The shortest route to work from my home takes me along Arkansas Highway 5—which carries a lot of traffic. The traffic moves well until the highway approaches an overpass. At that point the right lane goes to a freeway entrance that leads away from town and the left lane goes over the freeway to the entrance that leads toward town. Most of the morning traffic goes over the overpass.

Every morning most of us dutiful citizens wait in line in the slow-moving left lane waiting for our turn to go over the overpass. Every morning many marauders take the relatively empty right lane and shoot past the blocks of patient drivers and cut into line at the front of the left lane.

This behavior energizes the natural man in my soul. I fume. Is their time more precious than anyone else’s? Are they more important than the rest of us? I often wish the thoughtless drivers could be given an extended timeout—maybe one minute for each person who was slowed by their thoughtlessness. I would like them to be punished for not playing well with others.

Stages of spiritual development

Driving is a magnificent test of our Christian character. We are generally quite anonymous, we have lots of power, and we are fully goal-directed. If anything will demonstrate our spiritual maturity, I suppose that driving will.

The scriptures do not provide a full theory of driving as a test of Christian character. Despite that fact, let’s see if we can identify three stages.

The barbarians

Barbarians have the nasty habit of taking what they want. They do not care about rules or courtesy; they are focused on themselves and their needs. It seems that many of us become barbaric when we drive.

Stop signs and traffic lights are treated like weak suggestions from babbling parents. Speed limits are only suggestions for people less capable than we.

For years I used to allow myself nine miles per hour over the speed limit. My logic was that you weren’t likely to get a ticket unless you were driving at least 10 miles per hour over the limit. Such logic does not speak well of my moral development. With time I cut back my allowance to five miles per hour. Now, after decades of driving, I finally asked myself why it was all right to break the speed limit at all. I finally go the speed limit.  I make a complete stop at stop signs. And I try not to run red lights. (Maybe I will fully conquer this one in the spirit world.)

Having largely conquered simple obedience, I now struggle with a different challenge.

The Pharisees

The Pharisees were miserable in their slavish obedience and they wanted everyone to be as miserable as they. So they pounded people with the law. They judged, condemned, and belittled those who did not follow the laws with exactitude—or anyone who didn’t follow the law the way they understood it. As a result, they exemplified self-righteousness. They became poster boys for artificial righteousness.

I suppose that’s where I have been with my personal obedience and steady annoyance with other drivers. I am a driving Pharisee. I obey the law and I am condescending toward those who do not.

I have tried giving end-runners and bad drivers the benefit of the doubt. My aging Grandpa didn’t realize he was substantially exceeding the speed limit. Maybe that young woman was late to a critical appointment. I remember when I was a frisky driver. Despite these efforts at compassion, I still find myself irritated with those who take traffic privilege while disregarding laws and other drivers.

I do not have scientific data to support my observations about state contrasts, I only have our experience. When we lived in Alabama, we were surprised at the way drivers let other cars into lines. They exemplified sharing and taking turns. We experienced the same wonderful phenomenon in many communities of Alabama during the six years we lived there. Yet, every time we returned to Utah, it seemed that a Utahn would rather die in a fiery crash than give way in a line of traffic. The gospel may change hearts—but only until we get behind the wheel of a car. Then we become ruthless Pharisees.

Have you ever deliberately block a speeder who was trying to pass you? Have you ever gloated when someone else got a ticket? Have you ever refused to let a car into traffic?

Charity faileth in traffic.

Charitable driving: Saintly and sensible

The Lord’s counsel to His disciples may apply to driving: “Behold, I send you forth as sheep in the midst of wolves: be ye therefore wise as serpents, and harmless as doves” (Matthew 10:16). Our challenge is to drive sensibly while carrying our Christian goodness to the task.

Even if others around us are viewing the speed limits as mere suggestions, we can follow the laws of the land and drive safely. We can be considerate and helpful to other drivers along the way. If someone is trying to merge into traffic, we can be the ones who allow them to pull in ahead of us. We can govern our thoughts and remain charitable and peaceful even while others are less considerate in their driving habits.

Jesus was probably not thinking of the modern freeway when He gave His challenging command; yet it certainly applies to our driving: ”Love your enemies, bless those who curse you, do good to those who hate you, and pray for those who spitefully use you and persecute you” (Matthew 5:44). Traffic provides regular opportunities to apply this counsel.

When the Lord counsels against anger, He warns that, “Whoever says, ‘You fool!’ shall be in danger of hell fire” (Matthew 5:22). Yikes! Hell may be packed with a lot of angry drivers!

Why does this matter? 

So how does driving relate to our spiritual maturity?

We are asked the challenging question in Alma 5:14: “And now behold, I ask of you, my brethren of the church, have ye spiritually been born of God? Have ye received his image in your countenances? Have ye experienced this mighty change in your heart?”

I suspect that if we have truly experienced a mighty change in our hearts, we would not compartmentalize our commitment to following the Savior’s example. We understand that our simple, hour-to-hour acts reveal our character as much as our big decisions. Perhaps the way we treat fellow drivers is more revealing of our spiritual development than the earnestness with which we bear our testimonies. Our driving is not as important as our service and faithfulness but it is a measure of our spiritual development.

When Jesus requested that we “love one another, for by this shall all men know that ye are my disciples, if ye have love one to another,” He did not provide an exception for those who cut in front of us in traffic or otherwise irritate us throughout our day.

I look forward to the day when I can gladly help other drivers along the way while obeying the law consistently myself. In the mean time, I am taking a different route to work so I don’t “get tempted above what I am able to resist.”

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Many thanks to Barbara for her insightful additions to this article.

I had finished an evening of Bishop interviews and was about to head home when the office phone rang. A woman in the ward asked if she could discuss a problem with me. I was tired but glad to do my father-of-the-ward duty.

