dgarrett – Page 4 – Garrett's Polished Diamonds

Spiritual Dyslexia

The following comments are from Carlfred Broderick, professor of sociology, University of Southern California. (Ensign Magazin e, Augu st 1986)

“My experience has convinced me that God actively intervenes in some destructive lineages, assigning a valiant spirit to break the chain of destructiveness in such families.

Although these children may suffer innocently as victims of violence, neglect and exploitation, through the grace of God some find the strength to metabolize the poison within themselves, refusing to pass it on to future generations.

Before them there were generations of destructive pain; after them the river flows clear and pure. Their children and children’s children will call them blessed.

In suffering, evidently that others may not suffer, such persons in some degree, become as “ Saviours on Mount Zion” by helping to bring salvation to their lineage.”

To these words, I would like to add my own….

My experience has taught me that some lineages, although not destructive or violent, nonetheless suffer through the smothering anguish of ignorance in silent hopelessness. Into these families, God also assigns valiant spirits to break the chain of spiritual darkness.

Many of such families are filled with warm, hospitable and good people, who are true to their family duties and responsibilities. However, many yet cling to the old superstitions, false traditions and religious beliefs that promise, but cannot deliver, salvation. To those valiant spirits so assigned, I see their mission as including a three-fold responsibility.

1 / To be obedient to keep and observe the laws and commandments of the gospel so that their lives may be a testimony to their words. Then it can be said that before them there was confusion, fear and unbelief. After them came waters that were clear, brimming with joy, peace, hope and assurance.

2/ Follow the commitment to find and identify those who are in such lineages so that the saving ordinances required for their salvation may be performed on their behalf.

3/ There will be the great missionary work required to locate and call these family members, now in the spirit world, whose work has been done, to arise from their sleep and embrace the gospel of Jesus Christ.

These good people carried and passed on to us the seed of life so that we might have mortal life. This great gift that we now live, did not come free. Many paid a heavy price. This is especially true of the young fathers who grew old far too soon, toiling at back-breaking and thankless jobs for little more than bread to eat and an unreliable roof to put over their heads. Likewise, their young wives who died giving birth to their children so that the seed of life, which we now carry, could be passed on.

How can such gifts and sacrifices ever be re-paid? The answer, of course, is by giving to them the truth, knowledge and ordinances by which they may obtain eternal life through the atonement of Jesus Christ.

One by one, Christ saves each of us. One ancestor at a time we, in some small degree, perform the role of “Saviour on Mount Zion” for our lineage, similarly to how Christ performed it for us all.

If we fulfill this assignment, not only will our children and our children’s children call us blessed, but so will our fathers and our father’s fathers before them.

– Douglas T Garrett

Simple Things: Too Good to be True?

When simple things look too good to be true, consider the story found in 2 Kings, chapter 5:

A commander in the Syrian Army by the name of Naaman, was popular, intelligent, a war hero and a born leader. One day he was unexpectantly diagnosed with leprosy. There was no known cure for this disease at that time. They could only isolate the infected person so he would have no contact with anyone else and risk spreading the horrible curse on others. It was not only the end of Naaman’s social life but also the end of his military career (to say nothing of it being a painful way to die). Naaman had heard of a prophet in Israel (see: 2 Kings 5: 3-4) and although he was not a believer himself, his desperation forced him to seek out the man call Elisha.

After having gathered a large amount of money and gifts, along with a company of soldiers and attendants, he set out to visit Elisha. When he finally arrived at the tent of the prophet he was disappointed to have only a servant there to greet him. An important man like himself would rather have been greeted by the prophet. Still, the servant had a message for Naaman: “Go, wash thyself seven times in the River Jordan and thou wilt be healed.” (See: 2 Kings 5: 10.)

Naaman was outraged.

“Behold, I thought, He will surely come out to me, and stand, and call on the name of the Lord his God, and strike his hand over the place, and recover the leper. Are not Abana and Pharpar, rivers of Damascus, better than all the waters of Israel? may I not wash in them, and be clean?” (2 Kings 5: 11-12.)

Now Naaman had brought with him a large amount of money and gifts. He expected to have to pay for being cured. Indeed, if he had been asked to do some great thing, he would have done it.

What then was the problem with being asked to something so simple and so inexpensive as washing seven times in the local river? Wasn’t it worth even trying? When his own servant pointed that out to him, Naaman admitted he was wrong to have been angry and closed minded. He proceeded to the river to wash seven times as requested. To every one’s amazement, he was healed instantly.( 2 Kings 5: 13-14.)

All Naaman needed to be healed was faith in the prophet and willingness to obey his advice.

Obedience takes faith, and faith overcomes pride. It was really pride that was stopping Naaman from being obedient. It all just looked too simple – too good to be true.

How little things have changed in human nature since that day. We are often asked to do simple things by today’s prophets. And we still sometimes think the words of these men of God to be foolish or meaningless or both. Baptism, paying tithing, studying the scriptures, observing the Sabbath, sure, they help the church. But how could these simple things possibly help me?

Yes, those things help the Church to be strong, but they are just like what Naaman finally did to be healed. These simple things will also heal and help us to be strong as well.

Baptism is a process of covenanting with God that we will be obedient. It not only gives us purpose but also opens the door to the help and assistance God can freely offer to sustain our spiritual health and welfare. Baptism also brings with it the Gift of the Holy Ghost which sustains us with knowledge, understanding and the comfort of peace which our hearts long for. (See Mosiah 18:8–10, 13)

Tithing does not require extra money for it to be paid. It requires faith: Faith to put your money on the line and your trust in the Lord, knowing you will not be penalized for obeying him but will rather be blessed for your faith in him. You will never go short when you pay your 10% to the Lord. You may have to learn how to budget, learn how to control spending and better use the 90% (which the Lord really also owns but has allowed you to use for yourself), but you will not go without. (See Malachi 3: 8-10)

Studying the scriptures is how we come to know God. “And this is life eternal, that they might know thee the only true God, and Jesus Christ, whom thou hast sent.” (John 17: 3)

Observing the Sabbath We observe the Sabbath as a sign of our obedience (Deuteronomy 5: 12-13). We renew and remember our covenant to serve him by attending and participating in his Sacrament (Luke 22:19–20). It is a break from the other 6 days of labour, where we spend our time and devotion to worldly affairs. One could become totally absorbed in those endeavours at the expense of their commitment to God if it were not for the Sabbath Day commitment. Each of these commandments are for our betterment and not his. He is already perfect. He could manage all these things without our help. But we are allowed to participate so that we may learn to become as he is by experience.

When you ask yourself what price you would pay to get rid of your inflictions, bad habits and addictions, what is your answer? If your doctor told you that a very expensive operation and a very painful recovery would be the solution, would you sign up? Then why not consider what the Lord asks? Is it possible that pride prevents us from taking these simple steps?

