MARKS OF MEN by Travis Miller

Have you ever had a “What in the world am I doing here?” moment in your life? That is exactly what I was asking myself this past summer, as some unusual circumstances led to my employment based in small-town Vernal, Utah. In order to raise money for tuition and school expenses, I was able to acquire a job as a foreman for a construction company in this little Eastern Utah town. Vernal is a land owned by oil companies who offer big wages for simple but physically exhausting work. As a result, the town and surrounding country are filled with some very unique characters. Often times I would wonder if I was working or watching a wrestling match.
At any rate, I would spend anywhere from ten to twelve hours a day in Central Utah Indian territory, often times being hired out by these oil companies that are currently exploring for oil with their gargantuan oil drills. I would usually leave in a truck with some coworkers, among whom I was the sole English speaker and translator, and we would drive out into the desert to our job location. When we got there, our assigned workload would usually consist picking up garbage and digging holes. This occasion was different. The Company Man had us help by emptying a dizzying amount of hundred pound mud-mix bags into his oil drill. I do not mind heavy lifting, as I appreciate the mild soreness of growing muscles afterwards, and I do not mind getting a little dirty, but I do not like working on the oilrigs. Mainly, my hatred can be attributed to the fact that once your work is done on the oil rig, you are covered from head to toe in dust and muck. The suffering does not end there, as you also have the added blessing to be completely saturated with the smell of crude oil. The fragrance is a smell you are not likely to find over the cosmetics counter. Tuition does not pay itself, however. Our at least that is what I told myself as I climbed up muddy ladder and got to work.
After hefting a couple hundred of the mud bags, my duty as the English-speaking spokesman obligated me to seek for one of the regular rig workers so that we could get another pallet of mud-bags to empty. I waved down a worker and was greeted by a big, dirty, heavily tattooed rig-hand. I asked him if he could carry over the necessary pallet. He said sure, but countered that he had a question for me. I told him to go ahead. He then inquired, “You’re not a full-time roust-a-bout (oil field service worker) are you?” I answered, “Nope.” To which he replied, “I could tell.” I was a bit confused. I had already been working this job for months and was just as sunburned and covered with just as many nicks and cuts as anybody else. In order to clarify his deduction I inquired, “Why do you say that?” “You’re too clean,” was the only answer I received as he drove away.
I stood there for a moment, silently contemplating his meaning, as I looked over my dust and grime covered body. If I was anything at this moment, it certainly was not clean. Once I looked past the oily mud that was caked on my arms and body I realized something. My skin had a few nicks, scratches, and scars from previous job assignments but was untouched by ink and needle. When considering that my day was filled with overhearing language unsuitable for public circles, I recognized that none of those soiling words came from my lips. That is when I caught on to the true meaning of his statement. Though covered in the messiest kind of sludge and cuts, my disfigurement could not disguise my true character and principles.
Upon further reflection, I am reminded of a quote by Apostle James E. Talmage when he said:
It has been declared in the solemn word of revelation, that the spirit and the body constitute the soul of man; and, therefore, we should look upon this body as something that shall endure in the resurrected state, beyond the grave, something to be kept pure and holy. Be not afraid of soiling its hands; be not afraid of scars that may come to it if won in earnest effort, or [won] in honest fight, but beware of scars that disfigure, that have come to you in places where you ought not have gone, that have befallen you in unworthy undertakings [pursued where you ought not have been]; beware of the wounds of battles in which you have been fighting on the wrong side. [Talmage, CR, October 1913, p. 117]
Everyone in this mortal life will mark or stain their bodies. The question is will they be ennobling marks earned by hard work and sacrifice? Or disfiguring scars that come as a result of personal rebellion? Will you carry the dark stain of sin? Or allow the beauty of your character to become your polished gleam? These outward manifestations offer bystanders a glimpse, both past and present, of our lives and more importantly our characters.
More importantly, it is an interesting to ponder why we even bear these little marks on our bodies after some kind of trauma or adversity. What is the purpose behind them? In the Old Testament the Hebrew word for a designating mark or its action is “zkhr” or “zakhar.” This word has an additional definition as well. The alternate definition is “to remember.” The Lord gives us marks, whether received while doing good or ill, in order for us to remember how we received them. They are one of his most important teaching tools. By having reminders of our past, we can work faithfully towards the future. Marks can motivate us to repent, or they can also help us remember the sacrifices behind our testimonies.
I have felt the humiliation of the constant reminding of past transgressions that a physical blemish brings. When I was five years old some nearby neighbors bought the lot across the street from my house. The father of this family built a freestanding ten-foot half-pipe for his two teenage sons and their skating enjoyment. His sons were not the only ones who found a new toy. Most of the surrounding neighbor kids, many too young to ride or skate would equally utilize the new half-pipe by running up and down the crescent ramps in an attempt to reach the top, where one could stand as King of the World, for the entire neighborhood to see. While oblivious to any danger in our youth, our parents were a bit wiser and made us promise to stop playing on the half-pipe. In fact, it was always the last command we as children received when our parents would leave.
One spring night, my parents were departing for our Ward Temple Night. My younger brothers and I were all lying in front of the T.V. My parents kissed us their farewells and re-iterated that there was absolutely NO playing on the half-pipe. We, of course, agreed and watched them subsequently drive away. It was then that we did what any adventurous young children would do… run outside to play on the half-pipe! The other neighbor kids had already beaten us to it, but we were determined to reach the top before them. Up and down we went, until at last, my four brothers, two friends, and I were all standing at the top.
My childhood desire for adventure was not quite satisfied however, and I inched my way closer to the edge in order to witness the great height to which I had climbed. As I was staring off the edge, I did not take into account the fact that one of those neighborhood “friends” actually had a personal vendetta against me, and so she snuck up behind me, and unceremoniously pushed me off… resulting in a rather nasty broken arm upon my landing on the solid ground below me.
Needless to say, there was no way I could possibly hide my whereabouts and happenings that evening. My parents were informed after their temple session, and I spent the next couple of hours in a hospital. I wore a cast, like Hester’s scarlet letter, for the following six weeks.
While my story is full of childhood naivety, many of the scars people receive, whether through immorality, substance abuse, or other not-so-visible means, are equally damaging to the spirit and lives of their victims. Yet many times, as was evidenced in the first example in Vernal, our physical marks, while appearing esthetically ugly, can prove to be witnesses of a great testimony and sacrifice, ultimately resulting in becoming marks of nobility and beauty.
One of the best examples of this can be found in an account by Joseph Smith, when a drunken and angry mob abducted him from his bed late one night. He recounts that they burst through the door, grabbed and dragged him outside where after they beat him mercilessly. They halted their blows only so that they could spread tar all over his injured body, and even tried to force a spoonful of tar in his mouth. Joseph’s friends and loved ones spent the rest of the night scraping and prying the tar off of his body. Joseph Smith finished his story, by recalling that even after such a excruciatingly difficult night, that on the next day, being the Sabbath, and “with my flesh all scarified and defaced, I preached to the congregation as usual, and in the afternoon of the same day baptized three individuals” History of the Church, 1:261–65.
Most people would consider Joseph’s disfigurement repulsive, yet the fact that his burned and swollen flesh was earned in the defense of Truth and testimony transformed his marks into badges of honor. His scars were hallowed by the adversity he faced and suffered through while receiving them. Ultimately, the tokens of suffering served as reminders to us all about what possessing a steadfast testimony means.
Joseph’s marks are not the only ones that have great significance. On a small hill called Calvary, our Savior received the most important marks of all in his hands and feet. The cruel tips of Roman nails created one of the most important symbols and witnesses of our salvation. Upon his arrival to the Americas following his resurrection, Christ utilized his scars as a witness when he called unto the righteous survivors, “Arise and come forth unto me, that ye may thrust your hands into my side, and also that ye may feel the prints of the nails in my hands and in my feet, that ye may know that I am the God of Israel, and the God of the whole earth, and have been slain for the sins of the world” (3 Nephi 11:14).
Marks can be both physical and spiritual. While physical marks are easy for others to see, the marks burned deep in our hearts by the spirit can be even more powerful. These hidden tokens of faith offer us reminders of the past, and provide motivation for righteous living in the future. Many people have provided great examples in my life, and many have left invisible spiritual marks that have inspired me in my life.
As children, we often look for heroes and role models that we can strive to imitate. My biggest hero was my older brother Matthew. While it is not strange to look up to your older brother, Matt did not exactly fit the mold of model teenager. He often got himself into trouble. One of his most notorious episodes was getting suspended for a week in junior high because he put itching powder down a girl’s shirt, after which she broke out with a serious allergic reaction. This did not sit well with my parents as he was the eldest of five sons, and he was supposed to be supplying a good example. While definitely was not the worst son in the world, his repeated lapses and unsightly consequences routinely caused great tensions in our house. It eventually reached the point that my brother made a rash promise to move out the day after high school graduation.
My brother kept his promise, and he moved to Oregon to live with his best friend growing up. As he left he made sure we knew that he had made his escape. He lived in a broken down trailer and worked in a cigarette warehouse for a full year. We did not hear much from him, but we he returned he was completely changed. He did not raise his voice at my mom any more. He came home at a decent hour every night. Most of all, he decided to take a more serious interest in the lives of his little brothers.
We did not have a spare room for him anymore so my parents decided to have him share mine. During the following couple months, as he prepared for a mission, he told me a lot of his life experiences and mistakes and counseled with me not to do the same. We spent a lot of time just staring at the ceiling talking, me about my junior high experiences and interests, and him about his adventures in Oregon. Many times I would talk to him about the new grown up opportunities that I faced. He would listen and tell me about similar experiences he had had.
Those long nights and soft words by my older brother were permanently branded in my mind. The principles that he shared deeply influenced the attitudes and spiritual desires that I had for the rest of my teenage years.
While my experiences with my brother were unforgettable, the deepest grooves of my testimony were made by my faith in our Savior Jesus Christ. As a young inexperienced missionary, I found myself in charge of a struggling area with an even more inexperienced companion. The days were filled with a lot of prayers as I considered the day a success if one out of three people in our little Argentine town even understood what my companion and I were saying. Days of language practice and hard work did not seem to be helping our area progress. That is until we met the Martinez family…
In small roughly put together house by the river, Manuel and Martha Martinez struggled to provide for their three children. The house had a large thin blanket acting as a wall for two rooms, a living-dining-kitchen room in front and a single bedroom in the back. While not having many material goods, the family had a deep sense of unity. Manuel, however, always sensed that something was missing.
Our daily tracting efforts eventually led us to the Martinez’s riverside home. After several lessons and trips to church, the Martinez family was excited when we challenged them to get baptized. In order to fulfill this dream, the only lacking requirement was the marriage of Manuel and Martha. While making plans for the wedding one night, Manuel and Martha’s sad countenances were a glaring contrast to my companion’s and my enthusiasm. When we asked them what their doubt was, Manuel answered. “Since Martha and I are not married, we both receive individual poverty benefits from the government every month from our jobs. If we get married, we will lose one of those payments – it’s more than 400 pesos! We can barely eat in our current situation! We can’t give that up.”
My companion and I just sat with our mouths open. Speechless until we offered our assurances that the Lord takes care of his own. That faith comes before miracles. We all knew the right thing to do was to get baptized. Manuel and Martha, however, would not commit to it. So after many questions and pleadings, my companion and I at least succeed in committing them to have a heartfelt prayer to tell their Heavenly Father about their decision.
That night I held nothing back in my prayers to my Heavenly Father. The Martinez family had struggled through so much. I knew that fully embracing the gospel would allow them to receive all kinds of new blessings. My prayers were desperate pleadings for the Lord to give the Martinez’s courage and faith. I slept with a heavy heart as I anxiously waited for events to play out.
The next night we went back to the Martinez house to see how the parents’ prayers went. We sat down with the family, and after exchanging greetings and a prayer, we asked the parents about their prayer. Manuel blurted out, “We’re getting baptized!” Manuel and Martha’s eyes were completely aglow. We congratulated them as Manuel continued, “We just couldn’t find words to justify our actions to Heavenly Father. We’ve had so many lessons on faith, I guess this is what it is all about?” We eagerly agreed, and they were married at the end of the week.
Finally the day for their baptisms arrived. Ward members turned out in earnest in order to support them, as we tried to fit everyone in to the room with the font. A few minutes before the baptism started, Manuel asked if he could talk to me alone. A sudden sense of dread snaked its way into my heart. We went into a classroom, and I asked Manuel if something was wrong. “Let me explain,” he said. “I went into work today and my boss called me into his office. They had been laying people off because the harvest is over so they don’t need as many guys working the fields. I was afraid, but after he closed the door to his office he told me that he liked my effort and he was going to give me a raise! And better yet, he said that both my wife and I can still get our government grants!”
Manuel’s face was covered in tears of joy, and my face looked like a mirror image as we just held each other and cried. “We always said that there were miracles,” I finally said. We both laughed and left to join the rest of the ward and his family for the baptisms.
Never have I seen simple faith so amply and deservingly rewarded. That experience has seared on my soul the love that our Heavenly Father has for each and every one of us. This memory is a mark earned by diligent toil and effort in the missionary field, and I will carry it forever.
From these great examples we can draw strength when the only solution to our challenges is the time-tested antidote of hard work. As the Lord counsels us in the Doctrine and Covenants 64:33, “Wherefore, be not weary in well-doing, for ye are laying the foundation of a great work. And out of small things proceedeth that which is great.” We may receive some nicks and scratches in the service of the Lord, but these guiding marks will offer us little remembrances of the testimonies that we bear. May we remember the words of Paul to the Galatians, and answer ridicule with his declaration when he said, “From henceforth let no man trouble me: for I bear in my body the marks of the Lord Jesus.” (Galatians 1:17).

