.

There is a spot right inside the actual temple - a grand hallway outside the first ordinance room that I will never forget. It’s maybe what the foyer into the personal Holy of Holies in my heart looks like. There are gorgeous newel posts and a bannister on the stairway at the far end, and a stunning stained glass window on the landing. There are exquisite chandeliers and paintings, beautiful woodwork and ornate trim. 

I remember the first time I stood there - on December 8, 1979 - the day I received my endowment.  My naive, inexperienced 23-year-old heart wanted to burst that I was finally entering the House of the Lord, and that particular spot has taken my breath away every time since that day. I’ve realized as I’ve attended this year that it’s taken this 40 years of wilderness to feel like I even begin to understand better what it really means to be prepared to “enter in.”  

Every time I have ever gone to the Salt Lake Temple, that vantage point still makes my heart leap - I am entering the House of the Lord!  I can’t do it justice to try to explain it, but you know I’ll try. There’s absolute joy and anticipation in it - and gratitude - but there’s another thing.  

As a kid and beyond, I’ve had dreams of being in various temples that I didn’t recognize at all.  Because my dream temples have been similar to the temples I’ve actually attended, and because the dreams have recurred over many, many years, I’ve wondered if I’m remembering something from before this life. Every time I have one of these dreams, I get excited (in my dream), and start to pay close attention, hoping to remember details. 

What I felt in the dreams with the temples-that-aren’t-temples-of-this-earth was remembering.  I truly believe that part of what took my breath away on December 8, 1979 was recognition and remembering.  

Part of the 40 years of wilderness experience since that day has included: 

 - Fear and nervousness of the unexpected in the temple

 - Fear and nervousness of forgetting 

 - Reluctance to take the time to go to the Temple regularly

 - Chagrin at recognizing how easy it’s been for the destroyer to talk me out of going to the temple

 - Understanding that in order to make a deeper habit of attending the temple, perhaps I didn’t even dare write my plans on my calendar for his evil minions to see

 - Growing appreciation for the simple beauty of the way God’s plan for His children is taught in the temple 

 - Deeper gratitude for being taught directly by my Creator, Father, and God, through the power of the Holy Ghost, in His holy temple. 

Several years ago, after a particularly rough patch of wilderness, things started to open up for me, and I couldn’t stop thanking Father for how He had wrought a mighty change in me. One night, as I was thanking him - again - for this great miracle, I felt, rather than heard these words: “I gave you as much as I could, for as seldom as you’re in the temple.” Please hear this: there wasn’t a hint of rebuke in this simple, loving statement of fact.  It was at that point I started making a more sincere and diligent effort to be in the temple more often.  This has taught me that even in this, there is a natural law, with natural consequences attached. No wonder apostles and prophets have referred to the temple as the Lord’s “university.”

More glorious than any other happy consequence of being in the temple more often is how I’m able to feel more and more the craving to be there.  As more storms have come in the wilderness, it’s become ever more instinctive to run home - to weep and mourn for my trials and earth stains, to feel comfort from heavenly Parents, to be strengthened to go back out into the wilderness, with power to go in the name of the Savior and do His work. 

The sure provisions of my God attend me all my days;

Oh, may Thy house be my abode and all my work be praise;

There would I find a settled rest, while others go and come;

No more a stranger nor a guest, but like a child at home. 

(Isaac Watts, My Shepherd Will Supply My Need)

In that one particular spot in the Salt Lake Temple, I will forever hear these words. Whenever I hear that beautiful hymn, in my mind, I’m in that sacred, exquisite spot just inside the Salt Lake Temple - my temple - the temple where Dale’s and my kingdom began - where the eternal organism of our family was born, one week later. 

Going to the temple is to give us the taste - the reminder - of home, and to give us the desire to be forever at home - in our original home.  The two most important invitations: come - and remember. 

The Gratitude Experiment

November 1, 2019

In spite of the natural ebb and flow of living, seasons of waves can still catch you by surprise. Oh, who am I kidding - they can completely take you under, right?  Some of the worst waves for me are the internal ones. Even more than when I have physical pressures of too many things on my calendar, when I’m battling “with principalities,” I can barely tie my shoes. 

