An Ensign to the Nations

Several weeks ago I was preparing to teach the Isaiah chapters found in
the Book of Mormon to our Gospel doctrine class.  For some reason I was
riveted on the concept of the "Ensign" that would be raised up in these
last days.

Of course we know this Ensign of which Isaiah spoke is the Church of
Jesus Christ that would be restored to the earth in these latter days.
As I read 2 Nephi 21:12, "And he shall set up an ensign for the
nations, and shall assemble the outcasts of Israel, and gather
together the dispersed of Judah from the four corners of the earth."
There are 12 other references in the Scriptures regarding this "Ensign."
As I read them all, I could not help but start singing to myself one of
my favorite hymns, "High on the Mountain Top."  I began "Googling" (my
voice recognition software does not recognize it as a legitimate word
but I think it's a pretty good one) on the Internet and found a
beautiful account regarding how this hymn came into being.  I thought I
would share it with you in the hopes that it will help you to appreciate
gathering of God's children in these latter days.

The story of "High on the Mountain Top"
by Joel H Johnson
This is the story behind the writing of "HIGH ON THE MOUNTAIN TOP" by
Joel Hills Johnson as told by his wife Margaret Threlkeld Johnson to her
grandson Bernard A. Johnson.

Joel H. Johnson established a sawmill in Mill Creek Canyon soon after
arriving in the Salt Lake Valley. Sawing lumber for the "Building up of
Zion" was Joel's church calling. This meant that he spent his time
sawing prime lumber and delivering it to the tithing office. In lieu of
wages, he would go to the storehouse and get what was needed for him and
his family.

As he made his wagon trips up and down the steep canyon, he often
thought about the flag that had been planted on Ensign Peak. 

He knew he had safely made it down the mountain with his load when he turned north
and headed for the tithing office. He always breathed easier when he
could look up at that peak and see Old Glory waving.

In the early spring of 1850, Joel loaded up a load of prime lumber and
headed for the tithing office. As he headed into the lot that housed
this office, he noticed that there were several other wagon loads of
tithing offerings ahead of him. He stopped his team, unhitched the
horses and turned them into "Brother Brigham's" pasture, and sat down to
wait his turn to unload.

Being a warm spring day, Joel sought the shady side of his wagon, leaned
back against the wheel and waited. As was his habit, he pulled out a
piece of paper and prepared to write. He found himself thinking about
the breeze and how it must be making 'Old Glory' ripple. In his mind he
pictured how it must look there on the top of the peak under the clear
blue sky as it waved and fluttered in the breeze. His mind painted such
a wonderful picture.

Almost as if written by unseen hands, words began to appear on the
paper:

"High on the mountain top,  A banner is unfurled.   Ye nations now look
up;It waves to all the world." In Deseret's sweet, peaceful land-On
Zion's mount behold it stand! For God remembers still  His promise made
of old  That He on Zion's hill   Truth's standard would unfold!Her light
should there attract the gazeOf all the world in latter days. His house
shall there be reared  His glory to display  And people shall be heard
In distant lands to sayWe'll now go up and serve the Lord,Obey His
truth, and learn His word. For there we shall be taught   The law that
will go forth,  With truth and wisdom fraught  To govern all the
earth;Forever there His ways we'll treadAnd save ourselves and all our
dead. Then hail to Deseret!  A refuge for the good,  And safety for the
great,  If they but understood.That God with plagues will shake the
worldTill all its thrones shall down be hurled. In Deseret doth truth
Rear up its royal head;  Though nations may oppose,  Still wider it
shall spread;Yes, truth and justice, love and grace,In Deseret find
ample place,

He originally titled his poem "DESERET". It was later changed to HIGH ON
THE MOUNTAIN TOP.

Joel finished his poem, folded up the paper, put it in his pocket, and
went about the task of getting his lumber measured and recorded. Much
later in the day, he went home.

Sometime later he showed his poem to John Taylor, then a member of the
Quorum of the Twelve. President Taylor liked the poem so much, he asked
if he could keep it. In those days, words only were written down and
then sung to familiar folk tunes. In just a short time it became one of
the favorite songs where ever the Saints gathered

This poem was only one of hundreds that Joel H. wrote. But it became one
of his most recognized ones. His poetry centered around four themes: His
love and devotion to the gospel, his love of the Prophet Joseph Smith,
his love of his family, and his desire to enjoy life, liberty, and the
pursuit of happiness for himself and all other human beings.

Because today there is some controversy over the exact date this song
was written, this account is being written. In his journal he states
that at eighteen years of age "I commenced writing religious songs and
hymns upon various subjects, some of which may be found in Zion's
Songster, or the Songs of Joel, a work of my own, but many are lost."
Throughout his journal are many examples of his poetry. * See page 2 of
JHJ journal volume 1.

