I suppose I would be puzzled, too, if I wasn’t LDS.
Blessed are the gentiles, because of their belief in me, in and of the Holy Ghost.
Lover and friend hast thou put far from me, and mine acquaintance into darkness.
“I, for my wife, the sun uphold,” Robert Louis Stevenson wrote. (more…)
Many of the revelatory insights that have most reached to my soul have come when listening to a bland talk at church cover the same old ground in the same old way; when swapping pet platitudes in Elder’s Quorum with men I’ve known since I was a kid; and when re-reading scripture.
There is no novelty without familiarity.
The active mind when it hears a new thing considers arguments pro and con. When it hears an old thing, the active mind contemplates. It probes deeper.
Which is why we are under solemn covenant to mourn with those that mourn. Reading Dan’s blog this week has been awfully hard on the photoreceptors, which don’t respond well to saltwater immersion.
And please consider making a modest donation to nowilaymedowntosleep.org, which Dan has indicated provided its free services to his family. I visited the web site and it seems like a very worthy charity.
My first thought was that this was a response to situations like that in Boston, where religious adoption agencies have more or less been put out of business because they prefer not to mediate adoptions by gay couples. The story says it’s about the service not being used enough to warrant the effort.
I believe that. I’m close to several young LDS couples who have adopted recently, both in and out of Utah, and not one worked through LDS Family Services. The usual reason given was that LDS Family Services had so few children to adopt that the waiting list was a decade long. It’s much less than that for other agencies, though it can still take years.
Filed under: Birkenhead Drill,Deseret Review | Tags: Eliza R. Snow, families are forever, Heavenly Parents, LDS, Mary, Mormon, Mormonism, Mother Earth, Mother Nature, the sexes
What if our imagination should become as a little child’s? What if receiving the kingdom of heaven as a little child mostly meant imagining it differently? Not stern and beautiful like Milton, but jolly and abundant.
Last night I came home to my little boy wearing a red bath robe with a red bandanna on his head pirate-style, a garbage bad tucked into his neckline for a beard, and another garbage bag dragging behind his red trike. He was Santa Claus, he said. My littlest girl was wearing a tan quilt with sticks stuck in her braids. She was the reindeer. The reins were from a swing.
The childish imagination is Calvin and Hobbes, Narnia, the Hobbit. When the Abrahamic trial comes, it trusts, because it believes that something golden must lie out there in darkness.
“If you’re thirsty, you may drink.”
They were the first words she had heard since Scrubb had spoken to her on the edge of the cliff. For a second she stared here and there, wondering who had spoken. Then the voice said again, “If you are thirsty, come and drink,” and of course she remembered what Scrubb had said about animals talking in that other world, and realized that it was the lion speaking. Anyway, she had seen its lips move this time, and the voice was not like a man’s. It was deeper, wilder, and stronger; a sort of heavy, golden voice. It did not make her any less frightened than she had been before, but it made her frightened in rather a different way.
“Are you not thirsty?” said the lion.
“I’m dying of thirst,” said Jill.
“Then drink,” said the lion.
“May I — could I — would you mind going away while I do?” said Jill.
The Lion answered this only by a look and a very low growl. And as Jill gazed at its motionless bulk, she realized that she might as well have asked the whole mountain to move aside for her convenience.
The delicious rippling noise of the stream was driving her nearly frantic.
“Will you promise not to — do anything to me, if I do come?” said Jill.
“I make no promise,” said the Lion.
Jill was so thirsty now that, without noticing it, she had come a step nearer.
“Do you eat girls?” she said.
“I have swallowed up girls and boys, women and men, kings and emperors, cities and realms,” said the Lion. It didn’t say this as if it were boasting, nor as if it were sorry, nor as if it were angry. It just said it.
“I daren’t come and drink,” said Jill
“Then you will die of thirst,” said the Lion.
“Oh dear!” said Jill, coming another step nearer. “I suppose I must go and look for another stream then.”
“There is no other stream,” said the Lion.
Even Lord of the Rings has childlike elements. It has hobbits, the Shire, the last Homely House, Strider. Even its orderliness, its insistence on getting the details right for their own sake, is childish.
Perhaps, instead of standing in awe at the works of God, we should wriggle with delight.
Filed under: Deseret Review | Tags: C.S. Lewis, imaginative fiction, LDS, Mormon, Mormonism, TF, theo-fiction, theofiction, theological fiction, Tolkien
What is the strange power of chains of memory to move us? (more…)
Let there be lights in the firmament of the heaven to divide the day from the night; and let them be for signs, and for seasons, and for days, and years
We know the concept of mere Christianity.
In Acts, I ran across an example of mere John the Baptistry. In Acts 18, there are two different instances of the Lord and the Church acknowledging people outside its formal limits as already part of the fold in some sense. (more…)