What Does Nana Know!

I was walking down the street in London some time ago and walked past a bookstore window. It was full of stacked copies of a single book--"The Greatest Show On Earth: The Evidence for Evolution" by Richard Dawkins. This man writes a new book every year or so to keep bludgeoning us, oops, I mean, instructing us, with all the reasons why we should believe the Darwinian Synthesis, that hypothesis (they wouldn't like that I used this word) that says that all life is the result of random purposeless processes that occur in the natural world without interference from any mind or intelligence. He has to keep doing this because over 40% of Americans don't believe him and he writes to tell us how witless we are.

You see, I'm with them. I don't believe that the mind-boggling complexity of the cell, the thinking processes we know as our minds, and the irreducible complexity of various living systems could possibly have come about by random, purposeless processes. I think they argue for huge amounts of information transference, for design, and yes, for a designer. When you see letters forming words forming sentences that make sense, you don't think that a random process created them. You think that someone created them. Where are the exceptions?

But what does Nana know?

It seems to me that Mr. Dawkins and his fellow travelers doth protest too much. They seems so frantic. Couldn't we  talk about this. Talk about all the pieces of the puzzle that don't fit very well  into his view of things and how they might fit better into another hypotheses?
No! He cannot talk to a doubter like me. I'm a science denier-It is very important for his ilk to marginalize any non-agree-ers because talking to us like we were intelligent thinkers with intelligent arguments might make people who hadn't made up their minds yet listen in on the conversation. And if there is anything Mr. Dawkins wants, it is to be in complete control of the conversation.

A Carving of a Stegasaurus looking thing found in Siem Riep at one of the 12 century Hindu Temples of Angor Thom
I took this picture.
They tell us things like these walked the earth 150 million years ago, give or take.
So how did they know in the 12th century?  Don't ask Richard Dawkins.
He might expire of exasperation. Because of course there has to be a naturalistic explanation. That's the beauty of defining yourself as always on the side of reason, and the rest of us always on the side of delusion.

I took this picture too. Looks Tyranosaurus-like to me.  But what does Nana know?

Because I doubt Dawkin's naturalistic, materialistic version of reality, I am not a "reputable" thinker and if "Intelligent Design" is mentioned, it must always be put in parenthesis. We are reminded that most of these American rubes think that the world and everything on it was created by God less than 10,000 years ago. Here's where they all snicker. "Mon Dieu! Can you imagine a country so backward! "

Well I'm sorry Mr. Dawkins, but lots of very intelligent people who know perfectly well that the world is very very old still don't believe your version of origins. But it is certainly much easier to shoot down a straw-man than argue against informed scientists who differ from you. So go ahead and imagine that we're all yokels chewing on hay. Me, I don't think the strawman technique, or name calling for that matter, is a very good substitute for actual evidence.

But what does Nana know?


When I went to London I visited the British Museum of Natural History. What a place! The great central hall looks a lot like a cathedral, don'tcha think?  Only up at the front where one would expect the altar to be, is a statue of Charles Darwin. But the stained glass, and the architecture of awe, it's all there, just like a church. In fact a lot of things about Darwinist believers remind me of "faith."


But what does Nana know?

The Written Word: A Priesthood of Memory

Hello everybody. I'm not going to moan too much about the fact that it's been THREE YEARS since I posted anything on this blog. I just feel I should start up again.

What brought this on?

Well, the world is changing. (Cue the LOTR music, and shots of the Elves in hooded cloaks gliding through the forests, passing away from Middle Earth.)

And there is no getting around the fact that I'm changing along with it. I-- I am astounded to realize-- am getting old.

I suppose I always knew theoretically that I would get old. But I'm embarassed to say I thought I would grow old the way Jack Lalanne grew old... swimming from San Francisco to Alcatraz pulling a boat with his teeth when he was 70. 

But guess what? I'm no Jack Lalanne. I will be lucky to make it to 70 with enough teeth to pull the crust off a grilled cheese sandwich. I pull myself out of bed in the morning. I pull myself up the stairs every night. In short...

I'm feeling it.

 When I lived at Marks Rd I had a program running in my nervous system that said every day would be like this, family and kids, forever.

In 1976 Mary was born. In 2006 Ben left for Utah State. I was a mom at home for over thirty years. But now I've moved on. I live in Hong Kong of all things!

Not that I'm departing anytime soon. 

But departing I am. Grow old we must.

  

I'm hoping I will be at all their baptisms, (if Ben gets married soon) but probably I won’t be at all their weddings.

The baptism of my first grandchild-Nikolai Wilson Hales.

My husband says I sound morbid. Don't mean to.  I'm definitely not depressed or sad about growing old. If God designed it this way, He had a good reason.

I also prefer to be realistic. No matter how much one would like to slow down time, the torch always passes to newer generations. 

I could not be more enthusiastic about those newer generations coming along behind me. I just spent a month with them, including a glorious  week at the beach with all my children and grandchildren. 

It was so, so much fun to play in the water and the sand, and paint the granddaughters' toenails pink and collect shells. All that is wonderful and I loved it.

