Spoken Word Messages - Page 3

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It has been said that if we fail to plan, we plan to fail.  We all want to be ready for future storms and difficulties in life, but we can’t always predict what’s coming and what we need to do to prepare. Sometimes it feels as if we’re playing chess, doing our best to think two or three moves ahead. 

Books have been a centerpiece of civilization for centuries. And nowhere is the precious legacy of books more apparent than here at Trinity College in Dublin, Ireland, home to one of the most impressive libraries in the world. Especially remarkable is a room called “the Long Room”—a two-story chamber more than 65 meters long filled with over 200,000 of Trinity’s most ancient books. Among them is the Book of Kells, a revered illustrated manuscript of the four Gospels of the New Testament, created by monks more than 1,200 years ago.

When you hear the word history, what comes to mind? Many of us have memories of a high school history class, where we had to memorize dates, names, and places. Because of such experiences, we might think of history as kings and presidents, wars and treaties, maps, and timelines. But history is so much more than that.

Most of the world’s best work is done by teams. Whether at school, in the office, on the stage, or on the ballfield, the most effective teams deliver the best performances. Learning how to succeed means learning how to work together. And life provides so many great opportunities.

Many years ago, a man resolved to write in his journal at the end of each day. It’s a resolution many people make, but his journal entries were different. They weren’t just a log of what happened that day. Before he wrote, he pondered this question: “Have I seen the hand of God reaching out to touch us or our children or our family today?” As he made it a habit to reflect on that question, he began to see evidence of God’s loving intervention that he hadn’t noticed before. It was as if simply asking the question “allowed God to show [him] what He had done.”[1] Somewhat unexpectedly, the more he recorded God’s goodness, the more he became aware of it.

Here in this cottage in the Scottish lowlands during the late 1700s, the poet Robert Burns was born and lived his early life. The Burns family were tenant farmers. Here they worked the land, ate their meals together, and gathered by the hearth at night to read. In their village of Alloway, Scotland, about 60 kilometers or so south of Glasgow, young Robert’s poetic imagination was kindled. From this humble beginning, Burns rose to fame and left an enduring legacy as the national poet of Scotland.

In Ireland, the land of my ancestors, Christmas traditions have given the holidays a profound sense of meaning and purpose. They help families welcome the Christ Child into their lives—both on Christmas Day and throughout the year. For the generations before me, that meant cleaning the barn, whitewashing the cottage, scrubbing floors, ironing linens, and cooking a special meal for family coming home. As the Irish love to say, “Níl Aon Tinteán Mar Do Thinteán Féin”— “There’s no hearth like your own hearth,” or, in other words, there’s no place like home. And that’s especially true at Christmas. Today, while our family lives far from the Emerald Isle, we still get ready for Christmas in some of the traditional ways. But our most important preparation has to do with our hearts—with remembering others, reconciling differences, and returning kindnesses. Even the old Irish custom of a Christmas morning dip in the icy sea was an invitation to wash away the old and begin anew—to welcome the Christ Child into hearts made clean and pure for Him.

Many years ago, I was filming in Seattle. One evening after shooting, I turned to the writings of the Apostle Paul in the New Testament.

Here inside the Charles Dickens House in London, England, sits a desk that once belonged to the great novelist. It was here that Charles Dickens wrote many of the works that are now considered classics of English literature.

As Christmastime approached, a young boy carefully counts a handful of coins and bills. This is money he has earned by doing odd jobs around the house and around the neighborhood. It is also his Christmas-giving fund. As much as he enjoys receiving gifts for Christmas, he loves giving them even more. His fund isn’t particularly large, but his heart is. And soon he will take that money and roam through a store looking for the perfect gift for each person on his list. In some cases, he’ll find that nothing in the store is quite right, so he will hand-make a gift that properly represents the love in his heart.

It’s been said that “getting there is half the fun.” That’s true of vacations and road trips, and it’s even more true of Christmas. It’s as if Christmas is so full of joy and cheer that one day simply isn’t big enough to hold all of it. Almost unavoidably, the bright lights, the colorful decorations, and the spirit of sharing spill over into the weeks preceding December 25th.

Even during difficult times, perhaps especially during difficult times, we need the blessing of gratitude. Consider this invitation from President Russell M. Nelson: “Our first noble deed of the morning should be a humble prayer of gratitude.”[1]

On the western bank of the Hudson River, 40 miles north of New York City, stands the United States Military Academy at West Point. For over 200 years, this well-known institution has emphasized the values behind a simple and inspiring motto: “Duty, Honor, Country.” 

The word strive means something slightly different from the word try. To strive suggests purposeful effort. To try, on the other hand, connotes something a little less certain. You try something when you’re still exploring whether success is possible or even desirable. If it doesn’t work out, well, at least you tried. But when you strive, you keep going, no matter what. In the effort to overcome our weaknesses and change for the better, we don’t just try; we strive.

With good reason, we often admire people who are persistent, resilient—those who face hardship but simply refuse to quit. We stand in awe of their grit and self-confidence, and we say to ourselves, “If only I had that kind of willpower.”