We aren’t told what happened to Naaman after he was healed, but his story obviously didn’t end there. It really only began. Our life too can have a new beginning when we let go of pride and grab hold of the words and commandments of Christ. It only requires faith, knowledge and obedience.

“I am only one, but I am one. I cannot do everything, but I can do something. And what I can do, I ought to do. And what I ought to do, by the grace of God, I shall do.” Edward Everett Hale

– Doug Garrett

Lybert the Lemon

Once upon a time there was a little lemon named Lybert. He lived in a supermarket with his relatives who had come from the same tree.

There were all kinds of fruit and vegetables displayed in the supermarket, but there were only a few lemons. People came into the fruit market everyday, but few of them ever bought lemons.

Lybert was unhappy. “Why do so few people like us?” he wondered. “Maybe it’s because we are bitter.”

He became more sour and bitter than he normally would be. “I have had enough. I am going to become something else instead!”

Carefully, Lybert rolled himself over the edge of the display counter and found himself among the yellow bell peppers. Oh how beautiful they looked with their yellow, shiny skins. No wonder people liked them. They really had something to be spicy and puffed up about.

When Lybert asked them what made them so popular, they just shook their seeds and rolled their eyes.

“Don’t you know we have sunshine locked up inside us? What a silly lemon. You don’t know anything,” they jeered.

That made Lybert feel really embarrassed for asking.

“Oh I wish I was as smart and beautiful as a pepper,” moaned Lybert. He did everything he could do to look like a pepper. He polished his skin until is shone and he sucked in his breath until his cheeks puffed out. He sat there for so long pretending to be a yellow pepper that he almost fainted.

Then a woman came into the marked with a little boy. He ran around the market knocking things off the shelves. One of the peppers fell to the floor and broke open. Lybert gasped. He could not believe his eyes. There was nothing but seeds inside the pepper! No sunshine. No anything.

“It was all a bluff,” Lybert thought. “They are just thin-skinned, beautiful looking things, filled with air. And they break with the first bump they get.” Lybert determined never, no never, to be a puffy pepper.

The first chance he got, he rolled up to the banana section of the market.

“Oh?” questioned the banana. “Just what do you think you are doing by being with US!?”

The bananas were so stiff and formal that the little lemon barely had the courage to reply. When he did, it came rushing out all at once.

“I don’t want to be a lemon. I want to be just like you. I want to be tall and straight and… and…as yellow as I can be,” he stammered. “I want people to like me and choose me because I am the best yellow banana in the whole world.”

“You can never be like us,” sneered the biggest banana. “Why just look at your tiny size. And you are round! Who ever heard of a round banana? No, sorry. You just don’t have it in you.”

With that, all the bananas turned their shiny yellow backs towards Lybert. They huddled up with their heads together in a bunch, chuckling and laughing.

Lybert just ignored them. He straightened out his little round tummy and tried to poke up his bumpy head so he would look taller. He stayed like that for the longest time. But it was so tiring for a lemon to look like a banana.

Just when he thought he could do it no more, a mother and her baby came into the market and stopped at the banana stall. The baby was fussing and unhappy so the mother took a banana from the stack, peeled it and gave her baby a small piece. Lybert’s mouth dropped open in shock.

White! The banana was all white inside. It was only pretending to be yellow by hiding in a yellow skin and making everyone else feel bad because they weren’t yellow.

Lybert tried to tell the other bananas what he thought about them but they all had turned their yellow backs to him and were pretending they didn’t notice they had been caught in their lie.

“Oh!” Lybert said as a tear ran down his thick skin, “I do not want to be banana either.” With all his energy he rolled down to the dairy produce isle to hide.

“Hey! Look what we found,” the surprised eggs were all excited. “An egg pretending he is a lemon! That’s a real crack-up. Where did you get the cool costume?”

“I am a lemon,” Lybert was surprised to hear himself say. But privately he thought, “And I guess I’ll have to be one the rest of my life.”

“Liar, liar. Your shell’s on fire!” They all screamed and pulled the lids down to cover their egg box while they peered, sneered and pointed their little fingers through the slots in the sides.

Lybert was more embarrassed than ever for being a lemon. He looked around the cooler and everything he saw was white. White cream, white eggs, white frozen yogurt, and white ice cream.

“I shall roll into the freezer until I turn white with frost,” he thought. He waited until a customer opened the freezer section and reached inside. Then Lybert tried to squeeze past him, but fell into the fresh fish cooler instead.

Are lemons always this silly?” asked a big cod fish with blue staring eyes who had been watching everything that Lybert had been doing.

“What do you mean?” shivered Lybert.

“Well I watched you try to be a pepper because you thought they were having more fun than you. Truth is they are so thin-skinned and hollow that they were jealous because you have more sunshine in you than they ever could have.”

“Then you tried to be a banana because you thought they were stronger, smarter and more yellow than you. But they are just soft, white mush inside. Would you really want to be as spongy and pulpy as they are?”

The fish continued his cold commentary. “And why would you want to be white like those eggheads? Didn’t you know deep down inside they are yellow too? The just don’t have the courage to come out and say it.”

Before he could even think about an answer, Lybert felt a big hand grab him and pull him out of the cooler. It was the market manager. “Who put this lemon in the fish cooler?” he called. The he wiped it off in his apron and placed it back with the other lemons.

Lybert thought about his experiences. He didn’t want to be a pepper filled with nothing but pride. He didn’t want to be a soft banana. He didn’t want to be an that egg that hid his true colour. And he most definitely didn’t want to be white. It was too cold.

He thought about what the big cod fish had said for a long time before he asked his relatives.

“What are lemons good for?”

They all looked at Lybert in surprise.

“What are lemons good for? Oh, Lybert, you have so much to learn! Lemons are the most special fruit there is. Did you know that no matter what flavour another fruit has, it will always taste better when you add a bit of lemon?”

“Lemons are used for drinks when nothing else will quench your thirst. Lemons make the best pies that you will ever taste, the finest Chinese food, the tastiest candy and when they are mature, they become sweet.”

Lybert did not hear anything more after the word, “mature.” That’s what he wanted to be! Then he would know everything and not act so silly. Oh, how he longed to be mature.

Late that afternoon everyone was excited to see Monsieur Le Grand Chef come to the market. He was the owner of the finest gourmet restaurant at grandest hotel in the city. Everybody knew Monsieur Le Grand Chef always picked the very best, fresh fruit and vegetables available. When he picked one and used it in his restaurant, each and every fruit that was grown in the same field or in the same orchard would forever be favoured above all others. People everywhere would say, “These are the type of grapes Monsieur Le Grande Chef uses.” Or, “These are the only type of olives that Monsieur Le Grande Chef ever uses.” That would mean your fruit or vegetable would be popular and famous forever.

