The Faith of an Engineer

Believe. What a powerful word, especially at this time of year when we turn our hearts to the Savior of the World in celebration of the advent of his miraculous life. We sing Noel and Hallelujah in praise of Him whose birth we remember. We eat candy canes and remember the Good Shepherd's purity and the bloody stripes He endured for us. We put a star upon evergreen trees and remember the immortal and eternal light that points us to our heavenly home. We give and receive presents and open up our hearts, seeking to emulate the charity that He so abundantly possessed and shared through every word and deed. My purpose here is not to enumerate and explain all of the symbolic Christmas representations of Christ and of our love and devotion to Him. Rather, my hope is to take a few minutes to explain my faith and belief in Him and in His gospel.

Dr. Henry Eyring was one of the leading scientists of the 20th Century in the field of chemistry. His work with the transition state of chemical reactions led him to some of the most important developments of 20th century chemistry. I will not profess to understand the smallest portion of his findings… in fact, I received my lowest grade for an engineering core class in Chem105 at BYU. So anyone who can actually understand that gibberish already earns my respect. Dr. Eyring earned a great deal of respect from other, more notable sources. It is felt that, if the Royal Swedish Academy of Sciences had fully understood his theory at the time, he would have certainly been the recipient of a Nobel Prize.

There are some who feel that Dr. Eyring was not given that honor because of his religion. Now, these claims are unsubstantiated and may not have any truth, but Dr. Eyring’s faith was integrally tied to his scientific understanding. On many occasions, both private and in national public settings, Dr. Eyring sought to share how his faith and his scientific knowledge together led him to a greater understanding of the world around him. Whenever he found conflicts between the two, he sought to reconcile these through a careful study of science and a careful study of the scriptures.
Dr. Eyring stated, "Is there any conflict between science and religion? There is no conflict in the mind of God, but often there is conflict in the minds of men."

When I studied the New Testament at BYU with Stephen Robinson, my favorite quote from the professor concerned this very subject. After sharing one of Christ’s miracles that showed His power over the elements and over time itself, Steven Robinson said, “Whenever two people are arguing over science and religion, more than one of them is an idiot!”

Now, Dr. Eyring did not seek to prove the creation or the existence of God. He did not attempt to prove his faith to anyone on a scholarly level. He did, however, write a book that showed some of the scientific parallels and conclusions that helped support his belief in God and helped to show how his scientific and religious beliefs could coincide and lead him to greater light and knowledge than either could have alone. His book was titled, The Faith of a Scientist. I’ve only read portions of this book, but I’ve always been inspired by the book’s title. I’ve often thought about my own faith and how my academic studies have either supported or led me to question my faith. As an engineer, I have learned a fair amount about technology that is built upon fundamental laws of nature and science. Currently, I am more of a programmer than an engineer, but since my diploma identifies me as an engineer, I will claim that title here. And as I attempt to explain my faith in Christ this Christ-mas, I will borrow from Dr. Eyring and entitle my thoughts “The Faith of an Engineer”, albeit an engineer who has a great deal of room to add to his modest knowledge of the scientific world and of religious truths.
In the Book of Mormon, we read the words of Alma, a prophet who was contending with a philosopher and an Anti-Christ named Korihor, who contended that there is no God and demanded proof of the Creator of all. Alma patiently questioned the man and, after being asked to provide a sign, Alma proclaimed, “Thou hast had signs enough; will ye tempt your God? Will ye say, Show unto me a sign, when ye have the testimony of all these thy brethren, and also all the holy prophets? The scriptures are laid before thee, yea, and all things denote there is a God; yea, even the earth, and all things that are upon the face of it, yea, and its motion, yea, and also all the planets which move in their regular form do witness that there is a Supreme Creator.”
This blunt proclamation sums up my faith as an engineer better than any other that I could compose myself. In my years of spiritual and secular study, I have found countless accounts testifying of a divine Creator, I have discovered his fingerprints all over the beautiful canvas of His creation, and I can see His intricately ordered patterns throughout nature and the cosmos.
In high school Physics, I watched a documentary that took us on a journey away from Earth to the outer reaches of our universe, or at least as far as we then understood our galaxy to extend. A narrator accompanied us on our expedition, and we learned about solar systems, black holes, gravitational pulls, solar flares, orbits, and more. On the return trip, we overshot our landing in a park and zoomed in on the right hand of a picnicker. As we zoomed past hair follicles, skin cells, blood vessels, atoms, ions, and quarks, the narrator explained what we were seeing as he had in our extraterrestrial voyage. When we finally returned to our proper frame and size, I was left reeling with a sense of nothingness in the vastness of cosmic creation but also a sense of wonder at the detail and order that went into the construction of one simple form of life in the immenseness of the universe. Even after this incredible journey of discovery, I had little desire to become a molecular biologist or an astrophysicist. But I still remember to this day the strong sense of conviction that settled over me that there must be a Creator who set this all in motion, and I’ve been looking for his fingerprints in my scientific studies ever since.

There are those who claim that life began in a swampy pool or that miniscule particles, accelerating at incredible speeds, collided and released such massive quantities of energy that life, the universe, and everything was officially able to begin. I dare not throw in my hat with Dr. Eyring and hold a scholarly discussion with any man on such topics. After all, for good reason, I am an engineer and not a scientist. But when I think about one of these theories, the Big Bang Theory, I focus on the term “Bang”. When I think of an explosion, I envision chaos, disorder, and destruction. Again, I don’t dare to defend or attack these theories, but I do know that life, as I understand it, is all about patterns and structure, order, and construction which are the antonyms of those ideas that come to mind with the word “Bang”. However it was accomplished, the faith of this engineer is that there is a glorious plan behind creation and that there was indeed some Creator involved in setting everything in motion.

I can best summarize my feelings in this matter by borrowing from Spencer W. Kimball’s powerful dissertation on Absolute Truth. He asserted:

“The watchmaker in Switzerland, with materials at hand, made the watch that was found in the sand in a California desert. The people who found the watch had never been to Switzerland, nor seen the watchmaker, nor seen the watch made. The watchmaker still existed, no matter the extent of their ignorance or experience. If the watch had a tongue, it might even lie and say, ‘There is no watchmaker.’ That would not alter the truth.“If men are really humble, they will realize that they discover, but do not create, truth. The Gods organized the earth of materials at hand, over which they had control and power. This truth is absolute. A million educated folk might speculate and determine in their minds that the earth came into being by chance. The truth remains. The earth was made by the Gods as was the watch by the watchmaker. Opinions do not change that."

I can appreciate what President Kimball means when he says that men do not create truth but in fact discover it. My entire education can well be described as one discovery after another. I’m not talking about the kind of discovery where the scientist with the stringy, disheveled hair, the long white lab coat, and the thick German accent cries out “Eureka!” My second-hand (or one-millionth-hand) discoveries were all of a nature where I was able to finally understand how something works when I had, beforehand, had to accept that principal or theory on faith. Let me provide an example.

In junior high Algebra, I learned a formula called the Quadratic Equation. My teacher taught us to remember this by singing the following to the tune of Pop Goes the Weasel:

x is equal to negative b
plus or minus the square root
of b squared minus 4ac
ALL over 2a

As I worked on those first homework assignments, I wasn’t sure why we were using this equation, where it came from, what a root was, or why eating Alpha-Bits cereal for breakfast didn’t give me Mighty Math Powers on Algebra test day. I did, however, get my homework answers to match those in the back of the textbook, and I did struggle to get that horribly catchy tune out of my head once we moved on to the next unit.

It wasn’t until years later, when I was working as an engineer and volunteering as a MathCounts coach at a local junior high, that I truly discovered the Quadratic Equation. I was helping one student on a problem that could easily be solved by completing the square, a mathematical trick I won’t endeavor to explain here. As we worked through the problem, a light bulb went on in my little brain, and I hypothesized that the Quadratic Equation was originally discovered through a similar process. As I drove home that afternoon, I drew variables and equations with my finger on my steering wheel and got from ax2+bx+c=0 to the infamous weasel-popping formula learned by Algebra students everywhere.

