NOT ALL THERE

I turned to speak to God

About the world’s despair;

But to make bad matters worse

I found God wasn’t there.

God turned to speak to me

(Don’t anybody laugh);

God found I wasn’t there—

At least not over half.

The poet, in the first four lines above, expresses the overwhelming despair of the Ultimate Despair: What if God isn’t there?

Then, in a perfect 180-degree change of perspective and feeling in the last four lines he expresses his feeling of foolishness for doubting, as well as immense relief that God IS there!

I thought of this Robert Frost poem last Saturday as I read a newspaper article about British physicist Stephen Hawking and a Wall Street Journal article he co-wrote titled, “Why God Did Not Create the Universe.”

This article (based on his new book, The Grand Design) is a symbol of Hawking proudly, perhaps defiantly, turning his back on God, and bowing down to the god of science.

There was a time when Hawking gave God at least a respectful nod, such as when he said that if a complete theory of physics were discovered, then “we would know the mind of God.”

It is not uncommon for individuals with severe physical afflictions, such as Hawking has, to “charge God foolishly” (unlike Job in the Old Testament).  Or in other words to ask, “If there is a God, why would He do this to me or let this happen to me?”

Such individuals may emotionally reject God because they feel forgotten or rejected by God. Of course, living a lifetime feeling rejected by God Himself is untenable. It is easier to pretend God isn’t there; to mentally and emotionally erase Him from existence.

Atheists claim that they feel free and powerful once they embrace atheism. Indeed, psychologically they feel that they are even more powerful than God and smarter than God, because they have “killed” God.

This phenomenon can be seen in the story of Korihor who taught “There is no God” because it was “pleasing to the carnal mind.” (Alma 30:53). Hawking is, I believe, an example of this psychological coping mechanism.

With this insight, I felt tender compassion for Stephen Hawking.

I also felt humbly grateful that I regularly experience the “peace that passeth understanding” simply knowing God IS there.  

Not all scientists are atheists. My physics professor, Kent Harrison, is an example of a man with a brilliant mind that can grasp the intricacies of unproven “string theory” and “M-theory” (ideas that Hawking finds attractive), yet he does not reject God. Indeed, he is a humble, gentle man full of faith. Harrison, in a letter to the editor about the Hawking article, said:

“Claims that science explains everything are simply incorrect. Many scientists believe in God. Many observations about the universe they see support that belief. We are not in a position to claim final knowledge. Thus, ultimately, it is a matter of faith.”

The poet was accurate on another level. When we go about our lives neglecting or ignoring the spiritual aspect, we ARE only “half there.” We see only half of what is really going on. And we are only half as successful as we might be. …If that.

I Read Your Blog; Did You Read Mine?

Earlier this month, Chris blogged:

“I was telling my wife today that I felt sad that I really didn't know my mom or my dad too well. I mean, I know who they are and some of the things that they do, but I really don’t know them. And, it seems that the only way I get to know them better is by reading their blogs.”

Chris, of course, has hit the nail on the head. It takes real interest and effort to know and understand another person—even our own family members. Nevertheless, in reading blogs, sometimes we have to take some time to “read between the lines” in order to “see” the real person. A quick, impatient, disinterested skimming will yield little or nothing.

In choosing as my blog address, “speak that I may see thee,” I wanted to convey the truth that it is through the things that we say that we reveal ourselves. Each of us wants to be known, understood, and valued for who we really are. Robert Frost penned a short little poem about that need:

We make ourselves a place apart
Behind light words that tease and flout,
But oh, the agitated heart
Till someone find us really out.

’Tis pity if the case require
(Or so we say) that in the end
We speak the literal to inspire
The understanding of a friend.

But so with all, from babes that play
At hide-and-seek to God afar,
So all who hide too well away
Must speak and tell us where they are.

Interestingly, when someone is truly interested in us and what we have to say, and they show it, then we are much more likely to reciprocate. We will be more motivated to really know, understand, and value them, and what they have to say. “We love him, because he first loved us.”

I read some insightful words this morning about loving that could have been about the higher uses of blogging:

“Loving ... [or blogging] ... has a lot of sharing in it. ‘I saw something beautiful—look with me!’ ‘I heard something funny, laugh with me.’ ‘I have discovered a new fact, isn’t it interesting?’ ‘Something terrible has happened, grieve with me.’ ‘Or marvelous—rejoice with me’ – and let me enjoy with you what you have seen, heard, or learned. I will listen while you explain what I don’t yet understand. I want to hear what you care about.’”

To “connect” with others requires time and emotion. It requires generosity of spirit and the ability to take yourself from the center of the picture sometimes and put someone else there. We do that when we read and enjoy one another’s blogs. And say so.

I read your blog; did you read mine?

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TOGETHER WING TO WING

The Knight and I were present when a Provo Temple Presidency member recently shared some of Elder Richard G. Scott’s teachings about the marriage sealing. He said that in the next life the Lord will ask couples married in the Temple if they still want to spend the rest of Eternity together. Their answers will be honored.

A day or so later, the Knight and I had a conversation about that. The Knight said, “I hope you will say, ‘Yes.’” I said, “I hope you will say, ‘Yes,’ too.”

My thought was: we have been married for forty-three years; we share a lot of history together, not to mention children and grandchildren. I cannot imagine turning my back on all that, and choosing to throw it away. Just the thought of not being together as a family or having missing family members is just too sad for words. Would I seriously consider spending eternity with a stranger or alone? What a horrible thought.