She told me that she was totally disappointed with her husband. She found him to be completely useless. As she warmed to the subject she declared that he had never contributed anything to her or their family.

I should tell you about her husband. He was indeed somewhat scatterbrained. I think of him as a gentle eccentric. But he worked hard as a university professor, supported his family well, was almost uniformly gentle, spent spare time caring for their home, and was active in the Church.

Limited options

The woman who called was famously volatile so, in spite of the seeming unfairness of her accusations, I made extra efforts to be understanding, patient, and supportive of her. The woman continued her complaint. In fact, she continued for more than an hour.

Two response options seemed to be available to me:

1. I could agree with her. The troubled woman seemed to favor this option. She seemed to want justification to exit her disappointing marriage. She was frustrated and unhappy.
2. I could disagree with her. I could challenge her to see her husband’s contributions and intentions.

For an hour or two I did something like #1. I tried to be supportive even though I didn’t fully agree with her. Then, for 5 minutes, I did #2. Because her complaints were unfair and extreme, I challenged her to be more balanced. That was when our discussion broke down. I had missed the real point. She was trying to tell me something I was missing entirely. I was listening to the words and missing the message.

Missed messages

She was trying to tell me that she felt lonely and trapped. She had been injured by life. She, like the man journeying from Jerusalem to Jericho in Jesus’ famous parable, felt wounded and half dead. Was the problem one of crushed idealism? Was it one of conflicting styles between husband and wife? Was it a matter of exhaustion and loneliness?

I will never know. By turning my will against hers, I closed off the channels of communication. I was suckered into a debate about the merits of her complaint and missed the cry of her soul. I was like either the priest or Levite. I had walked around the injured one without being touched by the feeling of her infirmity (See Hebrews 4:15).

Imitating a better model

I wish I had known at the time how to be a good Samaritan. The Samaritan did not chide the injured one for his foolish journey. He did something wonderfully different. “When he saw him, he had compassion on him, and went to him, and bound up his wounds, pouring in oil and wine, and set him on his own beast, and brought him to an inn, and took care of him” (Luke 10:33-34).

In this great story Jesus offers us the model of a compassionate healer. The good Samaritan does not even consider the foolishness or deservingness of the injured traveler. He does not seek to assign blame. He has compassion, offers all the healing available, and carries him to a place of further healing.

Consider how much better compassion serves us than any debating of culpability. I did not need to weigh in on her argument or her husband’s merits. I could offer compassion. Imagine that I had said any or all of the following:

• You must feel terribly lonely.
• You sound very hurt and disappointed.
• Every day that you feel that way must be a terrible burden.
• I don’t know how you keep going when you feel that way.

Note that none of these compassionate responses suggest that I either agree or disagree with her. I do not need to take sides. I simply offer compassion on the altar of her suffering.

Continued healing

Yet there is another vital step on the road to being made whole. When an injured one is starting to feel peaceful, we carry her or him to the inn where the Perfect Innkeeper and His helpers can minister to her. As the pastor of her soul, I could have offered my compassion and tears. Then I might have invited her to the next stage of healing. I might have invited her: “I honor you for continuing to try when you feel so discouraged. Given that you have made covenants with God and your husband, what do you think God would have you do to make your marriage more of what it should be?”

I have no illusions that she would immediately say, “Wow! I have not been fair to my husband. I need to cultivate some charity in my heart and find ways to work with him.” A woman who had felt hurt and alienated for decades was not going to instantly become a glad spouse. Healing takes time—and often a big chunk of eternity.

But by trying to force my version of correction on her, I dishonored the only One who can heal reliably. I tried to play healer and righter of wrongs. I turned my will against her and she turned hers against me. I wish I had known more about how to invite people to the Healer.

Periodic conversations with her might have involved continuing doses of compassion. And various forms of the question about God’s plan for her might have been supplemented by a joint exploration of scripture. We could have sought to be taught from on High.

Injury in the workplace

Recently I experienced another form of the same challenge. A colleague shared with me that she worried that our work group was sometimes too negative. Sometimes we may have ganged up on this administrator or that colleague. She was right. But notice the complication. When a co-worker complains about an administrator, I can challenge my co-worker. “I think we should speak more kindly.” But maybe this is akin to telling the injured traveler that he was unwise to travel alone from Jerusalem to Jericho. Maybe I am turning against my co-worker. If I accuse the complainer of being judgmental or a gossip, I have become an accuser rather than a healer.

So how do we bring a positive spirit to our conversations without turning against co-workers, friends, and family members? The formula is the same. First, we show compassion. We try to understand what the complaint means to the person who makes it. Maybe the person feels personally hurt or worried about her job. We offer empathy. Second, we invite positive action: “What do you think we can do to make things better with that person?”

God has not appointed us to be the ultimate fixers. He invites us to be fellow travelers. If I hope to be the kind of fellow traveler that the good Samaritan was, I must monitor my heart. Is it filled with harrowing or healing, tearing down or lifting up, accusing or advocating?

The good Samaritan not only carried the injured traveler to a place of healing, he also paid the two pence for future healing. That two pence was the exact amount of the man’s annual temple tax. In other words, he actively sought to put the person right with God. When we accuse anyone—a complaining co-worker, an unhappy spouse, or an imperfect administrator—of badness, we are stealing from their account with God. We are presuming to regulate His goodness and love.

The challenge

The story of the good Samaritan was evoked by the question about neighbors and our obligation to love them. Jesus’ message to all of us is that anytime we see anyone who is injured, we are invited to minister with all the healing means available to us. I think He even challenges us to see that those who are mad at a spouse, a child, a neighbor, or the world are also injured ones. Underneath the anger is hurt. We are invited to carry all injured souls to Him. That is the duty of every believer.
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Thanks to Barbara for her penetrating insight and welcome suggestions.