As a junior high student, I wasn’t equipped or prepared to understand all of the who’s, what’s, why’s, and how’s surrounding this mathematical construct. It was enough for me to learn when and how to use the formula. I didn’t need to recreate the formula from scratch and prove its validity. I trusted in McGraw-Hill, the textbook publisher, and the mathematician authors, and simply didn’t question the truthfulness or accuracy of the equation. Even when I rediscovered the formula years later, it wasn’t doubt in the accuracy of the formula that led me to finally prove the widely-used equation.
When I took Math 113 in college, Calculus 2, my professor had an interesting approach to teaching Calculus. At 8AM, as a college student, I had to drag myself out of bed and tape my eyelids open so as to survive the brutal hour of instruction that was to come. I collapsed into my seat in the lecture hall, pulled out my notepad and began to busily copy down those numbers, variables, and formulas that the professor was feverishly scrawling across the blackboard. He didn’t talk much. He mostly wrote. Throughout the lecture, if I tried to follow along in the book, I would hopelessly fall behind and miss some important step of the derivation being unveiled before us. So I learned to simply copy down what he wrote with the hopes of deciphering my notes later with the help of the Rosetta Stone. With a minute or two left before the end of the period, the professor’s progression of mathematical scribbles would inevitably arrive at an equation that I would recognize, one from the textbook, usually “Formula 1A”. In frustration, I would realize that the professor had spent 55 minutes deriving or proving the validity of the first formula we would be using in our homework assignment. In that entire lecture, I had not learned the purpose of the formula, how it was to be used, why the topic was pertinent to the section we were studying, or how these formulas might be applied in real-world applications. In disgust, I would close my notes and book and head to the library to read the textbook and begin to answer these questions. Over the course of that course, I had to teach myself Calculus. And when the semester ended, I was never more proud of an A in my whole life!

During this Calculus course, as with junior high Algebra, I was less concerned with the origin of formulas and equations as I was with the use of them. I found that through the using of mathematical formulas and principles, my faith and trust in them grew to a point where they were of value to me in my life, even when I knew not from where they had come.

As an engineer, I am less concerned about understanding exact principles of science than understanding how to manipulate and employ them for practical application. Scientists and engineers might butt heads over who is the smarter of the two. I’ll happily cede this distinction to the scientists. But I am happy to be numbered among the engineers who have helped to harness electric and magnetic fields to produce computers, mobile devices, cellular communications, and most of the modern technological devices that top Christmas lists for Santa each year.

Alma, the Book of Mormon prophet who defended his belief in a Creator to the Anti-Christ Korihor, gave a powerful sermon on faith. He used a seed as a metaphor for faith, claiming that faith begins simply as a desire to believe. Alma said,

“Now, we will compare the word unto a seed. Now, if ye give place, that a seed may be planted in your heart, behold, if it be a true seed, or a good seed, if ye do not cast it out by your unbelief, that ye will resist the Spirit of the Lord, behold, it will begin to swell within your breasts; and when you feel these swelling motions, ye will begin to say within yourselves—It must needs be that this is a good seed, or that the word is good, for it beginneth to enlarge my soul; yea, it beginneth to enlighten my understanding, yea, it beginneth to be delicious to me.”

There is truth out there. As an engineer, every project I worked on was a series of experiments and failures, tests and trials, and endless sessions of debugging and refining. My goal was to get something to work. I could take all the time in the world to study the principles and theories and to speculate on whether they would work as expected. But an engineering design remains a design unless tested, implemented, and refined. Sometimes, for me, the planting of a seed was a big risk. And sometimes it was not a good seed and did not sprout. But I would never know until I actually planted the seed. The faith of this engineer is that I must experiment upon the word. And I have learned to recognize a good seed, because a good SEED is one that will always Swell, Enlargen, and Enlighten, and one that is truly Delicious.

There is a well-known expression that says that “Seeing is Believing.” The well-known counter to this claims that “Believing is Seeing.” I know many people whose belief shrinks as their vision expands. I think that Korihor would have found some logical explanation for any sign from the Creator he could have been shown in answer to his demand of Alma. Where I see signs around me daily that point toward a Supreme Creator in whom I entrust my faith, those Korihor’s of the world will only find ammunition that justifies their lack of faith. That is why I believe that Believing truly is Seeing. We must first have that desire to believe, and then we must act according to that desire.
Now I’ve deviated quite far from the Christmas theme of belief where I began. As a family, we have a Christmas Eve tradition of curling up on the couch in pajamas left by Mrs. Claus to watch a Christmas movie as we indulge in fudge, caramels, cookies, hot chocolate, wassail, and any other sugary treat we can get our hands on. This year, our movie was the Polar Express. This animated Christmas feature has surpassed Home Alone, A Christmas Story, and several others to be my all-time favorite. Every year I look forward to watching it.
The central theme to this story is one of belief in something that isn’t always seen. Now, as an engineer, I’ll not attempt to defend Santa Claus and the supposed 108 million homes he’s to visit in the 31 hours of Christmas that Santa has to work with thanks to time zones and the rotation of the earth. In fact, if I fall on board with most mainstream engineers, we would be talking about a sleigh capable of moving the required 650 miles per second (3,000 times the speed of sound) and, for comparison, the Ulysses space probe that clocks in at a relative snail’s pace of 27.4 miles per second. We’d be running tests on the land speed of arctic reindeer. We might be discussing the 500 thousand ton payload (assuming a 2 pound per child weight allotment) and the relative impact on air resistance, centrifugal forces, and energy absorption and the likelihood of sonic booms. The inevitable conclusion is that all of these factors would combine to create four million pounds of force pinning Mr. Kringle to the back of the sleigh and effectively reducing him to a quivering blob of pink goo. Therefore, most engineers would sadly concede that, if Santa did exist, he’s dead now.

But, as I watch the Polar Express each year, the logic of such calculated arguments falls on deaf ears as I join Hero Boy (as he is named in the credits) on a locomotive ride designed to restore my faith in those things that are not logical, in those truths that are not plainly seen, and in those hopes that I keep safely locked away deep in my heart.

The story begins with Hero Boy lying awake in his bed. “On Christmas Eve, many years ago, I lay quietly in my bed. I did not rustle the sheets. I breathed slowly and silently. I was listening for a sound I was afraid I'd never hear. The ringing bells of Santa's sleigh.”

As he lies there, he hears his father returning his distraught sister to her bed.

Sarah: “He said Santa would have to fly faster than light to get to every house in one night. And to hold everyone's presents his sled would be bigger than an ocean liner.”
Father: “Your brother said that? He was just kidding you. He knows there's a Santa.”
Sarah: “He said he wasn't sure. He wasn't sure if Santa was for real.”
Father: “Of course Santa is real. He's as real as Christmas itself.”

When the house is quiet once more, the boy reaches for his encyclopedia and adds to his doubts by browsing the entries on reindeer and the North Pole. Suddenly the house begins to shake as if in an earthquake and an unbelievable train thunders to a stop outside on the snow-covered street. The train’s conductor steps down from a boxcar and hollers out:

Conductor: “All aboard! All aboard! Well? You coming?”
Boy: “Where?”
Conductor: “Why, to the North Pole, of course! This is the Polar Express.”
Boy: “The North Pole?”
Conductor: “Is this you?”
Boy: “Yeah.”
Conductor: “Well, it says here… no photo with a department-store Santa this year… no letter to Santa… and you made your sister put out the milk and cookies… Sounds to me like this is your crucial year. If I were you, I would think about climbing onboard.”