This was the condition of our fair heroine a few weeks ago. Though I have never - ever - EVER even remotely felt suicidal, there was a Saturday night, mid-September, when I wished there were an office - with paperwork that could be filled out - to officially Give Up. It was time to say my prayers before bed, and I couldn’t think of a thing to say to my Heavenly Father, whom I adore, except, “help me help me help me!”  I wasn’t sure if I should. Or even could.

Then I remembered the talk Elder David A. Bednar gave in October 2008 general conference (https://www.churchofjesuschrist.org/study/general-conference/2008/10/pray-always).  For the record, I just remembered a  talk he had given; I had to look it up to tell you WHEN he gave it. In it, he told about a general authority staying with his family when Elder Bednar was the president of then Ricks College. The Bednars had just lost a very dear friend, and were feeling a great need to ask Heavenly Father to bless and be with the friend’s family.  That night, as the general authority and his wife joined the Bednars in family prayer, the general authority unknowingly challenged the family that night to say nothing in their prayers but expressions of gratitude.  Elder Bednar talked about what a great spiritual exercise it was for his family to only make statements of gratitude in this particular prayer, at a time when they so desperately wanted to plead with the Lord to bless and be with their friends. 

This incident wafted through my head on that fateful September night. I decided that would be an excellent spiritual exercise for me, right this minute.  I knelt by my bed, and racked my brain to think of what I was thankful for, besides the usual list of suspects: a loving husband, two incredible children, a warm, comfortable home, a job I loved, opportunities to serve.  As I proceeded, the list deepened: 

 - I was grateful I could go to bed and feel differently in the morning. 

 - I was grateful for second chances, and second millionth chances. 

 - I was grateful God would give me strength beyond my own to try again.

 - I was grateful tomorrow was Sunday, so that I could be filled up again with the strength, and peace, and joy that I needed to do His will. 

I went to bed a much happier camper than the pre-prayer me - so much so, that I decided to have a similar prayer the next morning. 

 - I was grateful for Sundays.

 - I was grateful my taking the sacrament told both Father - and myself - that I was seriously All In, even though I knew I’d made a mess of many things the previous week.

 - I was grateful that a night’s sleep really did make everything look different.

 - I was grateful the Holy Ghost had given me such a brilliant idea to say nothing but thanks.

At this point, I determined that from then until general conference in two weeks, I would speak nothing to my Heavenly Father except to praise Him and express my gratitude. I would frame every need in a statement of praise, acknowledging the many tender mercies which He had already given me to meet those needs. 

It was two of the very best weeks of my life, and has changed the month that has come after it. 

When Elder Bednar taught about the spiritual work and significance of praying this way, he wasn’t kidding. It reminded me of what the brother of Jared had to do to figure out what to ask the Lord about lighting the barges. 

I love this story for soooo many reasons. For the Lord to directly ask the brother of Jared, “What would you like me to do?” (Ether 2:25) is so instructive about the effort the Lord would like us to put into our communications with Him. And the brother of Jared’s response is even more particularly instructive. Moltening stones does not exactly sound like a quick or easy process.  This incident reminds me constantly, especially when I am stuck in those “help me help me help me” prayers, that I may want to drill down just a little more, and come up with specific things I need to ask for.

But now, deciding to have two weeks of only gratitude prayers, asking for nothing - well - this was another way of moltening stones. 

 - I have a sick friend? I’m grateful that friend can pray for healing, and for patience and comfort in the sickness. I’m grateful Jesus Christ suffered all these things to make it possible for my friend to petition the Lord for relief, and feel His peace and love in the meantime. 

 - I’m confused about direction?  I’m grateful the Lord has given me such powerful tools to receive revelation: the scriptures, the words of prophets - particularly the living prophets - the gift of the Holy Ghost. 

 - I don’t feel strong enough to do a hard thing on my schedule today? I’m grateful that Jesus Christ has done more than make me clean - that He also lends me HIS strength when I make my best efforts. 

Framing all my communications as statements of praise and gratitude was a whole different way of moltening stones. It was spiritual work that was new for me - bracing, but invigorating.  Let me give you a hint: you do not fall asleep in this kind of prayer!  I was so much more engaged, because my mind was working to frame all my words into expressions of gratitude and praise. Within the first few days of this gratitude experiment, I had come to ending every single prayer I offered with these words:

“For all these things - and for everything Thou has done for me, Father - I praise Thee!”

