Spoken Word Messages - Page 58

George Bernard Shaw reportedly said that life is a series of smiles, sniffles and sobs: with the sniffles predominating. Surely none of us will escape the sobs that are part of this life, and hopefully we will enjoy our share of smiles. But what of the sniffles—the gray and humdrum outlook that can dampen our spirits and darken our days—are the sniffles an inescapable part of our existence? They need not be, because it is not our outward condition but the inward set of our minds that determines our world.

The clamor and confusion of the 1980 presidential campaign are now over. And this week, the 4Oth President of the United States will be installed in the highest elective office in this country. In so doing, Ronald Reagan fulfills the divinely inspired requirements of the Constitution, that the executive power of these United States shall […]

Change is as inevitable as the turning of the calendar. And with the New Year comes the new self. As surely as the tides roll upon the shore. . . as surely as the seasons redecorate the landscape, we will change.

To be considered important, of value, and wanted is one of the basic needs of the human soul. Yet, we're so often just a part of the crowd. At a football stadium we join thousands of indistinguishable faces, we hurry down city streets where no one recognizes us, we receive letters addressed to "occupant." It can make us wonder if our life has any distinct meaning to others. In fact, many experts think that many of our social problems stem from this human need gone astray, people searching for a way to say, "I'm important, I count for something, notice me."

Of the four seasons, winter is perhaps the least eulogized. Poets and artists alike have extolled the hope of spring, the vibrancy of summer, and the abundance of fall while depreciating the bleakness and stillness of winter. Indeed, nature herself appears lifeless during this barren season of the year.

As dusk turned to darkness on that silent night long ago, the inns of the day were overcrowded. The small towns teemed with travelers and animals, and people plodded down the dusty roads through Bethlehem. For most of them this day and night would be no cause for celebration. In days to come, if they remembered at all, they would note with distaste that they were forced to travel here to pay their taxes to their Roman overlords. Worldly cares hung heavily upon this people as the quiet night came on.

We have entered one of the most loved seasons of the year—a time when we openly encourage each other to extend ourselves in a spirit of brotherhood—and yet, the world seems filled with tension and increasing stress. There is much hardship and distrust on the earth.

The definition of the word success varies from individual to individual, from culture to culture. For some people, it has to do with the acquisition of wealth. For others, success involves professional titles or social status. And still others define success in terms of the amount of time available for recreation or leisure.

One of the problems with verbal language is its inability to adequately express abstract thoughts or feelings. Take, for instance, the oft-spoken phrase, “I love you.” Three syllables, three short sounds, uttered daily wherever English is spoken; and yet, this simple phrase can represent a wide variety of feelings or thoughts.

Someone once said there are two kinds of people: those who divide the world into two kinds of people, and those who don't. This may or may not be true, but it does seem that there are two kinds of most everything.

In the Bible, praise is given not to the strong man who "taketh a city," but to the stronger man who "ruleth his own spirit."1  The stronger man; it is he who exercises constant control over his thoughts, his speech, and his actions. We call it "self-discipline."

We have heard the Choir sing, "I waited for the Lord."1 Is there anything harder than waiting? We find it difficult enough to wait for a late companion, a late meal or a doctor's appointment. But to wait for the Lord, to wait for that special blessing we're sure we deserve, to wait for comfort in our grieving moments, to wait for relief when our whole heart cries out in the urgency of its need, those are times when patience is a virtue almost beyond reach.

One of the distinguishing features of our way of life is the increasing number of people who are involved in sports or athletic competition. Most young people now participate in some form of organized sports program. And, of course, spectator sports have become a major focus for the use of leisure time in many of our lives.

The Savior said: "Suffer little children, and forbid them not, to come unto me: for such is the kingdom of heaven."1

There is within us all a heavenly homesickness. Whether we describe it as hearing the harps eternal, or with some other metaphor, it is a feeling deeply sensed that we are more than mortal; that there is spiritual as well as earthly matter in us and in the world around.

Critics call our modern world a "me society" in which everyone is trying desperately to please himself. We are taught to see people only in terms of what they can do for us. We look at life in terms of "making it." The unsaid question that lurks behind every activity in this type of society is, "Does this enhance me?" In fact, we've come honestly to believe that if we try hard enough, and long enough and ambitiously enough to please ourselves—we finally will.

