ONE IN THINE HAND
… take thee one stick, and write upon it, For Judah…Then take another stick, and write upon it, For Joseph … And join them one to another into one stick; And they shall become one in thine hand. Ezekiel 37:16-17, emphasis added
The late Clifford Chebahtah, a full-blood Kiowa Native American, was born, raised, and in turn raised his family on land issued to his ancestors just outside Anadarko, Oklahoma. I was privileged to serve on the Oklahoma City Stake high council with him. To begin a meeting one of the brethren had just used the above-cited verses as the scripture thought.
Brother Chebahtah then asked if he might say something. His words were to this effect:
Brethren, I would like to bear witness to the truth of the scripture we were privileged to hear just now. My grandfather passed away when I was eight years old. Just before his passing, he called all of his posterity together. Among many other things, he told us that the first Christian preachers had come to town when he was a young man. But, he said, they weren’t the right ones. He then told us that he had been shown in a dream, in answer to his petitions to Heaven concerning the matter, that those particular preachers came one by one, bringing just one book. He continued by saying that in his dream he was shown that the Lord’s true messengers, the ones with the complete gospel, would come two by two, and that they would be carrying two books, not just one. My grandfather finished his words by admonishing us to wait for preachers who came two by two, carrying two books. He pleaded with us to listen to them with open hearts and minds when they arrived, which would not be during his lifetime.
The year was 1964. I was 28 years old, married and the father of two young children when the first set of missionaries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints arrived in Anadarko. All of us recognized them as the fulfillment of grandfather’s dream. We all listened eagerly at first, but when it was evident that there would need to be major changes in the prevailing lifestyle, most did not continue to be interested. My family and I did, though, and we were the first to join the Church in Anadarko. Brethren, I want you to know how grateful I am for the scripture that Bro. Housley read to us tonight, and for the message contained in those two books – especially the clarity and the completeness of the second one, even the Book of Mormon, the one written to me and to my people. I am also grateful for my grandfather’s dream, which helped us to recognize the Lord’s true messengers when they arrived in town, coming two by two and bringing two books in their hand, not just one. For me and my family, it has made all the difference.
If there was any sand, any at all, in our foundations at the time (see Matthew 7:24-27), it was replaced by solid rock that night.
Monday, April 18, 2011
Sunday, April 10, 2011
LED BY THE SPIRIT
LED BY THE SPIRIT
And I was led by the Spirit, not knowing beforehand the things which I should do.
1 Nephi 4:6 (emphasis added)
A Thursday night snow-storm had turned the Ozarks into a winter wonderland. But it also had caused school to be canceled for the next day. That in turn resulted in all Conference basketball games being postponed. The snow melted quickly, however, so all games were immediately rescheduled for Saturday.
He would have been able to go Friday, but the semi-annual stake priesthood meeting was that Saturday – it had been on the calendar for more than a year. The stake president was unusually quiet as he and his first counselor once again made the hour and a half drive to the stake center.
About half-way down the mountain the counselor broke the silence. “Is there something on your mind?”
“There is a lot of satisfaction in fulfilling our callings, but it’s certainly difficult at times. This is one of those times.”
“Stake presidents feel that way, too? That’s a relief. I thought I was being unfaithful when I felt that way.”
The president smiled. “Another example of the law of opposition at work, I guess.”
“Basketball?”
“I enjoy being a Dad too. It’s his senior year. I vowed not to miss a game this year. I tell myself that he needs me at his games, but truth be told it’s me who needs it the most.”
“Too bad we haven’t figured out how to be two places at once.”
………………………………………………………………………..
The meeting had started and was going smoothly. The first speaker was adeptly covering his assigned topic – eight minutes, no more. As he scanned the congregation, the president’s heart filled with admiration, and yes, love for the good brethren, many of whom had come in from even greater distances than he had, and at considerably more financial sacrifice, due to their meager incomes. The president’s eyes focused on Brother Jeremiah Simpson, humble, faithful, trusting, loyal, without guile. His heart went out to the itinerant carpenter with little formal education, who struggled to make a living even though his skills were extraordinary. Brother Simpson’s wife had left him years ago, taking their son with her. From interviews the president had learned that in spite of the court-mandated custody/visiting rights settlement, due to the mother’s feistiness and Bro. Simpson’s contrasting peacemaker nature, the father seldom got to spend meaningful time with his beloved son.
Wait a minute, thought the president. Where do Jeremiah’s son and his mother live? Bartonville! Who is my son’s team playing later this afternoon? Bartonville! Jeremiah’s son plays for Bartonville – my son and his son are going to be playing one another!
The president signaled the attendance taker to summon Jeremiah, who looked up from the congregation at the president, who signaled Jeremiah to meet him in the foyer.
“The meeting’s yours,” whispered the president to his counselor. “You’re the closing speaker now. You know the subject. Wing it. The Lord will be with you.”
Out in the foyer, the president put his arm around Jeremiah’s shoulders. “You and I are going to watch our sons play some basketball!”
………………………………………………………………………..