Dad/Grandpa/Jack

Powdered Milk

Several weeks ago we had a combined meeting for all the adults in the relief society room. Bishop North felt we needed some instruction regarding frugality and provident living, given the state of the economy in our nation, the price of fuel, and serious problems with the housing market and etc. As usual he was right on target with an important message for the members of our ward. He asked Russell Hunter, second counselor in the bishopric, to teach the lesson.

Russell did a great job and gave many practical suggestions as to how to be more fiscally conservative and responsible in these uncertain times. However, at one point in his lesson he made the audacious and outrageous suggestion that it might be a good idea -- and a way to save some money -- to make lunch at home and take it to work as opposed to spending money unnecessarily in buying lunch each day. From my vantage point in the relief society room I could see the startled look on many of the faces of our young couples, and even noticed some eyes glazing over with disbelief and incredulity at this novel suggestion. They obviously had not been raised during the Depression or by parents who had lived through the Depression as I had. Also, I knew they had never been married to somebody as fiscally conservative as Jo Anne.

Living in Ogden, Utah shortly after we were married, Jo Anne found a source for powdered milk at a local dairy. We would buy 50 pounds sacks of the stuff and were always so proud of ourselves (at least Jo Anne was) over how much money we were saving. I can't say I really ever became fond of powdered milk, but if it had enough ice in it and you drank it really fast it wasn't so bad.

As the children came along, after they were weaned, they were raised on powdered milk as the beverage of choice in our family. Being innocent and without any prior experience, they thought powdered milk was okay. We never showed them a picture of a cow -- we didn't want to confuse them regarding the source of milk. If they thought the true source was from a sack that was fine with us. Then they got involved in the public school system which corrupted them as they learned about cows and were even given little cartons of "true" milk to drink as a snack. This created some dissatisfaction in them because for some reason they liked this "true" milk better than the powdered stuff that had done them so much good over the years, and had saved us, as their parents, so much money. It was always a hard sell after that to keep the family content and on target with drinking powdered milk.

I always took my lunch to work in a brown paper sack. It generally consisted of a tuna fish sandwich, an apple or an orange, maybe a cookie, and always a small mason jar filled with -- you guessed it -- powdered milk. I must admit I was corrupted by the world in the later years of my work life and engaged in a number of decadent and expensive -- at least to me -- lunches.

As the kids were growing up we never ate at fast food places except on special occasions like the ushering in of a new millennium. When they were very little as we would drive by the Golden Arches of McDonald's they would ask "Daddy, what is that building?" I would tell them that it was a hospital where they fixed broken bones and people that were sick. I would ask them if they had a broken bone or were sick and when they would say no, I would reply, "Well, we wouldn't want to go in there then would we?"

Our home was decorated in early "Institute of Religion" style. Whenever one of the institutes of religion in Orange County was receiving new furniture for the student lounge we would put in a bid to get the old furniture. The furniture in our family room consisted of a large couch, and two chairs made out of a "throw up" sick looking lemon colored plastic kind of material with aluminum legs. The drapes in that room were orange; the carpet was olive-green, high shag, and was beginning to come apart at the seams. I nailed a plastic runner down the center of the staircase so that the little toddlers wouldn't get their feet tangled up in the torn carpet and fall and break something.

We also tried to save money on clothing. In retrospect, I'm afraid our young boys got the worst of this. The only pants they wore, except on Sundays, were "Tough Skins" purchased at Sears for cheap. At the time I thought they were kind of ugly but you couldn't beat the price. They came in a red brick color, an ugly green, or the more normal blue jean style. They had reinforced knees and must have been made out of some steel mesh kind of material because you simply could not wear them out. If one of the boys fell off his bike he would get skinned up on various parts of his anatomy but never where the tough skins were protecting him. If the kid ran into a car the fender or bumper on the car would possibly be damaged but never the tough skins. Again, the public school system made my boys dissatisfied, and it was a hard sell to keep them in tough skins from that time on. I don't know if they have ever totally forgiven us for having adopted this fiscally conservative policy regarding their attire as young boys.

Well, I hate to report it but as the years have gone by we have become increasingly decadent. Almost every day Jo Anne and I go out to lunch. However, don't think too badly of us, or get too alarmed Bishop, because we invariably use coupons to get a "deal." Jo Anne anxiously waits for the mailman to bring her coupons with the same anticipation that little kids look forward to Christmas and Santa Claus. She clips them out and keeps them in a large envelope in our van. If we can get two for one or a dollar off something, then that's what we eat. Do we always like what we get from the coupons? I hate to report that we don't, but just think of all the money we are saving.