One of the great lessons of life is that all areas of endeavor have their fundamentals, their basic principles which stand as the foundation for knowledge and action. In science, we must turn repeatedly to the basic laws of physics and chemistry. In education, there are the rudiments of language and reasoning which must precede all other learning. The free enterprise system operates upon the basic axiom of supply and demand.

Autumn is a season of pure poetry with its brilliant colors and bountiful harvests. It is the fullness of all seasons—triumphantly grown old, rich and fulfilled. It penetrates the inner universe of the soul as we witness its message of mortality . . . as we see the falling red and yellow-gold leaves. . . the trees increasingly bare. . . as we become aware of the fading warble of birds and the absent chirp of crickets.

We do need the Lord every hour, but one of our challenges is to know in what way.

One of the themes running through Shakespeare's work is the conflict of appearance and reality. He was the first to tell us that "All that glitters is not gold,"1 and he also reminded us that "Every cloud engenders not a storm."2 In trying to tell us that things are not always as they seem, the bard said, "Things sweet to taste prove in digestion sour."3

With Autumn approaching in this Northern Hemisphere, the tradition of "back to school" is . renewed for most of this nation's school students. Literally millions of youngsters once again enter an educational system which has become a model of excellence and the envy of the world. No other nation, past or present, has educated its masses to the extent that this one has.

Life is a high-risk endeavor. The stakes are enormous. Utter happiness or total heartbreak often depend on a mere difference in a step, a turn of the head, an off-hand decision. Misery may suddenly break upon our heads out of nowhere. Oh, we may put on shows of confidence for one another, occasional acts of bravado, but it is only the untruthful who never admit to fear. The rest of us are always somewhere between total security and fearful anxiety.

The age of technology in which we live has helped mankind in the pursuit of social and economic progress. Advances in the fields of electronics, medicine and industrial mechanization have made our lives easier as well as healthier and more stimulating.

Albert Schweitzer once told a graduating class, "I do not know where all of you are going or what you will do but let me tell you simply this; unless you set aside some portion of your lives to help and serve those less fortunate than yourselves, you will really not be happy."1

Devotion is certainly one of the noblest words in the English language. Lincoln used it to describe the ultimate dedication of those who fell at Gettysburg when he said. ". . . from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion."1

We are constantly reminded of the barriers that divide us. The speeches we make from our soapboxes are not alike; the flags we wave may be mismatched. For the least excuse we may busy ourselves drawing boundaries, sketching lines that divide nation from nation and neighbor from neighbor. We mark class distinctions, make walls, and learn to stare at others whose skin or speech or manner is different than our own. Yes, all of us are the true inheritors of a world that boasts the Great Wall of China, the Iron Curtain, the "white lines" on buses, the Jewish ghettos once designed to separate the fit from the so-called "unfit." We hear about the .'beautiful people" and know even as we read that there is a gulf between them and the rest of us not-so-beautiful people.

Prayer has been a reoccurring theme on this program. We've commented about the continual need for prayer, about the strength and confidence it brings into our lives. We know that prayer is used not only in healing the sick, but in maintaining good health. When patients under stress begin to practice regular prayer, their blood pressure drops, digestion improves, tensions dissolve.

There is hardly a community or town from Plymouth Rock to the Western Seaboard which does not owe its existence to pioneers—to brave men and women who cleared the land, drained the swamps, who challenged discouragement and sickness in order to push the frontiers of civilization westward.

Sadness and melancholy are feelings we would generally avoid if we could, but of course we cannot. Joy and sorrow are mixed and stirred together to make up the substance of our lives. The Roman poet Ovid knew that when he wrote, "No pleasure is unalloyed: Some trouble ever intrudes upon our happiness."1

One of the great themes of literature has always been life's impermanence. Poets and playwrights have looked at the human condition and marveled that everything has its little moment and then passes away almost beyond memory. Even the poet who wrote, "Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,"1 was saying in his own way that the fresh flower of today will be withered tomorrow and dust eventually. And Shakespeare who was quite taken with impermanence noted, "Imperious Caesar, dead and turn'd to clay.  Might stop a hole to keep the wind away."2