Lybert had no time for such day-dreaming. His only thoughts were, “How might I become what I was really meant to be?”

Everyone else at the market watched as Monsieur Le Grande Chef walked up and down the rows of vegetable and past the fruit tables over flowing with produce. Every vegetable and fruit stood up straight and tall trying very hard to be noticed.

The water spray had made all the produce look fresh and shiny, but Monsieur La Grande Chef was wise to that trick. He felt the stiffness or pinched the crispness of each variety. He smelt the aroma and checked the colours. But still his cart was empty.

Then he stopped at the lemons. Carefully he picked out one that looked different than the others. When he tested the fruit his eyes squinted, his lip quivered just a tiny bit and then he breathed in with all the breath he could.

“Such a rare lemon, with a strong, sour and bitter balance,” he exclaimed. “It is cool to the touch, spicy like a pepper, and very, very yellow, like the sunshine. Its shape is taller than it is round, yet it has the distinct scent of ocean air. Never have I found such a gem before. Monsieur La Manager, please? Why do you hide these from me for so long?”

Of course, it was Lybert.

And with that, Monsieur La Grande Chef bought all the lemons that were on display.

-Doug Garrett

Jennifer Jane and the Shaggy, Shiptus Sheep Sweaters

Chapter 1

Once upon a time there was little girl who lived in a little town called Dinemosa, in the Great Prairie Country of North America. Her name was Jennifer Jane. She was the town’s only street person.

She had no mother or father and for some unknown reason, her hands shook uncontrollably.

Because people thought that she was very strange, no one would play with her. She lived on free food from the Food Bank every day. But, like a stray dog, no one really wanted to have her come home and live with them. She was simply too filthy and her clothes were all worn out.

Jennifer knew how to read and write but her hands shook so badly she couldn’t hold anything still long enough to read it. When she wrote, the pen went everywhere and no one could understand what she had written. They would laugh and make fun of her.

“Jennifer Jane is shaking again. Jennifer Jane is shaking again,” they would chant until she started to cry and ran away to where they could not find her.

Jennifer felt she had no place to go or be. So she made up a little song that she sang when she felt depressed.

“I have no place to go or be. No one wants to play with me. If I could have a friend or two, I know they’d teach me what to do.”

One day when Jennifer was walking down the main street, she happened to notice the sign over the City Hall doorway which read:“ Dinamosa’s Town Hall – All Welcome.”

“Aha!” said Jennifer to herself. “Surely All must mean me too. So I will go there to live.”

She pushed open the tall glass doors and walked into a spacious office with many people sitting at desks. At first everyone ignored her. No one even looked up to see her or speak to her. So she walked up to the nearest desk where a thin, blonde-haired woman sat filing her nails.

“Excuse me,” Jennifer said in a whispered voice. “I have come in here because it says on the sign that All are welcome. What desk can I sit in and what room can I live in, please?”

The woman looked up at her in surprise. “What are you talking about? Who said you are welcome? You can’t come in here and stay. You shouldn’t even be here at all.”

All the other people in the office were now staring at Jennifer in her thread bare clothes, dirty shoes and long uncombed hair. They all started to laugh.

“Look at that lazy, little girl, would you? She needs a bath and can’t stop fidgeting. Doesn’t she look funny.”

They all laughed and laughed even more until finally Jennifer begged, “Please. I have no place to go or be. No one wants to play with me. If I could have a friend or two, I’m sure they’d tell me what to do.”

“Well,” said the lady, “You certainly won’t find them here. I think I will take you up to the manager’s office, He’ll straighten you out!”

Grabbing Jennifer by the scruff of her neck, she marched her up a flight of stairs to the second floor, down a long hall way, and stopped in front of a big door of a big office, where the word “Manager” was written in very big, black letters on the door.

“Mr. Manager,” she said sarcastically, “This scruffy, little girl just walked in off the street and wants to live in the office. Can you imagine such a thing? I told her you would straighten her out.”

The Manager looked Jennifer over while his fingers held his big black spectacles off his nose. His big black mustache began to wiggle nervously from side to side.

“Please sir,” said Jennifer again. “I have no place to go or be. No one wants to play with me. If I could have a friend or two, I sure they’d teach me what to do.”

The Manager dropped his glasses onto his desk and looked at the blonde lady angrily. “Miss Spinhead, why did you bring her to me when I am so busy? This is probably just a lazy, little girl who needs a bath and can’t stop fidgeting. Do something with her. Like, take her to the General Manager – or anything. Just get her out of my office.”

He quickly hurried them both out the door and slammed it hard behind them.

Miss Spinhead took Jennifer once more by the collar and led her up another long set of stairs to the third floor, down a long corridor where they stopped in front of a big, big office. This one had the words “General Manager” written in big, big black letters on the door.

A skinny man with a bald head looked up from his big, big desk and said in a squeaky voice, “What do you want? Be quick. I’m busy, can’t you see?”

It was very easy to see he was not busy because his desk was clean and he was drawing doodles on the big, big note pad that covered his big, big desk.

“Yes sir,” said Miss Spinhead. “I’m very sorry but I have this messy, little girl here sir. She insists she wants to live in our office.”

“Here in our office?” He jumped right out of his big, big chair. “Miss Spinhead, what are you thinking? No one lives in an office. We only work in offices and this one is mine. Did you tell her that Miss Spinhead? Did you? Well tell her this very minute!”

He waited while Miss Spinhed repeated those very words, mouthing them very slowly in front of Jennifer’s nose.

“Please sir,” started Jennifer. “I have no place to go or…”

Before she could say more, the General Manager cut her off. “Can’t be helped. We can’t help every lazy, little girl, who needs a bath and fidgets, that comes in off the street and wants to live in my office. Take her to the Mayor. He’ll straighten her out.” With that, the skinny, bald man waved them off with his hand.

Miss Spinhead was so angry now that she stamped her feet as she dragged Jennifer up another set of stairs to the fourth floor, down another corridor and stopped in front of another office that was even bigger than the other two. It had the name “Mayor” written in big, big, big letters, blacker than any word Jennifer had ever seen.

Sitting in a big, big, big chair, the mayor was very, very, very unhappy about being disturbed while he read the morning newspaper, “The Dinamosa Daily Diatribe.”

“Mr. Mayor!” Miss Spinhead called as she nearly knocked the door down before opening it. Her voice had become shriller and higher. “I have been to the Manager and I have been to the General Manager and now I am coming to you.”