The telltale sign of how far we have fallen is that we actually now buy our milk at Stater Brothers in plastic containers like most "normal" people. And though I am reluctant to admit it, it really is almost as good as "powdered milk."

You will find the doctrinal underpinnings and justification for drinking powdered milk in the following Scripture:

"Wherefore, do not spend money for that which is of no worth [Stater Brothers' milk], nor your ^alabor for that which cannot ^bsatisfy... and come unto the Holy One of Israel, and ^cfeast upon that which perisheth not [powdered milk], neither can be corrupted ["tough skins"]..." [2 Nephi 9:51]

Dad/Grandpa/Jack

The Law Of The Harvest- We Reap What We Sow (March Madness II)

We are in the midst of March Madness -- one of my favorite times of the year. BYU was eliminated in the first round again which is very comforting to me because it is a sure sign that the second coming is not near at hand. If they ever make it past the first round we should begin doing some serious preparation for the end of the world.

I am so glad that I love UCLA basketball as much as BYU basketball. I am very impressed with this year's UCLA team under the direction of their great coach, Ben Howland. Once again, this year's team is built on the principle and foundation of a solid, fundamental, in-your-face, hard-nosed, lunch bucket and hardhat, blue-collar defense that wins games when the offense falters. They have won 34 games this year and have only lost three, largely because of their disciplined approach and mastery of the fundamentals of good defense.

However, this UCLA team also has a 19-year-old center by the name of Kevin Love, whom I enjoy watching as much as any young player I have ever observed over the many years of my life. He is 6'10" tall with a burly build, but is not particularly athletic, doesn't jump really high, and isn't extremely fleet of foot. Why I like to watch him, and why he is so good as a freshman, is that he has mastered the fundamentals of basketball to such a high degree that he has turned playing center into an art form. Sportscasters and commentators rave about his hands and the ability he has to throw a laser like chest pass the length of the court right into the hands of one of his teammates for an easy layup. However, he does everything well from blocking shots, passing the ball, playing strong defense, shooting from inside and outside and simply outsmarting and outplaying bigger, faster, and more athletic big men. If UCLA does make it to the final four again this year it will be because of their understanding and implementation of the fundamentals of defense and their great young center, Kevin Love.

You know I have a frenzied mind, but as I watch this UCLA team I think of the words of Matthew Arnold, the great author and literary critic of 19th-century England. He said on one occasion, "All art earns freedom through discipline!" How true that is in the world of sports as well as in almost every other discipline or aspect of life you can think of.

I learned this lesson as a young 17-year-old freshman at BYU about a hundred years ago. I received a music scholarship from BYU on the strength of my clarinet and piano playing. I modestly admit I was the best clarinet player in White Pine County, Nevada -- much better than the other two. I tried out for the concert band at BYU and was awarded the 23rd chair in a clarinet section of 24 clarinetists. First chair was the best and 24th the worst so you can see where I fit in. I was devastated. My self-esteem was at an all-time low and after a few weeks in the 23rd position I was ready to quit the band and music. Thankfully my parents wouldn't hear of it and offered to help me pay for private lessons with Professor Ralph Laycock, the conductor of the concert band and symphony.

Ralph Laycock was the greatest musician I ever knew personally or have known throughout my lifetime. He had a doctorate in conducting from the Juilliard School of Music in New York City and was a master of all of the major wind instruments -- trumpet, French horn, oboe, flute, and especially the clarinet.

I approached him with great trepidation to see if he would agree to teach the likes of me -- I wasn't feeling particularly good about my musical abilities as you can imagine. He was an imposing figure -- 6'4" tall, a hulk of a man with bushy black hair and eyebrows, and eyes that could burn right into your soul. Much to my amazement he agreed to take me on and so one autumn afternoon I stumbled into his office for my first lesson. He had me take my clarinet out of its case and assemble it which I did with shaking hands. He then asked me to play something and as I commenced to blow a few notes he grabbed the clarinet and almost my teeth along with it, out of my mouth and hands, and staring at me said, "Jack, you don't know how to play the clarinet!" My already fragile self-esteem was totally shattered and plummeted to an all-time low. I wondered if any of Ralph Laycock's students had ever committed suicide. "But," he said, "I think you have some promise and if you will do what I tell you to do you might just learn how to play the clarinet."