Of course, we have had to weather some rough times during those 43 years—as happens in every marriage. And undoubtedly there will yet be some bumpy roads ahead.

Some time ago, I reworded a poem by Robert Frost. To me it is about choosing to be together for eternity:

No speed of wind or water rushing by
But [we] have speed far greater. [We] can climb
Back up a stream of radiance to the sky,
And back through history up the stream of time.
And [we] were given this swiftness, not for haste
Nor chiefly that [we] may go where [we] will,
But in the rush of everything to waste,
That [we] may have the power of standing still-
Off any still or moving thing [we] say.
Two such as [we] with such a master speed
Cannot be parted nor be swept away
From one another once [we] are agreed
That our lives for now and forevermore
Are together wing to wing, and oar to oar.

"A good leader expects much, inspires greatly, and sets on fire those he is called to lead." ~James E. Faust

I recently finished reading David McCullough’s 650-page biography of John Adams. A few days later, I watched the HBO 7-part movie based on this book. I have to say that I am glad that I read the book first because I probably wouldn’t have read it at all if I had seen the movie first. David McCullough received a Pulitzer Prize for John Adams. He deserved it! (And I plan on reading the book again soon.)

McCullough is a gifted writer and a careful scholar of American history. Through reading this biography, I became another admirer of the patriot, John Adams, who was one of the key figures in the formation of our country. It was his vision which shaped and steered the country through its infancy. His wife, and dearest friend, Abigail, was his equal in intelligence as well as in patriot vision.


The Hollywood HBO version of McCullough’s book skewed the “patriot dream” of John Adams into a nightmare. Hollywood wanted us to see Adams’ faults. Of course, Adams had faults. But, after Hollywood was done inventing numerous demeaning scenes, Adams was barely recognizable as the same man depicted in McCullough’s 650-page epic.

In one scene, while John Adams is eating and talking to Thomas Jefferson, the director has Adams lean over and use the table cloth as a napkin for wiping his mouth. The intent of this scene had to be to show us that Adams was an uncultured hick in contrast to the elegant Thomas Jefferson.

In an earlier scene, Adams is teaching his young son about agriculture and the two of them are stirring manure with their bare hands and smelling it appreciatively. Why invent such a scene, if not to create disgust in the viewer and to lower Adams in our estimations?

I’m sure the movie producers justified such scenes as necessary to create or depict “realism.” They harbor the notion that for a potato to be a “real” potato, it must be shown with a great deal of dirt on it. However, according to a wise and insightful writer of the mid-20th century (Robert Frost), a potato doesn’t need the dirt to make it real; and that, furthermore, what "art" does is clean up the potato, rubbing the dirt off so that the real potato (without dirt) can be seen.

In contrast, as I read the book I don’t recall one word of “dirt.” When McCullough talked about Adams’ faults, it was done with judiciousness, understanding, and respect. Adams was never demeaned. (Nor were any of the other characters.) The conviction I received, as I read, was that Heavenly Father had raised up such men as Adams to be the founders of this nation and gave them tremendous strength, courage, and vision. That this experiment in creating a nation based on liberty actually succeeded was indeed a miracle.

A Passing Glimpse

I often see flowers from a passing car

That are gone before I can tell what they are.

I want to get out of the train and go back

To see what they were beside the track.

I name all the flowers I am sure they weren't:

Not fireweed loving where woods have burnt--

Not bluebells gracing a tunnel mouth--

Not lupine living on sand and drouth.



Was something brushed across my mind

That no one on earth will ever find?

Heaven gives its glimpses only to those

Not in position to look too close.

~Robert Frost

On Going Unnoticed

Besides loving the delicate Trillium for its simple, elegant beauty and its impeccable vernal timing, I love Trilliums because they “linger their little hour and then are gone, while the woods still sweep leafily on.” This quote, of course, is from of a line from Robert Frost’s poem, “On Going Unnoticed.”

On Going Unnoticed
by Robert Frost

As vain to raise a voice as a sigh

In the tumult of free leaves on high.

What are you in the shadow of trees

Engaged up there with the light and breeze?

Less than the coral-root you know

That is content with the daylight low,

And has no leaves at all of its own;

Whose spotted flowers hang meanly down.

You grasp the bark by a rugged pleat,

And look up small from the forest’s feet.

The only leaf it drops goes wide,

Your name not written on either side.

You linger your little hour and are gone,

And still the woods sweep leafily on,

Not even missing the coral-root flower

You took as a trophy of the hour.

When I was younger, I viewed Frost’s poem as a metaphor for my life. You see, I constantly found myself in the company of self-proclaimed intellectuals ("trees"), who always had something profound or pithy, or just opinionated, to say on just about any topic ("engaged up there with the light and breeze"), while I, on the other hand, was natively a little too reticent (having "no leaves" and only "mean spotted flowers") for my own good. As a consequence, it often appeared to me that it was “as vain to raise a voice as a sigh,” and therefore, I usually went “unnoticed” in the “shadow of trees.” In some ways I was “content with the daylight low” – being overshadowed and overlooked by others. However, at other times, I wanted to “grasp the bark” to get someone’s attention. But when I did, usually “the only leaf” that dropped (the only response) "went wide" (they completely missed my point). My name "not written on either side" of the dropped leaf was a not so subtle reminder that I was not only nameless, but nearly non-existent ("less than the coral-root") in their world.

Coral-root