The Mayor’s big, big, big round face began to frown as she continued. “This lazy, little girl needs a bath and won’t stop fidgeting. And she wants to live in your office with her dirty clothes and messy long hair. If I had my way, I’d put her on an airplane going to the farthest and remotest place that I can buy a ticket for, and dump her there with only French fries and triple cheese burgers to eat for the rest of her life. That would get rid of her for good.”

“Settle down, Miss Spinhead,” said the Mayor in a deep low voice. As his frown got longer, his face got redder, redder and redder. He paced back and forth, his big, big, big cigar dropped ashes all over his clean white carpet. He mumbled to himself out loud, “We can’t have this sort of behaviour here and we can’t have little lazy girls, who don’t wash or comb their hair, come into my office and want to live here. Where would I put them all, I ask you? Hmm…”

Raising his head and his voice he said very loudly, “Take her out of my office and make sure she doesn’t come back. I don’t care what you do with her. Just do it! Do you understand?”

“Yes, yes sir, Mr. Mayor. I understand.” She almost saluted. “I shall take care of it this very minute, sir. Just as you asked.” A nasty smile crept over her face.

Miss Spinhead turned around and headed down the long corridor dragging Jennifer Jane by the arm. Down the flight of steps to the third floor, past the General Managers office, down the flight of stairs leading to the second floor, down long corridor past the Manager’s office, down the hallway to the flight of stairs leading to the first floor, through the large office on the main floor and through the tall glass doors she went without losing any speed.

A taxi was idling in the parking lot outside. The driver jumped as Miss Spinhead ordered, “To the airport right now!”

Miss Spinhead was so happy the Mayor had given her not only the idea but the permission to solve the problem of the lazy, little girl who was dirty and shabby and couldn’t stop fidgeting. She would see to it no one would be bothered by her ever again.

Chapter 2

Toni Maba sat on the dirt floor of his little shack thinking of food. His Mother and Father also sat on the dirt floor and thought of food. That’s what they did almost every day now. A big pot of water boiled on an open stove in the middle of the one room shack. It providing heat and light, but there was not a scrap of food in the pot.

“Toni,” said Father, “If you want to eat today you must go and find some food for yourself because there is no money to buy any. Your Mother cannot knit any more Shiptus sweaters as her hands are old and tired. I cannot work because I can no longer see and cannot afford glasses.”

Toni’s tummy growled and rumbled loudly but he knew it would do no good to complain. If there was to be food today, he would have to get some, but how?

Suddenly he remembered. He had seen a small airplane land at the tiny airport not far from their shack that very morning. No airplanes had landed in the village airport for many years. Maybe they had left something there that could be eaten or that could be sold to get food? He decided to investigate. Quickly, so that his friends would not see and follow him, he left the shack and slipped into the tall grass. The sun was just coming up and he hoped no one else would think of this idea and go there too.

As he arrived at the airport there seemed to be no one around the old metal shed which had been used for the office. But a sudden noise from inside told him he was not alone. Creeping up slowly, he peeked through one of the broken windows. There inside, on an old wooden bench, sat someone Toni had never seen before. She looked very strange. Her blonde hair was dirty, long and messy. Her clothes were all dirty and from the grimy tear stains on her face, he could see she had not had a wash for a long time. Most of all he noticed how cold she was for her hands were shaking very badly.

“Did you come to find food?” asked Toni quietly so as not to frighten her. The little girl turned around surprised at the sound of a human voice. Her eyes opened big and wide. She was too startled to say anything. She looked at the brown, thin face of the boy. He was about her age and she could see he was friendly.

Finally she replied, “Food? No. I already have lots of food. They gave this to me on the plane. But you can have it if you want.” She shoved a big brown potato sack with her foot towards Toni. It was stuffed full of French fried chips and triple cheese burgers.

Toni could hardly believe his eyes. He had only been out searching for an hour and already he had found more food than his family normally ate in a week.

“Thank you. Thank you,“ said Toni. “Please, accept my shaggy sweater. It will keep you warm. If you like, you can come with me while I take this food to my Mother and Father”.

Jennifer had spent so much of her life trying to find anyone to go with that she didn’t know what to say. So she said nothing but followed quietly behind Toni as he dragged the awkward sack.

After a long walk through the tall grass, they came to a small village made up of a number of huts built of wood and straw. They walked towards the one with smoke coming out of its small stove pipe and entered its open door way.

“Mother, Father, I have found food. Also, I have found a new friend!” Jennifer stopped in her tracks when she hear the words “ New Friend.” Did he mean her?

“Come in, come in,” said Toni excitedly. “See Mother, she is cold, so I gave her my old shaggy sweater.”

The Father, who could not see well, could see well enough to know this little person was not from their village – not even from their country.

“Your friend. Where does she come from?” he asked.

“And what is the name of your friend?” asked Mother.

“Is it polite to ask a new friend so many questions?” asked Toni. “She has shared her food with us.”

Then turning to Jennifer he asked, “Do you have a place to live, friend?” He was hoping she would say no.

Jennifer thought of the little song she had sung for years. What a silly song, yet it was true. She had never had any place to go or be, but here was someone asking her to come to their home and stay with them. And he was actually calling her “Friend”. The silent thought went through her mind: “If I can stay here, you can teach me what to do.”

“You can call me Friend, because that is my name,” she said out loud.

“That is all well and good,” interrupted the Father. “But what shall we feed Friend when all the food in the sack is gone? Surely she will have nothing to eat either, just like us.”

“Wait,” said Mother. Quietly she asked, “Friend, do you know how to knit sweaters of shaggy wool from the Shiptus Sheep?”

Jennifer had never heard of Shiptus Sheep before in her life. Still, she immediately replied, “Of course.”

“Ah then, perhaps we will not be as hungry as you suppose, old man.” Reaching behind her, the Mother picked up a large ball of shaggy wool. She slipped it onto two large wooden needles, tying the string to them with a knot. Then she passed the needles to Jennifer. “Please,” she said looking at Friend and then looking at the needles and wool.

Jennifer could not keep them steady but she hung onto the ends as tightly as she could. The needles began to bang together and the wool started to follow the needles. The more nervous she got, the faster her needles and wool moved. Her hands shook faster and faster. To their amazement, the shaking of the needles began to move the wool first in circles and then in a motion that produced knots and stitches. They were not like the stitches the Mother had made, as there were both small and large knots, and small and large holes. They seemed to form a pattern that tied the wool together row after row. In a few minutes the entire ball had been used up. The Mother reached for another ball. This one was a different colour. She tied it to the first and the process started all over again. This continued until they had used up another ball and then, suddenly like magic, a three-foot by five-foot perfect rectangle of knitted shaggy Shiptus Sheep wool sat on the floor at the feet of the astounded Jennifer. The entire Maba family were clapping and laughing.