Jeremiah was a backwoodsman at heart. He lived in a cabin on some wooded acreage outside of town. He heated his abode with an ancient Franklin stove and firewood. On the first above-freezing day of early spring, just after their sons’ basketball game with the stake president, Jeremiah somehow prevailed on his ex to allow him time with his son. They were out there on Jeremiah’s property together, sawing up and splitting firewood, so it would season for the next winter. The son was driving in the splitting wedge with the back of an axe. Neither noticed that the head was gradually coming loose. During a mighty swing it flew off its handle, ricocheting off a tree and into the boy’s skull. He was pronounced dead on arrival at the hospital.
At the funeral, Jeremiah through his tears thanked the stake president over and over again for putting game over meeting. It turned out to be the last time Jeremiah would ever see his son play ball.
And I was led by the Spirit, not knowing beforehand the things which I should do.
1 Nephi 4:6 (emphasis added)
A Thursday night snow-storm had turned the Ozarks into a winter wonderland. But it also had caused school to be canceled for the next day. That in turn resulted in all Conference basketball games being postponed. The snow melted quickly, however, so all games were immediately rescheduled for Saturday.
He would have been able to go Friday, but the semi-annual stake priesthood meeting was that Saturday – it had been on the calendar for more than a year. The stake president was unusually quiet as he and his first counselor once again made the hour and a half drive to the stake center.
About half-way down the mountain the counselor broke the silence. “Is there something on your mind?”
“There is a lot of satisfaction in fulfilling our callings, but it’s certainly difficult at times. This is one of those times.”
“Stake presidents feel that way, too? That’s a relief. I thought I was being unfaithful when I felt that way.”
The president smiled. “Another example of the law of opposition at work, I guess.”
“Basketball?”
“I enjoy being a Dad too. It’s his senior year. I vowed not to miss a game this year. I tell myself that he needs me at his games, but truth be told it’s me who needs it the most.”
“Too bad we haven’t figured out how to be two places at once.”
………………………………………………………………………..
The meeting had started and was going smoothly. The first speaker was adeptly covering his assigned topic – eight minutes, no more. As he scanned the congregation, the president’s heart filled with admiration, and yes, love for the good brethren, many of whom had come in from even greater distances than he had, and at considerably more financial sacrifice, due to their meager incomes. The president’s eyes focused on Brother Jeremiah Simpson, humble, faithful, trusting, loyal, without guile. His heart went out to the itinerant carpenter with little formal education, who struggled to make a living even though his skills were extraordinary. Brother Simpson’s wife had left him years ago, taking their son with her. From interviews the president had learned that in spite of the court-mandated custody/visiting rights settlement, due to the mother’s feistiness and Bro. Simpson’s contrasting peacemaker nature, the father seldom got to spend meaningful time with his beloved son.
Wait a minute, thought the president. Where do Jeremiah’s son and his mother live? Bartonville! Who is my son’s team playing later this afternoon? Bartonville! Jeremiah’s son plays for Bartonville – my son and his son are going to be playing one another!
The president signaled the attendance taker to summon Jeremiah, who looked up from the congregation at the president, who signaled Jeremiah to meet him in the foyer.
“The meeting’s yours,” whispered the president to his counselor. “You’re the closing speaker now. You know the subject. Wing it. The Lord will be with you.”
Out in the foyer, the president put his arm around Jeremiah’s shoulders. “You and I are going to watch our sons play some basketball!”
………………………………………………………………………..
Jeremiah was a backwoodsman at heart. He lived in a cabin on some wooded acreage outside of town. He heated his abode with an ancient Franklin stove and firewood. On the first above-freezing day of early spring, just after their sons’ basketball game with the stake president, Jeremiah somehow prevailed on his ex to allow him time with his son. They were out there on Jeremiah’s property together, sawing up and splitting firewood, so it would season for the next winter. The son was driving in the splitting wedge with the back of an axe. Neither noticed that the head was gradually coming loose. During a mighty swing it flew off its handle, ricocheting off a tree and into the boy’s skull. He was pronounced dead on arrival at the hospital.
At the funeral, Jeremiah through his tears thanked the stake president over and over again for putting game over meeting. It turned out to be the last time Jeremiah would ever see his son play ball.
Saturday, April 2, 2011
IF YE ARE NOT PREPARED YE SHALL FEAR
IF YE ARE [NOT] PREPARED YE SHALL … FEAR
… if ye are prepared ye shall not fear.
D&C 38:30 (emphasis added)
The table. The table at the student union. Our table, where Chuck, Ed, Rick, and I would meet before, between, and after classes. It was not long before a girl was joining us. Chuck’s friend, Carolyn. Then her two room-mates. We dated, but not each other. Except for Chuck and Carolyn, but not for long. Rather, we told each other about our dates. We became good friends. Real good. But friends only. Our table at the union is where those friendships were formed and shared.
Carolyn was the leader. Bubbly, happy, center of every conversation Carolyn. She was also the most perceptive. It was late Spring semester; finals were just beginning to intrude upon our consciousness. All the seats around our table were full.