Just to recap - here are only a few reasons this has been the greatest prayer experiment I’ve conducted in quite a little while:

1. The more you see... the more you see. When you start to look around at the blessings, more pop out. We all have tender, darling stories of the Tinies in our lives, thanking Father for noses, toast, or pillows, but seriously - what would we do without them? The more you notice - and acknowledge - the myriad bounties dumped upon your head, you start picking through the stuff, and find even more!
2. That whole thing of teaching yourself to work harder at your prayers. What a blessing to learn how to pray better! I will never say another prayer without being more thoughtful about the way I frame what I say to my Father - my Maker - my God. And since the experiment? I'd say my thanks-to-asks percentage ratio is roughly 70-30.
3. Overall, everyday, general happiness quotient? Off the charts. If you really had filled out paperwork to Give Up, and stuck it on your desk with last week’s catalogs and bills, I promise you this - one week of praying like this would have you digging up that application and ripping it up. Who wants to give up when you’ve got unlimited help from the One with unlimited knowledge and strength? 

Seeing it better, saying it better, feeling it and living it better. That’s what two weeks of saying nothing but thank you did for me.

So here it is, November 1st, and the social media posts of gratitude will begin.  There will be awesome posts to remind us of the many things we have to be grateful for. But if you want an epic month, I’ve got a challenge for you. Don’t just come up with one thing a day to be grateful for. Say nothing but thanks and praise - all month long. Spend this month doing nothing but saying thank you. It’ll change the kind of waves you’re surfing in, I promise. 

Freedom versus Liberty

I had the privilege of speaking at the Independence Day sunrise service in our city in 2019.  I’m grateful for divine inspiration in the preparation, and I ended up using some of the material for a panel I participated in at the United Nations’ 68th Conference on a Civil Society, held in Salt Lake City in August 2019. 

In 1776, John Adams wrote to his wife about the signing of the Declaration of Independence. Of this day, he said: 

“I am apt to believe that it will be celebrated, by succeeding Generations, as the great anniversary Festival. It ought to be commemorated, as the Day of Deliverance by solemn Acts of Devotion to God Almighty. It ought to be solemnized with Pomp and Parade, with Shews, Games, Sports, Guns, Bells, Bonfires and Illuminations from one End of this Continent to the other from this Time forward forever more.”

On a day like today, it may seem like niggling to differentiate between freedom and liberty, but allow me to make my case.

First - I want you to think of any two-year-olds in your life. It seems their entire raison d’être can be summed up in three words: “I DO IT!” A two-year-old, fairly new to this planet, seems driven from a source deep within them to DO IT. THEMSELVES. This can be extremely vexing to the adults in the two-year-old’s life, in direct correlation to how big a control freak the adult is. At this level, self-governance is just plain messy. Pause here for imagined adventures with dressing, bathing, fixing breakfast... 

As I considered the founding of our country, it struck me that in 1776, when the Declaration of Independence was signed and presented to England, a toddler nation stepped out upon the world stage filled with centuries-old players, and defiantly announced, “WE DO IT!”  

Alexander Hamilton captures the essence of the idea of the American experiment in the opening Federalist: 

“It has been frequently remarked that it seems to have been reserved to the people of this country, by their conduct and example, to decide the important question, whether societies of men are really capable or not of establishing good government from reflection and choice, or whether they are forever destined to depend for their political constitutions on accident and force” (Federalist Papers, No. 1).

The Declaration of Independence boldly asserted that nations could indeed be peopled with men and women who were capable of governing themselves - who intentionally chose what kind of government they would have, and not have that government thrust upon them. 

 It further asserted that human rights come from our Creator - are a part of us - and that because we all have them, we are all equal before our Creator - and among each other.  It audaciously suggested that governments only exist by consent of those being governed, that they are to mostly leave people alone to govern themselves, and that they are subject to being changed or removed if they violate those basic human rights.  In fact - the Declaration put forth the radical idea that the only role governments have is to protect those rights.

From the Declaration: 

“We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.”

PARENTHESES: What about those who don’t believe in a Creator? 

Believers are important in a society - because of their belief that the source of human rights is a Creator - and historically - tyranny has only flourished in godless societies. 