After boarding the train, making some new friends, enjoying some hot chocolate, and venturing out onto the top of one of the boxcars, Hero Boy runs into a mysterious drifter who is looking for a free ride on the roof of the train. The drifter asks him:

Drifter: “What exactly is your persuasion on the big man? Since you brought him up.”
Boy: “Well, I... I want to believe. But...”
Drifter: “But you don't wanna be bamboozled. You don't wanna be led down the primrose path. You don't wanna be conned or duped… have the wool pulled over your eyes… Hoodwinked. You don't wanna be taken for a ride… railroaded… Seeing is believing. Am I right?”

I don’t care who you are or what your personal belief system is. There is a little bit of this Hero Boy inside each and every one of us, and we resist the idea of blindly believing in something that we do not understand or something that we can’t see. Later on, the conductor is relating an experience that sparks a desire to believe within the Hero Boy’s heart and he struggles once more with the logic and doubts that have chased away his childlike Christmas faith. The conductor explains, “Years ago, on my first Christmas Eve run, I was up on the roof making my rounds when I slipped on the ice myself. I reached out for a hand iron, but it broke off. I slid and fell. And yet, I did not fall off this train.”

Remembering the ghost-like bum he had encountered earlier, the Hero Boy anxiously inquires,

Boy: “Someone saved you?”
Conductor: “Or something.”
Boy: “An angel?”
Conductor: “Maybe.”
Boy: “Wait, wait! What did he look like? Did you see him?”
Conductor: “No, sir. But sometimes seeing is believing. And sometimes the most real things in the world are the things we can't see.”

Even after arriving at the North Pole and seeing toy workshops, elves, and reindeer, the Hero Boy is still striving to chase away lingering fears and doubt. Unlike his friends, he is unable to hear the sleigh bells echoing around the main square where the reindeer are being harnessed. His friend asks, “Aren’t those bells the most beautiful sound?” The crowd of children and elves erupts as Santa apparently enters the square. But the boy still can’t see him and still can’t bring himself to believe.

Friend: “He's here! He's here!”
Boy: “Where?”
Friend: “I see him. He's over there.”
Boy: “I can't see him. I can't see him. I can't see him!”
Voice inside his head: “Doubter. Doubter!”

In the excitement and the energetic prancing of the reindeer, one solitary sleigh bell breaks off the harness and lands at the feet of the boy. All other noise is tuned out and the boy focuses solely on the bell. He shakes it and still can’t hear the magical sound. Finally, he realizes that his faith must precede the confirmation he has so desperately been seeking. As the Book of Mormon prophet Mormon wrote, “Faith is things which are hoped for and not seen; wherefore, dispute not because ye see not, for ye receive no witness until after the trial of your faith.” The boy now understood this truth and finally let his doubts and fears go.

“Okay, okay. I believe… I believe.” He then shakes the bell one more time. This time, however, the magical, crystal clear ring reverberates loudly in his ears.

“What was that you said?” He looks up to see the magical man he had stubbornly doubted and yet fervently hoped for so strongly all night.

“I... I believe. I believe." The conviction grows in his voice as his faith begins to swell and enlargen. He feels enlightened. There, standing before him, is the reward for his trial of faith, an undeniable witness of the reality of Santa Claus. How satisfyingly delicious that reward must have been.
“I... I believe that this is yours.” He returns the bell to Santa but is in turn granted an opportunity to sit upon Saint Nicholas’ lap to ask for the first gift of Christmas. The boy doesn’t have to think hard and whispers his request into Santa’s ear. The kind man places the bell into the boy’s outstretched hand and then says, “This bell is a wonderful symbol of the spirit of Christmas... as am I. Just remember, the true spirit of Christmas lies in your heart. Merry Christmas.”

But the story is not finished. As the children board the train for the return trip, one shy little boy asks, “Could all...? Could all this be nothing but a dream?”

The hero boy resolutely declares, “No!”
The next morning, on Christmas morning, he shows the bell to his little sister. The parents, who have long since grown out of their childlike belief in Santa think the bell is broken. And in epilogue, the boy, who has now grown into a man but still maintains the Christmas faith of his childhood, exclaims, “At one time, most of my friends could hear the bell. But as years passed, it fell silent for all of them. Even Sarah found, one Christmas, that she could no longer hear its sweet sound. Though I've grown old the bell still rings for me, as it does for all who truly believe.”
Believing truly is seeing. Just ask the old man Simeon who was guided by the Spirit to the temple walls of Jerusalem where he encountered a couple and their newborn babe of eight days. This man was just and devout and anxiously awaited the coming of the Messiah along with the rest of his people. He had been told by the Holy Ghost that he would see his Savior and king before he was called to leave this life. As his body aged and withered, how often did he think on this heavenly promise. Did he have fears and doubts? Would you? This day, in front of the holy temple, Simeon took the babe in his arms and blessed God. “Lord, now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace, according to thy word: For mine eyes have seen thy salvation, which thou hast prepared before the face of all people; a light to lighten the Gentiles, and the glory of thy people Israel.” In his aged years, how acute was the eyesight of Simeon? The answer is unimportant as his spiritual eyes were a solid 20/20. Seeing is believing? Or is believing seeing? For Simeon, it was assuredly the latter.

One final family Christmas tradition that applies to the topic at hand involves Michael McLean’s Forgotten Carols. A tender and thought provoking story is told of a nurse for whom the bell stopped ringing long ago. For this woman, there was no magic in Christmas. There was also no family, trees or baked goods, or any of the typical joys of the holiday season. There was only work. Then she encountered John, a kindly old man requiring her care over the holidays. John welcomes Constance into his heart and tries to impart of his Christmas spirit by sharing the forgotten carols, those songs about the Savior’s life and birth that are not sung by choirs and carolers at Christmastime but have long been forgotten along with those individuals who first composed them. My favorite carol is sung by the shepherd boy who lay fast asleep when the angels came to herald the birth of the Christ child. This boy did not get to go to see the babe but, rather, had to hear the tale from his friends on the morn.

The flock was more than peaceful; the night was dark and deep;
The stillness wrapped around me; I drifted off to sleep.
And when my friends awoke me—Oh, what a tale they had to tell

They said the angels told them about a newborn King.
They had a star to guide them; they heard the heavens sing.
They said that when they found Him they knew they'd never be the same.

Somehow I did believe them, though everything I knew
Said I should not believe them; This story can't be true.
But there was something magic in the air that made me feel as if I’d been there.

I asked a thousand questions; their answers startled me.
The more I heard, the more I thought I knew this cannot be.
And then the struggle started, my head was wrestling with my heart.

Why would a God from Heaven come to the world this way?
Why in a lowly stable would the Messiah lay?
I shook my head and asked them to tell the story one more time.

Yes I did believe them, though I'd not seen a thing.
I did not go to Bethlehem or hear the angels sing.
But there was something magic in the air that made me feel as if I’d been there.

I knew that, as the world moves on through time,
There would be more stories just like mine
About the souls who've chosen to believe in something that they never got to see.

So do you think you'll join us, though you've not seen a thing?
You were not there in Bethlehem to hear the angels sing.
But if you feel the spirit in the air, then just like me you'd know
That He was here! He was here! The King of kings and Lord of lords was here!
He was here! He was here! And He will come again, for He was here!

There is no difference between this shepherd boy and me. I’ve not seen a thing. I was not there in Bethlehem to hear the angels sing. I am like Simeon. I have been given special promises, and I must exercise lasting faith to believe that the Lord will follow through in His time and in His way. I am like the Hero Boy from The Polar Express. I don’t want to be bamboozled, conned, or duped. I don't want to be led down the primrose path. I don't want to be taken for a ride… railroaded. My fears and doubts are many. But there is a large part of me that is ready and willing to believe. My desire is strong. And, daily, the faith of this engineer is tested and is then rewarded with witness after witness that there is indeed a loving Creator, one who carefully constructed me in my special frame and fashion, with all of my strengths and all of my weaknesses, and one who crafted an incredible world for me where I can learn and grow to be more like a child, more like my Savior, and more like my Father in Heaven. Those signs are easy to see. But like Simeon, I can’t rely on my aged eyes that may be tinted with the lenses of secular skepticism and logical fallacies. It is through spiritual sunglasses that I can discern those fingerprints of the Creator all around me. It is by believing that I truly see.