“It is indeed beautiful,” said Mother after she had stopped laughing. Hesitantly she asked, “But how does one wear such a sweater?”

“I know,” said Toni excitedly. Grabbing the material, he struck his head through a large hole in the center. That let half of the long side to run down his front while the rest of it hung down his back. Looking around he spotted a length of rope, also made from Shiptus wool, and wrapped it around his waist, tying the sweater snugly to his body.

“Oh such a burden to have weak eyes,” moaned the Father. “While you rejoice, I only see only a length of knitted wool. No arms and no neck. Where is the sweater and what causes us to rejoice?”

“It is not one’s eyes that make one blind,” Mother scolded. “What you cannot see is a sweater that will fit anyone, no matter what size. It’s a sweater that can be opened to let in the cool air of the day, yet it can be closed and held tight to the body to keep out the cold air of the night. Ah, how clever your village must be Friend, and how skilled you are to make such sweaters so quickly.”

Jennifer had to smile at these words. But she smiled even more when she realized what had just happened. While everyone was chatting and calling to neighbours outside their shack to come and see what their new friend had done, Jennifer quietly reached over to the stack of balls of wool to see if she could make another one of the rectangular shapes. She was afraid it might simply be a coincidence, too good to be true, and she couldn’t do it twice.

But each ball of wool that she attached to the wooden needles and then held with her shaking hands produced the same result. Now there were 3 such shapes waiting to become new sweaters.

By late afternoon the news had spread to other villages further away and more curious people gathered outside the Maba household to see the miracle of a blonde-haired, strange little girl was performing there. They had even brought their own balls of Shiptus Sheep wool to have her make them into shaggy sweaters of their own. Jennifer was so excited and happy to have so many friends that she just kept knitting all day and well into the evening until everyone at last had gone home.

In the morning when the Maba family awoke there were gifts of food sitting outside their hut. Even more people had gathered during the night and were singing and clapping while they waited for Friend to start knitting again.

Soon the pile of food grew higher as people came, sang and clapped then walked away with big bundles stacked on their heads of the beautifully-coloured, Shaggy sweaters made from the Shiptus Sheep wool.

For the first time in a long while everyone was very, very happy. They were warm at night and cool in the day. And what was even more remarkable was, when the Maba family and Friend realized they had too much food, they gave the extras to all the people they could find who had no food at all.

Before too long, people were coming to buy sweaters from all over the continent. So the Maba family and Friend got rich as well. People in their village soon learned how to make sweaters just like Friend – except they could not make them quite as fast.

In the Maba village things changed a lot. Blankets were now made out of Shiptus wool, as were slippers, jackets, skirts and hats. Mother Maba started a school where she would teach anyone who wanted to learn how to make Shiptus wool products.

The village become a town and Father Maba was elected to be the first mayor. He had more than enough money to buy new glasses. A new Shiptus Products Factory was built. Toni and Friend were made the managers. Schools and houses were now made out of wood or adobe with shiny metal roofs and clean glass windows. And a new big, big airport had been built to bring in all the tourists and take out all the Shiptus products to stores all over the world who were anxious to buy them.

For some unexplained reason, Friend woke up one day to find her hands had stopped shaking. Some people said it was because she had become tired of making sweaters – but she never got tired of making new friends. Nor did she tire of delivering food to those who needed it. Others said it was because she had found people who loved her for being such a generous person. Whatever it was, Friend was loved by everyone. So she settled down in the Maba village and lived a very happy life. As far as I know, she is still living there to this day.

Chapter 3

The Mayor of Dinamosa sat in his big, big, big office smoking a big, big, big cigar. His big, big, big round face got redder, redder and redder as he examined his morning paper, “ The Dinamosa Daily Diatribe.“ He reached for the big, big, big red phone on his big, big, big desk with his fat, fat, fat fingers and spoke to the secretary at the main floor office in a stern, stern, stern voice.

“Miss Spinhead, please tell the General Manager to come to my office at once.” It was only a few moments before a tall skinny man with a bald head came running in, all out of breath and sweating heavily.

“You called for me sir?” His voice was high and squeaky, and he stopped in between each word while he caught his breath.

“What I want to know from you, Mr. General Manager, is why, a small girl, in a small unknown village, in a small country with no name, on a small continent that no one has ever hear of, can come up with a big idea to make a lot of money and make her town famous, when we have been paying you to make us money and make us famous for ten whole years? You haven’t been able to do either!”

The tall man’s face went white and he began to stammer. “Who is this girl and where did she come from?”

This question made the Mayor even angrier because he thought the General Manage was trying to change the subject. His big, big, big cigar began to shed a lot of ashes as he chewed on the end of it. His voice got higher as he began to shout. The veins in his forehead began to bulge as he drew in his breath. He pointed at a picture on the front page of his morning paper which lay on his big, big, big desk with his fat, fat, fat finger.

“How am I supposed to know? That’s your job. Funny thing though, she almost looks like the little street girl who came in here a few years ago to live in my office. But this girl is all clean, with beautiful hair and wears those very trendy, shaggy wool clothes. Could you imagine such our lazy little girl being even a relative?

Hmm… Wait! What if we said to their little girl that our little girl is her long-lost sister? What if we could convinced the girl in Maba that our girl is her lost sister? Perhaps we could bring the Maba girl here and learn how she got so rich?”

Rubbing his hands, and wearing a seldom seen smile on his face, he lowered his voice and quietly whispered, “It’s a long shot but get on it immediately. And get me an answer right away or there will be big, big, big trouble. Do you understand?”

The General Manager understood completely. He turned and ran back down the steps from the fourth floor to his big, big office on the third floor. There he sat in his chair behind the big, big desk. After thinking for a moment, he picked up his big, big phone with his skinny, skinny fingers and spoke to the secretary on the main floor. “Miss Spinhead,” he said in a high squeaky voice, “Please have the Manager come to my office at once.”

In a few moments a man with a greying mustache that twitched nervously, came into the big, big office all out of breath and sweating as he fingering his glasses nervously.

“You called me, sir?” he asked in a voice that stopped in between each word so that he could catch his breath.

“Yes. What I want to know from you, Mr. Manager is the whereabouts of that rude little girl who came into our office from off the street some time ago. She had the silly idea she wanted to live here. Do you know who I mean?”

The man with the dark glasses scratched his head and then began to smile. It took him a few minutes to recall the office uproar it had caused, and how funny the story had become after it was exaggerated just a little here and a little there through its telling and retelling.

“Yes sir. I’m sure I do, sir. But I have no idea what became of her, sir. She simply disappeared into thin air.”

The General Manager was not amused. “I want you to go and find her. This a small town. You shouldn’t have any problem. I want an answer before the end of today. Is that clear? Or there will be big, big trouble.”