That is not to say that everyone in a society must be a believer; but a nation must be able to have both believers and non-believers alike, equally able to weigh in with their world views as public policy is made. 

I repeat: tyranny doesn’t flourish when there aren’t enough believers - tyranny flourishes when belief is prohibited. 

Which leads us to the difference between liberty and freedom.  The two words have nearly become synonymous, and have come to mean doing whatever you want, whenever you want. Because people largely move through their days unhindered, they imagine they’re free - but is that liberty?  What is the real difference between freedom and liberty? 

Liberty is freedom to do good, to act with justice and compassion, and to live according to the most basic natural law of the golden rule: doing to others as you would have them do unto you. 

Liberty is freedom from restraint - where good and noble acts towards our fellow man are not prohibited by law.

Liberty is freedom of self-determination - freedom to develop talents - to become educated. And a true education includes timeless, unchanging principles, which can be tested and measured for their validity throughout the ages. Without this, the educated are ill equipped to preserve their liberty.

Liberty is freedom to accumulate property - and the freedom of being a good steward of that property. It is choosing freely to share the abundance of what your self-reliance has built - and choosing freely to use largesse to help and serve your neighborhood and community - in the ways your conscience mandates, not in the way the state mandates.   

Liberty is recognizing that personal responsibility is inherent in human rights - because liberty isn’t just about rights.  Human rights are inextricably linked to responsibilities. 

Laws don’t exist to restrain or abolish our rights; they exist to protect them.  In the second verse of “America, The Beautiful,” we sing:

“America, America, God mend thine every flaw,

Confirm thy soul in self-control, thy liberty in law.”

I remember walking in this beautiful park a few years ago on the morning of July 5. I couldn’t get over the litter - everywhere. I felt so sad to think we were so far removed from self-government - collectively - that we largely left something that was a personal responsibility to be someone else’s problem.  All of us long to live in a society without litter - but that only happens because people pick up after themselves. And they pick up after themselves because they prefer living in a place with no litter. 

A very wrong idea about the role of government has infected our modern society.  It is that government should do much of what used to be done by individual citizens, churches, local communities, and private enterprises. The idea seems compassionate - we must do for those who can’t. But how often does that become doing for those ... who won’t? 

But what about those who can’t?  Don’t we have to have programs & bureaus to create social safety nets for them?  

The problem with safety nets is they can become restrictive for even those who don’t need them.

You have to practice self-government in a world that offers to do everything for you. So on Independence Day, I have  two radical invitations for you: 

1. Read the Declaration of Independence today - and every Independence Day  - REMEMBER - why it was written.
2. If you CAN do it  - DO IT.  If you SHOULD DO IT.

Channel your inner toddler and remember - you were created to govern yourself - and help those around you to do the same - without the force of law - but with the force of the second great commandment. 

And...

Pick up your trash on your way home!

Focus on the Music

     We got a new furnace last week. It was relatively painless on my part, until the last hour and a half of piano lessons in the afternoon. At that point, it wasn’t painful, so much as loud. Drilling, drilling, sometimes RHYTHMIC drilling - during three MUSIC lessons. It was super fun, especially for those three piano students.  Well, and their ADD teacher.

     Each of the three students struggled to keep their head in their piece - even more than a normal piano lesson. Piano lessons are terribly distracting all by themselves. This is why, after playing something in a manner less than hoped for, piano students will continue to mutter, until the end of time, “It sounded so much better at home!”  At Piano Teacher’s house there are so many things to distract you from the task at hand: the smell of something cooking in the crockpot, new Halloween decorations that weren’t up last week, still decompressing from being at school all day. Meanwhile, teacher is sitting right there, and a new goal suddenly emerged: Impress her.

     There was an abundance of sub-par playing during that hour and a half last week. Poor dears.  They don’t realize: after teaching for thirty-six years, I can filter and extrapolate to get a true sense of what kind of practicing really went on during the week  - just as surely as a dentist can peek into your mouth and determine how faithful you’ve been at flossing for the past six months.

     I kept murmuring encouraging words throughout, but it wasn’t until the last student that the inspiration came. I stopped Lucy mid-measure, and these words came wisely bubbling out of my mouth:  “Don’t listen to the drill;  focus on the music.”  Lucy paused for a few more seconds, then continued with far fewer mistakes, and far more musicality.  She could hear the difference, and here’s how I could tell: the satisfied grin she cut me at the end of the piece.