Climbing with Patience (David O. McKay Essay Final)

Climbing With Patience
“Poley, poley” Abdu our mountain guide calls from behind as we begin our four day ascent up Africa’s highest peak. Before climbing Mt. Kilimanjaro I didn’t know what patience was. Despite continual exhortations, our group of thirty climbers continues quickly, greedy with empty stomachs seeking to be filled. We know the camp is near and we justify our careless approach in our weary state. As the terrain becomes steeper, our mountain guide cries more firmly “Poley! Poley!” I fail to understand the value of these words and carry forward without hearing the literal meaning: “slow down, slow down!”
“Hold your horses,” “Keep your shirt on,” “Slow down,” “Don’t be in such a hurry,” “Follow the rules,” “Be careful” are more than trite expressions. They describe sincere counsel and speak the wisdom of experience. (Thomas S. Monson)
In ignorance we fail to see the value of patience as an essential ingredient to overcoming the obstacles on Mount Kilimanjaro. I justify in my anxious state that patience may be an optional principle that is recommended for the weaker climbers of the group as they slowly progress. As we continue the climb at erratic speeds (fast, then slow…fast, then slower), it becomes more evident that patience manifests itself in a controlled, diligent ascent. Notwithstanding, we climbb without the wisdom of experience. Our eyes cannot see the narrow ridge ahead, hiking blind at a brisk pace. The tropical rainforest which welcomed us with a warm and friendly greeting in the day now lurks over our heads with mysterious fear in the dark, frigid night. Our ears hear the earth moan beneath us, our feet covered in mud begin freezing over. I slip on the trail, my frostbitten hands feeling for the unprotected roots of a nearby tree found with the aid of my headlamp. “Poley, poley!” resonates again in my aching ears, while my feet search for footholds.
------------------------
Let me start at the beginning: Together with a group of thirty adventurers I hope to stand on the roof of Africa climbing on our four day ascent of almost 20,000 feet to reach the peak of Mount Kilimanjaro. After a long, bumpy journey along the dirt roads of Kenya from the capital of Mombassa, we arrive at the base of one of the world’s highest peaks. From the beginning of our voyage each group member is given opportunities to exercise patience through cancelled flights, long lines of disorder at customs, and several stop-and-go uncomfortable bus rides with detours. My enthusiasm for the climb that will begin early the next morning is rivaled by my impatience which brings with it thoughts of frustration, weariness, and exhaustion. I collapse in my tent at the edge of the village.
Patience is essential for both high altitude climbing just as it is for obtaining the summits of life. Climbing life’s mountains brings opportunities for wise counsel to be followed or discarded. Patience enables agency to be directed (developed) with wisdom just as impatience provides (sets) the stage for foolishness. Patience enables other attributes to grow in life just as it helps facilitate our group’s ascent in numerous ways.
Patience may well be thought of as a gateway virtue, contributing to the growth and strength of its fellow virtues of forgiveness, tolerance, and faith.
(Robert C. Oaks)