Thus began an adventure in learning the fundamentals of clarinet playing from a master. He took all my music away, showed me how to correctly hold the mouthpiece in my mouth and hold the instrument properly in my hands. For the next several weeks I was to stand in front of a full-length mirror looking at my mouth and hands, making sure I was doing everything correctly, and just play whole notes, all the while trying to produce that beautiful clarinet sound I had never been able to produce up to that time in my career. As I began to achieve some success my practice time increased until I was spending eventually four to six hours a day preparing myself to meet with Professor Laycock each week. He taught me that practice doesn't make perfect, but only perfect practice makes perfect! By the end of my sophomore year, thanks to the insistence of a great teacher that I master the fundamentals of clarinet playing through discipline and hard work, I was playing second chair. I could never quite do as well as Bill Washburn who played first chair. I attributed it to the fact that he had a superior clarinet -- a Selma, which was the Rolls-Royce of clarinets, while I only had a Conn, at best a Yugo or maybe a Chevy. As I left on my mission I was able to play by memory Mozart's Concerto for Clarinet.

I love music, but as the years have passed by, the lesson I learned from Ralph Laycock regarding mastering the fundamentals and perfectly practicing them while exercising discipline and hard work, has been invaluable in every aspect of my life.

Does this principle apply, for example, to living the Gospel? I know it does! We must master the fundamentals of personal prayer, scripture study, controlling our passions and appetites, and seeking to put off the "natural man" through discipline and seeking to have charity.

It really is just another way of looking at the eternal "Law of the Harvest." Ultimately in life we reap what we sow. If we master the fundamentals of any worthy discipline, and also seek to master the basic fundamentals of life that every human being has to deal with daily -- for example, getting out of bed, working hard, being clean and organized, and trying to keep our bodies fit and healthy, life will surely become for us an "art" and we will have "earned freedom through discipline" and mastering the fundamentals.

My friend, Jim Ritchie, said it this way in quoting J. Paul Getty's formula for success: "Get up early, work hard, and discover oil!" If we do so, at least the getting up early part and the working hard part, we will discover our own kind of oil; hopefully the kind the five wise virgins had in their lamps as they anxiously awaited the opportunity to come into the presence of the "Bridegroom."

Thank you, Ben Howland and Kevin Love, for reminding me of some significant and timeless truths.

Dad/Grandpa/Jack

Sacrifice Our Sins and Our Will To Know God

March 14, 2008, Observation

A number of years ago I was talking to a young teenager and asking him what he had been reading recently. He said that most of his spare time had been spent in reading "canonized scripture." I was amazed at his answer. I can almost guarantee that if someone had asked me or someone from my generation what we were spending our time reading at that young age, our answer likely would not have been "canonized scripture."

My good friend, Bishop Brian Ritter, sent me an e-mail the other day informing me that his oldest son, Danny, had just received his mission call to the Dominican Republic. In a recent conversation he asked Danny how many times he had read the Book of Mormon. Danny replied that he had only read it five times. You would have received a far different response to the same question from me and most of my generation at that age.

I can remember my embarrassment when I went to the old Mission home in Salt Lake City for a week prior to going to Central America to serve a 2 1/2 year mission. I would try to sit in a corner so no one could see me prying the pages of my scriptures apart which were stuck together by the gold edging -- evidence that the books had never been read. It was only in my first assignment in the Mayan Indian village of Totonicapan, located in the high mountains of Guatemala, that I finally discovered the beauty and power of "canonized scripture." Totonicapan was the coldest place in the mission. I will never forget one early morning at 5 a.m. in November of 1958, dressed in pajamas, suit, sweater, overcoat, and a hat, trying to capture what heat I could from a vintage 1957 electric space heater, reading the Sermon on the Mount out of Matthew for the first time in my life. I was absolutely amazed and overwhelmed by the elegant beauty and power of what I was reading that morning. I could scarcely believe that the Scriptures contained such marvelous, understandable, and applicable teachings. That morning I fell in love with "canonized scripture" and that love affair has persisted for the last 50 years of my life.

The Scriptures are wonderful in that they never change, but we do. They are the "standard" we can use to measure all of or thoughts and actions. Because of experiences we are having in life, challenges, or specific needs we are feeling at any given time, we can read scriptures we have read for years and yet discover new truths and eternal principles we have never noticed before.