The Manager understood perfectly clearly. And he was sure he would find the little girl long before that. He snickered as he thought to himself, “How many lazy, little girls can there be in Dinamosa that need a bath, don’t comb their hair and twitch their hands uncontrollably?”

He turned around and walked down the flight of stairs to the second floor with the big office. He sat down on the big chair behind the big desk and thought about where to begin. In a few minutes he reached for the big red phone on his big desk and called the secretary. “ Miss Spinhead, would you come to my office at once?”

Miss Spinhead who very seldom did anything “at once” appeared in the Manager’s office in record speed.

“You called for me, sir?” she asked all out of breath and sweating from the quick run up the stairs.

“Yes I did. What I want to know from you, Miss Spinhead, is the whereabouts of that strange, little, bratty girl who came in off the street a while ago asking to live in the office. Tell me or you will be in big trouble.”

The question was so unexpected, Miss Spinhead dropped her secretary’s note pad and went pale. She began to shake. It was a long time ago since she had thought about that girl. The last time she had seen her was when she was at the airport. She had purchased a ticket that day ( and a banquet-size order of French fries and triple burgers) from the only airline company that would fly the girl from Dinamosa to a village that wasn’t on any map.And that airline had long since gone out of business. No one, not even she, was supposed to ever discover where the little pesky girl had been sent. She had literally dropped off the end of the world.

“I have no idea who you are talking about Mr. Manager,” Miss Spinhead lied. “And I have no idea where such a silly girl would be even if I did know who she was. You say she wanted to live in our office? Who would be so ridiculous Mr. Manager. Surely you don’t believe that story?”

“How could you let this happen to me? I’ll tell you what I believe. I believe you are lying, Miss Spinhead. And I also believe I should fire you. So good day, Miss Spinhead. Don’t leave anything in your desk when you leave, please.”

Before the manager walked up the stairs to face the General Manager, he tried and tried to think of something he could tell him that he would believe. But he could not. He phoned everyone in the town – and that was not a long list because so few people now lived in Dinamosa. Most had left when the last of the companies had closed and the schools had been forced to shut because of a lack of students.

Finally he walked slowly up the flight of stairs to the third floor to tell the General Manager the bad news. The General Manager took off his dark glasses and wiped his forehead.

“That is terrible, terrible. How could you let this happen to me? You are fired. Don’t leave anything behind in your desk when you leave, please.”

The General Manager sat at his big, big desk trying to think of something he could say to the Mayor that he would believe. But he could not. Finally he walked slowly up to the fourth floor to tell the Mayor the bad news.

The Mayor’s face got redder than it had ever, ever done before. “That is terrible, do you hear? Terrible. How could you let this happen to me? You are fired. Do you understand? Fired. Don’t leave anything in your desk when you leave, please.”

The next day, the Mayor sat in his big, big, big office and stared out the big, big, big window behind his big, big , big desk. He chewed on the end of his big, big, big cigar which twisted and dropped ashes all over his dirty grey carpet. He was the only one in all of the Town Hall Building. He thought to himself, “I have no place to go or be. I have no one to talk to me. I wish I had a friend or two, I’m sure they’d tell me what to do.”

He walked out of his big, big, big office and closed the door. Slowly he went down the long hallway. He went down the flight of stairs to the third floor. He pasted the big, big empty office with General Manager written on the door. Then he went down the next hallway and down the flight of stairs to the second floor.He went down the hallway leading to the Manager’s big empty office. Finally he went down the last flight of stairs to the empty office on the main floor and out through the tall glass doors.

As he wandered down the empty main street he wondered to himself. “Whatever happened to that scrawny, little girl who wanted to live in my office? Good thing I didn’t let her. It would have been the end of everything I have worked for.”

-Doug Garrett

Reflections on Canim Lake

The old miner’s cabin sits on the west bank, jutting out just above the water line. Smoke from the brick chimney silently rises in the frosty autumn air, sure evidence the ol’ digger is still lingering by the warmth of his iron stove.

Sitting in the wicker recliner, he jabs at the glowing coals with a crooked poker thrust through the stove’s open door. The embers responded with fits of angry sparks which quickly race up the glowing flue.

The smoke hangs heavily over the lake bringing the distinct aroma of back bacon, beans and maple syrup. The old man clenches his pipe stem tighter between his teeth then slowly relaxes his aching body into the shape of the wicker’s well-worn bottom and oddly angled back. His head tilts up enough to allow his gaze to easily find the split pine beams, the pealing-varnished white spruce ceiling and the dusty rafters colored by age.

He clearly recalls their every detail: the smell of fresh cut wood, the sounds of hammers, the chatter as he and his partner cut them by hand. Though long ago he can still feel the pull of the Swiss saw, the rhythm in its swing, the stinging sweat running into his eyes. He can still hear the mallets driving the wedges and forming the straight, long planks.

Sixty-years-worth of memories flutter in random disorder through his mind.

As his eyes close, he is sure he can still hear the loons laughing out in the misty, open water, trying to hide their loneliness. They wait, then call again. Waiting for an answer that never comes.

Now, in memory, he is making the long familiar trip down the lake in the heavily ore-loaded canoe. He feels the spray from the windswept waves as they spank the boat’s sides for thinking they could pass with impunity.

An excited pair of coyotes chasing a jack rabbit break out of the bush and onto the sandy beach. Then they suddenly stop and retreat quickly. By instinct they have felt – more than seen – the Osprey leave his high, treetop nest and swiftly zoom towards them with his powerful, terrible talons open wide. They scurry quickly. The Osprey never misses.

His mind also remembers the clear, dark skies. Night happens as if someone has pulled a blanket over the heavens. Only tiny holes in the fabric let bits of light shine through. They are a sign he always watches for, the assurance there is still a God in the bright Heavens. He will send the warm sun back to earth again in the dawn, as he has always done.

The black, jagged silhouette of pines against the purple and mauve sky frame the bright reflection of the full moon, like a yellow skid mark across the lake’s otherwise undisturbed surface.

He hears the crunching under his feet of the empty spruce cones and dry fir needles as his memory retraces quiet walks along the autumn shoreline. So many discussions together, so many problems resolved, so many dreams planned. His eyes tear when he tries, but can no longer remember her face, her voice, her touch, or what they had talked about. It was all so long ago. Like pine trees, their branches frantically waving in vain to try to stop the wild winds, he too finds it impossible to hang on to the past.

The fire in the old stove has gone out. It is cold as he awakes. His stiff muscles complain from being cramped so long in the recliner. He carefully makes his way to the door, steadying himself on whatever is in his path. As he stoops in the open door of the cabin, he sees clearly down to the lake and the bend in the shoreline where the water becomes lost from view. How many times has he struggled to paddle round that bend in heavy headwinds?