Roosters crow, disrupting the silence of the dark night, in anticipation of morning. Acacia trees (silhouettes) are illuminated along the horizon as morning awakes. Babies cry, children’s feet shuffle along dirt roads sending stones rolling down the road to school. Thump, thump, thump… snap! … Empty cans bounce on the rear of a donkey traveling for water with the loud crack of a whip coming from a small boy herding livestock. A hustle and bustle along the main road is felt as smiles and greetings exchange on the way to the market.
A street dog yawns and stretches after being awakened by the sound of howling rubber tires and honking horns along the main road. My neck jerks suddenly, my resting eyes now made alert, my heart begins to race at the sound of shrilling brakes, my body forced from the left to the right. “Not again,” I thought. With the tilt of a wrist my watch mocks our tardy state; each second seems as a year while we wait again for livestock to clear the road. Our driver smiles while we watch each tick of the clock with unrest. Impatience is a choice.
Finally at the base of Mount Kilimanjaro Abdu, gives his hand to be greeted differently than most men do. He humbly offers the stub of his right arm ending just before the elbow’s usual formation. I shake, taking little time to act surprised at the feel of a limp, spongy stub. We exchange quick friendly greetings, and Abdu expresses his positive outlook on life as he cheerfully swings my week’s belongings onto his back. “We are go now!” he declares with a grin; for Abdu there is always time for optimism.
Right, left, right, left…step-by-step we ascend. The entire group works together to progress up the mountain, traveling at a pace to accommodate the slowest and least fit member of our group. I feel held back and become frustrated with the many stops along the way. In contrast, Abdu enjoys pausing to point out flowers of purple, blue, yellow, and bright pink clinging to steep cliffs, boulders, and switchbacks. “Zey grow up de mountain togezer zlow and zo do we” he states. He sees what I don’t in the mountains cold morning shadow. He understands what I do not.
Fallen leaves-- frozen during the night --crunch under our feet. We yearn for the light and warmth of the sun. Dawn brings a new perspective to time. The morning mist lifts, revealing the trail more clearly. My legs itch with excitement, pushing me forward despite the wise counsel given the group to patiently ascend together. Butterflies of vibrant colors and irregular flight patterns effortlessly flutter us by, traveling up the mountain ahead, and I long to join them. Fed up with the slow (yet steady) pace, I leap ahead. I don’t see that I must have others to help me ascend -- to wait for Abdu seems foolish. He remains with the group, helping others along and cheerfully educating those he leads in broken English. Exquisite birds soar with their glorious orange, turquoise and deep black plumage, cheering my flight through their long beaks. The euphoria of solitude on Africa’s highest ascent fills my being with selfish ambition as I pass by others without asking who I may be able to help. I have been taught that perfection is not a solitary quest and I know that to be perfected alone is impossible. Nevertheless, I determine to set my own pace, pushing patience aside.
I know, but ignore the fact that “Patience must be our constant companion during the journey which carries us toward that great goal, “Continue in patience until ye are perfected,” [which is] the counsel the Lord gave. (Angel Abrea)
Without the companionship of patience, I feel initially liberated to pursue my own course my own way without having to yield to the tempo of others. The path seems clearly marked with signs the first few miles. After a couple miles of swift solitude the trail splits in two and the empty reality of my solo race sets in. I pause for a drink of water while trying to decide which road will be less traveled, and which turn my followers will take. Uncertainty, concern, and then worry begin to cloud my thoughts.
A drop of dew from the tropical foliage above startles me on my forehead. Unfamiliar animals screech, and their shrill-like commune echoes from all directions. Flowers, trees, and bushes, I perceive to be closing in on my path, hiding unknown dangers. What was beautiful and adventurous with the group has now become spooky and threatening in my lonesome state since I distanced myself from the group. “What should I do? I cannot stop! Not now! This is just the beginning.” My young mind rivets on the summit with still another 17,500 feet to go.
Scurrying up the mountain, I neglect to notice the large grey clouds descending to dampen my adventurous euphoria. The thunderous growl of an angry sky and the fierce winds of the incoming downpour demand attention and compel me to be humble. Golf-ball size rain drops chase butterflies away and the heavy burdens of my poor choice to run ahead of the others slows my course. To obtain patience often requires repentance.
Wherefore seeing we also are compassed about with so great a cloud of witnesses, let us lay aside every weight, and the sin which doth so easily beset us, and let us run with patience the race that is set before us. (Hebrews 12:1)
I swallow hard, pausing to catch my breath. Slipping and falling on several occasions in my attempt to climb through the storm on my own, thick mud covers my feet, my hands, and my arms and legs. I stop…I pray and I feel this great cloud is too great to conquer alone. In this tempestuous moment the words “Peace, be still” speak through the mountain’s squall to my mind and heart. Providing inward harmony amidst an outward uproar, this bit of divine advice directs my thoughts and I quiet my feet to reflect…
As a child, I remember learning lessons of climbing while simultaneously discovering lessons of life while climbing Mt. Timpanogos with my father. He leads at an active pace, but always looks back to make sure I am following. He patiently waits when I fall behind, teaching by example. I stumble, I fall, I cry at times climbing, but he is always there to help me continue. When a storm arrives at Emerald Lake, we take temporary shelter nearby before continuing the rest of the ascent. He smiles without worry and I confide in his path, planting my feet in his steps up the snowfield to the crest. The rigid and narrow trail of the crest to the peak frightens my bulging eyes as I look downward upon all of Utah Valley which seems so small below. My father assures me there is no need to fear as long as I take small steps along the rocky ridge. He taught me that patience is a key for persistence in overcoming obstacles. To Dad, any mountain is invincible.
Pondering the lessons of my childhood, I wait for the rest of the group with damaged pride but feeling my father’s approval. If he were here, he would want me to wait. I realize the climb up Mt. Kilimanjaro is not a race, but a journey that must be paced, as its reward is unachievable in solitude. While waiting for the rest of my fellow hikers, I begin to realize that I can no longer wait for patience to find me; patience is a virtue sought through action.
Brushing a clump of mud from my brow with my right forearm, I smile at my hard-working friend Abdu who shows no signs of fatigue in leading the group. “Jambo!” I declare after using my limited native vocabulary to express my apologies for disregarding his previous counsel. The surrounding porters chuckle at my mud-covered appearance, and we laugh together while continuing the ascent. Their abounding enthusiasm and optimism through the storm helps our group endure the storm with a calm perspective and diligence. Thunder, and then another flash of light, opens the heavens. United, we prevail with patience the giant drops of water amidst the beautiful, lush and green rainforests. Our surroundings seem no longer threatening, but beautiful, mixing culture and harvesting respect and hope through difficulty together.
Tribulation worketh patience; And patience, experience; and experience, hope. (Romans 5:3-4)
How quickly we return in error to our own devices. As nature regains her composure and turbulent clouds roll past us, we desire to make up for previous lost time as the sun sets. Our stomachs growl and our legs groan. We accelerate our pace partially to keep warm, but mostly due to our impatience. “Poley, poley…poley, poley!” the porters frequently remind. Most of our trekkers accelerate at a quick pace leaving some of the others behind in a smaller group, despite the warnings of our escorts, who were also forced to split up with the two different groups.
The end of day is met unexpectedly with the mysterious fear of a dark, in the frigid night that creeps upon us like a shadow of defeat. Our ears hear the earth moan beneath us, our feet covered in frozen mud. Climbing a steep ascent of the trail, my frostbitten hands feeling for the unprotected roots of a nearby tree found with the aid of my headlamp. “Poley, poley” resonates again in my ears made numb with the cold. Despite continual exhortations, we continue quickly, greedy with empty stomachs seeking to be filled. We know the camp is near. As the terrain becomes steeper, our mountain guide cries more firmly “Poley! Poley!” Our eyes cannot see the narrow ridge ahead.
A sudden panicked voice sounds amidst our group: “Help! Helllllp!” This screeching cry is put to a halt with the strong dark hands of a savior in the night. Abdu dropped everything else he was carrying at the sound of a frantic cry, and now labors to pull a wayward climber back up over the ledge she couldn’t see. With the enormous strength of his only arm, he willingly puts his own life on the line for a careless, disobedient trekker. As bushes are ruffled in the dark night, and grunts of exertion sound from the guide, excitement resonates within our group of still, frightened mountaineers. Success temporarily relieves fear; we know that God’s love accompanies us despite our failure to follow instruction. We have been chastened again for our disobedience and reminded that He will not let us fail if we will heed His guidance.
“Tank God almytee tonight” Abdu says while catching his breath. This near tragedy makes it evident that we are weak and in need of some greater source of guidance in order to progress to the top of Kilimanjaro and to be able to conquer the summits of life. Climbing life’s mountains brings opportunities for wise counsel to be followed or discarded; patience enables agency to be developed with wisdom just as impatience sets the stage for foolishness. We must patiently rely upon our guide!
We continue the night’s adventure once more, now walking on a frozen trail as if it were a path of egg shells, carefully listening to the counsel of our guide with each step. “Poley! Poley!” is all we can think or say or do in hopes that with patience we may avoid another wayward incident. Patience is stillness, carefully listening along the way.
My heartbeat quickens in the freezing conditions as we finally arrive at the first night’s camp. My vision is slightly distorted, and my stomach growls with nausea. My swollen feet carry my shivering body to crawl into the night’s tent with chattering lips. My head pounds with fear. I hope I awake in the morning without icicles on my chin. I am unprepared for the minus 17 degrees Celsius that sleeps by my side. In my shivering slumber I dream of a future adventure…
Climbing a popular peak in Peru a few years after attempting Mt. Kilimanjaro, I have a new appreciation for patience, applying Mt. Kilamanjaro’s lessons. waiting and hoping for the peak’s glorious outlook, while still finding joy in the slow-paced journey. While Wynapichu is a much smaller mountain than Kilimanjaro, it still presents the same challenges that come with a group climb, patiently working together to ascend. With each step I measure my progress, looking down upon the ancient ruins of Machu Pichu below. The thick fog carries an aura of mystery and without resistance I yield my pace to one of caution and safety. I am held captive by the beauty of the peak and its surroundings. My mind wanders, ponders and soars; I take the time to feel the spirit of the mountain commune with my own. Patience enables a spirit to grow, and progress.
Climbing with patience is climbing with hope; the two are inseparable. The word “esperar” in the Spanish language contributes to the relationship between hope and patience with its two definitions: “to wait for,” or “to hope for.” Storm clouds roll in, yet I feel no rush. Diligence carries my group to the top of the ancient Incan Empire where we stand in peace. My senses are heightened as I glance over a cliff, nearing the steep peak. Impatience could bring catastrophic consequences in this moment as I carefully climb the last steps to the summit. Victory! Patience, as with all gospel principles, is rewarded without fail…
Upon my early morning rise, scattered among rocks big and small by God’s omnipotent hand, seeds of truth lay unseen on Mt. Kilimanjaro, humbly hidden by the brilliance of something grandiose, picturesque and magnificent. The new day brings new perspective. Patience requires time and time affords patience. My eyes are opened to wonders overlooked the day before. The beauty and warmth of morning’s first light bring optimism and gradually replace the life-endangering dark despair of night. The hours of darkness our group begrudged poorly with complaint and murmur, were endured by the mountain guides, who remained constant, calm and content. I ask Abdu how he does it. “Practeece” he replies. “I climb dis mountain so many timez…and alwayz God, He be zer.” Patience is enduring well without end, and thus, patience takes practice.
Before beginning our ascent with fresh eyes to see and ears to hear, Abdu approaches our group with a heavy head. His usual sanguine and upbeat persona was covered by uncertainty and concern on his face. We wait for his command to rally us up the mountain together….but it never comes. “We don’t go today up” he shares. Silence…. “We go today down” he speaks softly with disappointment. The executive decision that our group was not strong enough to continue with the difficult terrain and weather ahead, brought disillusionment, distress, and discontent. Frustration escalates to become anger amidst the group, targeting Abdu. “You are not fail!” cried Abdu in an attempt to lift our spirits. “We go!” He would not let us feel defeat. Regretting our previous day’s mistakes, we follow Abdu back down the mountain against our own will. We trust Abdu and we feel his loving concern. Anger in our downtrodden hearts melts away with the rising sun.
Anger can be conquered by developing patience and sincerely desiring to love others more than self. Gordon T. Watts)
Abdu stops to point out flowers of purple, blue, yellow, and bright pink winding their way down from steep cliffs, boulders, and switchbacks. “Zey grow down de mountain togezer slow, and we go ze same way.” He sees what we don’t in the cold morning shade with boundless patience as we descend.
The Lord said, “Ye are not able to abide the presence of God now, neither the ministering of angels; wherefore, continue in patience until ye are perfected.” This is good advice for all of us. (Cecil O. Samuelson)
I patiently await the day of return to climb Mount Kilimanjaro, with active hope that the opportunity to summit presents itself. Retrospectively I see that I was not prepared at the time I attempted to face Africa’s tallest peak, but I also know my climb was not a failure. Before climbing Mount Kilimanjaro I didn’t know what patience was.
I now better understand the need for continual “Poley, poley” reminders in my life, and I strive to follow this counsel on my life’s path. I am now less careless in my approach to each day trying not to pass others by without taking time to look for ways to stop and help. I try not to take for granted many of the beauties around me, as I patiently observe the lovely people and places that make my life grandeur. I still fall short in many ways. I am not void of impatience and there are often times I find my feet running ahead of the guidance I’ve been given in my life’s school, work, and church callings. Yet, I have learned to find joy in the journey up life’s mountains, enduring the storms and stopping to help others along the way. If I proceed patiently—even through multiple attempts –I know God’s loving hand will guide me to the summit of Africa’s roof-top Kilimanjaro in His own time. As I patiently rely upon and follow my Eternal Guide up life’s mountains each day, there is no peak too high to climb.
Be still, and know that I am God. (Psalm 46:10)

