Showing Posts From
Patience
Wait until high school to worry about imaginary numbers
It was a beautiful, sunny day on the playground and little Billy was excited. Today had been a good day. His class was learning how to add numbers. Billy was thrilled to finally begin to understand those symbols at the grocery store and count his Legos. He felt very grown-up, indeed. But when Billy returned back to the classroom from recess, his countenance had changed. He was quiet, even sullen as class resumed. As the teacher started explaining how to add three numbers together, he finally blurted out "I don't trust anything you're telling me. This math stuff is just a bunch of hogwash!" The teacher politely asked Billy if he had a question about what she was teaching. "I sure do-- lots of them! Were you just never planning on telling us these numbers that look so nice could turn evil and be negative? What kind of nonsense is that!" The teacher was taken aback and started to stammer out an answer, but before she got four words in, Billy steamrolled ahead with his tirade: "And then I heard you can take these numbers you've been showing us and then just carve them up into fractions and decimals? And then you shrink some of them down and make them exponents? And then you math people even come up with imaginary numbers and start using them with your real numbers and you think that's just okay? And then you start throwing letters in there and pretending they're numbers, too-- but secret numbers no one else is allowed to know? And where did a lot of this math come from? A guy named Archimedes. And he was a slave-owner who designed weapons for a tyrannical empire? How long were you going to keep that a secret, huh? Because if that's what math is, I'm not interested!" If you were the teacher, how would you handle that situation?
I'm running out of time
There's a line from the Pixar film "A Bug's Life" that sticks with me. It's the scene where you're first introduced to the circus performers who eventually become some of the story's heroes. The problem is, they stink, and their audience starts to leave mid-performance. One fly in particular indignantly stands up to leave, declaring, "I only got 24 hours to live, and I ain't gonna waste it here!" The 24-hour lifespan of a fly is a common myth—house flies actually live about a few weeks. But the mayfly does come close to that lifespan; once it grows out of its underwater nymph stage, it lives only a day or so—24 hours to fly, experience the world, mate, and quickly pass away. What would you do if you only had 24 hours to live?.
The paradox in the pause
Imagine you are young Nephi. Your father has just uprooted your family and led you all into the wilderness. Unlike your brothers, you turned to the Lord and received confirmation of your father's calling. Then the Lord revealed to you personally and directly that you and your brothers are headed for the land of promise. Immediately receiving this revelation, your father tells you "the Lord hath commanded me that thou and thy brethren shall return to Jerusalem" (1 Nephi 3:2). The verse ends there; I don't know if Lehi paused at this point in his discussion with Nephi, but I was prompted recently to pause there in my reading. If you were Nephi, what might you have thought and felt during that pause? "We're going back? But God just told me we're going to a new land! How can God contradict Himself?" Any paradox Nephi might have faced in that moment would have been fleeting as his father clarified the return would be temporary. But as I pondered on Nephi's "paradox in the pause," I remembered many other cases in scripture where Saints have had to face much tougher, much longer divine paradoxes-- some of which we still face today. And it's what we do with those paradoxes that demonstrates our faith.
What's up with Jesus's hands?
We have three kids ages 6 and under. Time out as a couple is rare and fleeting. Movie theaters are virtually out of the question. But when the first two episodes of The Chosen hit the box office last month, my wife and I made sure to go. I loved it. Watching those episodes was a wonderful experience. Until I ruined it. Spoilers ahead, you've been warned.
When God redirects us
The converts of Ammon never cease to amaze me. These remarkable individuals, who "never did fall away," exemplified quiet yet determined discipleship. When the Lamanite armies came to exterminate them, they did the unexpected.
Sorry Lord, could you repeat that?
This past week in Come, Follow Me, we read "the crowning event recorded in the Book of Mormon," the "personal ministry of the Lord Jesus Christ among the Nephites soon after His resurrection." After 600 years, the Nephites were finally privileged to stand in the presence of their Lord and Savior. You would think that Christ would be met with joyful, anticipated celebration. But that's not what happened at all. In fact, when the time came, it just really didn't click at first.