     I have a theory. However randomly noisy a concrete drill may be - drilling sometimes intermittently, sometimes rhythmically, and always unpredictably in its pattern - is nothing compared to the intentional noise of the world, initiated by the destroyer who would do anything - and I do mean ANYTHING - to keep us from ever having a still, quiet moment where we can focus on the music of the Spirit.

     Boyd K. Packer taught:

     “The world grows increasingly noisy.... This trend to more noise, more excitement, more contention, less restraint, less dignity, less formality is not coincidental nor innocent nor harmless.” [The implication is that if this trend isn’t coincidental, it’s intentional; if it’s not innocent or harmless, it’s insidious and dangerous.]
     “The first order issued by a commander mounting a military invasion is the jamming of the channels of communication of those he intends to conquer. Irreverence suits the purposes of the adversary by obstructing delicate channels of revelation in both mind and spirit”  (“Reverence Invites Revelation,” General Conference, October 1991).

     Irreverence is a huge objective of the destroyer; such is his despising of all things sacred. But if he can’t get us all the way to irreverent, he’s more than happy to take us to just plain old, ordinary, common... noise. And I don’t mean common in the ordinary sense. In yet another attempt to get God’s children into a collective, unworthy lump to prove his point, Satan is thrilled with the commonality of the noise - the noise we all hear, collectively.

     Consider these thoughts of Arthur Henry King, author of An Abundance of the Heart:

     “Continuous background noise, from the radio or television, for example - discourages the development of perception and discrimination. Something that is there the whole time no longer draws proper attention: it dulls; it becomes a kind of drug; it floats us sluggishly along. It is like a stream of dirty, lukewarm water, a kind of inferior bath taken disgustingly in common.” [Isn’t that a grim image, the thought that the background noise of the culture is like taking a bath in the same bath water as everybody else?]
     “Whatever encourages our inattention diminishes our ability to make wise choices; because of all the things that are required to make wise choices, a delicate and sensitive attention is the most important” (An Abundance of the Heart, p. 210, emphasis added).

     You have to consciously seek out silence in a world of spiritual concrete drills. There are TV’s or background music in every waiting room. There is hold music in every phone system. It’s as if the world, collectively, is happy to whistle in the dark, as long as they’re doing it together - terrified of it, yet maybe even more terrified they may unwittingly stumble across the Light if it’s quiet for too long. And the Light - you know... There are pesky expectations! Wouldn’t want that...

     To be intentional disciples, we have to tune out the noise of the drill - the commonality of the world swirling around us - and focus on the music of the Spirit. We’ll “play” with fewer mistakes, and far more musicality. Our living will look more and more like the Savior’s living.

    Just like piano, it’s definitely a Thing to practice.
   

Daughtering

As we embrace our divine roles as mothers, it’s natural that we will suddenly find ourselves in proper awe, respect, and gratitude for our own parents. As we serve our children in soul-stretching and sanctifying ways, we can see with fresh eyes the same service that was given to us. And suddenly, the 5th commandment to honor our parents takes on the divine mandate it should: we owe our parents everything.

As we speak of the responsibilities of family life, it’s important to remember to look in both directions, generationally. We speak incessantly of the joys of mothering - as we should - but I am in the season where I am learning the joy of ‘daughtering’.

My 87-year-old father lost his balance permanently with a life-threatening bout of meningitis 6 years ago, and while he’s not completely helpless, my 86-year-old mother does nearly everything in running their humble little home. She has had nearly constant and debilitating back pain for nearly 40 years. She also has macular degeneration, and a minor stroke several years ago has diminished the fine motor skills in her dominant left hand. She actually functions much better than all of that would suggest, but my parents’ increasing needs has made me most tenderly aware of the terror my mother feels about moving in this fast-paced world with diminished capacities.

As my parents’ needs have become greater, my opportunities to serve them have naturally increased. It’s made me realize that it’s not just an opportunity to increase service to them - it’s a duty. These are the people who gave me my life. Serving them in this last season of their lives has taught me that family life is created because of covenant connections, stretching both forward and backward into the generations.