“Bob, we’re probably not going to see each other ever again after this semester.”
“What? What do you mean?”
“I’m transferring to State. You’re not coming back either.”
She proved prophetic. None of us have ever seen each other again in person. She ended with, “Let’s do something, you and I.”
“How about all of us?”
“We can do that too …”
As with most people, I think, I had a “Secret Garden,” a retreat from the world that I imagined that only I knew about. Mine was a remote section of seashore, a stretch of beach and sand dunes, rocks, tide pools and miniature bayous, next to a riptide so powerful that swimming there was automatic suicide. Hence its isolation and primeval beauty.
I took Carolyn there. It was cold. And overcast. And windy – a coat plus sweater day. We romped along the shoreline at first, skirting the tide as it rushed ashore and retreated, hurling mounds of seaweed up onto the beach. We came at low tide – we explored tide pools teeming with life, admiring the flower-like anemone, watching one successfully lure lunch into its clutches. We soon retreated to the dunes, found some protection from the wind, and perched ourselves on a pair of low-lying rocks. The ivy was in full bloom, the wildflowers, grasses, and cat-tails at their spring-time finest. Red-winged blackbirds, hummingbirds, gulls, and cormorants were flitting and gliding everywhere. The aura of beauty and tranquility succeeded in over-riding the bone-chilling weather that day.
“Bob, you’re different. I like that difference, and I think I’ve finally figured out what makes you that way. It’s your religion, isn’t it. Tell me about your religion.”
I was not the perceptive one. I was blind-sided. “Well,” I hesitatingly began, not at all certain of what was going to come next. “Well, we believe that God, Jesus Christ, and the Holy Ghost are separate Beings, not three in one like others believe …”
“Makes sense. Tell me more.”
With all the wisdom of an 18 year old going on 13, I made a wisecrack. I don’t now remember what it was, but it broke the mood, exposing my nervousness. Carolyn, sensitive and compassionate as well, began praising the beauty of the surroundings.
It has been fifty years. Try as I might, I cannot recall her last name. Tears of remorse still form as I contemplate the experience. I pray quite often, and it is up into the hundreds of times by now, that she be given another chance.
… if ye are prepared ye shall not fear.
D&C 38:30 (emphasis added)
The table. The table at the student union. Our table, where Chuck, Ed, Rick, and I would meet before, between, and after classes. It was not long before a girl was joining us. Chuck’s friend, Carolyn. Then her two room-mates. We dated, but not each other. Except for Chuck and Carolyn, but not for long. Rather, we told each other about our dates. We became good friends. Real good. But friends only. Our table at the union is where those friendships were formed and shared.
Carolyn was the leader. Bubbly, happy, center of every conversation Carolyn. She was also the most perceptive. It was late Spring semester; finals were just beginning to intrude upon our consciousness. All the seats around our table were full.
“Bob, we’re probably not going to see each other ever again after this semester.”
“What? What do you mean?”
“I’m transferring to State. You’re not coming back either.”
She proved prophetic. None of us have ever seen each other again in person. She ended with, “Let’s do something, you and I.”
“How about all of us?”
“We can do that too …”
As with most people, I think, I had a “Secret Garden,” a retreat from the world that I imagined that only I knew about. Mine was a remote section of seashore, a stretch of beach and sand dunes, rocks, tide pools and miniature bayous, next to a riptide so powerful that swimming there was automatic suicide. Hence its isolation and primeval beauty.
I took Carolyn there. It was cold. And overcast. And windy – a coat plus sweater day. We romped along the shoreline at first, skirting the tide as it rushed ashore and retreated, hurling mounds of seaweed up onto the beach. We came at low tide – we explored tide pools teeming with life, admiring the flower-like anemone, watching one successfully lure lunch into its clutches. We soon retreated to the dunes, found some protection from the wind, and perched ourselves on a pair of low-lying rocks. The ivy was in full bloom, the wildflowers, grasses, and cat-tails at their spring-time finest. Red-winged blackbirds, hummingbirds, gulls, and cormorants were flitting and gliding everywhere. The aura of beauty and tranquility succeeded in over-riding the bone-chilling weather that day.
“Bob, you’re different. I like that difference, and I think I’ve finally figured out what makes you that way. It’s your religion, isn’t it. Tell me about your religion.”
I was not the perceptive one. I was blind-sided. “Well,” I hesitatingly began, not at all certain of what was going to come next. “Well, we believe that God, Jesus Christ, and the Holy Ghost are separate Beings, not three in one like others believe …”
“Makes sense. Tell me more.”
With all the wisdom of an 18 year old going on 13, I made a wisecrack. I don’t now remember what it was, but it broke the mood, exposing my nervousness. Carolyn, sensitive and compassionate as well, began praising the beauty of the surroundings.
It has been fifty years. Try as I might, I cannot recall her last name. Tears of remorse still form as I contemplate the experience. I pray quite often, and it is up into the hundreds of times by now, that she be given another chance.
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