Who manages your life? Wally summarizes his thoughts about the differences between time management and energy management.

*Note: This post is in response to the discussion of “Plugs in the Nurture Pipeline“.

Today my colleague and I met with a couple of professors who lead a project that trains teachers and childcare providers to train parents to do a better job with their children. But there is a problem. The parents don’t take kindly to the teachers teaching them. They bristle.

As out conversation continued, another problem was evident. The teachers didn’t like being trained by the professors. They bristle.

As our colleagues talked, the problem was evident. No one–whether teacher, parent, or student–likes to be seen as a problem. No one wants to be treated like a nuisance, a fool, an ignoramus, or an irritation.

I had a college English teacher who said something surprisingly direct for an English teacher: “Nobody cares how much you know until they know how much you care.” Or, as the Lord often reminds me, I don’t have the right to correct anyone I don’t love.

We must love sincerely before we can help effectively. The trainers must genuinely care about the teachers before they can inspire them to help the parents. The teachers must genuinely care about the parents before they can inspire them to help their children. The parents must genuinely love their children before they can help them grow into healthy adulthood.

Honesty is tricky business. It can be either good or bad. Sometimes we do the bad kind of honesty and call it good. That is very destructive. It is also very dishonest.

Brutal Honesty

A mother had observed her daughter doing something that bothered her. She said nothing at the time but waited until the family was gathered for dinner. Then, in front of family and friends, the mother described her daughter’s bad behavior. When a family member challenged her, suggesting that the matter should be handled privately, the mother confidently announced that she did not intend to be anything but honest. “In this family, we practice honesty.”

Ouch! Is honesty an excuse for attacking others? Honesty is not the same thing as wanton dumping of accusations on other people’s heads regardless of the apparent factual basis for the accusations. The commitment to be honest in our dealings with each other does not preclude wisdom and consideration in our relations with each other.

Honesty at Its Best

One of the marks of healthy honesty is that it is modest; it never declares itself. I have never heard a person at the office supply closet announcing, “I was thinking about taking some supplies for personal use, but I must be honest.” Healthy honesty is almost always an inner dialogue. It is a discussion in which we challenge ourselves to live by the standards we have accepted.

In my experience the honesty preface is commonly a way of justifying the violation of fundamental commandments: “I must be honest with you. I find your behavior to be repugnant and your character to be inferior.” This is honesty? Is this the way God wants us to talk with each other? I’m confident that God recommends a different variety of honesty.

Gods reminds us that we are nothing without charity. And “charity suffereth long and is kind” (1 Corinthians 13:4). God certainly has something besides insults in mind when he recommends honesty. He would never have us jump into a delicate discussion without thoughtfulness and compassion

An Amazing Case Study

I don’t know if there is a case study on healthy relationships anywhere in sacred history that compares with Joseph Smith’s incarceration in Liberty Jail. After he was foully incarcerated and his people were cruelly driven, Joseph cried out to God: “Let thine anger be kindled against our enemies; and, in the fury of thine heart, with thy sword avenge us of our wrongs” (D&C 121:5). It appears that Joseph was ready for some Missourians to be smitten.

Joseph’s wrath was certainly honest. He and the saints had been treated abominably. Yet God seized on the situation to teach Joseph the principles of heavenly power. Let’s look at God’s words and see if we can see their application in our lives.

Facing God’s Honesty

I am keenly aware of my many faults and shortcomings. Yet, based on years of experience with God, I know that He will not come to me and say, “I’m going to have to be honest with you, Wally. You are more trouble to maintain than you are worth.” While the statement is true and He would be honest to say it, He would never utter the words. While we half expect God to be brutally honest with us, He is not interested in that kind of honesty. His truth is contextualized with redemptiveness. He is interested in the kind of honesty that looks beyond our human folly to our earnestness and striving. He practices what He preaches as He sees us with “pure knowledge,” the heavenly view!

Joseph learned to know well the mind of God. He observed that “while one portion of the human race is judging and condemning the other without mercy, the Great Parent of the universe looks upon the whole of the human family with a fatherly care and paternal regard; He views them as His offspring, and without any of those contracted feelings that influence the children of men.” (TPJS, p. 218)

Honesty is a principle God would have us apply to ourselves as we remember to return the borrowed book and deliver the promised help. Honesty must not be a premise for hurting each other. To call that honesty is the ultimate dishonesty. It is to call unkindness noble.

The mother described above might have taken her daughter aside privately. She might have expressed both her love and her concern. Then she could have invited the daughter to suggest how the concern could be resolved. The daughter could have wrestled with her own feelings and decisions while encircled in the arms of her mother’s love (See 2 Nephi 1:15).

God would have us treat His children as He treats us: kindly and redemptively. He asks that we do not dump out the load of each other’s faults and folly. We pick through the personal history to find hints of goodness and signs of hope. That is honest to His loving purposes. That is God’s kind of honesty.

It is hard to imagine Jesus nagging the apostles: “You guys need to get out there and spread the word. My ministry is half over and we haven’t reached our goals. I don’t know what I’m going to do with you!”

Yet when we want to “inspire” better performance in any church or family endeavor, we commonly scold, chide, admonish, chasten, and lecture. It is only natural. “Natural.” It is good to remember that our instinctive or natural actions make us enemies to God (Mosiah 3:19).

Maybe we chide and scold because such methods seem to work, at least in the short run. But the Lord suggests that they are not effective. And they are not right. He instructs us to use persuasion, gentleness, kindness, and love (D&C 121:34–42).

