14 February 2008

Salutations and felicitations!

I was scrambling to find something unusual and lovely to give to my wife for Valentines Day. I thought I might do something with the number 12–a story or picture book with the emphasis on that number and our 12 kids. But I could not get my mind around the idea until the night of the 13th. Finally I sat down a the computer and went to work. At 2:30 thenext morning I finished. I made a book for Lydia with a poem called “The Perfect Number.” It follows. I put photos and/or pictures on each page, mostly of the kids and Lydia, with one stanza of the poem on each page as well.

I left it on the counter with a singing bear and five Bordeaux bars from See’s Chocolates, and went to bed. I will put some of the photos with this blog so you can get an idea of what I did.

Hopefully you will also get an idea of how much I love my wife!

Ted



THE PERFECT NUMBER

Swinging there from metal links
That joined earth to sky,
We spoke that perfect number
And both agreed to try . . .

Of course there was a precedent:
Israel had twelve sons.
And products come in twelves as well,
Like roses, hot dogs, buns.

And we thought we would have twelve kids
(A grand, impressive number);
We did not think of all the work
And nights we would not slumber.

On Valentines in sixty-eight
We made a valiant start–
A little boy named Christopher
With ten toes and a heart,

Who stole our love and then our time,
And made it crystal clear,
That having twelve kids just like him
Would fill our lives with cheer.

For other, less courageous folk,
The thought might terrify,
But we sent an invitation out
And Deborah came by.

She came in May of sixty-nine
And doubled all our care.
But brought us hope and happiness.
And she forgot her hair.

Thus two of twelve–and we were four--
One sixth of our quest done.
The dirty diapers mounted up
But we had just begun.

The Church has twelve Apostles,
And Christmas has twelve days
But children by the dozen?
There might be other ways

To multiply and fill the earth,
And do our duty here,
But we just opened up the door and
Our second son drew near.

Michael Grant came in July
Of seventy and one:
A family of five we were,
And others might be done,

But we had eyes to see far off--
We loved our newest son,
With all his smiles and happiness--
But we had just begun.

Israel had his twelve fine sons
From Reuben down to Ben
And we thought we would have our twelve,
But we didn’t want all men.

Tami Jo was next in line.
She came the tenth of March,
With resolution by the ton,
Her spirit stiff with starch.

One third of all our kids were here
And we were on a roll.
Twelve kids now seemed quite doable
As we focused on our goal.

Now trailing clouds of glory,
Our third son rent the veil,
And came to Arizona.
You should have heard him wail!

A February baby–
The day was number nine
And Josh, like all the others,
Was handsome and divine.

The kids just came and came and came
We hardly missed a year.
Five kids now; the house was wild,
But our intent was clear.

Twelve stones came out of Jordan,
For a marker at Bethel,
And twelve would come to mark our lives
And wouldn’t that be swell?

Our sixth child had the first man’s name
We named him Adam. See,
We expected a Rebecca
But that was not to be.

He came while we were out of town
And trashed our holiday,
But clearly we had no regrets,
And he was here to stay.

The Zodiac has its twelve signs;
The ram, the bull, the fish,
And we would have our twelve kids too,
At least that was our wish.

Another boy came down the chute
We called him Danny G.
And he was just as much a boy
As any boy could be.

He wasn't into meditation,
Or gentle, quiet time.
The things he did were often wild,
And often quite sublime.

September third of eighty one
Another boy arrived
The house was bursting at the seams
It’s amazing we survived.

Stephen Andrew showed his face
And arms and legs and feet.
And twelve looked like reality–
A thought that seemed so sweet!

And yet another baby came;
A male named Robert Wayne
Who specialized in intellect--
Adventures of the brain.

Children running everywhere!
This boy was just the newest
And to that goal of twelve great kids
Lydia was truest.

Years went by and kids grew up;
We took a short sabbatical,
But those who thought that we were done
Were just a bit fanatical

For Tiffany was on her way
With fluff and fun and flair:
(We finally had a
Who came with lots of hair).

With her arrival on the scene
Our children numbered 10–
And in spite of all our hopes and dreams,
She ;looked like our "Amen."


The doctors seemed so certain
That our bearing years were past
Tif was not just number 10–
She seemed to be the last

But eggs still come in dozens
Twelve oxen hold the font,
And twelve was still a magic dream:
We were not nonchalant.

And God knew of our longing,
He knew there was a way,
And Tami’s willingness to help
Quite clearly saved the day.

And two more s joined us–
Johana was the first
And not long after she showed up
We learned that we weren’t cursed.

Bexzaida came as number twelve!
Our offspring passed eleven–
Those new arrivals answered prayers,
Like gifts sent straight from heaven.

Solomon built an ivory throne and
Twelve lions made of gold–
He sat there as the days went by
And let himself grow old.

Like Solomon, we too will age,
And love as we grow old,

And we’ll be guarded to the grave
By twelve children made of gold!

Twelve children, fashioned one by one,
From heaven’s perfect ore,
To bless our lives and bless the earth
To grow
And love
And soar.