Old and Young

But I was seeing things differently. I could hear something ticking in the background that I'd never heard before. Now once I started considering realistically the fact that I won't always be here, my mind went in some new directions.

I find myself mulling this over: If there is a torch to be passed, what kind of torch will it be? What will I pass on of values, or of faith, and knowledge? 

One thing I know is that I don't want to fade from their lives completely when I die. 

I like what I've learned in the school of experience we call life. I have wrestled a few angels and have the wisdom and the limp to show for it. (Gen 32:24-30)

A marvelous depiction of Jacob's wrestle with the angel by LDS artist Brian Kershisnik

Certainly, my children and my grandchildren will have to learn about God by wrestling their own angels, but it is also possible to learn from earthly angels. 
What would I have done without Grandma Mabel's love of the scriptures. And her shining faith that "earth has no sorrow, that heaven cannot heal."
These things guided me. 

What's more important than 
the connections we have to the people we love?
I guess I want a way for those connections to continue.

And the only way is writing.

Writing lasts. 

Writing is amazing. Writing is like magic.
Writing lets us make connections between generations.

Writing is, in fact, the second of the God-given powers of godliness--the first being the power to multiply and replenish the earth.

You might even say it's the first priesthood, speaking metaphorically.

You see priesthood, if you go back to the ancient roots, is about being an intermediary between God and man.  That's what priests did. By using their sacred authority to act in God's name, they could secure blessings to the people and make sacrificial offerings for them. They brought blessings down from God, and they brought the people up to God through covenants and they linked the two. 

Priesthood is always about a way to link up God with his people. Priesthood, like writing, is all about connections. 

Now if you want to look at something very old in a new way, consider this scripture:

And then began these men to call upon the name of the Lord, 

 and the Lord blessed them;                               

And a book of remembrance was kept, in the which was recorded, 

in the language of Adam, 

for it was given unto as many as called upon God 

to write by the spirit of inspiration;  

And by them their children were taught to read and write, 

having a language which was pure and undefiled. 

Now this same Priesthood, which was in the beginning, 

shall be in the end of the world also. 

Moses 6:5-7

Does that fascinate you like it does me? What could it mean: "Now this same priesthood...?"

The Technical Stuff: Read the small print only if, like me, this fascinates you.
Being the textualist that I am, I combed through the Book of Moses looking for any previous use of the word "priesthood," or a reference to some priesthood-type activity, to see what Moses 6:7 was referring to. Whatever the word "priesthood" is talking about here, it should be found somewhere in the text nearby--that's the basic rule of scripture texts. You can't assume it refers to your own conceptions or what you heard in a talk.  But there is nothing else in the text that we typically think of as priesthood related. Aaron and Melchizedek were thousands of years away. Cain had just killed Abel. The human race had barely gotten started.

If you allow yourself to think outside the box and think of priesthood in a larger way, then conceivably the "priestly" things referred to are receiving the gift of writing from God, "writing by inspiration", "keeping a book of remembrance" (or, i.e., "a book of the things you want remembered" since the family tree was pretty stubby in Adam's day for this to be a genealogical record!) and teaching children to read and write.

In combing my memory banks, I recollect Hugh Nibley talking about this sacredness of writing and how it was originally something that priests did, and  was inseparably connected to the idea of sacred texts.  (Anyone want to give me a H.N. reference?)

I love this idea myself. Writing is sacred.  Of course like all good things, it can be used for other purposes, but think what this gift has enabled man to do.

It has given us a way to overcome death's stroke of finality, as we record thoughts that will outlast our physical time on earth, and remain for our posterity. It has given us a way to have the word of God as light and truth in our lives.

Animals Don't Keep Journals 

And have you ever thought about how the gift of writing separates us from the animals? They can’t do this—they can’t record their thoughts and feelings.  They can’t leave behind wisdom for their descendants. There is no Book of the Elephants, no Tales of the Walrus. 

Each baby elephant goes through the very same life cycle that her mother, and her great-great-great grandmother did before her. And each time, there is nothing new about it. Our hypothetical baby elephant won’t know the past generations' stories. She can only know the ones she knows, and must depend on what they teach her and her own instincts. She can take no credit for those either. She is what she is, a creature of the present, like all the elephants before her.

Elephants 1, 2, 3, 4 and 5

Henry, Maude and Isla

To live a human life, not an animal life, but a fully human life, and to learn from it and write down what you learned so that it persists after you die is a sacred gift-- a priesthood indeed-- for it enables men and women to connect beyond the physical limits and boundaries that death imposes. 

I like to think of it as the Priesthood of Memory.

We are individuals with names and unique stories, each one of us distinct from every other human that has ever lived. We leave a trace, or should I say, we can leave a trace and we should leave a trace. Unlike the animals, we can leave a record of ourselves.

 Do we dare not do it?

(Not my actual hand....yet.)

So to Niko and Eva and Luke and Livi and Hazel and Finn and Penn and Faye and Georgia....

I have lots and lots of things I want to tell you. Anyone else is welcome to listen in.

But that's enough for today, my dears. Nana needs a nap.