I have a dear friend named Myke. Some years ago he was a district scout leader. Part of his responsibilities included periodic meetings with troop leaders. Because of his determination to do his duty with honor, he did several things to be effective. He would send reminders to those who should attend. He was always well prepared to provide good material at the meetings. When someone did not come to the meetings, Myke would organize sets of materials from the meeting and visit the home of each of those people and share the materials.

One of Myke’s fellow scouters in district leadership chided him: “You’re only teaching them to be irresponsible when you take the materials to their homes. They’ll never come to your meetings if you keep taking things to them.” Myke rose to the challenge. He invited his colleague to make a test: “You use every means you know to get leaders to your meetings. I will continue to use the method I use. Let’s see who has better attendance.” Over a period of months each used his method. Would it surprise you to know that Myke’s attendance improved over time while his co-worker’s meeting attendance declined?

There is a “natural” interpretation to Myke’s delivery to non-attenders: “Well, if you don’t come, I’ll run everything over to your house. Don’t worry if you don’t want to come.” But the non-attenders seemed to get a different message: “When you don’t come, you are missed. Your work is important enough and the materials I prepared are important enough that I will bring them to you.” I think Myke was also saying, “I will do everything I can to support you in your vital work.” Such messages translate into better performance.

Jesus taught the same kind of leadership when he counseled us to “leave the ninety and nine, and goeth into the mountains, and seeketh that which is gone astray” (Matthew 18:12). Was Jesus worried that the ninety and nine would wander off, hoping for the extra attention that was given strays? Apparently not. Maybe Jesus hoped the ninety and nine would follow His example and become rescuers of lost sheep. Maybe scoutmasters who have been supported reach out to scouts who are lost.

Rather than scold the straying sheep, Jesus carried it upon his shoulders. Yet think of the many times that we scold one another. “Brethren, the month is half over; you need to do your home teaching.” “We now have a temple in our area and we aren’t using it as we should.” “SHHH! Be reverent!” We do a lot of scolding.

I know a bishop who had a monthly interview with the ward elder’s quorum president. One of the regular items of business in their meetings was to review home teaching. If there were any brethren who had not regularly contacted all their families, the quorum president would make a note and arrange to visit with them. If they did not improve their home teaching within the next month or two, the bishop would make individual appointments with the home teachers. The bishop and home teacher would begin their meeting with prayer and then the bishop would say: “As a priesthood home teacher, you are the vital link between God’s church and some of His precious children. Some of those children are not getting visited; what can we do to support your home teaching?” If changes needed to be made in companionships or assigned families, they were made. But that was rare. Usually the erring home teacher simply needed to be reminded how important his work was. He needed to be invited to be a partner with God.

Inviting is better than scolding. Inviting is what God does. “His hand is stretched out still” is the repeated message of scripture. Our bad deeds may bring on calamity that can humble us. Yet He always invites us to return to His Way of Life:

“Every thing which inviteth and enticeth to do good, and to love God, and to serve him, is inspired of God” (Moroni 7:13).

Scolding, especially in groups, poisons the spirit of the gathering. It does not motivate spiritual behavior and it may engender resentment. For example, a high councilman assigned to talk about home teaching might use his sacrament meeting time to review the ward’s dreary statistics, threaten eternal consequences for slackers, and urge reformation.

There is a better way. Recently I heard a man tell about his home teaching. He said that he was teaching a brother who used to be a bishop but has not been to church for years and does not live the Word of Wisdom. The man reported about his home teaching: “I don’t know how it happens. We visit the man. We talk about his projects. We share our message. We have not gotten him to come to church. I don’t know if we’ve done him a bit of good. But we sure do love him! God has given us a love for that man that I cannot comprehend. I look forward to every visit.” Such a message could make a great talk on home teaching. It is more effective than the customary scolding.

The first principle of leadership is love. “We love him, because he first loved us” (1 John 4:19). During His mortal ministry, many people responded to Jesus because He reached out to the blind, He touched the leper, He wiped away tears from the sorrowing, and He saw beyond sin in the confused. If we want to motivate better performance, we must first love. Love for God, His work and His children, is both contagious and energizing.

Recently our stake president made an appointment with Nancy and me. He invited me into the office first and asked if I would support Nancy as the new stake relief society president. I didn’t know whether to groan or to laugh. Nancy does not like to be on stage. She does not like to boss people around. She does not like to make lots of decisions. She simply wants to help people in need. That is why she is such a great leader! She does not care for any of the trappings of leadership. She only wants to love and serve.

Effective leadership is motivated by love for those served and for the work. Meaningful home and visiting teaching is energized by the same love. Inspiring classroom teaching is animated by love for students, for God, and for His sacred messages.

Of course our most significant leadership roles are within the family. An acquaintance at work once asked me how to deal with her 4-year-old having scratched a neighbor child. I asked what she had already done. She said she had scratched her daughter and isolated her to her room for three days. I still remember the mother’s words: “She must learn that it is not acceptable to scratch.” I am confident that the 4-year-old learned many things in that encounter. I doubt that she learned not to scratch.

My personal reaction to such behavior has been mellowed by my grandparental stage of life. I recommend that the mom comfort the injured neighbor child and then take the offending child to a quiet place. The mother could hold the child close as they rock together. She could soothe the child with gentle strokes. She could hum a favorite tune. She might even call on her deepest feelings to express love to the child. Would kindness after misbehavior convey to the child, “I just love it when you are a terrorist!” I don’t think so. I think they would convey, “I love you, Dear. I’m sure you’re very confused right now. I’m sure you feel bad about hurting your friend. You must not hurt people. I want to help you get to that place in your soul where the holiest impulses can be found. From that place will come all the right actions.”

That seems to be Jesus’ message to us in the story of the prodigal son. Though the son had been ungrateful, wasteful, and immoral, his model father responded to the son’s return with love: “when [the son] was yet a great way off, his father saw him, and had compassion, and ran, and fell on his neck, and kissed him” (Luke 15:20).

