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Among the resources we each possess; our time is the most precious and perishable. Each day ticking clocks and changing calendars, growing children and aging parents, remind us that life is fragile and fleeting. When we were children, it seemed like an endless processional of days would give us more than enough time to do everything; as adults, we realize that our limited time forces us to make important decisions and to create priorities. Still, too easily and too often we squander our time, forgetting that "time is the stuff of which life is made."1
The tight grip of every newborn’s hand is a tangible reminder of our need for each other. Physicians may call this the “grasp reflect,” but mothers and fathers know it as a baby’s tender clutch – the instinctive ability of a newborn to grab hold of a finger. The implications of this spontaneous grip are far reaching; we are born with the ability, even the need, to hold on to each other. Hand in hand we make our way through infancy and childhood; hand in hand we must make our way through life.
No matter who we are or where we come from, we all react to certain warning signs the same way. We all know to pull over when we hear a siren. None of us would ignore the shout of “Fire!” or a call for help. Likewise, we all know the symbol for poison.
How do we measure beauty? What is its essence, its substance, its reality? From the beginning of time, people have looked at landscapes and paintings and words and declared them “beautiful”; even while philosophers have asserted that beauty is something purely subjective, a quality that exists only in the eye of the beholder. And yet, year after year, people pack their belongings into cars and travel to parks and vistas, canyons and waterfalls, museums, and theaters to stare in wonder, to marvel together. At what? This thing we call beauty.
Were it not for trust, our society simply would not work. For, when we proceed from an assumption of mistrust, we become paralyzed by our doubts, by our cynicism, and suspicions. We end up wondering whom we can trust, in the whom we can confide, by whom we will be cared for.
What is the fascination we have with the coming of each new year? Is it not that we hope things will turn out better? There are so many improvements to wish for, but none so important and long lasting as what we can hope to accomplish in our own homes, families, and neighborhoods.
In Roman mythology, Janus is the god of beginnings, the deity responsible for the new year. As custodian of the universe, he holds sacred the first hour of the day, the first day of the month, and the first month of the year – January – which bears his name. He’s represented with two bearded heads set back-to-back – one looking at the past, the other looking ahead to the future.
Each spring the gray soil is turned over by green shoots of new life springing from what once seemed lifeless and dead. It is the fulfillment of our planning and our hope—an appropriate symbol of a greater promise, a poignant longing of the human spirit. Spring is the hope that, beyond the joy and struggles of this mortal life, there is a life that has been promised us—a life even more abundant, an immortal life of eternal spring to which no winter comes.
If a picture can be worth a thousand words, an example can be worth more than a textbook to a teacher. Every effective teacher knows and uses the power of comparisons, analogies, and examples to explain lessons. In fact, example is the best way to teach some principles, particularly in the vital area of human interaction and relationships. What does it mean to be kind, to be forgiving, to be steadfast, honest, true, to be a good neighbor? These and other lessons of life can best be learned by seeing them in action.
Life is a rhythm of change and permanence. First, change because we measure everything in mortal minutes, and time is constantly changing. Everything about us seems to be in a state of fluctuation.
There is something incomprehensible, unsettling, almost maddening about this earthly existence. Here we are, surrounded by measureless oceans of space and infinite eons of time, while all about us there are signs that this mortal life is only temporary.
“What greater gift does thou bestow... than Christlike friends, whose gentle ways strengthen our faith, enrich our days.”1
The prosperity in today's modern societies is unlike anything the world has seen before, Granted, there is still hunger and need in the world, but by and large in this country and in most modern civilizations luxury and extravagance are the rule, not the exception.
Love is the most quietly creative force in the universe. Babies grow up happily, adults achieve crowning glory, and small impressions are transformed into innovative ideas. Without it, infants turn to the wall and die, adults are broken and diminished, and thoughts are stillborn, never to be transferred to action. Love is a need so basic, in fact, that we spend most of our lives seeking it and finally judge ourselves on how much we think we're loved.
How blessed are they that dwell within the house of the Lord and praise his name forever.
As the hymn suggests, the goodness and love of Christ never fails, but tragic events in our lives are painful still. Sorrow comes to each of us, in one form or another, for one reason or another. Sometimes it is personal and individual. Sometimes, like the explosion of the space shuttle, a whole nation, indeed, a whole world, may grieve together.
Once this was a world where a deal could be closed by a handshake. Integrity meant being as good as your word. If one said the bill would arrive tomorrow, he’d walk if he had to, to deliver it. A promise was made to be kept.
Often, the windows of the world are covered with rain, but the promise of the Creator is that there will be sunny days. And, when they come, we must be ready and willing to take advantage of them.
Ours is the age of freedoms: Freedoms from want and fear, freedom of religion, of social rights, and civil liberties.
We have heard the Choir remind us of our need to seek the perfect peace of Christ; to know His teachings, to embrace eternal principles, to practice the spirit of Christianity.
We are all creatures of our God and King, and this is the right time of year to acknowledge it. It's time to give thanks for the good things of life...to resolve to become more worthy recipients...to examine priorities and objectives...to resolve problems and improve personal circumstances.
Observers may look at the life of Christ and call it a failed mission—a gift given to humanity and left, unwrapped, forgotten under the Christmas tree. His gift was so homely, after all. We like our gifts with glitter and pomp—a promise of easy days, and He gave something far different.
When Thomas Carlyle, the British essayist and philosopher, looked into the heavens, he saw more than stars. He saw hope. "When I gaze into the stars," he wrote, "they look down upon me with pity from their serene and silent spaces....Thousands of generations...have been swallowed up by time, and there remains no sign of them anymore. Yet Arcturus and Orion...are still shining in their courses, clear and young, as when the shepherd first noted them."
There was a time when a man knew his neighbors, when all the people in a village or hamlet were called by their first names; a time when births and deaths, sickness and good fortune were passed from mouth to mouth, house to house, until all reveled in the joy or grieved in the sadness. […]
There may be more peace and tranquility in the world than history or headlines would lead us to believe. Whenever a volcano erupts or a storm blows or an earthquake shake, we stand in awe and fear at the destructive power, force, or energy that descends quietly upon us with every rising sun. The life-giving […]
Historians have long debated whether great men and women create great times or are the product of the times in which they live. Perhaps all of us have asked ourselves, "Do we shape the world we live in or are we shaped by it?"
If there is one crowning achievement in the collective history of mankind—one overshadowing accomplishment from among the aggregate of human discoveries and advances, it is perhaps man's ability to read. Through that seemingly simple act, one can exchange thoughts and feelings, or transmit experience and learning from one generation to another.
The reporters said Spencer W. Kimball, President of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, died, but we know he lives. Literally, as a part of God's eternal plan, his life's eternal. But his influence still lives among we who are earthbound.
In 1775, during the Second Revolutionary Convention in Virginia, a Virginia farmer rose to tell his countrymen, "I know not what course others may take, but as for me, give me liberty or give me death."1
"Share all of life's joy and be rarely alone, for exile is empty, a harp without tone."1 These words by John Colman remind us that we are at our best and happiest when we are with someone else, particularly those we love.