Quote from Elder Maxwell
This article in the Ensign led me to a BYU Devotional address given by Elder Neal A. Maxwell many years ago. It was on the topic of patience and I loved it. I never really thought patience was a particular weakness of mine but his remarks helped me understand what a vital characteristic patience is and that it is in fact something I need to actively cultivate.
His talk helped me identify areas of this principle that I am, perhaps, lacking in and perspectives I can adopt to help with that. When I brought it up with Jake, his thoughts were that maybe patience should replace the woefully underutilized "hope" in the "faith, hope and charity" triad. Although I don't want to see hope tossed out, I think I can see what he means.
As he was wrapping up the devotional, Elder Maxwell said he struggled with knowing how to conclude his remarks but what he came up with literally brought tears to my eyes, it was so moving and beautiful. He captured the essence of something I have felt all my life but could never fully articulate. I'm not surprised that Elder Maxwell's words could reach across decades and touch me in the way they did:
"Some of us have been momentarily wrenched by the sound of a train whistle spilling into the night air, and we have been inexplicably subdued by the mix of feelings that this evokes. Or perhaps we have been beckoned by a lighted cottage across a snow-covered meadow at dusk. Or we have heard the warm and drawing laughter of children at a nearby playground. Or we have been tugged at by the strains of congregational singing from a nearby church. Or we have encountered a particular fragrance which has awakened memories deep within us of things which once were. In such moments, we have felt a deep yearning, as if we were temporarily outside of something to which we actually belonged and of which we so much wanted again to be a part.
There are spiritual equivalents of these moments. Such seem to occur most often when time touches eternity. In these moments we feel a longing closeness—but we are still separate. The partition which produces this paradox is something we call the veil—a partition the presence of which requires our patience. We define the veil as the border between mortality and eternity; it is also a film of forgetting which covers the memories of earlier experiences. This forgetfulness will be lifted one day, and on that day we will see forever—rather than “through a glass, darkly” (1 Corinthians 13:12)."
https://speeches.byu.edu/talks/neal-a-maxwell_patience/
His talk helped me identify areas of this principle that I am, perhaps, lacking in and perspectives I can adopt to help with that. When I brought it up with Jake, his thoughts were that maybe patience should replace the woefully underutilized "hope" in the "faith, hope and charity" triad. Although I don't want to see hope tossed out, I think I can see what he means.
As he was wrapping up the devotional, Elder Maxwell said he struggled with knowing how to conclude his remarks but what he came up with literally brought tears to my eyes, it was so moving and beautiful. He captured the essence of something I have felt all my life but could never fully articulate. I'm not surprised that Elder Maxwell's words could reach across decades and touch me in the way they did:
"Some of us have been momentarily wrenched by the sound of a train whistle spilling into the night air, and we have been inexplicably subdued by the mix of feelings that this evokes. Or perhaps we have been beckoned by a lighted cottage across a snow-covered meadow at dusk. Or we have heard the warm and drawing laughter of children at a nearby playground. Or we have been tugged at by the strains of congregational singing from a nearby church. Or we have encountered a particular fragrance which has awakened memories deep within us of things which once were. In such moments, we have felt a deep yearning, as if we were temporarily outside of something to which we actually belonged and of which we so much wanted again to be a part.
There are spiritual equivalents of these moments. Such seem to occur most often when time touches eternity. In these moments we feel a longing closeness—but we are still separate. The partition which produces this paradox is something we call the veil—a partition the presence of which requires our patience. We define the veil as the border between mortality and eternity; it is also a film of forgetting which covers the memories of earlier experiences. This forgetfulness will be lifted one day, and on that day we will see forever—rather than “through a glass, darkly” (1 Corinthians 13:12)."
https://speeches.byu.edu/talks/neal-a-maxwell_patience/
posted by Leslie | 9:51 AM
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