Our Refined Heavenly Home

One day I was sitting on a long bus ride, talking to Bentley Snow, a friend of mine who has an amazing talent for discussing things that are enlightening and uplifting. For this reason I always relish my conversations with him. On this day we were talking about the power of words to move and motivate, and I asked him a question that had been on my mind. It was this: sometimes I am moved by the testimonies of general authorities, like the closing words of Elder Bruce McConkie's great talk, "The Purifying Power of Gethsemane." I have no doubt that the Spirit testifies to me when I listen to that talk, but am I moved more by the beauty of the words, or by the Spirit? A less eloquent talk may not touch me in the same way, though it be delivered with an equal measure of the Spirit and communicate a message just as true.

Bentley's answer was that beauty and truth go hand in hand. Truth clothed in eloquent speech and beautiful phrasing is no less true and may move us more than plain words with the same essential meaning. The Lord, he said, is conscious of the power of words and music, and He uses that power to touch our hearts. "But," I asked him, "how do I know the difference between being moved by Elder McConkie's talk and being moved by the last page of The Great Gatsby?" His answer was a recommendation that I read a BYU devotional talk called "Our Refined Heavenly Home" by Douglas L. Callister. I did, and it became one of my favorite talks. It answers many of my questions about the humanities and their relationship to the eternities. It also explains why I enjoy talking to Bentley so much. I will share an excerpt here, but I really recommend that you read the entire thing. It is easy to find on lds.org:

"Refinement in speech is reflected not only in our choice of words but also in the things we talk about. There are those who always speak of themselves, and they are either insecure or proud. There are those who always speak of others. They are usually very boring. There are those who speak of stirring ideas, compelling books, and inspiring doctrine. These are the few who make their mark in this world. The subjects discussed in heaven are not trifling or mundane. They are sublime beyond our most extended imagination. We will feel at home there if we are rehearsed on this earth in conversing about the refined and noble, clothing our expressions in well-measured words.
 
"...Is there a generation today that needs to be superficially entertained? What is the prospect of a young man sitting in a dorm on Friday evening to read a great book and be thrilled by the music of the masters? Is Friday evening a frenetic flight to see where the entertainment and action will be? Could our society produce a Newton or a Mozart? Can 85 channels and uncountable DVDs ever fill our insatiable appetite to be entertained? Do any unwisely become addicted to computer games or Internet surfing, thereby missing the richer experiences of great reading, conversations, and music enjoyment?
 
"...[One] said: '[Education] has produced a vast population able to read but unable to distinguish what is worth reading.'
 
"...There was a fine library in the home of President Hinckley’s youth. It was not an ostentatious home, but the library contained about 1,000 volumes of the rich literature of the world, and President Hinckley spent his early years immersed in these books.
 
"...President David O. McKay was inclined to awaken at 4:00 a.m., skim read up to two books each day, and then commence his labors at 6:00 a.m. He could quote 1,000 poems from memory. We knew that whenever he stood at the pulpit. He referred to the grand masters of literature as the 'minor prophets.' He was a living embodiment of the scriptural admonition to 'seek ye out of the best books words of wisdom.'"

A Love Story

My parents and I were sitting around on a hot Sunday afternoon, recovering from the meatloaf, corn casserole, and strawberry lemonade I had made for them. My dad opened the Reader's Digest and placed it in my hands. "Here, since you like poetry. Read it out loud to us." I did.

The Blue Robe, by Wendell Berry

How joyful to be together, alone

as when we first were joined

in our little house by the river

long ago, except that now we know

each other, as we did not then;

and now instead of two stories fumbling

to meet, we belong to one story

that the two, joining, made. And now

we touch each other with the tenderness

of mortals, who know themselves:

how joyful to feel the heart quake

at the sight of a grandmother,

old friend in the morning light,

beautiful in her blue robe!

I looked up, first at my mom. She was blinking rapidly in that way she does when she is trying to hold back tears. And then I looked at my sweet father, who sat across the room, looking at her affectionately. He had tears in his eyes, too. He cries more now than he used to: a blessing that comes with becoming a grandfather, I suppose.

I thought of a picture I have of my parents in their twenties. My mom: stunningly beautiful, slender, and tall, with brilliant blue eyes. My dad: handsome, but perhaps a little less dazzling. I used to look at the photo and wonder how he'd convinced her to marry him, but I have grown up in the presence of their calm, sweet, steady love, and it has been many years since that thought has crossed my mind. I wonder if she knew that she was marrying a man who would adore her so faithfully through all the ups and downs of their story, even after her beautiful youth had transformed into a still more beautiful middle age; he still feels his heart quake at the sight of his old friend.

We took a walk that night in the quiet and cool of the evening. My parents held hands, and I felt happy to be part of their story.