TLG: 13 February 2008

The Epistle of Christ

10 February 2007

Dear Friends,

I have not attempted this for a while because my dashboard for the program that manages these blogs had a rupture or a meltdown and I could not get it to work for more than a month. But today it is working again and I am anxious to share some feelings about 2nd Corinthians and grateful to have a way to do it.

First, some general news. Covenant has given verbal agreement to the publication of my book, Nowhere Else To Go. I talked to Kathy Jenkins on Tuesday of this week and she indicated that in a meeting on January 29th they decided that they wanted to do this book.

Kathy indicated that their intent is to publish it as a hard-back, larger-sized gift book with paintings of Christ throughout, and to focus on the help Christ is able and willing to give.

Since that was my intent from the beginning, I was greatly pleased, although I did not say that in my conversation with Covenant. I had not dared to hope for the artwork, although I had envisioned, in my more imaginative moments, a book filled with paintings that would help to teach the goodness of God. As of this moment I am delighted, and hopeful that it will all work out, even though there is nothing yet in writing.

Yesterday Josh celebrated his 33rd birthday. Several of his friends and some of his family suprised him at his home to help with the festivities. It is hard to imagine that a man of my youth and inexperience could have a child as old as Josh (or, for that matter, his four older siblings), but it is evidently true.


Speaking of which, Tiffany turned 18 on January 30. She is my baby, for heavens sake! Lydia and I began singing "Sunrise, Sunset" from Fiddler on the Roof while we in the car that day. I remember when she grabbed my finger the day she was born. I remember her learning to read when she was 4. Grandma Lola--blind Grandma Lola--taught her. I remember seeing her before she was born! And now she is 18.

Yesterday we attended the World-wide Training Broadcast which focused on the family. It was for Church members 18 and over. My baby Tiffany went with us!

I am not old. I am archaic! I think I need an archaeologist more than a doctor when I do not feel well. I have enough liver spots to replicate the map of Indonesia, and less hair than a sack of lugnuts, except in my ears and nose.

Today we had stake conference and Elder Pace of the Seventy was here to reorganize our Stake Presidency. He shared some personal experiences and insights into the reorganization of the First Presidency, and shared some of Elder Uchtdorf's feelings (they had adjacent offices in the Administration Building till last week). In his talk he made this comment, which I think was a superb summary of the meeting last night: "It doesn't matter what is happening at 47 East South Temple if it is not happening here." By "here" he meant in the homes and wards and stakes of the Church.

I am teaching the 2nd half of the Book of Mormon and the 2nd half of the New Testament this semester. The back of the NT is perhaps the most difficult of the scripture courses for me, because I have taught it less than any of the others and because Paul often puzzles me. But teaching 2nd Corinthians on Thursday evening was a rich experience. My lesson title was this: "13 QUALITIES OF TRUE CHRISTIANS FROM 2ND CORINTHIANS." I did not finish all 13, but I rarely finish all I have prepared. I did, however, find something in 2 Corinthians 3 that touched me and enriched me. I noticed it in my preparations and felt the power of it in my teachings. Here are verses 2 and 3 of 2 Corinthians 3:

"Ye are our epistle written in our hearts, known and read of all men: Forasmuch as ye are manifestly declared to be the epistle of Christ ministered by us, written not with ink, but with the Spirit of the living God; not in tables of stone, but in fleshy tables of the heart."

My point was that true Christians are letters from Christ to the world. We are the epistles of Christ. Paul wrote letters--a lot of them. Captain Moroni wrote letters. Peter and James and John wrote letters. The First Presidency writes letters. But so far as we know, Christ never did. Except that . . . he did! We are his letters! Not written with paper and ink but with the Spirit of the living God, in the "fleshy tables of the heart."

I have about 50 students in my Thursday evening class in the New Testament. I asked them how many of Heavenly Father's children would "read" them in the coming week.

It is frightening, but nevertheless true, that we might be the first religious text some people will ever "read." And if we do not interact with them with love and the Spirit and righteousness, we may be the only religious text they will ever read. The thought of how many social interactions fifty young s could have in a single week is mind-boggling! But in every interaction they (and we) must be the epistles of prophets and seers and revelators ("Ye are our epistles) and we are also "manifestly declared to be the epistle of Christ."

I wonder how many times the Lord has sent me as a message to those walking in darkness. Have they sensed and "tasted" the light (see Alma 32:35) radiating from what the Lord has written in my heart?

Saints in early Kirtland struggling to learn and understand the processes and purposes of revelation in the newly restored Church were sometimes confused by by false spiritual experiences (see D&C 28, 42, 50). One manifestation of this dilemma is referred to in the literature as "letters from heaven." An interesting account tells of a man called Black Pete who was so intent on chasing an angel with a letter that he ran off an embankment and plummeted though the trees into a river far below. mHe survived but I assume his ardor was somewhat dampened by the experience.

Letters from heaven? It would be silly if not for these verses. But Paul tells us we are precisely that. We are or should be letters from God to his children . . . the epistles of Christ with the stamp of his image in our countenance (Alma 5:14,19) and his words written in our hearts.

May it ever be so.

Ted