Trains move quickly
To their journey's end.
Destinations...
Are where we begin again.
Ships go sailing,
Far across the sea.
Trusting starlight,
To get where they need to be.

When it seems that we have lost our way...
We find ourselves again on Christmas Day.

Believe in what your heart is saying,
Hear the melody that's playing
There's no time to waste,
There so much to celebrate.
Believe in what you feel inside,
And give your dreams the wings to fly.
You have everything you need, if you just Believe.

Is it I?...It is I!

Last night, I had the privilege of playing in a concert with Jenny Oaks Baker, one of the more renowned violinists in the country. We played through her most recent album, Wish Upon a Star - a Tribute to Walt Disney. Playing through the masterfully arranged classics, I was filled with remembered feelings of magic and joy that Disney inspired in me as a young boy. From Mary Poppins to fairy tales with pirates, lions, and magic carpets, these movies will always hold a special place in my heart. In more recent years, Disney has turned to computer animation and 3D graphics, and it continues to create wholesome, entertaining media for the family. But I miss the magic of their traditional animation coupled with memorable songs and magical tales.
One of the last movies to showcase Disney's traditional animation didn't quite fit the fairy tale mold used for so many decades. It was beautifully drawn, but it didn’t feature the typical array of original songs; and, instead of a well-known, classic tale, it told an original story, one chalk-full of witty one-liners and humor that appealed to a grownup audience as much, if not more so, than a young one. Despite this deviation from the norm, I love The Emperor's New Groove and often find myself repeating the humorous quotes and gags with my family. My favorite character is Kronk, a likable, evil sidekick who is described as "big, dumb, and tone deaf" and “a really, really big, stupid monkey named Kronk”. Despite his poor ability to think critically in key moments, Kronk is faced with several decisions that he must make that bear significant consequences. In the humor of the movie, Kronk is not left to his own devices to make his choices. He is visited by two shoulder-angels who help to guide him in polar opposite moral directions. The angels remain nameless, but for my purposes here we'll call them Maverick and Goose—as a tribute to two other favorite movie characters.

Maverick is a traditional adversarial angel, dressed in red and carrying a trident, with a twisted goatee protruding from his chin and dual horns sticking out of his forehead. Goose, on the other hand, is robed in white, harp in hand, white, fluffy wings spread wide, golden halo adorning his crown. Maverick says, of Goose:

"Don’t listen to that guy. He’s trying to lead you down the path of righteousness. I’m gonna lead you down the path that ROCKS!"

When debating whether or not to let the Emperor plummet to his untimely demise, Kronk entertains the counsel of his angels. He asks Maverick, "Why should I listen to you?" Maverick confidently answers:

Maverick: “Listen up, big guy. I got three good reasons why you should just walk away… Number one: Look at that guy! He’s got that sissy stringy music thing.”Goose: “We’ve been through this. It’s a harp, and you know it.”Maverick: “Oh, right. That’s a harp; and that’s a dress.”Goose: “Robe!”Maverick: “Reason number two… Look what I can do…” (He then jumps into a one-armed handstand, legs stretched in an impressive, balanced pose)Kronk: (puzzled) “But what does that have to do with anything…?”Goose: (interjecting quickly) “No, no… He’s got a point…”

Now, in my simple faith I truly believe that I have two shoulder angels that follow me around daily. I'm not sure that my angels carry harps and tridents… in fact I'm not quite sure what they look like in reality. But to me they are very real. The closest I can come to describing my Goose--my Jimminy Cricket--is using words like white, light, joy, quiet confidence, peace, goodness... My Maverick is a little easier to describe because he looks like a movie star: gleaming smile, slick hair, strong presence. Other words come to mind like desire, confident, attractive, alluring, cool, confident, popular, fun, pleasure... I could go on.

Depending on my mood and demeanor and my present circumstances, these angels may from time to time take on a slightly different likeness. Recently, Goose, hanging out on my left shoulder, has taken on a less-ethereal likeness and is easier to visualize and describe. In fact, he looks like one of Disney's 3 little pigs. He's wearing white overalls that are splattered with gray mud and putty. He has impressive muscles, made strong through hard work. Sweat glistens across his brow and he is holding a dirty spade in one hand and a white brick in the other. Similarly, Maverick, over on my right, has recently undergone a makeover. He's still the attractive, cool, confident celebrity, but he's garbed for a relaxing getaway with dark sunglasses, baggy beach shorts, and a tight shirt stretched across his accentuated muscles, hair bleached and spiked, volleyball in one hand and the other pointed in a "the beach is that way..." pose.I think the reason for the costume change has something to do with a few thoughts that have recently touched me as well as a parable of the Savior that has always been meaningful to me.

When I was a teenager, I had a seminary teacher who paid me a strange and unique compliment. Every time he saw me, he would say, "Mike, you're a rock!" or "Hey, it's the Rock!"

Now I don't believe he was confusing me with a movie star or a professional wrestler. But the memory of that personal nickname has remained with me over the years and given me something to aspire to. You see, that year we were studying the New Testament. And the nickname "Rock" has everything to do with one friend of the Savior. I speak of the man Peter, a man who was given the name Cephas, meaning the "rock", by the Savior himself for his consistency and steadfast, immovable character. Peter was the original Rock. Of him, Christ exclaimed,

"Thou art Simon the son of Jona: thou shalt be called Cephas (which is, by interpretation, a stone). Upon this rock I will build my church and the gates of @#!*% shall not prevail against it. And I will give unto thee the keys of the kingdom of heaven: and whatsoever thou shalt bind on earth shall be bound in heaven: and whatsoever thou shalt loose on earth shall be loosed in heaven."

Can you imagine what it would feel like to have the Savior of the World speak those words to you? Can you imagine what it must have felt like to Peter? Thinking on this makes me feel pretty special to have been myself called a rock by a loving brother and teacher. Today, I wish to take a few minutes to explore the path that Peter trod through life on his metaphorical journey to Cisthene, land of the rock rose, to stare into the eyes of the serpent-haired Gorgon and fully transform into the firm and unyielding element for which he was named, becoming a man of commitment, testimony, constancy, and steadfastness. And I wish to compare this to my personal journey to rise up to follow the example of my namesake and become a pillar of strength in spite of my ever-present weakness.
Spencer W. Kimball shared his feelings about an Easter Sunday religious editorial he had discovered where a minister claimed the failing of the presiding authority of the early-day church due to self-confidence, indecision, evil companions, failure to pray, lack of humility, and fear of man. This minister wrote, “Let us as people, especially those who are Christians and claim to abide by the Word of God, not make the same mistakes and fall as Peter fell.” President Kimball was taken aback by this message and related, in response, “As I read this, I had some strange emotions. I was shocked, then I was chilled, then my blood changed its temperature and began to boil. I felt I was attacked viciously, for Peter was my brother, my colleague, my example, my prophet, and God’s anointed. I whispered to myself, ‘That is not true. He is maligning my brother.’”