Many years ago, a family experienced a little annoyance (like the kind we all face)—they had a leaky pipe in the bathroom ceiling. Drip, drip, drip, until a plumber was called, and the leak repaired. To access the broken pipe, the plumber had to cut a hole in the ceiling. As he finished his work, he instructed the family to wait several days for everything to dry before patching the hole.

I’m standing in front of a home called “The Kilns,” located in Headington just outside of Oxford, England. The home got its name from the fact that it was built on a brickworks site long ago. It’s a lovely house surrounded by beautiful gardens, but it would be unremarkable except for the fact that the beloved writer and Oxford University professor C. S. Lewis lived here for more than 30 years until his death in 1963. He wrote his most notable books here, including The Chronicles of Narnia, The Screwtape Letters, and Mere Christianity to name a few.

Over the past year, a loving niece has regularly called her widowed, 94-year-old Aunt Helen. They smile, laugh, even shed a few tears together as Aunt Helen recounts her life while her niece records the conversation for posterity. Over the course of these visits, the niece has been struck by how clearly Aunt Helen remembers people and experiences from so many years ago. In particular, she seems to remember best those who were kind to her. Of course, she also remembers some hard times, but in recalling her life, she talks most vividly about moments of joy and acts of kindness.

A university student recently had a life-changing insight. But unlike most things he was learning as a student, this insight didn’t come from a lecture or a textbook. In fact, it was sparked when he forgot something from his textbook.

A family recently went on vacation together. The hope was to create lasting memories and opportunities for family bonding. But, as with most family vacations, those high hopes were soon tempered by reality. There were good times, but there were also unexpected delays, noisy crowds, and hidden expenses that disrupted the family’s carefully laid plans. Not surprisingly, this led to some frayed nerves, miscommunication, and discord among family members. At times, it was tempting to wonder whether the vacation was even worthwhile.

Here in Northern Ireland, the countryside is famously green and fertile, nourished by beautiful rivers and lakes. But sometimes when a coastal fog settles in, even locals lose sight of familiar landmarks. At such times, we are reminded that faith is believing in things we cannot see.[i]

Some days, reading the news feels like reading those prophecies in the Bible about the end of the world. “Perilous times,” the Apostle Paul called them[1]—when peace would be taken from the earth,[2] when the heavens and earth would shake,[3] and when hearts would fail with fear.[4] Even if it’s not quite the end of the world, feelings of fear and anxiety plague us. What’s worse, too often these feelings come to the surface in the form of anger and hostility toward others. All of this stress is having a profound effect on the health and well-being of so many of us.

Some believe that the greatest goal in life is to avoid work. It might sound appealing, but sooner or later, experience teaches us that leisure is not the same thing as happiness. Honest labor is an essential part of a healthy, happy life. Even when work is not a financial necessity, it is a spiritual necessity.[1]

Over a decade ago, some friends got together to make music. They called it “an experiment in a new way to produce music visually.”[1] It started out small but has now grown in unexpected ways as these friends have performed all over the world together, and their YouTube videos have over two billion views and millions of subscribers. These friends are known as the Piano Guys, and their music, also in unexpected ways, mixes modern and classical music in what could be described as a beautiful conversation between a piano and a cello.

In today’s world, we are surrounded by noise. Some of it is welcome—noise we have chosen. And we have so many media tools, we could fill every second of the day with sounds. But life is also full of unwelcome noise, and all the commotion leaves so many feeling stressed, anxious, and unsettled. We struggle to find a moment of silence. And even when we do, often the internal sound of our thoughts and worries presses upon us, disrupting our lives and making us uneasy.

If you’ve ever been to a talent show, you may have noticed that certain talents are easier to notice—and easier to “show”—than others. The talents that get the most applause tend to be talents in music, dance, or visual arts. Those who are skilled in sports and academics are also well recognized. If we lack such wonderful abilities, we may conclude that we simply are not talented.

When we look at other living things, we expect that they will grow and change over time. No one assumes that a seedling will stay small and fragile—we know that it is destined to grow into a strong and mighty tree. When we see a calf or a cub, we also see its potential to become a full-grown animal.

Wales is known as the land of song, and the roots of The Tabernacle Choir at Temple Square run deep here in this beautiful place. In 1849, a talented musician named John Parry, who had emigrated from Wales to the Salt Lake Valley in the American West, organized a group of 85 fellow Welsh singers to perform at a church service. That choir formed the foundation of today’s Tabernacle Choir, and John Parry was its first conductor.

Most of us want to love our neighbor. And yet, for some reason, it often seems easier to do that when the “neighbor” lives far away, perhaps in another country. But what of the neighbors who live close by, even in our own household? In many cases, that’s where our love is needed the most—and where it can do the most good.

Today, we begin our 94th year of continuous weekly broadcasting with an observation about the way each of those weekly broadcasts ends. For nearly all its history, Music & the Spoken Word has concluded with a signature theme, performed by the organist. The tune was written by Joseph J. Daynes, a tabernacle organist who began playing for the Choir when he was just 16 years old and accompanied the Choir for 33 years in the late 1800s.