I discovered a new insight last week that is significant to me, in a chapter in the Book of Mormon I have read hundreds of times I am sure. It is an Alma chapter 22 where Aaron teaches the great king of the Lamanites, Lamoni's father, the Gospel of Jesus Christ. The great king had been prepared to be taught the Gospel because of an encounter he had with Ammon, Aaron's brother. He readily received Aaron into his presence and was eager to be taught the Gospel of Jesus Christ. After Aaron had taught him about the Atonement and the Plan of Happiness we read the following: Alma 22:15 "... the king said: ^aWhat shall I do that I may have this eternal life of which thou hast spoken? ... Behold, said he, I will give up ^dall that I possess, yea, I will forsake my kingdom, that I may receive this great joy." And then the insight came that I had never noticed before. Giving up all that he possessed and even forsaking his kingdom was not enough. That kind of sacrifice would not bring him the joy of eternal life. Aaron said to the king: "... If thou desirest this thing, if thou wilt ^abow down before God, yea, if thou wilt repent of all thy sins, and will bow down before God, and call on his name in faith, believing that ye shall receive, then shalt thou receive the ^bhope which thou desirest." [Alma 22:16] And then the great king offered, not his wealth or his kingdom, but his heart as he "... did prostrate himself upon the earth, and cried mightily saying: 18 O God, Aaron hath told me that there is a God; and if there is a God, and if thou art God, wilt thou make thyself known unto me, and I will give away all my sins to know thee, and that I may be raised from the dead, and be saved at the last day I'll...." [Alma 22:17-18]

Giving away his wealth, his kingdom, and his status in society would not win for him the gift of eternal life. It would only come to him as he was willing to give his heart and soul to God and give away all of his sins. This account reminded me of Elder Maxwell's comments regarding the only true sacrifice any of us can ever make to "come to know God."

"Our personal possessions and our material blessings are really not ours, so what we sometimes regard as a sacrifice was given to us, anyway. President Young understood this: "How long have we got to live before we find out that we have nothing to consecrate to the Lord—that all belongs to the Father in heaven; that these mountains are His; the valleys, the timber, the water, the soil; in fine, the earth and its fulness?" (Neal A. Maxwell, That Ye May Believe, 1-7)

He also beautifully reiterated this great truth when he wrote: "The submission of one's will is placing on God's altar the only uniquely personal thing one has to place there. The many other things we "give" are actually the things He has already given or loaned to us. (If Thou Endure It Well, p. 54)

I am grateful to have had this truth leap out at me from the pages of Scripture read many times, but only now registering with me. Everything we have does belong to God except our agency, and when we freely lay it on the altar by giving of our time and strict obedience to the will of the Father then this is an acceptable sacrifice.

Let's keep searching the Scriptures and in doing so we will continually discover hidden treasures of truth that will bless our lives as nothing else can.

Dad/Grandpa/Jack

Couldn't have done it without my friends

Well, baseball spring training is beginning once again.  I must admit I am a baseball junkie -- evidence of a misspent youth.  From the time that I was about 10 years old, I loved the Dodgers and hated the Yankees.  I must admit however, that I always admired the Yankee manager, Casey Stengel.  He was cast in the same mold as Yogi Berra, the great Yankee catcher, in terms of their literary acumen.  Neither man would ever have been mistaken for having obtained their Ph.D. degrees in English literature or grammar.

After the Yankees won their first World Series with Stengel at the helm, he modestly admitted to a group of reporters, "I couldn't have done it without my players!"  I feel much like Casey in that I couldn't have come this far in my life without my "players/friends."  A friend is, "one who is attached to another by affection or esteem -- a favored companion."  [Merriam-Webster online dictionary]

Of course my most favored companions over the years have been my family and friends, but there have been other friends to whom I also have been attached by affection and esteem. "In a library we are surrounded by many hundreds of dear friends imprisoned...in paper and leather boxes."  (Ralph Waldo Emerson) (1803-1882)
In 1962 while in the Army, I was stationed at the Presidio of San Francisco which was like an exclusive country club right by the Golden Gate Bridge.  I worked an eight hour shift and after 5 p.m. each day I was free to do whatever I chose.  The San Francisco Giants were playing at Candlestick Park and I would ride the bus system to every home game.  Willie Mays, Willie McCovey, Juan Marchal, and a number of other great baseball players in their prime were part of that team.  I was almost converted into being a Giants fan but I had too much Dodger blue in me for the conversion to be complete. 

Almost every Saturday however, I would ride the bus system from the Presidio to the San Francisco Public Library where I would spend the entire day.  Each time I entered that impressive structure I experienced a feeling of awe and reverence similar to that which I feel when I enter the temple.  On one of the walls in the large reading room was written these words, "We will be known by the company we keep."  I knew those words were there as a reminder to all who entered therein that the "company" referred to was our "friends," the books we would read that day.

On one occasion, Ralph Waldo Emerson, was asked what books he had read that had influenced him the most.  He replied that he could no more remember all the books he had read than the meals he had eaten, but they had made him what he was. 
 
Thankfully, because of a mother who instilled within me a love for reading good books at a young age, I have kept company with some of the best "friends" a person could ever have over the years.  Those friends, in addition to my flesh and blood friends, have supported, sustained, and enriched me all of my life, but especially since I sustained my injury 19 years ago. I identify with the sentiment expressed in the following: "If the riches of the Indies, or the crowns of all the kingdoms of Europe, were laid at my feet in exchange for my love of reading, I would spurn them all."  (Francois Fenelon (1651 - 1715)

Abraham Lincoln once described a friend as "... someone who gives me a book I haven't read." (Abraham Lincoln, The Prairie Years, Carl Sandburg.)  In the spirit of friendship let me share with you several books that deserve reading and could become some of your dear "friends."