Pirsig's Zen and the Art of Motorcylce Maintenance--A Manual for Life Maintenance

Pirisg, Robert M.. Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance. New York: Bantam, 1981. (380 pages, 31 chapters)

Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance was written by Robert M. Pirsig and originally published in 1974. Since then, it has enjoyed several republications due to its popularity. Its 380 pages are divided into four parts and 31 chapters. The book doubles as the story of a motorcycle journey across the United States in which the narrator searches for forgotten truths and an understanding of his son and as a modern work of philosophical thought and application. Throughout the journey, the narrator shares a Chautauqua with the reader, which he defines as “an old-time series of popular talks intended to edify and entertain, improve the mind and bring culture and enlightenment to the ears and thoughts of the hearer.” (7) His Chautauqua, exploring the duality of technology and art, Classicism and Romanticism, mingle with the story of the journey and bring insights to his relationship with his son. Flashbacks also show the life of a man called Phaedrus years previously, the narrator’s own life before receiving electroshock therapy to cure Phaedrus’s insanity. The trek across the nation reconciles the dualities of object and subject, father and son, past and present.

The story flows very well and the intermingling of different, well-placed modes of narration bring added insight to each preceding section. The depth of the author’s skill in writing and clarity of thought is evident in his ability to explain philosophical ideas on a level that most readers can understand, with some thought, of course. He uses everyday occurrences to supply metaphor and application for these ideas. From this comes the motorcycle maintenance element of the title. The motorcycle provides a vehicle—pun may or may not be intended—for illustrating the differences in Classical and Romantic thought, showing parts versus whole. His goal in addressing this dualism is its elimination, or rather, a recreation in reconciliation. This is done by Quality, a third entity that I can only shortly define as the godly characteristic inherent in all good work, undefinable, yet evident. Hearers, readers, onlookers can all perceive it when experiencing a work of quality, whether it be a beautiful poem or a masterful weld-job. It is Quality that makes life worth living. It is Quality that is worth.

This discussion of quality, and one of its sub-discussions of gumption, brought me the most insight into my life and my own work. This book reads much differently than older masterpieces of literature. Pirsig does not remind me of Joyce, Longfellow, or Shakespeare, yet I feel the quality of his work. It has shown me that popular and practical prose can be meaningful and moving. His story has awakened and enlightened an understanding of myself, of my desire to pursue excellence in life, in all of life. I never want to produce another shoddy piece of work again.

Pirsig’s book is not perfect. Some of his story is left unsaid, perhaps only comprehensible to him and his son. Other statements made by the narrator do not resonate with me. I value Eastern philosophies and religious practices, respect and admire many of them, yet do not agree with all of those introduced by the narrator. But its limitations and delimitations do not remove the Quality from this story.
I would recommend this book to anyone interested in self-reflection and a different perspective on the world. It is some of the most accessible philosophy I have read, understandable and applicable to the current world.

The Seed of Humility: Final Blog

The blaring sun penetrated my freshly tanned skin as I swaggered across campus. Not bothering to step aside for underclassmen, it was finally my turn to take advantage of the senior rank and privileges, and I thought it was going to be the best year ever. Little did I know that in spite of my confidence, my senior year was not going to be as picture perfect as I had dreamed.

What is a quest? What factors inspire individuals to devote their energy and soul to a specific pursuit? Well, that is exactly what I learned this semester. I’ve come to realize that my life is like the transformation of a single seed into a beautiful flower.

Just like the flower, I lived life to the fullest during the Summer, casting away all cares and strife. Anticipating the thrill and accomplishment I would bask in upon achieving my collegiate goals. It was during this time of bliss and arrogance that I was complacent; I should have been constantly preparing and improving myself each day. Instead, I ignorantly allowed dangerous weeds to start to entangle and ensnare me.

Suddenly, the first storm of Fall hit me like a chilling frost. My senior year started, but definitely not the way I thought it would. As a Violin Performance Major, it’s a common occurrence to audition and compete for position and rank among my peers; yet, my complacency during the Summer greatly affected my performance. Also, as a first time mom, the stage of “morning sickness” was more like the 24 hour flu – for two and a half months. Thus, these factors put an even greater strain on my abilities to perform at school, church, and home.