Covenant relationships create safety. For children, going forward to future generations, it’s covenant relationships between husband and wife that provide the safety of two committed parents, and a stable, predictable home. But now, with increased service to my parents, I am learning that these covenant relationships create the same safety for the generations before us. Covenants matter because they say, very simply, “I’m not going anywhere when this gets hard.”

One day, as we were entering the grocery store, my mother was leaning heavily on my arm, and we were moving slowly to accommodate her pain. She apologized for slowing me down. A wave of gratitude washed over me. I told her, “I’m quite certain my short little legs slowed you down once upon a time, Mom - don’t you worry about it.”

What a beautiful type - coming home to serve and sacrifice for our parents, to repay them for their service and sacrifice in giving us life and raising us. And even greater - what a beautiful type - that in coming full circle back to them, we realize how much more we owe our Heavenly Parent - for the same?

-Laureen Simper (Gathering Families)

#ComeHome #GatheringFamilies

Glorious Burden

A societal movement to diminish motherhood has been in the propaganda mills of elite central planners for generations. This is spelled out in new policy being considered at the UN, and calls for "measures to recognize, reduce and redistribute women's [and girls'] disproportionate [burden] of unpaid care of care and domestic work..."

Apparently, the propaganda has culminated to this bold moment of honesty, or, the central planners have decided they can wait no longer to win you over with spin. Bottom line: the State wants your children. For over a century, the most forward thinking elitists have prepared for victory on this point: a well-ordered State can raise a child to serve the State better than its parents can.

The State is right. If the end of raising a child is to see it serve the collective well, then the incubator of cradle to career oversight is perfect. Devoid of any real nurturing, the State can raise serfs to its service much more efficiently when love, nurturing, and family loyalty are removed.

But, if the world still wants thinkers, innovators, and people with a sense of humanity, they still need homes with mothers and fathers. Children still need to see adult human beings - appropriately sacrificing for them - to know that this is the surest way to have a life of purpose and joy.

The elitists have made a fatal mistake: they say "burden" like it's a bad thing. C.S. Lewis once said that homemaking was the ultimate career that made all other careers possible. Policy crafters and influencers forget something as they deride and dismiss motherhood and family life: once upon a time, someone took on the burden of raising...them.

Burden indeed. What a glorious burden to be given: the charge of shaping the heart and mind of another human being - one that exists because you loved another human being.

It's a glorious burden to lose your figure, your sleep, your mind - so you can bring another human being into the world, sit up with her when she has croup, help him get his science fair project finished, and teach him to ride a bicycle. It's a glorious burden to lose all dignity as you leave your house in sweats that have spit up on them because you're out of milk, and wear last year's dress to a piano recital - your stomach in complete knots as if you were the one performing. It's a glorious burden to read a seventh bed-time story to your children, the words slurring into near-drunken incoherence, as you are the only one who gets sleepy in this night-time ritual nearly as sacred as the family prayer.

It's a glorious burden to be given a necklace made of macaroni, a sloppy kiss that smears spaghetti sauce on your cheek, and a tiny wad of a love note that says, "I love you, Mom - you are the BIST!" It's a glorious burden to wander, sleepless, through a darkened house, stopping at the beds of each of your sleeping children, pouring out wept prayers of gratitude and pleading that God will watch over them when you can't.

Here is what the elitists don't know, or have forgotten, so far removed from such realities as humanity can be: the very thing that makes motherhood glorious is the fact that it is a burden - a back-breaking, mind-wracking, heart-stretching, soul-forging burden. It's a glorious burden because it turns us into better, higher human beings for having taken it on.

Every human on this planet started life with a mother and a father. Not everyone takes to parenthood, and tragically, there are still too many children who don't have the love and sanctifying sacrifice of present parents. But through the millennia, there is no alternative way of raising children that can hold a candle to it. To buy the lie that this is a burden that should be "recognized, reduced, and redistributed" is absurd and dangerous. The glorious burden of motherhood is most definitely to be recognized - as the highest thing a woman can choose to do with her life. Motherhood should be recognized, but it should be reverenced - and protected - for the endangered species that the central planners are trying to make of it.

In spite of the spin, this is the cold hard reality: in spite of the imperfect execution, there are still more parents, around the globe, that freely choose to take on parenting, because it is a glorious burden worth shouldering. Civilization depends on it.

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#EmpowerMothers
#LoveIsNotABurden
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