The second principle of leadership is love. So are the third and fourth. That is not to say that there is nothing else that matters. Somewhere around number 73, other principles show up: wisdom, stewardship, delegation, etc. But if we have not charity, the pure love that comes from Christ, we are nothing (see 1 Cor. 13:2, 2 Nephi 26:30, and Moroni 7:46.).

As Myke says, “Sheep herders scold and drive. Shepherds lead and love.”

A bright, sensitive young man told me about his recent battle with his brother. Harsh words and threats were traded. The young man told me, “If he apologizes sincerely, I will forgive him. But I rather like being estranged. It is nice not to have him around.” It seems that all of us enjoy some occasional recreational resentment. We love to nurture our grudges and culture our complaints.

Wherefore, I say unto you, that ye ought to forgive one another; for he that forgiveth not his brother his trespasses standeth condemned before the Lord; for there remaineth in him the greater sin” (D&C 64:9).

Sometimes we’re tempted to accuse God of hyperbole. He couldn’t possibly mean that, if someone commits a grievous sin against us—perhaps murder, rape, theft—that we will be guilty of a still greater sin if we do not fully forgive that person. Maybe He is exaggerating for effect.

There is another possibility. Maybe unforgivingness is a presumption of epic proportions. Maybe the failure to forgive suggests that we think we should be able to regulate the flow of His grace. “No one should be redeemed unless we approve.”

Perhaps God is telling us in that remarkable scripture that we do not have veto power on His acts of redemption. When we presume to declare someone undeserving, we show our pettiness and ingratitude. We clearly do not understand our own dependence on His grace.

Thus, when brilliant Jesus teaches about a debtor who was forgiven a vast debt (estimated to be billions of dollars in today’s money) who would not forgive a puny debt (estimated to be pocket change), the ungracious man incurred divine wrath.

And his lord was wroth, and delivered him to the tormentors, till he should pay all that was due unto him. So likewise shall my heavenly Father do also unto you, if ye from your hearts forgive not every one his brother their trespasses (Matthew 18:34–35).

Lately the Lord has blessed me with opportunities to view the significance of forgiveness. In one case, a young couple found themselves divided, resentful, and at the brink of divorce. The young man revealed that his attitude toward his bride had been severely damaged when she revealed a past indiscretion. He punished her for months with sullenness, harshness, and absence. To his eternal credit, he finally recognized the error of his ways. He admitted, “I need to fill myself with the gospel to change my attitude and behavior.” It was marvelous to see the transformation as he turned toward the light.

In another case, my sweet companion was asking me about making copies of the tape of our daughter’s mission report. Not having taken time to understand her request, I misunderstood her need. We swapped misunderstandings until I reacted impatiently. It is amazing to me that I can so quickly become impatient with the kindest, most considerate person I have ever known. I am sorry, Nancy.

We all have just cause for resenting each other. In a telestial world, we are all offenders. Whether we do or don’t resent the offenders around us is the measure of our conversion. Loving the undeserving is the evidence of our change of heart.

When our view of life is limited to our own puny needs and peevish complaints, we begrudge others any good fortune or heavenly grace. But when we understand the great gift that has been given us, the gift of His loving sacrifice, we are filled with love and patience for the entire human race. Judgment is transformed into charity.

It is popular for us to soften the boundaries of the commandment “Judge not, that ye be not judged” (Matthew 7:1; 3 Nephi 14:1) by invoking the seemingly more liberal Joseph Smith translation “Judge not unrighteously, that ye be not judged; but judge righteous judgment” (JST Matthew 7:2). Apparently we are free to judge if we do it righteously. And so humans from the beginning of time have smote one another with the commandments: “He is a sinner.” “She falls short.” “They are no good.” (What an irony that we smite each other with the commandments that God designed to bless us!)

The trouble with the broadening interpretation of the judging commandment is that it does not account for several other scriptures, including these two:

Behold what the scripture says–man shall not smite, neither shall he judge; for judgment is mine, saith the Lord, and vengeance is mine also, and I will repay (Mormon 8:20).

Leave judgment alone with me, for it is mine and I will repay (D&C 82:23).

How does one reconcile the different counsel on judging? There is actually no discrepancy between the seemingly more restrictive (“Do not judge”) and the more liberal commandments (“Judge only righteously”) if we understand them rightly. None of us is righteous (see Romans 3:10). Our telestial minds are not capable of righteous judgment.

But when we are filled with He who is truly righteous, we can see rightly. When our only judgment of others is His assessment of them, then we “pass righteous judgment.” In the final analysis, only One who knows everything and loves perfectly has the right to judge.

It is supremely appropriate that we are judged on the same principle that we judge. “For with what judgment ye judge, ye shall be judged: and with what measure ye mete, it shall be measured to you again” (Matthew 7:2).

If we see others through the lens of His love and compassion, we will be seen in that same way. If we apply our shriveled, shrewish judgments to others, we will be judged in that way. If the grace and goodness of Christ is not our standard as we measure, it will not be the standard when we are measured.

It is not hard to tell when we are imposing our own miserable sentences on one another and when we see with the “mind of Christ”(I Corinthians 2:16). The indicator Joseph Smith gave us is compassion: “The nearer we get to our heavenly Father, the more we are disposed to look with compassion on perishing souls; we feel that we want to take them upon our shoulders, and cast their sins behind our backs.” (Teachings of the Prophet Joseph Smith, p.241).

There is one scene in literature that still haunts my weak efforts at charity—the bishop’s candlesticks from Les Miserables, by Victor Hugo. The kindly Catholic bishop of Digne gives shelter to an ex-convict, Jean Valjean, much to the dismay of his housekeeper and sister. He feeds and gives a bed to the brooding man. In the dark of the night, the troubled Valjean rises, makes his way to the silver, fills his bag, and departs. On the morrow, gendarmes drag Valjean and the silver back to the bishop.