I can certainly echo some of President Kimball’s sentiment, as Peter is also one of my heroes. Here is a man who was indeed human. But he was full of goodness and ultimately lived up to his special name. As a simple fisherman Peter knew little of heavenly truths. But over time, under the tutelage of the Master, Peter grew in faith and leadership, testimony and courage, understanding and humility. Cephas was indeed rebuked on many occasions by the gentle admonitions of the Lord, but he learned from his errors and grew in faith and learning from each shortcoming. In considering those shortcomings of my brother Peter, I think of the words of Paul who exclaimed, “For my strength is made perfect in weakness. Most gladly therefore will I rather glory in my infirmities that the power of Christ may rest upon me. Therefore I take pleasure in infirmities, in reproaches, in necessities, in persecutions, in distresses for Christ’s sake: for when I am weak, then am I strong.” I love these powerful words, so similar to those of Ether in the Book of Mormon, which consider the positive outcomes of challenging weakness, not with our own strength, but with the power and enabling grace of the Atonement of our Lord and Master which allow our weaknesses—those character flaws that lead us to humility and a reliance on our Savior—to become our greatest strengths.
What were Peter’s weaknesses—those flaws that would lead any Christian to accuse him of cowardice or of failure? One might remember a man who didn’t have the faith to walk upon the waters after turning his gaze from the Lord. In most cases, I think that one would think on Peter’s vehement triple denial of his acquaintance with Jesus in the courtyard of the palace of Caiaphas. How quick we are to cast judgment, failing to appreciate the incredible faith required to take those first few watery steps! How quick we are to forget that, just hours before his notorious denial, Peter was the first and only disciple to draw his sword in defense of his Master outside of Gethsemane before the Savior’s gentle injunction, “Suffer ye thus far… Thinkest thou that I cannot now pray to my Father, and he shall presently give me more than twelve legions of angels?” That same night, Peter also swore to his Master, “Lord, I am ready to go with thee, both into prison, and to death.” This does not sound like the vain promise of a man who would shortly turn his back on a friend and deny his faith and his testimony. So what was it that drove Peter to fulfill his Master’s fateful prophesy of denial?

I think that it has something to do with two shoulder-angels. Like every one of us, Peter hears one angel who slowly, yet surely, builds both faith and confidence as we are able to tune in to those gentle, fervent whisperings. Perhaps, as that confidence grows, it begins to overshadow the faith as the louder voice of the other angel entices us to overconfidence in ourselves and pride. Through the words of Peter, how many times do we see this confident conviction that no earthly force could conquer the Son of God? Peter clearly knew that, with God, all things are possible! But at times Peter failed to listen to that angel in white, not stopping to consider that, with God, some things are necessary.

Consider the dialogue between Peter and Christ, after the Lord’s prophesy that “he must go unto Jerusalem, and suffer many things of the elders and chief priests and scribes, and be killed, and be raised again the third day.” Said Peter, “Be it far from thee Lord: this shall not be unto thee.” Replied Christ, “Get thee behind me Satan: thou art an offense unto me: for thou savorest not the things that be of God but those that be of men.” This indeed seems a severe rebuke to the disciple. Perhaps instead of calling his devoted follower a devil, Jesus was reminding Peter, and all of us, that to deviate from the divinely appointed Plan of Salvation is to stand alongside Satan, that red angel of darkness who would tell us that salvation can come through other means. Both of my shoulder-angels inspire confidence. The difference lies in whom that confidence is placed. My angel of white, Goose, inspires humility, or confidence in God and confidence in what God can and will accomplish through me; on the other hand, Maverick inspires pride, or confidence in myself, in the flesh, in life in general—as long as life is good. It’s when things get rough that Maverick withdraws and that confidence shatters as I am left to my own devices. Throughout our lives, I think we all drift back and forth between these polar opposite extremes. And both angelic emissaries are working diligently to win us back to their side.

I love the powerful words and emotions conveyed through a musical work entitled The Lamb of God, written by Rob Gardner, one of my favorite inspirational composers. Through music and narration, he tells the story of the last week of our Lord through the eyes of those who were closest to Him. Among others, we hear the song of Peter, our rock and exemplary hero. And as I listen, I can’t help but envision myself in his shoes during those critical hours. Doing so, I ultimately stop wondering why Peter felt to deny his Lord and instead contemplate how those experiences further helped to solidify the man Cephas. I wish to share those words from the music that follow Peter during those horrific days from commitment and confidence to complete denial and isolation, then back to hope and recommitment, and in the end to an unwavering witness of the resurrection of the Lord. As we look in on Peter’s feelings and actions during the Savior’s last week, consider how Peter is being inspired by his shoulder angels and whether his confidence is laced with humility and faith or pride.
Beginning in the upper chamber where the Passover feast was held, we hear the initial shock and outrage of the Twelve upon learning that one of their number would betray their Lord to His enemies, followed by an inward contemplation and reflection, considering what such a personal betrayal might cost. Sang John, Thomas, and Peter:

Lord, is it I?
Would ever I betray Thee?
Having known Thy love, could I so cruelly turn away?
Could my heart so fail Thee and my feeling turn so cold?
If I should leave Thee, where would I go?

Lord, is it I?
Am I then to betray Thee?
Having seen Thy wonders, could my foolish heart be swayed?
Is my faith so little that my soul would cease to burn?
If I should wander, where would I turn?

If I am prone to leave Thee,
If I am wont to doubt,
Oh, wilt Thou still receive me,
Bind me fast!
Oh, find me out!
That I may never wander,
That I may ever see,
Oh, that my hope seek not but Thee!
That I might follow with Thee!

Lord, is it I?
Could ever I betray Thee?
Having followed with Thee, could I seek some other way?
Though my heart is willing, could my flesh become so weak?
If I should leave Thee, whom would I seek?

O Savior, Take Thou my weakness from me!
Help Thou my unbelief!
Let nothing overcome me!
Be Thou with me! My sure relief!
Thou art my only Shepherd.
Thou art the only Way.
Oh, may I ever serve Thee…

For it is I who owe Thee my devotion.
It is I, yes I, so safely folded in Thy care.
Let mountains fall! Let earth divide!
Let valleys rise!
Yet one thing shall I know:
I will not leave Thee…

If I should leave Thee, where would I go?

What powerful words sung by those who best knew the Savior. I love the subtle progression from confusion and contemplation to firm commitment. “Lord, is it I? Could I possibly be the one? How could I ever abandon the truth?” Can you hear the hesitation, the fear of failing to stand fast? Can you guess which shoulder-angel is inspiring this doubt? But then faith again takes root… “Lord, it is I who will never fail thee! There is no force on earth that could take me from thee!” Those three simple words, slightly reordered, convey such opposite convictions. Is it I?... It is I!

As the Last Supper progress, Peter reaffirms his devotion to his Lord, singing:

Though all men be offended,
Yet shall I never be…

I’ll go with Thee to prison if Thou asketh it of me,
Though I should die with Thee,
Yet will not I deny Thee.

Can you hear that conviction? It is I!
As the night progressed and enemies drew near, Peter found that he was the only man holding a sword ready to fight back. Christ had power to raise the dead! Christ, himself, admitted that He could call down twelve legions of angels! So why didn’t he? Was Peter’s confidence at this point tuned to events set in motion that were much greater than he knew and understood? Or had his confidence been so deeply placed in the wonder of miracles and the almighty power of his Lord that he never truly believed that anything bad could and would happen to his Master or himself? If his confidence was of the prideful sort, Peter was not an unrighteous man. Perhaps, though, too many times he had given heed to the voice of an angel of darkness who suggested that things might happen his way, in his time, according to his desires. Along with the other disciples that fled, Peter’s Maverick withdrew, leaving Peter alone and confused, his confidence fading away with the torch lights of the oppressing mob. Despite his confusion and fear, Peter steadfastly follows his Master into a den of enemies. He intones:

The others flee,
How soon He is forsaken.
And shall I flee?
Abandon Him to face this all alone?
But He won’t fight.
Is He willing to allow this foul deceit?
Still, I must follow…
I will not run.

Can you hear the underlying hope and resolve to struggle onward, perhaps laced with fear or a lack of confidence? Then came that fateful hour where Peter condemned himself in the eyes of many Christians to this day. We listen in:

Now Peter had followed Jesus afar off and sat without in the palace: and a damsel came unto him.

