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On June 17, 1775, Abigail Adams and her seven-year-old son, John Quincy, stood on a hill near their home and watched, terrified, as the Battle of Bunker Hill unfolded. It was a pivotal moment in the American Revolution. More than a thousand were killed or wounded, and nearby Charlestown was burned to the ground.
One evening two young friends were walking together when they passed a neighbor standing in his front yard. One of the young men called out, “How are you, Bill? It’s good to see you.” But Bill ignored him—he didn’t respond or even look up.
“Well, he’s a grouch today, isn’t he?” the other boy observed.
“Oh, he’s always that way,” his friend responded.
“Then why are you so friendly to him?”
“Why not?” he answered. “Why should I let him decide how I am going to act?”1
American artist Norman Rockwell was known as the artist of the common man and of common places. His models were his neighbors and family members, his subjects the plain and simple moments of life, and he depicted them with fondness. Among his hundreds of paintings, he captured the essence of human connection with all of its emotion and excitement—the joy of a long-awaited homecoming, the thrill of a youthful adventure, the tenderness and insecurity of growing older, and the warmth of a sacred gathering with loved ones to give thanks.
It’s common in many cultures to compare life to a path, a road, a journey. And anyone who has ever embarked on a long journey can see why it makes such a useful metaphor. It helps us to see life with purpose and direction, to feel that we are making progress, that we’re getting somewhere—and not just anywhere, but toward a specific destination we want to reach.
Much of the strength of our nation comes from its people and their determination to make life better—their resolute unwillingness to accept injustice and oppression. Such determination comes with many challenges, but history has shown that freedom is born in only one way, and that’s by courageous people fighting through adversity.
The world in which we live is fiercely competitive—some would even say ruthless. The pressure to succeed, to get ahead, leads many to be aggressive, dominating, overpowering. And succeed they often do—in a sense. But there’s a different, even a better way to live and to succeed. It is, in a word, humility.
“It is not enough to be [busy],” wrote Henry David Thoreau. “So are the ants.” The question is, “What are you [busy] about?”1 We live in a world that frequently confuses busyness with importance. Thoreau’s words are a good reminder just because something “takes some doing,” that doesn’t mean it’s worth doing.
In the American Museum of Natural History in New York City stands a memorial to Theodore Roosevelt, an avid naturalist, a great friend to the museum, and the 26th president of the United States. Inscribed on this memorial, under the title “Youth,” are these words from Roosevelt that are inspiring even to those of us whose youth is in our past:
“On Earth Peace, Good Will Toward Men”
And it came to pass in those days, that there went out a decree from Cæsar Augustus, that all the world should be taxed.
And all went to be taxed, every one into his own city.
And Joseph also went up from Galilee, out of the city of Nazareth, into Judæa, unto the city of David, which is called Bethlehem,
To be taxed with Mary his espoused wife, being great with child.
And so it was, that, while they were there, the days were accomplished that she should be delivered.
Very often, small things lead to great things. In fact, we could say that everything starts small. From a small idea comes an innovation or discovery that transforms the way we live. A deep snowdrift starts with just a few small flakes. And a small child can soften even the hardest heart and inspire us to change our lives for the better.
This is the season of lights. The joy, the hope, and the sacred reverence we feel at this time of year all find their own symbolic expression in holiday lights. Storefronts, town squares, and homes are decorated with strings of colorful lights that brighten the celebration and bring cheer to passersby. Bright lights dangle on evergreens, many topped with a star in remembrance of the light that marked the first Christmas morning.
Part of what makes Christmastime so delightful are simple carols like this one, an old nursery rhyme set to a traditional melody:
Christmas is coming,
The geese are getting fat,
Please . . . put a penny
In the old man’s hat.
If you haven’t got a penny,
A ha’penny will do,
If you haven’t got a ha’penny,
Then God bless you.
Some 400 years ago, the Netherlands suffered through a prolonged and bitter war with Spain as it sought religious and political independence. At last, celebrating their triumph over oppression, the Dutch victors set their sentiments to a familiar folk melody. The opening words to that song were later translated into English as “We gather together to ask the Lord’s blessing.”1
We live in a day when more knowledge is literally at our fingertips than ever before. With the click of a button or the touch of a screen, we can learn about any topic imaginable. Millions of articles, instructional videos, and the latest breaking news seem to swirl around us. This explosion of information fills our brains and makes us wiser than ever before. Or does it?
The mere collection of facts does not necessarily lead to wise behavior. We all know people with brilliant minds who make unfortunate choices because they lack wisdom. The world has seen far too many tyrants who know how to fight a war but not how to avoid one.
The eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month. That moment in 1918 marked the end of World War I and the beginning of an annual tradition of remembrance. For the next several years, November 11 was known as Armistice Day, a day of gratitude for peace and for those who sacrificed so much to secure it in that “war to end all wars.” Of course, wars did not end, and more and more Americans were called into the service of their country. So, in the aftermath of World War II and the Korean War, November 11 was renamed Veterans Day in honor of all military veterans—today numbering 25 million and counting—who gave so much for the cause of freedom.