The bishop has every reason to be indignant that his kindness has been repaid with thievery. His word would send the man back to prison. He might have thought it gracious to recover his silver, deliver a lecture, and send the man on his way. But he holds a higher standard.

He greets the sullen thief: “Ah, there you are! I am glad to see you. But I gave you the candlesticks also, which are silver like the rest, and would bring two hundred francs. Why did you not take them along with your plates?”

Valjean was thunderstruck. He had only known a world of cruel legalism. He could not comprehend a man who heaped goodness on his tortured and undeserving head. That act of grace transformed Jean Valjean’s life and rippled through the balance of his years.

If we think of God’s commandments as a ruler, they are intended to chart our course back to Him. They were never intended to whack fellow travelers on the head. In the press of daily commerce, how often do we rap heads with the ruler of our legal judgments when we could change history by following the perfect example of one who taught forgiveness? He invites us to the highest standard.

“Ye have heard that it hath been said, Thou shalt love thy neighbour, and hate thine enemy. But I say unto you, Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them which despitefully use you, and persecute you” (Matthew 5:43–4).

God invites us to join Him in the sweet process of blessing His children.

Life in mortality is filled with petty complaints and surly jostling. In fact, mortality is designed to challenge the best in us. Our spirits yearn for peace yet face a tangle of annoyances, disappointments, and injustices. Our spirits are pained by being immersed in a world where thorn and thistle choke out flowers and vines.

I remember reading the story of an elderly woman who showed up every morning at the grocery store and bought only a few items—about enough food for one day. The clerks thought her behavior was odd and speculated about its cause. Did she have no refrigerator? Did she have no room for storage or no place to live? Did she love to shop? Did she go shopping for exercise? They found no persuasive answer. One of the bolder clerks determined to ask her. The next morning as the older woman was checking out, the clerk asked, “Ma’am, every day you come in and buy just a few items. Why is that?” The woman sighed. “You might not know that I am a widow. I live with my nephew. I hate his guts. When I die, I don’t intend to leave him any extra groceries.”

That is the spirit of mortal smallness. We tend to meet badness with badness. We reflexively become filled with petty jealousy, anxiety, small-mindedness, hoarding, and resentment. We are neither at peace with ourselves nor with others. And mortal smallness does not readily relinquish its grip on our souls.

But there is another message inside of us. Our spirits whimper, “God can transform all this dusty ore of mortality into the pure gold of eternity.”

Therefore, he giveth this promise unto you, with an immutable covenant that they shall be fulfilled; and all things wherewith you have been afflicted shall work together for your good, and to my name’s glory, saith the Lord” (D&C 98:3).

In some way, quiet, unexpected, and mysterious to mortals, God will take our disappointments, pains and transform them into blessings if we turn them over to Him. We may be tempted to cling to our grievances; He invites us to surrender them.
Van Wyck Brooks has described people who rise above smallness: “How delightful is the company of generous people, who overlook trifles and keep their minds instinctively fixed on whatever is good and positive in the world about them. People of small caliber are always carping. They are bent on showing their own superiority, their knowledge or prowess or good breeding. But magnanimous people have no vanity, they have no jealousy, and they feed on the true and the solid wherever they find it. And, what is more, they find it everywhere.”

In each of our lives God places many proximate if imperfect models. I think of Greg, who suffered painful family disappointment and still gives thanks and praise to a perfect Father in everything (see D&C 98:1). I think of Barbara, who resolutely serves in the Church in spite of personal doubts. I think of sweet A. Theodore Tuttle who, dying of cancer, resisted the prayers of loving church members. “I have had a good life and am ready to go Home. If you have faith and goodness to spare, direct it to the poor people of South America.”

The ultimate model of graciousness is the Lord Jesus Christ, who not only absorbed our sins and paid our debts but went the extra mile and voluntarily bore our griefs and carried our sorrows so that His compassion for our suffering would be fully informed (see Isaiah 53 and Alma 7:12). No one has ever been as gracious as He. No one has ever done so much for so many. No one has ever been so resolute in the commitment to bless.

There is a distinctive spirit to work inspired by His goodness. It is filled with light and kindness, which greatly enlarge the soul (see D&C 121:42.). “Nothing is so much calculated to lead people to forsake sin as to take them by the hand, and watch over them with tenderness. When persons manifest the least kindness and love to me, O what power it has over my mind, while the opposite course has a tendency to harrow up all the harsh feelings and depress the human mind” (Teachings of the Prophet Joseph Smith, p.240).

Greatness of soul is captured in a story of a kindergartner who showed up at school one day with a note pinned to his jacket. He wore the note proudly. The teacher eventually spotted the note and asked the boy, “Would you like me to read the note?” The boy responded, “Yes, I would.” The teacher removed the note and read: “My son was unhappy this morning because his sister had a note and he did not. Now he has a note and he is happy.”

Some time ago we were visiting a ward in a distant city. I do not remember the subject of the lesson in the high priest group that day. But I clearly remember a comment by a brother. He faulted some missionaries who had been in their ward some years previous. Their misdeed had been to go for the “easy baptisms” that now were a hardship to the ward. “Our unit has been burdened by all the handicapped people that a few overzealous missionaries brought into the Church. How can our ward beexpected to carry so many burdens? We had to back off those missionaries.”

My spiritual hair stood on end. Something felt terribly wrong. Something whispered within me that the “lame, or blind, or halt, or maimed, or leprous, or . . . withered, or . . . deaf, or . . . afflicted in any manner” are a great treasure in any ward or branch. The idea was so involuntary and so foreign to logic that it had to be true.