Damsel: I know thy face…
Thou wast with Jesus of Galilee!

Peter: I know…
I know not…
I know not what thou sayest!

Maid: This fellow here:
This fellow here was with Jesus of Nazareth.
I’ve seen him there also…

Peter: I swear to you:
No, I do not know the man!

Damel & Maid: But surely thou also art one of them…
Surely thou followed with Jesus…
Thy speech is of Galilee…
I’ve seen you there also…
Yes, thou wast with Jesus of Galilee…
Thou wast with Jesus of Nazareth…

Peter: I know not the man!

And with the crowing of the morning @#!*% , Peter fled the palace in shame. I have not openly denied my Savior in word but, through sins of omission and commission, I have committed numerous offenses to my Lord that are every bit as self-condemning as anything Peter, the Rock, may have done this night. His words of pain and torment echo so strongly with me. Sang Peter:

What have I done?
Denied Him?
What have I done?
So now am I no different from the men
Who take thy bread then turn again? Oh…
What have I done?

I hear their filthy tongues, their vicious scorn,
The lies they spin with Satan’s yarn.
I watch them spit and strike Thy face,
They mock Thy name in foul disgrace.
And when Thou lookest for a friend,
Thou findest none, for I have fled,

Oh God!
What have I done?
As Thou hast taken stripes for me,
Could I not take but one for Thee?

I cannot watch them take my Lord.
I can’t endure their cruel hands upon Him,
While his own hands are tied with cord,
Those hands with pow’r to raise the dead,
Command the storm, now bound instead, and
I cannot hear them mock His name.
I cannot bear their foul breath upon Him.
I dare not look upon His face
And see the very Son of God,
His brow so bruised and stained with blood
His eyes that shed my sorrow’s tears,
And watch as all hope disappears.
I will not watch them crucify my Lord!

For I know this Man!
I know Him!
I know this Man!
I cannot watch what He must bear.
For surely He must carry all my burden.
Forgive me, Lord, that I’m not there…
But, when my eyes are closed in death,
These words will hang on my last breath:
I know Him.

With all of my weaknesses, so much more condemning and damning than any denial by Peter, I don’t feel that I could have worthily stood beside the cross as Christ sacrificed so greatly for my unworthiness, hoping that I might truly find in my weakness my greatest strength.

Through the grace and mercy of God, Peter was given another chance to stand before his Lord and Master. Three days later and numerous times in the following weeks and months, Peter—Cephas—was given the opportunity to prove his repentance and his true devotion to the Master. And in my faith, I know that I, too, will one day have that same opportunity to look into my Savior’s eyes and thank Him for His great sacrifice while providing an accounting of my service to Him as a product of my heartfelt repentance.
One final time, let us look into the life of Peter and consider his confidence and commitment. From a fishing boat, Peter recognized the call of his Lord from the shore and threw himself into the water to hurry to be with Jesus. That night, over a miraculously obtained feast of fish, the Lord asked Peter:

Simon, son of Jonas, lovest thou me more than these?
Yea, Lord; thou knowest that I love thee.
He saith unto him, Feed my lambs.

He saith to him again the second time, Simon, son of Jonas, lovest thou me?
Lord, thou knowest that I love thee.
He saith unto him, Feed my sheep.

And then the third time he saith, Simon, son of Jonas, lovest thou me?
Thou knowest all things, Lord; thou knowest that I love thee.
Jesus saith unto him, Feed my sheep.

When Peter says, “Thou knowest that I love thee,” I can’t help but compare that to his earlier claim, “Lord, I am ready to go with thee, both into prison, and to death.” I believe Peter was deeply sincere with both assertions. However, I believe that his latter meant a little more. And I imagine that he was more prepared to heed the Savior’s injunction to care for the flock in the Lord’s stead. He was quickly becoming a finely crafted stone, one upon which that the keys of the kingdom of that day would firmly rest. Peter was still Peter, an impetuous yet well-meaning son of God who was striving to find strength through weakness. But he was learning to listen solely to that quiet shoulder-angel who inspires humble confidence and faith in the Lord’s plan, on the Lord’s time-table, according to the Lord’s will. One of the few things that Peter later desired in life, according to his own will, was that when he suffered his martyr’s fate that he be crucified upside down so as not to take any glory from the Lord’s divinely-required sacrifice.

We’ve spoken about the original Rock and his roller-coaster journey from “Is it I?” to “It is I!” Along the way, he received counsel from his shoulder angels. In my feeble attempts to live up to the nickname given me by my Seminary teacher, I too am clinging desperately to the safety bar strapping me into the roller-coaster car that is looping and spinning and racing in every direction. Such is life for most of us. At times, it seems that all I can do is hold down my lunch. Earlier, I described my shoulder-angels: Maverick and Goose. One was attired for a fun day in the sun, carefree and careless. One was grizzled with mud and putty, hands blistered from a hard day of work laying brick upon brick, constructing a house described by the Savior:

Therefore, whoso heareth these sayings of mine and doeth them, I will liken him unto a wise man, who built his [brick] house upon a rock – and the rain descended, and the floods came, and the winds blew, and beat upon that house; and it fell not, for it was founded upon a rock.

Ironically, Marverick told Kronk that he would lead him down the path that "ROCKS"... Far from it, Maverick’s home, if he found time to construct it at all in his busy schedule of sun tanning and beach volleyball, surely wasn’t built of brick—probably not even sticks. His straw, beach-front home was also described by the Savior:

And everyone that heareth these sayings of mine and doeth them not shall be likened unto a foolish man, who built his house upon the sand – and the rain descended, and the floods came, and the winds blew, and beat upon that house; and it fell, and great was the fall of it.

There is no question which of these shoulder-angels will still be standing in the end and which will fall. It may seem that prime ocean-side real estate is going fast, but there will always be an abundance of property to be claimed on the rock that is our Redeemer. Which building contractor are you going to hire? You know where Christ would have you build. Well said Helaman to his two sons:

“Remember, remember that it is upon the rock of our Redeemer, who is Christ, the Son of God, that ye must build your foundation; that when the devil shall send forth his mighty winds, yea, his shafts in the whirlwind, yea, when all his hail and his mighty storm shall beat upon you, it shall have no power over you to drag you down to the gulf of misery and endless wo, because of the rock upon which ye are built, which is a sure foundation, a foundation whereon if men build they cannot fall.”

As I learn to listen to the Holy Ghost, that shoulder-angel that is constant and unwavering, he who will follow me wherever I go as long as I remain in places that are conducive and inviting of his special spirit, I will continue to lay bricks one by one upon a sure foundation, building a temple, a home that is worthy of the Lord. When the Savior visits my rock-anchored house and knocks at the door, I will be ready to hear his voice and open that door so that He may come in to sup with me.
As I learn to ignore those enticements of the Adversary, the other shoulder-angel of darkness who speaks loudly with the voice of the world, of popularity, of ease, and of desire, I—like Cephas and many others—will stop asking “Is it I?” Instead, I will faithfully exclaim:

It is I who is eternally grateful for second chances!
It is I who is committed to doing my best!
It is I who knows without a doubt that Jesus is the Christ, my Lord and my Master!
It is I who is learning humility through my weakness!
It is I who is finding strength through the enabling grace of the Atonement of Christ!
It is I who can never repay my Lord for his tender mercy, but It is I who will give my all to do that little that He has asked of me!

A Symphony of Song

Every Pioneer Day, I yearn for that magical, inspired feeling that comes when I turn my heart to those who went before me--those who sacrificed so that I can today enjoy the blessings of the gospel, liberty, and prosperity. It is a feeling of sincere gratitude and appreciation. It is a feeling that drives me to be a little more like those great men and women whose faith was so strong. So, in my annual quest for this renewal of faith and gratitude, I crack open my video and music collection. This traditional collection includes, to name a few: The Mountain of the Lord--a powerful video portraying the 40 year effort to build the Salt Lake Temple, Legacy--a movie that recounts the horrific persecutions and trials of those early saints who followed Joseph Smith, and later Brigham Young, from home to home across uncharted frontier to eventually find a home in the Rocky's, and Come, Come Ye Saints--the Mormon Tabernacle Choir's album that was was released for the sesquecentennial (or 150th anniversary) of the Latter Day Saint's settling of the Salt Lake valley.