Sitting in the bleakness of Winter, I let an icy tear tremble down my face. Why was this happening to me? Why now, my final year of college? Feeling absolutely alone, with no one to turn to, I felt like giving up. Degraded to my very roots, I had nothing left to give. Over time, I became humbled and realized who truly gives life to my roots and helps me become beautiful – Christ. Christ is always there for me even when I am the weakest. He gave me the strength I needed to hope for the Spring. Christ knew how to help, lead, guide, and support me through trials because he overcame every December. It is only through Christ that we can even hope for Spring. With meekness, and fully devoting my very roots to Christ, I was reborn as I humbly entered the Spring.

As my newly rejuvenated life was budding, I still relied on Christ to sustain me through my instability. Blessings from Heaven poured down upon me giving me nourishment as I searched the scriptures and held meaningful prayers. One of the greatest blessings that I received was the reassurance of the Holy Ghost. While anxiously seeking comfort through the scriptures I was lead to Doctrine and Covenants 78:17-18

Verily, verily, I say unto you, ye are little children, and ye have not as yet understood how great blessings the Father hath in his own hands and prepared for you;

And ye cannot bear all things now; nevertheless, be of good cheer, for I will lead you along. The kingdom is yours and the blessings thereof are yours, and the riches of eternity are yours.

What joy and peace that scripture brought my soul; Christ truly knew exactly what I needed, and He was there to strengthen me. Over time, as I worked diligently to turn my life and efforts to Christ, I bloomed into a beautiful flower. It was in my weakest time that I turned to Christ, and he enabled me to transform my weakness into my greatest strength.

Going through this rejuvenating process, I came to understand what my quest was this semester. Both my spiritual and intellectual quests were intertwined, and as I aspired to progress in one area the other was equally improved. When I truly thought about this being my last year of college, I knew that I wanted to get the most out of my education as possible. I devoted myself to practice longer, study harder, and always do my very best. It seemed like being sick would get in the way of my pursuit, but that is where my spiritual quest balanced the weight. Through the burden of sickness, I have grown closer to the Lord and my growing baby girl. The brethren have stated that pregnant women go through pain and trials which are the closest experience on earth that can be compared to the intense pain that Christ suffered during His great sacrifice. What an amazing blessing for me to have the opportunity to be so intimately close to the Lord! I was constantly striving to become as Christ like as possible through devotion, scripture study, and prayer.

Now, even though the white snow is fluttering to the frozen ground, I am not in the Winter of my life. Because of my quests, my hard work and dedication paid off. I was promoted partly through the year to a higher position in the orchestra, and my health is strong and I can almost eat whatever I want :-). The sun is shining, and because of a humble seed, my Spring flower is beautiful through Christ, the Lord.

Does that answer your QUESTion?

Parker Heiner
Spiritual and Intellectual Quests

“What,” dramatic pause, “is your name?” croaks the Bridgekeeper.
“Uhh, Parker Heiner. Of Arizona. Sort of.”
“What,” dramatic pause, “is your quest?” asks the Bridgekeeper.
I think for a while. “Are you sure you want me to tell you? I mean, I’ve been working on this for a semester now, and I ought have it down pretty good, but it’s going to take a little while for me to explain, so if you’ve got the time. I guess you’re the Bridgekeeper and can’t really go anywhere else, so here goes…”

“People are always more important.” Craig Decker’s first maxim in life rings like a tuning fork of perfect C. Clear, resounding, and unwavering, it is a truth I have denied some of my life, but which I have begun allowing to resonate within myself for the past several years. It becomes even clearer in the wake of Craig’s passing, as the waves of his life continue to influence mine. I pull a short excerpt from his family’s comments, “Craig Decker passed away tragically on July 5th 2008. However, in his short 25 years of life he has had a profound effect on thousands of people in such a positive way that we, as is family, have created this site to be a collecting ground for memories, inspiration and as a tool to continue on his legacy and hopefully make the world a better place.” This blog is incredible. You can read for hours and continually see new and incredible ways that Craig influenced others. This is a measure of how well he lived that first maxim of life.

Craig is not the first person to believe and live such a statement. Much earlier in my life, some nine months before my birth, another person who lived the same personal law set me on my mortal spiritual and intellectual quests. Growing up, my mother always focused on people, on improving their lives, on loving and caring and giving and never ever tearing down. Many a time did I groan at her “Life is about relationships, honey.” Only recently have I realized that this is the drive shaft in the vehicle of becoming what I want to spiritually and doing what I want to intellectually.

I share the same basic goal of most people I know—I want to be happy. My study of the Gospel and as much life experience as I could pack into my scant 23 and a half years has shown me that I need people. James Barry, the author of Peter Pan, once wrote, “Those who bring sunshine to the lives of others cannot keep it from themselves.” Far too often, we insist on the gloom of self-pity, self-righteousness, self-despair, self-ridicule, or self-esteem. It is when we lose our lives that we gain them, when we forget ourselves that the Lord remembers us. All activities of the Gospel have the goal of bringing us happiness and they all inspire the same desire—service to our fellowman.

And I cannot disassociate my mind from my spirit, and so cannot, nor should, take the spiritual out of the intellectual in my pursuits. Ultimately, I seek the opposite goal—a marriage of the two—as I search for knowledge and the application thereof. As I gain in understanding of the world and of man, I hope both for a better understanding of God and to aid others in seeing the divinity in it all. In them. I pursue an understanding of everything so that I can understand everyone, and in understanding them, I hope to add to them.

My spiritual and intellectual quests seek to drive me to one shared goal: peace with myself and with my God. Through all the experiences that I have had in life, I have recognized the wisdom of those who have taught me through word and deed that this is done primarily through people. What good is all the scripture study and prayer if it does not lead you to do good, as Christ did? What good is all the knowledge and expertise in the world if it does not lead you to serve others? As President Monson shares in the most recent First Presidency message, “It was said of Jesus of Nazareth that He ‘increased in wisdom and stature, and in favour with God and man.’ Do we have the determination to do likewise? One line of holy writ contains a tribute to our Lord and Savior, of whom it was said, He ‘went about doing good…; for God was with him.’” The measure of his good, and thus, the development of his mind and spirit, can be seen in the lives he changed. When I act in accordance with Christ’s will, following his example, I am happy and I am fulfilled, for I am serving. That is my quest.

The Bridgekeeper seems too busy snoring to ask me a third question, so I walk across.

A Simple re-Quest

"Intense, unexpected suffering passes more quickly than suffering that is apparently bearable; the latter goes on for years and, without our noticing, eats away at our soul, until, one day, we are no longer able to free ourselves from the bitterness and it stays with us for the rest of our lives." - Paulo Coelho, The Alchemist, xi

We've all met bitter old people. My nightmare is becoming one of those. This summer, my nightmare became much more real as I worked in a world-class university for public health, my career of choice. My life took a dramatic change of course as I opened a PDF document as part of the thousands of pages of reading I was to do for my internship. Images and Reflections: Photography and Public Health was an incredibly insightful article published in a scholarly journal for my field and written by the chair of the department for which I was interning. I sent an email to Dr. Nigel Bruce and he enthusiastically replied. We shared a passion for both photography and public health. Over the summer, we worked together on developing a hypothetical university-level course on those two subjects. At the end of my internship, I had to conduct several interviews of public health professionals. Nigel told me that although he was happy enough (as the department chair of the second-best public health program in the world), if he were to do it over again he would instead explore his interest in photography. Red flag.

Why, you may wonder, if I love photography so much would I choose to study public health? I am pragmatic. And I'm not alone.

Oscar Wilde said: "Each man kills the thing he loves." And it's true. The mere possibility of getting what we want fills the soul of the ordinary person with guilt. We look around at all those who have failed to get what they want and feel that we do not deserve to get what we want either. We forget about all the obstacles we overcame, all the suffering we endured, all the things we had to give up in order to get this far. I have known a lot of people who, when their personal calling was within their grasp, went on to commit a series of stupid mistakes and never reached their goal - when it was only a step away.

This is the most dangerous of the obstacles because it has a kind of saintly aura about it: renouncing joy and conquest. But if you believe yourself worthy of the thing you fought so hard to get, then you become an instrument of God, you help the Soul of the World, and you understand why you're here. -Coelho, xii

If there's one secret I may not have outed yet in the class, it would be that I am an incense-burning hippie. Hence, these words strike a chord with me. I love the idea that finding our personal calling in life and following it isn't just nice, it's the ultimate contribution we can make to humanity. This, then, was my intellectual and spiritual quest: to find my personal calling.

It may seem obvious to you where this is going. And yet it has been quite a rollercoaster for me. I have considered graduating and trying to find a job working in refugee health, taking premed courses and becoming a midwife so that my utility in third world countries is increased, and finishing out both of my minors before leaving BYU. These all seemed to be fairly reasonable, relatively safe options for my life. Convincing yourself that applying for the photo program is a good idea when you are already in your victory lap of your undergraduate, however, is much more difficult.