I think the thing that has triggered this observation is that since September I haven't been able to read the printed page.  I was devastated initially, but good friends have taught me to learn how to download e-books on my computer, and access many other audio books that are available in a number of different formats.  The following books I have listened to recently have been well worth the time expended:

(1) Heart of the Sea by Nathaniel Philbrick.  Philbrick, besides being an eminent historian, is also an avid sailor and lives on Nantucket Island.  This book is about the sinking of the whaling ship Essex which sailed out of Nantucket Island on a whaling expedition in the 1820s.  It was rammed and sunk by a huge bull, sperm whale off the coast of South America.  His book is based on the journals kept by the three survivors.  Herman Melville based his book, Moby Dick, on the same journals.  It is extremely well written and more exciting than a novel.  (2) Mayflower by Nathaniel Philbrick.  This book is so highly thought of in academic circles that Nathaniel Philbrick was invited to speak to the BYU student body about the Mayflower in a student devotional/forum last fall.  You are probably smarter than me, but this book revealed to me my ignorance regarding the pilgrims and Indians from 1620 through the next 80 years or so.  I had to read it twice to get things straight in my mind, but again it was well worth the time invested.  (3) Band of Brothers by Stephen Ambrose.  This is the story of Easy Company 101st Airborne Division -- the Screaming Eagles of World War II fame.  He follows them from basic training to D-Day and on to Germany.  A wonderful synopsis of this book is found in Elder Wirthlin's beautiful article in the February, 2008, Ensign entitled "Band of Brothers."  (4) Beyond the Band of Brothers by Major Dick Winters.  When Ambrose died several years ago he left all of his research notes he used to write Band of Brothers to Dick Winters who began the war as a first lieutenant in Easy Company and finished the war as a Major and one of the leaders of the 101st Airborne.  His book is more intimate, and to me, more interesting than Ambrose's book because Winters was in every battle from D-Day to Germany.  His first-hand, eyewitness account, is incredible.  (5) A Team of Rivals by Goodwin.  I can't remember her first name.  If you thought Abraham Lincoln was a great man, your love and appreciation for him will grow leaps and bounds as you read this important book.  Seward, Chase, and Bates all wanted the Republican nomination for president in the 1860 election.  They paid no mind to Lincoln who snatched the nomination from them at the 11th hour.  This is a study of all four men and how Lincoln made each one of them an important part of his cabinet.  None of the three could ever have done what Abraham Lincoln did in keeping the Union together during the Civil War.  Goodwin's research of primary sources reveals Lincoln as a brilliant and astute administrator blessed with great compassion and magnanimity.  When he was assassinated by John Wilkes Booth in April of 1865, the defeated South lost its greatest friend and advocate.

There are others I could suggest, but enough is enough.  I hope you still consider me your "friend" after wading through all of this.  All of these books can be checked out of a public library by the way.

Dad/Grandpa/Jack

He Was What He Seemed To Be

Like many of you, although saddened by the death of President Gordon B. Hinckley, I have been inspired by his life through the years, and was happy that he could leave mortality still vigorous and in sound mind.  I know some of you may have had much contact with him; I haven't, but he had the rare quality of making all of us feel that we were his friend, and that he was speaking just to us individually in his public discourses.  Shortly after my accident, he did write a sweet letter to Jo Anne inquiring about how things were going with us and expressing his love for us both.  It is a treasured keepsake.

The many wonderful tributes that were paid to him at his memorial service were appropriate and true.  Elder LeGrand Richards once said, "There is nothing like a good life that makes for a good funeral."  That certainly was the case with President Gordon B. Hinckley.

I love to read about the Civil War and am intrigued and impressed with many men and women of that era. Among these are Abraham Lincoln, Ulysses S. Grant, but also Robert E. Lee.  At his funeral, one of the tributes reportedly paid to him was, "He was what he seemed to be!"

I can think of no more impressive tribute.  President Hinckley was what he seemed to be; there was no gap between his talk and his walk.