In the past couple years, though, I've found that I can most easily find that special feeling, the pioneer spirit, by listening to Saints and Pioneers, a musical production by Rob Gardner that powerfully tells the story of the pioneers through words and music in an hour. Each year, perhaps each time I listen, a different song touches my heart and becomes my new "favorite". This year, my favorite is a piece called "We Must Sing". The words of this song, so powerfully penned, are:

Who knows the burden placed on your heart?
Whence comes the longing? When shall it part?
No matter the sorrow, He'll not forsake,
God made our hearts and in His absence they ache.

Who knows what trials may come our way?
How shall we meet them? What will He say
When we kneel before Him? Will He approve?
God gave us trials that we might choose.

Who'll tell what blessings flow from above?
How might we measure His boundless love?
I'll sing of His goodness, Glory I'll bring.
God made our voices, but we make them sing.

God gave us voices, so we must sing.

God made our hearts... he allows us to feel pain. He allows us to feel sorrow. He allows us to suffer. He also allows us to feel joy and peace, serenity and commitment. Without this precious gift, we would not be human. I thank God for the ability to feel joy, despite the capacity to feel pain.

God also allows us to pass through hardships. God gave us trials that we might choose. With each challenge, we choose to draw nearer to Him or to withdraw to our own devices. And in the daily struggle through affliction and the daily enjoyment of goodness, happiness, and love, we are invited to simply be. We are who we are because of our collective experiences. These allow us to learn and grow and to become a little more like our Savior through each experience, be it a good one or a difficult one. And in each of these experiences, we are simply invited to raise our voices, such wonderful gifts from a loving Heavenly Father, in song. God gave us voices, so we must sing!

Every day, every hour, we are composing music in our hearts--songs of gratitude, joy, pain, or anger. I must admit that some days, the music coming from my heart would be best belong at a heavy metal concert where, rather than through the lyrics, the message of my song is found through loud, unmelodic shouts of intense emotion, be it frustration, anger, or despair. There are some days, however, when a sweet melody of love and happiness can be heard in my thoughts, words, and deeds--the same unique and beautiful melodies I hear from so many others around me. What a masterful symphony of song when voices raise in harmony praising God and finding joy and hope in every experience!

This Pioneer Day, I wish to share a few songs that have truly touched my heart--songs from faithful men and women that I wish so desperately to learn and to echo in my own experiences.

I begin by sharing a song of commitment. This song has been sung by many, but I am especially touched by the simple melody aired by Brigham Young, a man who, in my opinion, was the ultimate pioneer, a man who endured much and inspired many. Brigham sang:

"I will tell you what to do in order to gain your exaltation, the which you cannot obtain except you take this course. If your affections are placed upon anything so as to hinder you in the least from dedicating them to the Lord, make a dedication of that thing in the first place, that the dedication of the whole may be complete… If my heart is not fully given up to this work, I will give my time, my talents, my hands, and my possessions to it, until my heart consents to be subject. I will make my hands labour in the cause of God, until my heart bows in submission to it… The Lord must be first and foremost in our affections; the building up of his cause and kingdom demands our first consideration."

Brigham truly was a man who practiced what he preached. After gaining a testimony of the restored gospel, he left his livelihood and the comforts of his home to join the saints in Ohio. Sang he:

"When we arrived in Kirtland [in September 1833], if any man that ever did gather with the Saints was any poorer than I was—it was because he had nothing. … I had two children to take care of—that was all. I was a widower. ‘Brother Brigham, had you any shoes?’ No; not a shoe to my foot, except a pair of borrowed boots. I had no winter clothing, except a homemade coat that I had had three or four years. ‘Any pantaloons?’ No. ‘What did you do? Did you go without?’ No; I borrowed a pair to wear till I could get another pair. I had travelled and preached and given away every dollar of my property… I had traveled and preached until I had nothing left to gather with; but Joseph said: ‘come up;’ and I went up the best I could."

When the Lord calls, "Come up," will we have the commitment to join our song with Brigham's and go up the best we can?

Next, I am reminded of another song, a song of duty, which is closely related to commitment. Many of the early saints were not much better off than Brigham was when he joined the saints in Kirtland. Poverty and disease were rampant among the saints and they relied heavily on divine aid. When the call to serve came from a Prophet of God, it was not reserved for those who had health and prosperity. It was not directed at the learned or the eloquent of word. The call came to all, often in times of hardship. Many elders were sent abroad on missions when their wives might reasonably have pleaded for them to remain due to trials at home. Story after story tells of a man, his wife, and his children joining their voices with others to sing of duty and service. What beautiful words they sang!

"My four children had to be schooled and clothed, and no money would be left with me," sang Louisa Barnes Pratt, wife of Addison Pratt who was called on a mission to the Sandwich Islands. "My heart felt weak at the first, but I determined to trust in the Lord, and stand bravely before the ills of life, and rejoice that my husband was counted worthy to preach the gospel." Not long after Addison’s departure, his young daughter contracted smallpox. The disease was so contagious that there was real danger to any priesthood brother who might come to the Pratts, so Louisa prayed with faith and "rebuked the fever." Eleven little pimples came out on her daughter’s body, but the disease never developed. In a few days the fever was gone. Louisa later sang a sweet melody of testimony, "I showed the child to one acquainted with that disease; he said it was an attack; that I had conquered it by faith."

Many members of the Twelve were struck with the ague as they prepared to depart for England. Wilford Woodruff, who was very ill, left his wife, Phoebe, almost without food and the necessities of life. George A. Smith, the youngest Apostle, was so sick that he had to be carried to the wagon, and a man who saw him asked the driver if they had been robbing the graveyard. Brigham Young was so ill that he was unable to walk even a short distance without assistance, and his companion, Heber C. Kimball, was no better. Their wives and families, too, lay suffering. When the Apostles reached the crest of a hill a short distance from their homes, both lying in a wagon, they felt as though they could not endure leaving their families in so pitiful a condition. At Heber’s suggestion, they struggled to their feet, waved their hats over their heads, and shouted three times, "Hurrah, Hurrah, for Israel." Their wives, Mary Ann and Vilate, gained strength enough to stand and, leaning against the door frame, they sang out, "Good-bye, God bless you." The two men returned to their wagon beds with a spirit of joy and satisfaction at seeing their wives standing instead of lying sick in bed.

Have you ever heard such beautiful music? Listen on. It gets better... Francis Scott Key sang of his feelings of gratitude as he saw his nation's banner still flying proudly in the calm aftermath of a storm of war and violence. I can hear a similar tune of one who truly appreciates the rising sun following a difficult night in the words of Bishop Edward Partridge who was publically stripped and covered with tar and feathers. He sang,

"I bore my abuse with so much resignation and meekness, that it appeared to astound the multitude, who permitted me to retire in silence, many looking very solemn, their sympathies having been touched as I thought; and as to myself, I was so filled with the Spirit and love of God, that I had no hatred towards my persecutors or anyone else."

As the persecutions raged in Missouri, many sang of hope. Others sang of faith and healing. During a conflict near the Big Blue River, Philo Dibble was shot three times in the stomach. Brother Dibble sang:

"Brother Newel Knight came to see me, and sat down on the side of my bed… I felt the Spirit resting upon me at the crown of my head before his hand touched me, and I knew immediately that I was going to be healed… I immediately arose and discharged three quarts of blood or more, with some pieces of clothes that had been driven into my body by the bullets. I then dressed myself and went out doors… From that time not a drop of blood came from me and I never afterwards felt the slightest pain or inconvenience from my wounds, except that I was somewhat weak from the loss of blood."