A flock of Canada geese come in low over the water but continue to the fields beyond. They honk their excitement as they spot some grain still left for them to feast on.

He can see the brown earth swaths in the fields, warmed by sunlight. How many times has he let the rich brown soil slowly filter through his gnarled fingers while marveling how Mother Nature never wastes anything. Everything will eventually be reclaimed once more. He holds that thought in his mind for a moment, reminding himself that Mother Earth will someday have her claim even on him as well. Someday, someday…

But the young boy still inside him smiles as he says out loud to himself, “Yes, someday, someday. But not today. Today you’ll have to wait!”

The creaky door closes, boards squeak and in a few minutes smoke once more begins to rise silently from the old brick chimney – just as it has done for so many years.

– Doug Garrett

I Know, Therefore I Do

From a story found in the Book of Mormon, 1 Nephi, Chapter 3, we read that Lehi’s family fled into the vast, scorching desert to escape the wrath of the Jews who sought their lives. Having reached safety, or so they thought, they then received staggering news. God had commanded the sons of Lehi to return to the danger of Jerusalem to obtain records which contained the history of their people written on brass plates.

Even worse, the plates were in the possession of a treacherous commander of a unit of the army of Israel. He could not be easily approached as there were many soldiers protecting him. The brothers were terrified. But then one of the brothers boldly stood and declared:

” I will go and do the things which the Lord hath commanded, for I know the Lord giveth no commandment unto the children of men save he shall prepare a way for them that they may accomplish the thing which he commandeth them.” (1Nephi 3:7)

From this statement we learn two very important principles:

1/ God never commands us to do anything that is impossible to do. Without faith it may well appear to be impossible. But the fact remains: no matter what God commands us to do, there is a way and he has already provided it before he asked. Our job is to have faith that the statement is true and to act on that assumption until we discover what the solution is.

2/ God never issues a command that is for his benefit alone. In each case, in each commandment whatsoever he commanded us to do, it is always, always for the betterment, protection, edification or improvement of his Children.

We know the second principle to be correct because later, the portion of the people (the people of Zarahemla) who didn’t take written records of their history were unable to retain their language or maintain the memory of the basic purposes of moral, spiritual or intellectual principles. Those who did keep those and future records found them not only to be a stabilizing force for good, but were able to maintain their original language and core values which served as a reservoir of their collective wisdom and customs.

The records of their history were to disclose another equally important principle as well.

Knowing history is not enough by itself. For a society to remain intact, they must also be be willing to have the courage to apply and live what they know.

This is true and applies to every one of us. Most of us perform at a level below that which we know we should. The challenge is to bring our performance up to that higher level of understanding or as Nephi declared, “I know… [therefore] I will go and do.” This struggle determines who we are and what we will become as a people, and as a nation.

As we are always learning, we must therefore always be changing. We must realign our behaviour to match our understanding, knowledge and wisdom.

We are instructed to pray in the morning: “What would thou have me do today?”

Likewise in the evening, our prayer should be: “How well did I do with those assignments you gave me today?

The way to overcome our weaknesses is one step at a time, one weakness at a time. In other words: consistent practice until we are made perfect.

-Doug Garrett

Legend of the White Raven

In the days long before the heavy feet of the black robes came, the White Raven walked among the people. Many had followed the way of the warlords who were without law and order. Most parents had been killed during the many moons of the Battle of Fire Arrows. They had left their children before they could pass on any guidance from their wisdom. The children were left to learn how to care for themselves, by themselves.They now knew only how to kill so as not to be killed.

It is to those in the heat of battle, that he came. As he approached they stopped their fighting and stared. He was different from the other bearded men they had known. Through his red hair the dawn light shone on pale white skin. They were curious. He carried no weapon yet he had no fear. Cautiously, almost in unison they began to form a circle around him. They had momentarily forgotten the fear and hostility they felt for each other. Now their attention was focused entirely on the lone, silent figure.

Then he spoke. His voice was calm yet firm, soft yet clear in the frosty air. “My children, why do you fight? Why are your hearts so heavy? Are you not weary from what you do?”

Children? No one had call them children since the days of their parents. Were they weary from what they were doing? Could he not see the dead and hear the cry of the wounded? They were sick of it. They were devoured by it every thinking moment of their miserable lives. It was either this or perish at the hands of their enemies. Did he not know that?

The question caught them off guard causing them to pause. Slowly now they once more became aware of those among them and felt a tremble of fear, like the cut of a cold dagger blade on their throat. Yet they moved even closer to the Prophet, intent on hearing him.

He stood motionless, his white garment reflecting the rays of the golden morning sun, as did his red hair and beard. A scent like burning cedar bark enveloped them as they watched his blue-green eyes slowly search the crowd and then rest on a tall man whose arm hung uselessly by his side. He moved slowly towards him. No one spoke but they moved back to allow him through.

Sensing he was the target of unwanted attention, the tall man stiffened, looked uncomfortable, but remained where he was. All eyes were now on the two. As the Prophet came almost face-to-face, he reached forward and touched the useless limb. His eyes still locked with the eyes of the tall man. An audible gasp from the crowd broke the silence. The arm moved of its own accord, upward until the hand of the man and the hand of the Prophet met and intertwined into a clasp.

Pulling the man forward, the Prophet, still holding the hand, turned his face to the crowd. “Should I let this arm become once more a weapon of war and destruction, or shall I leave it as a certain invitation to his enemy that he is an easy target, a sure kill? What say you?”

No one spoke. How were they expected to reply to this strange, two-sided question? Then a female voice shouted, “Give him his full strength, that I and his child in my arms may be protected from these.” She pointed with her extended hand to her sworn enemies in the crowd. Then she continued “Nor can he provide us food as you see. We hunger and will soon die if we do not eat.”

Another voice screamed and interrupted the first in anger. “Yes, and with that strength he will surely take more lives and leave yet many more children to die. Are there not enough who suffer already? Do not give him another weapon of fear when there is fear enough among us.”

Now many other angry voices began to shout, some for action while others pleaded for compassion.

Threats filled their throats and weapons their hands. The Prophet raised his hand and his powerful voice cut them to silence. “Perhaps all should have but one arm,” he suggested.

Instantly the right arm of every person dropped awkwardly, uselessly and paralyzed at their side. As each realized what had happened, they felt the vulnerability that they had despised in the eyes of the tall man. Their heads low, they stood silent, afraid to move or speak. Who was this stranger with power to heal or curse them at will.? A few moments ago he was a curiosity they had tolerated. Now they trembled before him. They had no doubt he had the power to destroy them as well if he wished it.