Pascal once said in Pensees that, roughly translated, after meditating on all of the many horrible things that exist and occur as a result of mankind's folly, he had decided all of these things were the result of one single problem: people have forgotten how to spend time in solitary introspection.

I applied this to my personal quest, which was difficult as I am naturally a very social creature and dislike being alone. However, I found myself processing many intersections that had happened in my life, including the arguably chance meeting with a street performer who inspired me to follow my dream at any cost by showing me that success is a combination of personality and positive conspiracy of the universe. This one multifaceted episode took me the entire semester to dissect, and I have yet to finish. However, I feel that I've gained much from the process itself.

And so it is that through a more thorough exploration of my options, frequent and deep introspection, and meditative reflection, I have arrived at the end of the semester and this course. After all this and more flip-flopping than candidates in the presidential primaries, I have decided to apply to the photo program. Meetings with faculty members have proved encouraging and I have a decent chance at getting in. My intellectual and spiritual quest, then, is changing. Now I must understand how and why to follow my calling in life, while keeping in mind a somewhat worrisome but ultimately encouraging quote (again from Coelho):

We who fight for our dream, suffer far more when it doesn't work out, because we cannot fall back on the old excuse: "Oh, well, I didn't really want it anyway." We do want it and know that we have staked everything on it and that the path of the personal calling is no easier than any other path, except that our whole heart is in this journey. Then, we warriors of light must be prepared to have patience in difficult times and to know that the Universe is conspiring in our favor, even though we may not understand how.

And with that, I leave you - may you find and follow your personal calling in life as well.

The Quest

I tried to construct an intricate model, but it was nothing but a card castle, easily collapsed, with no real beauty, only the ability to fascinate momentarily; a novelty, yes, but no work of art. So tonight I write what’s on my heart. If not genius, If not classic material, at least it will be heartfelt. And what else matters.

My spiritual quest is my becoming, and my search for the joy that does not fade. I seek to open my heart, sharpen my senses and feel the world around me, to feel the people around me. Not only to study, but to live.

My spiritual quest is my attempt to touch butterfly wings—without breaking them. It is the tolling of my own liberty bell – purposeful, true, and meaningful. I spiritual quest is cutting through all the chains that bind me—fear, sin, selfishness—with a ballpoint pen. It is my search for divinity within myself and within others.

Our trip to aspen grove was a spiritual way mark for me. Yes, now I can say that I’ve been on an eight hour hike, but that wasn’t the real beauty of the trip. Neither were the mountains, though lovely, my summit. Instead, it was the people—the dear, sweet people.

I came to understand that I was among the best of mankind. I was among the kind and the genuine, the accepting and the spiritual. Until Aspen grove I did not know that the ability to give a heartfelt compliment was a spiritual gift. In the mountains I discovered that my professor is a human being. I grew to love, wholeheartedly, this class these people. Wistful as it may sound, part of me wishes that people weren’t graduating, weren’t leaving, so that we could continue class every day for the rest of our lives. Or perhaps, in the spirit of my quest book, just every Tuesday.

My intellectual quest is not separate from my spiritual quest; knowledge without meaning is nothing. My intellectual journey has been one of growth and collapse. I nurture a field of corn, a decent crop for the year. But come next year all my knowledge has decomposed. I’m just now learning that breakdown is not failure; it is simply the key to fertile ground and growth.

I’m just now understanding lessons from years ago. I quit gymnastics when I was twelve but there on sweaty mats was the key to learning: The gymnast will hit the ground, does hit the ground, but the real gymnast stands again and again, and again. So it is with the scholar.

I hope that each member of this class lives the life of a star. Not the celebrity kind, but the kind which burns in the night sky. I pray that we spend our lives in fusion, in bringing together ideas, feelings, and people. Perhaps some days our souls will expand, as though they encompass eternity. Other times they may collapse, seemingly tragic. Expand, collapse, expand, collapse. What we cannot forget is this: more soul-elements form with each collapse. There is growth in each challenge. Then one day we’ll supernova, and for a moment be spectacular Illuminated stardust. But in the end, people as great as these here, these dear sweet people, will collapse, not into pain, but into black holes: invisible, powerful, and all absorbing

Spiritual Quest

"Through Heavens Eyes"

To exemplify my spiritual quest I chose the phrase, "Look at your life Through heaven's eyes," from the song lyrics from the Prince of Egypt. For as we look at our lives through heavens eyes, we see the purpose of our trials more clearly and more clearly our true value.

I was born in Santa Clara County Hospital on December 26, 1984. I spent most of my childhood living in Napa Valley, California. Growing up I spent time living with both my mother and my father who separated when I was four years old. I lived with my father on weekends, who took me to church on Sundays; and my mother on weekends, who was not an active member of the church.

When I finished elementary school, my life took a bad turn. My father moved away and, having a lack of fatherly support, I struggled making the transition from elementary school to junior high. I struggled both socially and in school. Toward the end of my junior high years, my mother began to have financial difficulties. She ended up losing her home, so I moved in with my father in Palo Alto who I had scarcely seen in 3 years.

While these times seemed difficult to me, and I didn't understand why I needed to go through such things, I found that these experiences set the stage for my further spiritual progression. When I moved in with my Father, I went to church for a while. Though I wasn't terribly interested in religion at the time, this move put me in an environment that exposed me to the gospel.

High school was a difficult time. I had trouble getting along with my Father, I didn't excel in school, I didn't have a lot of friends. During this time, my life seemed pretty meaningless. I got up in the morning, sometimes, went to school on occasion. These times were difficult, but the experiences sent me into important introspection. I began to ponder on the purpose of life which better prepared me to receive the fullness of the gospel later.

My senior year in high school, I was finally instilled with a desire to change my life. My friends were all going off to college while I was left without much hope. During this time I began to search for spiritual knowledge. I asked myself what I wanted in life. I decided I wanted a family, I wanted a good life, but I had idea how to get it. I received a visit from the local priest quorum adviser. He invited me to read the Book of Mormon and pray to know if it was true. I'll admit, I didn't read the Book of Mormon, but I did attend church, and I did pray to find out if there was a god. A week later, I received a strong confirming whiteness that there was a God. The experience changed my life drastically.

Life is But a Weaving
Benjamin Malachi Franklin

"My life is but a weaving
Between my God and me.
I cannot choose the colors
He weaveth steadily.
Oft' times He weaveth sorrow;
And I in foolish pride
Forget He sees the upper
And I the underside.
Not 'til the loom is silent
And the shuttles cease to fly
Will God unroll the canvas
And reveal the reason why.
The dark threads are as needful
In the weaver's skillful hand
As the threads of gold and silver
In the pattern He has planned"

After the spirit witnessed to me, I was able for the first time to see my life, and my experience, at least in part, the way that my Heavenly Father saw. I saw that the dark threads of adversity had set the stage fore my conversion.

Though I had more knowledge after my conversion experience, and have continued to gain knowledge since, my spiritual quest has not changed very much. I strive to "Look at [my] life through heavens eyes." Now it's not so much looking back at it is looking forward. As I go through the day I strove to better understand what the Savior would do if he were in my situation. All my successes, and all my trials, I try to look at from a heavenly perspective, or eternal perspective as we often call it. As I look at my life with this perspective see my successes as a time for gratitude, and my trials as a time to grow and turn more fully to the Lord.

"A single thread in a tapestry-
Though its color brightly shine-
Can never see its purpose
In the pattern of the grand design.

"And the stone that sits on the very top
Of the mountain's mighty face-
Does it think it's more important
Than the stones that form the base?

"So how can you see what your life is worth
Or where your value lies?
You can never see through the eyes of man
You must look at your life,
Look at your life through heaven's eyes.

"A lake of gold in the desert sand
Is less than a cool fresh spring-
And to one lost sheep, a shepherd boy
Is greater than the richest king.
If a man lose ev'rything he owns,
Has he truly lost his worth?
Or is it the beginning
Of a new and brighter birth?

"So how do you measure the worth of a man-
In wealth or strength or size?
In how much he gained or how much he gave?
The answer will come,
The answer will come to him who tries
To look at his life through heaven's eyes."

HONORS 300R – MY INTELLECTUAL AND SPIRITUAL QUEST

My intellectual quest can be summed up in just two words: education, and stewardship. My ultimate goal is to acquire as much knowledge on this earth as I can so that I can use it to help and educate others. By pursuing medicine, a field where learning never ends and where new research is constantly being attained, I believe that I can fulfill my intellectual quest.

Even as a young child, I have always had this drive to learn, not only from teachers and books, but also from involving myself in sports teams, choirs, volunteer work, and travelling to other countries. Every opportunity that has not passed me by has sculpted me into who I am today.