I believe the same thing could have been said about Joseph Smith.  As a very young man in his 20's, he met Newel K. Whitney in Kirtland, Ohio for the first time.   Elizabeth Ann Whitney recorded what transpired at this first meeting with young Joseph Smith: “Joseph Smith, with his wife, Emma, … drove up in front of my husband’s store; Joseph jumped out and went in; he reached his hand across the counter to my husband, and called him by name. My husband, not thinking it was any one in whom he was interested, spoke, saying: ‘I could not call you by name as you have me.’ He answered, ‘I am Joseph the Prophet; you have prayed me here, now what do you want of me?’ (Woman’s Exponent, Sept. 1, 1878, 51)

The thing that impresses me so much in Elizabeth's account of her and her husband's first encounter with Joseph Smith is that he, without pretense or dissimulation of any kind, simply announced himself as "Joseph the Prophet."  At this young age of his life he absolutely knew who he was, and his life, until he was martyred at age 38, was a testament that he was indeed "what he seemed to be!"

Those who know us best, the members of our own families with whom we live day in and day out, are undoubtedly the best judges of whether we are what we seem to be to others.
Many years ago, Elder L. Tom Perry, came to town to reorganize the old Santa Ana Stake presidency. As Jo Anne and I were ushered into the stake president's office, Elder Perry kind of glanced at me and then proceeded to interview Jo Anne: "How does he treat you and the children?" "Does he make sure you have family prayer and family home evening regularly?"  He fired other similar kinds of questions at Jo Anne and then thanked us for spending a few minutes with him.  Jo Anne covered for me pretty well, and I was absolutely amazed when I was called to be the first counselor in the new stake presidency.

A number of years ago I was feeling pretty good about my life and that maybe I was about prepared to be translated.  I was in my office working on my computer using my voice recognition software.  It is usually very obedient and responds immediately to every command I give it.  This day however, it just would not do what it was supposed to do.  I was working on a very "important" document that I needed to complete and just could not make any progress with it.  As time went by I became more frustrated and upset and finally -- and I don't know where it came from -- in a very loud voice I addressed my computer with the D.... word.  Jo Anne had left me in the care of my youngest daughter Jackie that afternoon.  There is a baby monitor in my office and that day the receiver was in Jackie's bedroom upstairs.  Several seconds after I had uttered the D.... word, the door to my office burst open and in marched Jackie.  She said "Dad, did I hear from you what I thought I heard just now?"  Shamefacedly, I muttered under my breath that, yes indeed, she had heard what she thought she had heard.  She said, "I thought so, and you a patriarch!"  With that she turned on her heel and marched back upstairs.  It is so hard for me to be bad.  This experience, and several others like it, keep me humble and make me realize that the "natural man" is still very much alive and well inside me and that thankfully repentance is an eternal principle.

A statement by President Joseph F. Smith has always helped me to keep things in proper perspective. In 1905, President Joseph F. Smith made the following profound statement about true greatness: “Those things which we call extraordinary, remarkable, or unusual may make history, but they do not make real life.... After all, to do well those things which God ordained to be the common lot of all mankind, is the truest greatness. To be a successful father or a successful mother is greater than to be a successful general or a successful statesman” (Juvenile Instructor, 15 Dec. 1905, p. 752)

Hopefully when we eventually pass on into the spirit world it can be said of us by those who knew us the best, "He was what he seemed to be!"

Dad/Grandpa/Jack

Deliverance

Last week Jo Anne and I had a little bit of a bittersweet experience.  Our son Richard lives nearby and one of his neighbors is an occupational therapist who works at a little care facility in Tustin.  She knows about our situation through Richard and has seen our DVD "It's Good to Be Alive."  She called Jo Anne and asked her if she could bring two young quadriplegics to our home to visit with us.  We set up the appointment and last week she brought them by.

They were young Mexicans -- late 20s or early 30s -- both of whom had fallen off roofs while doing construction and are now quadriplegics, having suffered severe spiral cord injuries as a result of their accidents.  Thankfully they are not on life support and can move their arms about, but don't have the ability to use their fingers which makes them "quadriplegics" as defined by the medical community.

We could sense that José and Leo were very sweet spirits but also a little depressed and subdued.  José has a wife and four children who live in Mexico.  I don't believe he has seen them since his accident, and now because of his injury, he has no way of supporting them or bringing them to the United States.  His situation seems very hopeless to him.  Leo has a wife and three children that live in a small rented home in Santa Anna.  The home is not really wheelchair accessible although he has been home a few times, and his wife and children come by the facility to visit with him when they can.  He really can't go home to live because of the nature of the home, and even if he had the money, it couldn't be modified because it is a rental.  His situation also looks very hopeless to him.

The reason the occupational therapist brought them to our home was to hopefully enlarge their vision and perhaps give them some hope that there really is life after paralysis.  Thankfully I was able to communicate with them in Spanish -- their English is almost nonexistent -- and we connected and had a good experience together.  They were very impressed with what I could do on the computer and with what Jo Anne had done, and is doing, to make our lives fulfilling and of the highest quality.  I felt they left with a little glimmer of hope in their eyes regarding their "hopeless" circumstances.  I wish I had the power to deliver them from their dark and depressing situations.