Long-distance runner John Stephen Akhwari represented Tanzania in the 1968 Summer Olympics in Mexico City with an unforgettable performance in the marathon. He did not set a new world record. He did not even earn a medal. In fact, by the time he crossed the finish line, the sun had set, the winner had been crowned over an hour earlier, and most of the fans had left the stadium. But Akhwari’s performance still inspires to this day.
For hundreds of years, men and women and even nations have been shaped by influential books. If it’s true that we are what we eat, then it’s equally true that we are what we read.
In both serious and delightful ways, good books expand our worldview and inform our thoughts and opinions. Good books also entertain and enlighten us. They help us see and understand others—and, ultimately, ourselves—in new ways. Anytime we read a good book, we make new discoveries that can stretch us, transport us, and teach us how to marvel.
About 45 years ago, the Watergate scandal led to the resignation of a United States president and shook the nation to its core. A young law clerk, fresh out of law school, saw the details of this tragedy unfold as he worked for the judge who presided over the Watergate trials. This law clerk, D. Todd Christofferson, recently shared his experience with the faculty and students at Oxford University.
“The life lesson I took away from this experience,” he said, “was that my hope for avoiding the possibility of a similar catastrophe in my own life lay in never making an exception—always and invariably submitting to the dictates of an ethical conscience. Putting one’s integrity on hold, even for seemingly small acts in seemingly small matters, places one in danger of losing the benefit and protection of conscience altogether.”1
Recently an older home was demolished to make room for a new house to be built on the same property. Over the decades, that home had been filled with laughter and memories, and now, almost in the blink of an eye, it was gone, and the slow work of rebuilding began. It was a reminder of the simple truth that it is always easier to destroy than to build.
In one of his legendary fables, Aesop, the master storyteller, tells of an encounter between an ant and a grasshopper. It was a sunny summer day, and the grasshopper was relaxing and making music. Then the ant came by, carrying a load of food to its nest. “Why not come and chat with me,” said the grasshopper, “instead of working so hard all day?”
Many decades ago, on quiet mornings before school and work, a sleepy young family used to gather in the living room of their modest home to read scriptures, pray, and talk about eternal things. Today the children, now well into middle age, vividly remember how their father would pull out a large, flattened cardboard box on which he had written some inspirational words of the Savior. During those early mornings, from this makeshift poster, the family would read and reflect on such life-changing truths as these:
We all want to feel appreciated—that our efforts are valued, that our contribution makes a difference. Hearing even a simple expression of gratitude can inspire us to do our best.
John James Audubon, a world-famous birdwatcher, naturalist, and painter, is credited with discovering 25 species of birds. He is perhaps best known for his masterful book titled The Birds of America, filled with colorful life-size illustrations of nearly 500 different birds. Almost 200 years later, it is still considered one of the finest picture books ever created.
Life was not meant to be an unending sequence of beautiful days. But beautiful things can happen even on ugly days, and often those beautiful things happen when we find a way to make someone smile.
Sometimes life’s most difficult problems can be solved in the most unexpected ways. In fact, even when a situation seems downright hopeless, a little resourcefulness and ingenuity can lead to surprising solutions.
How many times have we been told to go to sleep early and awake early in the morning? Centuries ago, the American statesman and scientist Benjamin Franklin famously said, “Early to bed and early to rise, makes a man healthy, wealthy, and wise.”1 And he was just echoing the even-older advice of Aristotle: “It is well to be up before day-break, for such a habit contributes to health, wealth and wisdom.”2
We each have a backstory—the experiences, events, and choices that helped shape us into the people we’ve become. One of the best ways to understand a person, even someone we might disagree with, is to learn his or her story. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow put it this way: “If we could read the secret history of our enemies, we should find in each man’s life sorrow and suffering enough to disarm all hostility.”1 Though most of us don’t see each other as enemies, the sentiment is clear. It’s much harder to dislike a person whose story you understand.
At a recent high school graduation, the class valedictorian spoke of the most important thing he had learned in 13 years of public education. Among his many classes and extracurricular activities, one moment in particular stood out. His teacher had just divided the class into groups for a project that they would work on—and be graded on—as teams rather than individually. Sensing the students’ distaste for this approach, the teacher preempted their complaints by explaining, “Get used to working in groups because, in the end, life is a group project.”
Moonlight, with its soft, silver tones and the enchanting mood it casts, has captured our fancy for centuries. It has been the subject of countless poems, songs, serenades, and evening walks. We marvel at how bright a full moon can seem sometimes, even though we know it is merely reflecting the light it receives from the sun. In fact, our full moon, at its very brightest, only reflects about 12 percent of the light that reaches it.
It has been said that when you compare yourself to others, two things can happen—and both are harmful: you may decide you are better than other people, or you may conclude that other people are better than you, which will leave you feeling unsettled, dissatisfied, and discouraged. As one commentator observed: “For some people, the pleasure of having something good is drained as soon as they see someone else with something better.