The people in our congregations with the biggest challenges may be our greatest blessings. They are a constant reminder to us that Jesus always favored the broken honesty of the humble to the polished assurance of the prominent. He was “a friend of publicans and sinners.”

Chris is hampered by cerebral palsy but every Sunday he inspires ward members with his cheer. For more than 30 years he has been confined to a wheelchair—and he reads with difficulty—yet he blesses the sacrament. His father lifts him to his knees. Chris slowly and deliberately recites the prayer, mostly from memory. He enunciates every syllable the best he can. His father prompts him when he falters. Every heart is touched by his valiance.

Chris also leads the music in priesthood meeting. His father wheels him to the front of the gathering. His arm will not move far, his hand will not open fully, and many words are difficult for him to pronounce, yet he leads us. His face radiates the joy that is only known by the pure in heart. I am grateful to Chris for a weekly reminder that joy is the natural fruit of service and goodness.
I remember years ago visiting a rural Utah ward sacrament meeting with a friend. The Sunday I visited happened to be the first Sunday that 12-year-old Tommy passed the sacrament. He had the timidity and awkwardness that is common in 12-year-olds. In addition he was completely blind. He struggled along, carrying the sacrament tray and feeling the ends of the rows to get his bearings. He was not smooth nor confident. But he was sincere.

In our current ward we have more people with disabilities than any ward to which we have ever belonged. What a blessing! We are regularly blessed by those who are “lame, or blind, or halt, or withered, or afflicted in any manner.”

One sweet sister in our ward is completely blind. She lives alone and cares for a horse, three dogs, two cats and two birds. She is a faithful visiting teaching supervisor and stake missionary. She trains other blind people how to adapt. I remember a Sunday when she was sitting at the end of a row near us. When the deacon offered her the sacrament, she did not respond. She could not see it. Then someone noticed. A sensitive sister nearby came to her aid and drew her hand to the tray. I resolved to be less blind to others’ needs.

Due to the wide array of physical and emotional disabilities in our ward, members regularly reach out to guide, sustain, encourage, and love each other. Several give rides to the car-less. Some push wheelchairs. Many offer heartfelt love. What a great tutorial in compassion! This is an environment where Christ-like charity can flourish. Each of us in turn leans on that compassion as we make our own halting spiritual progress.

My life is blessed by many “disadvantaged” people I have known over the years. George has very few good teeth, very little education, very little reliable work, and only a hut to shelter him and his family, but he stands ready to help anyone in need.

Clif may not have much, but he provides his roof, his old truck, his tools, and his time to any troubled traveler. Most importantly, he offers encouragement even when he is despairing.

I have studied the people to whom the words “thy sins are forgiven” have been spoken in scripture. In some cases the recipients were sinners who yearned to be better. We are not surprised that they were granted cleansing for their repentance. But other recipients were lame or diseased. It catches us by surprise that Jesus should offer spiritual healing for physical maladies. What qualified them for the sweet blessing of having their sins removed?

The man sick of palsy is a case in point. When he sought healing, Jesus remitted his sins. For the benefit of the disbelieving scribes; Jesus also healed his palsy. But we ask, “What was it about the palsied man that qualified him for a forgiveness of sins?” The answer is central to the gospel message: He had humility.

Disability often ministers to our humility. And humility is the gate to heavenly goodness.
As those with disabilities struggle to do the ordinary, they may experience sustaining grace and come to know—better than most of us—our universal dependence upon God.

And now it came to pass that the burdens which were laid upon Alma and his brethren were made light; yea, the Lord did strengthen them that they could bear up their burdens with ease, and they did submit cheerfully and with patience to all the will of the Lord” (Mosiah 24:15).

Jesus holds up the broken and misshapen as moral models to those of us who glide through life. I would not be surprised if a scientific study found that there is a direct correlation between the number of disabilities in a ward and that ward’s spiritual strength. Any pre-resurrection city of Zion is likely to have more wheelchairs than sports cars.

Perhaps those who limp through life volunteered in an earlier life to take more conspicuous and painful limitations than the rest of us. Perhaps they are the best among us. Perhaps they have special claim on the promise that the last shall be first.

They are poignant reminders that we all bear infirmities and none can be healed without divine ministrations.

. . . he hath anointed me to preach the gospel to the poor; he hath sent me to heal the brokenhearted, to preach deliverance to the captives, and recovering of sight to the blind, to set at liberty them that are bruised (Luke 4:18).

To be aware of our disabilities can lead us to the Healer. Those who appear unflawed may go unhealed.

I thank God for the sweet souls who have taught me so much. How we should welcome those with disabilities—financial, educational, emotional, physical, or spiritual—to our number! May Heavenly Father send us more of the sick and troubled and make us equal to the lessons they will teach us.

The great danger for humans is that we will walk by the light of our own understanding.

We wait for light, but behold obscurity; for brightness, but we walk in darkness.
We grope for the wall like the blind, and we grope as if we had no eyes: we stumble at noonday as in the night; we are in desolate places as dead men (Isaiah 59:9–10).

There are innumerable areas where we fail to comprehend divine truth. Yet we may expect our shortfall to be greatest in the areas of truth that are most exalted and sublime.

At some point in mortality most of us find ourselves in the clutches of crude, small, selfish acts. We detest them even as we cling to them (for the natural man craves stimulation at all costs). Sometimes we wonder how we got so far down a vile road. We resolve to get ourselves out of the filth. But mortal messes accumulate faster than we can remove them.
More than once along the mortal journey we are likely to be threatened with a dreaded confrontation with a judge, either mortal or immortal. It is natural to lie and contrive in order to avoid the painful accounting. We hardly need to add accusation and moralizing to our already-heavy burdens.