Where Brother Dibble's song continued in this life, there were others who continued their songs in the next life. Such was the sweet melody of David Patten, the first martyr in the church, who died from injuries he sustained in a battle at Crooked River, where Latter-Day Saints attempted to rescue three kidnapped brethren.

Of Elder Patten, Heber C Kimball sang: "The principles of the Gospel which were so precious to him before, afforded him that support and consolation at the time of his departure, which deprived death of its sting and horror."

On his deathbed, David Patten's song turned first to those of his brethren who had fallen from their steadfastness into apostasy. "O that they were in my situation! For I feel that I have kept the faith." Next he pled with his wife, singing, "Whatever you do else, Oh do not deny the faith." Just before he died, he sang to his God, "Father, I ask Thee in the name of Jesus Christ, that Thou wouldst release my spirit, and receive it unto Thyself." And then to those around him he intoned, "Brethren, you have held me by your faith, but do give me up, and let me go, I beseech you." Brother Kimball sang, "We accordingly committed him to God, and he soon breathed his last, and slept in Jesus without a groan."

The persecutions continued, and the saints were compelled to seek out another home. In faith, thousands outfitted wagons and handcarts and braved the wilds of the frontier I cannot pretend to comprehend what it was that inspired William Hyde, a husband and father, to sing the following when asked to leave his homeless family along the trail to join the Mormon Battalion in service of a nation that had turned its back on his family, his rights, and his people. Sang William,

"The thoughts of leaving my family at this critical time are indescribable. They were far from the land of their nativity, situated upon a lonely prairie with no dwelling but a wagon, the scorching sun beating upon them, with the prospect of the cold winds of December finding them in the same bleak, dreary place.

"My family consisted of a wife and two small children, who were left in company with an aged father and mother and a brother. The most of the Battalion left families. … When we were to meet with them again, God only knew. Nevertheless, we did not feel to murmur."

After his discharge, William and many of the other battalion members remained in California to work for a season. Several were present at John Sutter's sawmill when gold was first discovered in 1848, leading to the California Gold Rush. Despite the prosperous possibilities, the Latter-day Saint fathers and husbands did not stay in California to seek their fortune, but rather followed the call of a prophet to gather in Utah. James S. Brown sang of his experience:

"I have never seen that rich spot of earth since; nor do I regret it, for there always has been a higher object before me than gold… Some may think we were blind to our own interests; but after more than forty years we look back without regrets, although we did see fortunes in the land, and had many inducements to stay. Still duty called, our honor was at stake, we had covenanted with each other, there was a principle involved; for with us it was God and His kingdom first. We had friends and relatives in the wilderness, yea, in an untried, desert land, and who knew their condition? We did not. So it was duty before pleasure, before wealth, and with this prompting we rolled out."

I can think of many songs about flowers, songs about lillies, lilacs, pansies, and even mistletoe. I especially love songs about roses. A rose is truly beautiful, but a rose can also offer a painful prick if not handled carefully. Often, many can only see the thorns along their way, but a small few can sense the roses amidst the thorns.

Joseph Moenor sang about his experiences on the trek west. He recalled having "a hard time" in getting to the Salt Lake Valley. But, through his journals, we hear his song was of wonders he had never before seen—great herds of buffalo and big cedar trees on the hills, vast expanses of sunflowers in bloom. Mary Richards, whose husband, Samuel, was on a mission in Scotland cheerfully sang of the comings and goings of the Saints at Winter Quarters, which was rightfully summarized by Brigham Young as the "Valley Forge of Mormondom", including such activities as theological discussions, dances, Church meetings, parties, and frontier revivals.

Amidst the thorns, there are always roses to sing about.

Next I share two songs that have no words but are so sweet and melodic that the absence of lyrics can hardly be noticed.

The first song was sung by Nellie Pucell, a handcart pioneer who, at the young age of 10, lost both of her parents on the journey west. At one point, in the bitter cold, with insufficient rations and no strength, Nellie and her sister Maggie collapsed with no hope of being able to continue any further. The leader of the company came to their aid, placed Nellie in the wagon and told Maggie to walk along beside it, holding on to steady herself. The forced movement saved Maggie from frostbite. When they finally arrived in Salt Lake City and Nellie's shoes were removed, the skin came off along with the stockings and the girl's feet were amputated. Nellie walked on her knees for the rest of her life. But Nellie's song continued through a normal life as she married and raised six children, keeping house and serving faithfully, never allowing her disability to be a hinderance.

I'm not sure what the title of Nellie's song should be. There are many titles that could and should be applied, but I think the music speaks for itself and could best be left Untitled. This next song without words is one of hope in a time of deepest mourning.

The Crandall family trekked west in the Summer of 1850. On the 23rd of June, the Crandall family numbered fifteen. By the week’s end seven had died of cholera. In the next few days five more family members died. Then on 30 June Sister Crandall died in childbirth along with her newborn baby. Of the fifteen that set out, only two survived the journey.

So why is this song about hope? What became of the two surviving family members? What kind of testimony did they gain as they chose to continue west, following a Prophet of God? What kind of legacy did they leave for their future posterity? There is always hope when we continue to sing when the melodies seem darkest.

Many years after the trials of the handcart pioneers, in a setting of sharp criticism toward the poor planning and leadership that led to the deaths of many, one survivor, whose experience may very well have been like that of the Crandalls or Nellie Pucell, stood and sang a solo that still reverberates in my heart.

"I was in that company and my wife was in it. … We suffered beyond anything you can imagine and many died of exposure and starvation, but did you ever hear a survivor of that company utter a word of criticism? … [We] came through with the absolute knowledge that God lives for we became acquainted with him in our
extremities.

"I have pulled my handcart when I was so weak and weary from illness and lack of food that I could hardly put one foot ahead of the other. I have looked ahead and seen a patch of sand or a hill slope and I have said, I can go only that far and there I must give up, for I cannot pull the load through it… I have gone on to that sand and when I reached it, the cart began pushing me. I have looked back many times to see who was pushing my cart, but my eyes saw no one. I knew then that the angels of God were there.

"Was I sorry that I chose to come by handcart? No. Neither then nor any minute of my life since. The price we paid to become acquainted with God was a privilege to pay, and I am thankful that I was privileged to come in the Martin Handcart Company."

This man's was a song of pure testimony. Where one might have stopped singing altogether, this brother chose to sing even louder. And, from his personal testimony, we learn that he never stopped singing. God gave this man his voice, but he made that voice sing.

There are so many voices that joined in melodious song of testimony, hope, endurance, sacrifice, faith, healing, and charity. One voice composed a simple, yet sweet tune of peace and comfort that has been echoed by millions whether during the brightest day or the darkest night.

This man was called to be in one of the first groups to leave Nauvoo. He left his wife, who was only one month away from delivering their first child, behind with her parents. As he wended his way through the mud and cold, his thoughts and worries were constantly on his beloved and his expected child. After two long months of waiting for news, he received word that he was the proud father of a "fine fat boy". Wasting no time, he sat down and wrote out his song of joy that has since become an anthem of inspiration and gratitude to pioneers of the plains and pioneers across the world. In his simple exclaimation "All is well! All is well!", countless Saints have found the joy and peace that are the rewards of sacrifice and obedience to a watchful Father in Heaven.

And so, if you feel that you are unable to compose your own masterpiece, be assured that you are indeed writing your own symphony of song. And as you carefully seek out your own words of testimony to put to music, you can simply join me and many others as we sing:

"No toil nor labor fear...
Grace shall be as your day...
Tis better far for us to strive...
Joy, your heart will swell...
Gird up your loins, fresh courage take...
We'll make the air with music ring, shout praises to our God and King...
Our God will never us forsake...
Happy day! All is well!"