Their visit reminded me of the six months I spent at Rancho Los Amigos Rehabilitation Hospital in the spinal cord injury unit.  A young 21-year-old man by the name of Gene Nye was in the bed next to mine, only about three or four feet away.  Shortly after being released from Rancho, I used to talk a lot about Gene in talks I would give to different groups and the valuable lessons I learned from him during that time. 

Gene was working for the forest service in the mountains, was bitten or infected by a wild animal, and was severely stricken by spinal meningitis.  The high fever damaged his brain and when I met him, his body and face were contorted, he was partially paralyzed, he couldn't breathe on his own, and he couldn't think straight or speak.  We shared the TV that was hanging on the wall and all he wanted to watch was "I Love Lucy" reruns as well as the "Andy Griffith" show.  I also enjoyed "Andy Griffith" and let him have his way with Lucille Ball, but to this day I have an aversion to "I Love Lucy" reruns.  Gene's situation also seemed incredibly hopeless to me, because not only did he have staggering physical challenges, he was also an orphan.  During the six months we were together he only had two visitors; two men that used to work with him came by one afternoon to say hello.  How I wanted to somehow deliver Gene from his miserable lot in life, but of course was unable to do so.

These three examples are but the tip of the iceberg of so many who have seemingly hopeless situations they are dealing with, and because of it are depressed, lonely, sad, and very miserable.  Is there no deliverance for them from sorrow and heart ache? The answer of course is "yes!"  However, their deliverance will not come to them through the arm of flesh, but through the great "Deliverer.”

My daughter, Rachel, was only nine years old at the time of my accident. She has grown up helping her mother bathe, dress, and feed me, as well as helping to transfer me from my bed to the wheelchair and vice versa.  As she got older, she often put me to bed by herself.  I think helping me gave her the desire to become a nurse.  Upon her graduation, I got to meet Dr. Elaine S. Marshall, Dean of her College of Nursing.  Prior to meeting her, I had read an article that she had written that had a great impact upon me. It was titled, “Lessons on Healing.”  She was able to put into words something that I had felt to be true for years, but had never been able to fully express.

She believes that there is a big difference between being cured and being healed.  She wrote that, “Cure is clean, quick, and done, often under anesthesia.  Healing, however, is often a lifetime process of recovery and growth in spite of—perhaps because of—enduring physical, emotional, or spiritual assault.  It often requires time.  We may pray for cure when we really need healing.”  (April, 2004 Ensign, p.57)
In her article she indicated that she had studied the Gospels to discover what she could about Jesus as a healer. I love Elaine Marshall’s summary from the scriptures of this aspect of the Savior’s ministry. 

"As Jesus healed, the Scriptures say, All the people were amazed [Matthew 12:23]. They brought their sick, their blind, and dumb, those that were possessed by a devil [Matthew 12:22], and their dead. They sought him every day and into the evening. So great was his reputation and his healing power that they sought to only touch the hem of his garment; and as many as touched were made perfectly whole [Matthew 14:36]. And Jesus went about all the cities and villages, teaching... and preaching the gospel..., and healing every sickness and every disease among the people [Matthew 9:35]. (Ensign, April 2004, page 57)

The Savior is the master healer of the soul – both body and spirit.  I believe, in retrospect, that I was cured from my injury (as far as medical science was concerned) within a year after the accident.  If you were to read my medical chart it would say something like this – “Jack Rushton is a functioning quadriplegic on life support having sustained a complete injury between the second and third cervical vertebrae.”

I may have been “cured” as far as medicine (as we know it today) could cure me, but I was a long way from being “healed.” I was still devastated by what had happened to me. I felt so much had been taken away.  I was depressed and had little hope of what the future might bring.  Many years ago, after much soul searching and intense prayer, a wonderful thing happened.  The Lord saw fit to heal me as only He can – He gave me a new heart.  Since that time, I have felt joy and a sense of well being I never thought I would feel again.

Many of us never receive the total physical cure we desire. However, this must never stop us from seeking to be healed. When we seek the Lord with all our heart, he can strengthen us to the point that our burdens will seem light and bearable.

From the beginning of time, God has tried to teach his people that if they will but trust in him he will deliver them from captivity, bondage, and seemingly “hopeless” circumstances.

And so Leo, Jose, Gene, and countless others, there is no deliverance except through Christ. Christ can infuse joy into our souls and dispel the cloud of darkness hanging over us as nothing else can. No man can do it for us; no other human being can deliver us from sorrow and despair except the Great "Deliverer."

Dad/Grandpa/Jack