“My children, think. Do you not yearn for another way? Would you accept one if it were shown to you?”

There was no anger in his voice, no threat. Instead, it was with the calmness of a loving parent that he pleaded. They longed for him to say more. A voice from the crown said, “We do not know of any other way Please, please show us”.

He motioned to the crown to sit down. He himself sat on a large rock, his head higher than those who sat on the ground. Anxiously they listened, waiting for him to speak.

At last he began. “There are many trails through the forests. Some lead to bright meadows and good hunting. Others lead to ambush, wars and death. Does one need to continue to walk down the trails that bring only pain and sorrow when there are others that do not?”

“You are as children who have been taught no wisdom. Not all people live to kill or die as you do. They do not treat the wisdom from their ancestors as rain that has fallen on their clothing, to be brushed off, endured or ignored. They do not shun the experiences of others who try to advise, as they would the stings of hornets.”

“The child that has not learned from the wisdom of others remains a child still and will for forever. Even though your bodies have grown to resemble men or women, yet you remain slaves to the ignorance of your child like behaviour.”

“You look upon the weakness and innocence of others with greed. You take the advantage to rob them. They become your enemies and learn how to become stronger than you to take their revenge. If you helped them instead, they would become your friends and provide for you when you have needs and weaknesses suddenly visit you.”

“You destroy the fathers of families whose children will never forget who you are, nor will they trust you again. So you live divided into tribes that kill each other. You are all descendants of those whose Fathers were killed as yours were. You share a common hate, seek a common revenge, but cannot find a common solution. There is no hope when you follow this path.”

“On this path, you will hear the voice of the wolf, but find only the laugh of the jackal. You can kill all those you meet in battle, but your battles will never cease because the war in your heart and in the heart of your enemy cannot be ended with sharp weapons or sharp words.”

“You search for the path of peace, but it lies hidden in the mists and depths of your deceptions. You chase after respect and loyalty but your but your deeds are as poisoned water skins so you cannot offer anything worthy of respect or loyalty to others.”

“The beasts of the forest have mastered the skills of cooperation better than you. Hear how the wolf calls his brothers and together they hunt the deer, the elk and the moose? All of which are much swifter or larger than they.”

“Even the geese of the air together relieve each other from the lead point of their formation. When one tires, he falls back to save energy, but still honks encouragement to his replacement from the flanks. Thus the flock safely remains in the air longer and covers more distance.”

“The cougar of the forest shares its kill with eagles and vultures so they do not have to kill twice to survive. Together with her cubs, she sleeps in peace in her den. In the tree tops above, the big birds do the same.”

“A man child is despised for his foolishness. He finds food for the moment to feed his body and then dies too soon because of neglected hunger to his soul. He runs from the calls of the harmless but wise owl, yet his feet are swift to carry him to the den of the cunning, devious fox.”

The prophet rose and turned to leave but the people called to him: “Do not leave us. We do not wish to live any longer as foolish children. We no longer wish to seek the slippery lies of the fox or the dangerous deadly skills of the wolf. Tell us how we can walk as our Fathers did in peace before us.”

The prophet turned and smiled. He again raised his hand for silence. “Go home to your loved ones and speak of these things. If they feel as you, bring them again to this spot. Bring with you also all your weapons of war. Tell your friends to come with their right arm in the sign of peace, raised in remembrance of your healing. Speak to all you meet on your path about the wisdom of your Fathers. Meet with your tribes in your circles that you might be taught. Invite them to come and hear as you have.”

“There will be messengers waiting here for you. They will bring the wisdom you seek. You will recognize them as they make the sign of peace as do you. Follow the paths they teach you.”

With great joy they threw their arms around each other, realizing only then that both arms were whole. Raising their arms to the square, they turned to the Prophet to seek approval. The rock was empty and silent.

“Why did he leave us? Did he not promise to teach us?” they cried. A great feeling of sadness filled the crowd.

Then the tall man spoke. “Did he not first command us to go to our homes and tell those we love to come also? Come. Who will go with me? We must bring others with us as well and prove that we are ready to hear and obey.”

Slowly they dispersed in singles and small groups along the many trails leading from the woods. Their weapons were on their shoulders, their knives in their shields.

The dawn sun had traveled to the west horizon many times before they came again to the rock. As they gathered they realized how strangely different they felt about the weapons they carried. Someone suggested they dig a hole and bury them so they would never be tempted to use them again. With a loud shout, they all agreed and began digging a hole big enough. It was by the meadow rock. All their weapons of war were thrown in until there were none left to carry. Then the earth was replaced upon them.

For many moons the people came to learn from the messengers. They built permanent buildings of wood and cement to be close to the rock where the Prophet had first instructed them.

Many more people came and their children after them, to learn and to bury their weapons of war. Eventually all the land lived in peace and no man remembered how to make the weapons of war that were buried in the ground beneath their feet. But by then none of them had reason or need to do so.

-Doug Garrett

Alone

I pray in my own Gethsemane, far from my Saviour’s tomb.
I’m down on my knees as I sob my pleas, alone in a dim lit room.

Though the blood doesn’t pour from my every pore. like my Saviour shed for me,
The tears it seems, shed their steady streams, from my eyes that no longer see.

It takes times like this, then it happens: a broken heart is made whole.
His love is felt, by the words that melt the ice from a troubled soul.

He speaks to me at length of strength, and a time so long ago,
When he offered free his gift to me, and I feel my spirit glow.

When I rise with the dawn, my trials are gone, and I feel the warmth of his light.
The sins of my past are forgiven at last, and are left with the dark of the night.

-Doug Garrett

Reaching Out

I passed him waiting by his cart. “God Bless you friend,” I heard him say.
His smile was warm, not like my heart. How easy beggars like to pray.

When I have prayed for God to hear, to help parched and withered grain,
His voice came not, nor was he near. All by itself came needed rain.

Thrice I had prayed to see again those who I loved, long passed away.
But sick and poor were all that came. How could I have such people stay?

So I have worked with eyes down turned and gleaned alone by sweat of brow.
All which, by rights was mine, I earned! But oh, the lonely silence now.

“Your God is foreign to my eyes.” This time the old man heard my chide.
“My son, I heard each time your cries. My outstretched hand was swept aside.”

-Doug Garrett

Unfinished

God left the world unfinished, placed man in it unskilled.
He left the voltage in the clouds, the sands with oil filled.
He left the rivers running wild, untamed with power leaping,
The cities waiting to be built, the pregnant forest sleeping.

Raw nature was the gift he gave to strengthen man – not soften,
To sweat man’s brow, to sear his soul, to test and try him often.
What will you find? What will you build? What mystery uncover?
The will of God, the role of man – all waiting to discover.

-Doug Garrett