Without having realized it before, I have noticed that throughout my life, my own way marks had been set, discretely, from the day I mastered the alphabet, struggled with high school chemistry, to the day I was accepted into BYU. Every inch along my educational path is getting me closer to becoming the physician I have always wanted to be.

I cannot remember the exact moment I decided on becoming a doctor, but for all of my twenty years of living, no other profession has trumped this one. My passion is to heal others whom are ill and unhealthy and to make a difference in their lives. I can only do this if I have the appropriate knowledge. Sharing this knowledge and informing people about their bodies, can allow them to help themselves also, and I hope they can be inspired this way. What good is having knowledge if it cannot be shared and passed on?

Both my grandfather and closest aunt are OB/GYN. I believe that a combination of both my grandfather delivering me as a baby, the first to hold me, and the great role model my aunt is for me has been a great influence. Their same passion for medicine too, runs in my blood.

* * * * * *

Intellect and spirituality, for me, are not separate and discrete from each other. They are analogous to my vital organs; intellect is like my brain, spirituality, is my heart. I could not live with one and not the other; both keep me alive and make me a whole person.

My spiritual quest in just two words: truth and happiness. Although these terms seem vague, I interpret them in an important and meaningful way. My search for truth is through Jesus Christ; it would be useless to look anywhere else. Coming to BYU, even as a catholic, has greatly strengthened my spirituality. I do not know if it is because I am in an environment with so many spiritual people, who are living, or striving to live, the gospel, but I have noticed a change in my life, for the better, and I have drawn closer to Christ. He is the light, and I can always look to Him for guidance.

One of the main components of my happiness, and one of my favorite Latter-day Saint emphases, is on the family. I love my family; they are the root of my happiness. From them I have learned to be a compassionate, loving and trusting individual. My quest has been to use these tools and apply them to the people I meet, since we are all apart of God’s family. Such a task is not always easy. Just like with sibling rivalry, conflicts arise amongst other people, and it can be difficult to be so compassionate, loving or trusting.

This quest, like my intellectual quest, has been challenging at times, and it is during these times when I seek Christ’s help. One quote I admire from Dag Hammarskjold’s “Markings”, is:
Does he sacrifice himself for others, yet for his own sake – in megalomania?
Or does he realize himself for the sake of others? The
Difference is that between a monster and a man. “A new
Commandment I give unto you: that ye love one another.” (page 69).

Christ paid the penalty for all of my sins, and I must not forget that. The small trials that I experience cannot compare to His atoning sacrifice. I must remember Christ’s love and the love of my family, especially when things have dampened my happiness.

Like the happiness my family has given me, I, too, hope to build my own family on the principles of support and happiness.

The Large And The Small Plates (Final Blog)

As Nephi, we all should have our own large and small plates to record about our intellectual and spiritual quests.

Intellectual Waymarks:

My intellectual quest is to master the art of writing using the English language. It has been my intellectual quest since I understood the value of the power of words and it will be until I have accomplished that goal. I understand that it may take my whole life since learning a language is an endless work, but how useful is our life if we don’t do what we enjoy to do. And I love to write in English.

I wrote this in my commonplace book: “ ‘The mastering of writing shouldn’t be limited to academic writing.’ I think that this is right. The mastering of writing should include all genres of writing. The accomplished writer should be able to use different genres”.

I understand that the goal of being an accomplished writer involves a lot of reading and I like to read, therefore, I guess this goal is feasible in my lifetime. Now, it can be understood why I took writing classes in the past, why I took a writing class this semester and why I will continue to take other writing classes while in college.

Spiritual Waymarks (1 Nephi 6:5)

I wrote about Aspen Grove and the Eternal Cycle of Water in my commonplace book. The cycle of water resembles the eternal cycle of life. We are part of a greater work. We are given time and freedom and a place in the Plan of Salvation.

My spiritual quest is to become the hands of God to bless others. I strongly believe that God has put us on this earth to be his hands to bless his children. Maybe this explains why in the exercise “This Is Why We Give” I came up with at least seventeen reasons to give. I also believe that the more education we get, the more empowered we will be to better serve others.

The conclusion about these waymarks is the reaffirmation that I am heading in the right direction in my intellectual and spiritual quests to unfold my mind and spiritual perspectives.

Filling the Triangle - My Spiritual Quest (by Kialei)

While pondering my spiritual quest, there were a lot of seemingly unconnected ideas that kept running through my mind. Rather than let them remain in their state of chaos and distract me from accomplishing anything else, I decided to start writing what came to mind and see what happened.

First off, something I believe very strongly and see examples of daily – happiness is a choice. Our Father in Heaven loves us and wants us to be happy, and He has set up a glorious and perfect plan for us to do so. While He has laid out the framework, however, it is up to us to take advantage of that and do what is necessary.

Another thing I have a huge testimony of is free agency. We make our own choices and are made to endure the consequences of said choices – good or bad. They say blessings are brought to pass through others. President Kimball told us, “The Lord answers our prayers, but it is usually through another person that he meets our needs.”



I think the same holds true with tribulation. One person’s personal tests in life result in another’s joy or heartbreak, depending on if the first person passes or fails. The example that comes to my mind is rape – it isn’t that God is punishing the victim, it’s that one person made a horrible choice and another person is made to suffer the consequences. While this may seem unfair, it is the only way that agency can work. In order to make good choices, there must be an option to make bad ones. By making good choices with our agency, we help others on the path to happiness. By making bad choices, we make their journey more difficult.

Next, the subject of service has been on my mind a lot lately. Every time I feel unproductive, unhappy, or frustrated with the way my life is going, I always seem to realize that, if I did more service, I would be happier. This logic is twofold – first, we are told that blessings come from service, and second, when we focus on others rather than ourselves, we always seem to find that we are more upbeat, have a better attitude and perspective, and feel better about ourselves. The result: service equals happiness.



After looking over the written manifestation of the workings of my brain, my initial thought was, “wow, back to square one, this is just a bunch of random concepts, not material for a presentation.” After a little more reflection, however, I began to see the connection – and the connection suddenly made perfect sense with the progress I have made this semester.

Here we go. Try to stay with me.



The Lord has given us all individual talents and abilities. Each of us has the ability to help people in different ways, and there are things we can do for others that no one else can do. Often, we find that the ways in which Christ strengthened us are the ways in which we can help others. Based on our experiences, knowledge, natures, and blessings from the Lord, we are more sensitive and in-tune with those needs in other people, and we have the desire to do our part to fill that need.

It’s like a triangle, with “God”, “me/you,” and “others” as the vertices, with whatever our talent is filling in the center. Christ strengthens us in whatever area we need, and we, in turn, can help others in the same way.



For me, the triangle seems to be filled with empathy. The Lord has been so kind, loving, and understanding to me throughout my life, especially in a few particularly memorable situations. Because of this, I feel like I have a heightened desire to relate and empathize with friends and acquaintances that are having a hard time. I have been blessed with the ability to recognize many problems that people are having and figure out subtle ways to provide assistance.

As I have recognized this extra sense that I seem to possess, my next step is to put this blessing into action. It is one thing to recognize a need but quite another to actually do something about it. However, where much is given, much is required, and I am starting to realize that, if I let this God-given talent go to waste, I will be rejecting Christ and what He has done to strengthen me in this area. It’s my job to uncover these talents and build upon them – asking the Lord for help, exerting effort, and putting them into practice.

I guess that’s the point, really. Christ helps us in ways that we don’t even recognize. But when we do recognize His hand in our lives, we learn from it and are grateful. That gratitude and newly acquired knowledge inspire us to improve ourselves and help others in the process. Because of the assistance that we are given, we are able to pass that assistance on to others… and the Lord’s love, empathy, and mercy are spread to all His children.

My Quest: To Love God

• Mark12:30 "And thou shalt love the Lord with all they heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy mind, and with all thy strength: this is the first commandment"
  

• Levels of Motivation

1. Riches and Honor
2. Good Companionship
3. Fear of Punishment
4. Sense of Duty
5. Eternal Reward
6. Charity

• 1 John 4:10 "Herein is love, not that we loved God, but that he loved us..."
• Becoming Like Christ
  

Intellectual Quest Blog

This semester, I read Lakota Woman by Mary Crow Dog. Initially, this is what sparked my intellectual quest. The book is mostly about the life for Mary Crow Dog, but it also mentions the American Indian Movement (AIM). AIM is a Native American activist organization who stood up for the rights of Native Americans around the country, because at the time the Native American’s rights were being ignored. As a result of their efforts, AIM created many opportunities for Native Americans. In fact, I believe that, if it weren’t for them, I wouldn’t be where I am today.
Reading this book I could not help but become angry at what happened to Native Americans, especially while reading about the discrimination and injustice that they faced. Right away, I felt a need to contribute something to Native Americans, just as the AIM did. However, I felt that there was nothing I could do.
My mother had read this book also; therefore I expressed my frustration of wanting to help but also feeling that there is nothing for me to do. She was the person who pointed out that another purpose of the AIM movement was to educate those Native Americans of their rights that they themselves were not aware of. It was then that I realized that I may not be able to help other native Americans like the AIM did, but I can help by getting an education and then going back to my reservation to spread that knowledge to my people. Thus, this is what is at the heart of my intellectual quest; learning so that I may help others.