Here is one of life’s great surprises. When the woman taken in adultery was dragged before the Lawgiver, the Judge, the Holiest of all, He did not accuse her. The scribes and Pharisees accused her. And they nettled Jesus to take a stand against her unholiness. He, the model peacemaker “stooped down, and with his finger wrote on the ground, as though he heard them not” (John 8:6).

When they continued to pester Him, “he lifted up himself, and said unto them, He that is without sin among you, let him first cast a stone at her” (v. 8). The irony is breathtaking. The “defenders of the law” were guilty of noxious sin but anxious to prosecute anyone guilty of different or more disagreeable sins. He was the only one in that gathering or any other mortal gathering who was without sin. But He threw no stones.

The errand of the keepers of the law had taken a nasty turn. They were disqualified as judges and executioners. Yet even in their viciousness, He did not accuse them. Rather, the law that they used to batter fellow travelers became their accuser. And they were left without basis for accusing Jesus. They departed discontent at the outcome but apparently unwilling to repent.

When Jesus had lifted up himself, and saw none but the woman, he said unto her, “Woman, where are those thine accusers? hath no man condemned thee?”

She said, No man, Lord. And Jesus said unto her, Neither do I condemn thee: go, and sin no more (vv. 10–11).

Satan’s name literally means “accuser.” That is a vital point. It is he and all those who do his work who do the accusing. We may tell when we are under that evil power when we are anxious to find others guilty and make them suffer.

Satan’s fundamental lie is to transform Jesus in our minds from friend and Savior and advocate to judge and accuser. By so doing he transforms the Good News into everlasting bad news. If we let Satan pull his dirty trick, we are left with dread rather than hope.

When we find our consciences nagging us, we naturally assume that God is upbraiding us: “Why haven’t you been reading your scriptures? You should not use harsh words with your family. You have been neglecting your prayers. Your church service has been disappointing.” He has every right to be irritated with us. He has given us so much and we perform so poorly.

But such upbraiding is almost never the voice of God. He who commands us to treat each other with love does not resort to chiding and scolding to motivate us. It is Satan who points the accusing finger for, in his perverse strategy, he knows that shame paralyzes rather than energizes. While the evil one scolds us and cajoles us to do better, he laughs because he knows that such scoldings discourage us. His message is to do good but the effect of his message is to do nothing.
Satan and God approach us very differently. Satan points the accusing finger at us while God’s hand is stretched out to us.

Those are very different gestures. Satan accuses. God invites.

The scriptures describe Jesus as our advocate who is pleading our cause before the Father (D&C 45:3). He offers His sinlessness, His blood, His sacrifice to heal us (D&C 45:4). For those who show even the least disposition to repent, He invites “come unto me with full purpose of heart, and I shall heal [you]” (3 Nephi 18:32). For those who scoff at repentance, humbling tribulations are offered. But those who hunger and thirst after righteousness shall be filled with the Holy Ghost (3 Nephi 12:6).

If we see God as a hostile accuser, we avoid encounters with Him at all costs. If we see Him as a loving Redeemer, we seek His refining embrace. Perhaps father Lehi was describing that blessing when he summarized his life by saying that “the Lord hath redeemed my soul from hell; I have beheld his glory, and I am encircled about eternally in the arms of his love” (2 Nephi 1:15).

We may judge whether our self-scorning is evilly or divinely inspired. “But behold, that which is of God inviteth and enticeth to do good continually; wherefore, every thing which inviteth and enticeth to do good, and to love God, and to serve him, is inspired of God” (Moroni 7:13).

What a surprise. Years of cajoling that we assumed to be heaven-sent may indeed have been devilish if they left us wan and listless. How many less-active Latter-day Saints remain outside the warmth of His goodness because they assume that He will chide and berate them if they approach Him? How many have felt their gloom deepen as they mistake Satan’s accusation for God’s invitation? How many have concluded that they are beyond His redemptive reach because of the burden of so many sins?

Richard L. Evans observed that “our Father in heaven is not an umpire who is trying to count us out. He is not a competitor who is trying to outsmart us. He is not a prosecutor who is trying to convict us. He is a Loving Father who wants our happiness and eternal progress and everlasting opportunity and glorious accomplishment, and who will help us all he can if we will but give him, in our lives, the opportunity to do so with obedience and humility and faith and patience” (Conference Report, October 1956, p.101).

Rather than flee from God as our accuser, or hide from God as our judge, we should run to God who is our Advocate. Because we have an high priest who is touched by the feeling of our infirmity, we should “come boldly unto the throne of grace, that we may obtain mercy, and find grace to help in time of need” (Hebrews 4:16).

During the time that I served as the bishop of a student ward I consistently began interviews with the question, “How are you getting along with your Heavenly Father?” The responses followed a predictable pattern: “Well, I am trying. I am so busy with school and work that I am not doing as well as I should. I could read the scriptures more.”

It seemed to me that many of the college students avoided Heavenly Father the way we might avoid a cranky parent. At the time of greatest need they avoided their greatest resource and friend. My counsel was to make Him a part of their lives. “Talk about Him as you drive to school. Hum a hymn as you walk to class. Let your heart be filled with thanks to God.” The remedy for darkness is light.

Accepting His offering of love and goodness has a powerful impact on all our relationships.

The nearer we get to our heavenly Father, the more we are disposed to look with compassion on perishing souls; we feel that we want to take them upon our shoulders, and cast their sins behind our backs (J. F. Smith (Ed.), Teachings of the Prophet Joseph Smith (Salt Lake City: Deseret Book, 1938) p. 241).

When we are filled with divine love, we are more gracious parents, more helpful partners, more considerate friends. It is clear why Satan would like to block the flow of heavenly goodness into our lives. The good news is that we can learn to respond to any darkness in our lives by turning toward the light.