Final: My Quests

During this semester I've learned a great deal and my quest has helped motivate me along the path of that learning.

My spiritual quest:
One of my goals in my spiritual quest was so give my spirit and the convictions of my soul a voice. I've always wanted to help give a voice to the voiceless, to make known the story of those who couldn't make their stories known. I feel that before we can give a voice to others we have to find our own and help our hearts speak out just as well as our mind already can. Through my writing this semester I've started to find ways to express my experiences, feelings and beliefs.

My intellectual quest:
Another of my goals was to strengthen my desire to learn. I believe I have begun to accomplish this as well. I've wanted to learn for learning's sake, not just for a grade or for a test. One of the greatest helps to me this semester was writing the David O. McKay essay. I had to learn so much to write it and make it sound good (at least to myself). I had to learn about myself and about each of the things I wrote about. I did research to broaden my mind and enrich the topic. I didn't even use all of the things that I learned in the essay, but they did help to make it better. Learning has continued to strengthen my mind.

I've also wanted to further develop my abilities as a creative writer and increase my capacity to play with language and use it as a tool of expression. Through practice I feel I've also been successful in this goal.

The whole: as seen from one of its parts

Note: the red font segments may be somewhat annoying, but they have a useful purpose. I will follow them as an outline of sorts during the presentation. Rather than read the entire blog, I will just make sure I touch on each of those main highlighted points.

In my first year of college, in the liberal arts tradition, I approached learning with a feeling of wholeness. The college gave each freshman student a cohort group of twelve to twenty others, and as cohorts we studied a wide range of subjects. Following each other from class to class, we linked commonalities between varying subject matter.

The campus community read one text that year, Barbara Kingsolver’s Poisonwood Bible, and we incorporated it into our biology, writing, history, social sciences, etc. This framework of a common text between common students and teachers gave a universal language and sense of wholeness to our learning experience. After transferring from that school to come to BYU, I still worked to create for myself such a cohort experience as much as I could in the midst of a spacious student body. By researching teachers, classes, and study buddies’ schedules, I have found each semester marked by a sense of wholeness. Instead of having my education categorized—"first I walk to Statistics, then attend Research Methods, then do homework for Adolescent Development," and so forth—I have rejoiced in examining the areas of overlap between subjects. In bringing every separate subject and teacher into a realm of shared themes, I have enhanced my learning as a whole.

This semester, I decided to create a cohort theme based on increasing my understanding of morality. Therefore, I carefully researched the most quality teachers and courses and ultimately enrolled in:
· Moral Development, a research-based course
· Moral Foundations, a philosophical slant on the same research
· Writing the Quest (including documentation of the spiritual, or moral journey)
· Research Assistantship (under the direction of Dr. James Harper and the “Flourishing Families” project, I analyze the behavior of parents and children, making moral judgment calls on the positive and negative aspects of their interactions as a trained coder)

All these classes complement each other beautifully . The threads I have woven to tie them together as a whole have included theories of guilt and redemption, a recognition of humans as relational beings, and a notation of God’s intention for families, among other moral themes.

The idea of seeking wholeness in education is reminiscent of fractal patterns, a mathematical concept in which a part of the whole bears sameness to the whole. A snowflake is a fractal pattern; an ocean’s musical wave sounds are fractal patterns. And God is like a fractal pattern, with each of his children being parts of His whole, branching out like snowflake lace from a single molecular center, tumbling from the sky in a chorus of angel voices. The ideal of wholeness also transcends modern times, as most ancient art demonstrates merging between the spiritual and the everyday aspects of people's lives. Only recently have the nations attempted to compartmentalize spirituality, or propose a separation of private and public lives.

My spiritual quest, in keeping with the theme of examining morality, has involved seeing myself as a moral being, capable of making good choices or bad. As a child of God, I often feel more inclined to follow my inherent divinity and choose “the good.” When I choose rightly, I feel in harmony with the whole earth, in love with God, humanity, and learning. In contrast, when I stray from goodness, I tend to feel discord in my sense of wholeness. I experience a feeling of broken separation from God and others, and a lack of unity in my both my spiritual and intellectual parts. Such feelings of discomfort motivate me to get back in line with the fractal pattern of which I am a part. My quest this semester, both intellectual and spiritual (for they are both part of the same pattern!) has been to join the various parts of my life together in a beautiful whole.

My Spiritual and Intellectual Quest.

Intellectual Quest.

As a young girl I thought that I had a career picked out. I knew what I wanted and I had a plan to get it. Then the years started to pass by and my view of the world, my abilities, and the career I had chosen, changed. I started to change my mind back and forth, not being able to decide what I wanted to do. So this semester I thought that I would take several classes to help me make up my mind. As I took these classes I explored my options and found myself becoming more and more indecisive. I know that I want to do something that will help people. I want to do my share of good in the world. Yet there career that I had been looking into isn't always viewed that way. People wouldn't look at my career path and say, "Now there goes someone who wants to do good for the world." It doesn't even have to be the world. One person at a time would be fine.

Then as the semester progressed I realized that I didn't need require that my career let me do this. I could do it on my own without the help of a career. I could find time outside of work to do little acts of service. I did it in high school so why not in the job field. I have finally chosen my career and I am sticking to it. I might have to work harder and do more, but in the end it will be worth it. I might not like it at times, but I will be able to help somebody. My intellectual quest this year was finding out what the rest of my life would look like. It was finding goals and setting them. My intellectual quest has stemmed a greater quest and goal towards the near and distant future.

My Spiritual Quest

My spiritual quest was not as easy to find or define. I thought about the focus of my McKay essay and thought that the subject that I had written on would be my quest. Yet as I thought I realized that it wasn't quite right. I had one instance in my life that was part of my quest, but it didn't make up the quest entirely. Then, it came to me. My quest is trying to find where what I want in life and what the Lord wants for me, meet up. What I want and what He wants could be the same thing, but at different times. It happens so often in life. Where I desire one thing, but instead get another, or get what I want at a later time in life. The time table to Him is totally different from ours, and his is the only one that matters.

I also think that my quest had to parts. The other rooted from talking and arguing with friends about the heated subjects that our country has produced in the last few months. I find it easier to argue with stranger and to stand up for what you believe in because you don't know them as well, and as much as you don't want to hurt anyone's feelings or put down anyone's opinions, it is easier to express your own with out those worries if it is with someone you don't know as well. Yet debating with your friends is a whole different matter. I found it hard to try to not offend them but still stick to what I believed. However, I had chosen my stance long before the issue came up. I wasn't going to be fence-sitter. The Lord doesn't need fence-sitters. He need people who will stand up and chose a side. It is hard to do when the side of the fence you choose, isn't the one your friends choose, but it has to be done.


The Fellowship of the Unashamed
author unknown

I'm part of the fellowship of the unashamed.
The die has been cast.
I have stepped over the line.
The decision has been made.
I'm a disciple of Jesus Christ.
I have the Holy Spirit'S Power.
I won't look back, let up, slow down, back away, or be still.

My past is redeemed, my present makes sense, and my future is secure.
I'm finished and done with low living, sight walking, small planning, smooth knees, colourless dreams, tamed visions, mundane talking, cheap giving, and dwarfed goals.
I no longer need pre-eminence, prosperity, position, promotions, plaudits or popularity.
I don't have to be right, first, tops, recognized, praised, regarded or rewarded.
I now live by faith, lean on His presence, love with patience, live by prayer and labour with power.
My face is set, my gait is fast, my goal is heaven, my road is narrow, my way is rough,
my companions are few, my Guide is reliable, and my mission is clear. I cannot be bought, compromised, detoured, lured away, turned back, deterred, diluted or delayed.
I will not flinch in the face of sacrifice, hesitate in the presence of adversity, negotiate at the table of the enemy, ponder at the pool of popularity or meander in the maze of mediocrity.
I won't give up, shut up, let up, or slow up until I have stayed up, stored up, prayed up, paid up and spoken up for the cause of Christ.
I am a disciple of Jesus Christ.
I must go till' He comes, give till' I drop, preach till' all know and work till' He stops me.
And when He comes for His own, He will have no problem recognizing me.
My banner is clear: "I am not ashamed of the Gospel, because it is the power of God for the salvation of everyone who believes.."
I am part of the 'Fellowship of the Unashamed.'