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Stepping
Out of the Time Line
by
H. Wallace Goddard
We mortals are
so immersed in time that we rarely glimpse timelessness—let alone
eternity. Occasionally we see fantastic movies where people jump
from place to place in time but, in our "real" lives we plod along
our time-bound path with no sense that it is even possible to travel
to different places in history.
In 1892 my
great-grandfather, Ben Goddard, left for a mission to New Zealand.
He left behind his wife, son and occupation. In his journal he said
of his parting "Twas a hard struggle and only a sense of sacred
duty would have reconciled us all to make the sacrifice." For more
than three years he traveled New Zealand, struggled with the language,
taught the Maoris the Good News, conducted meetings, and sang hymns
of praise. He even taught language, literature, and math in night
school. He came to love the good people of that country far from
his home in Millard County, Utah or his first home in Huddersfield,
England.
Lately I have
been reading Ben's journal, yearning to know his soul. His entry
for April 2 had a real impact on me: "I received a letter from Mother
but no letters from my dear family & on this account I was very
sad & uneasy." I pictured my beloved forebear far from home
feeling anxious and lonely. I desired to provide him a letter. My
heart proclaimed: "I will write him!" even as my mind wondered how
to send a message to the past.
If I went back
to 1892 to write him a letter, I undoubtedly should not disclose
that he would lead an important church work for 27 years after his
mission. (We mortals are kept focused on today and faith by being
shielded from a view of the future.) I hardly need tell him how
much reason his only child, his beloved son, my grandfather, would
give him to be proud. (He already adores his boy!) He would hardly
have believed the number of descendants he would have only 70 years
after his death. (I cannot count all the people!)
Maybe I could
just tell him that I love him and that his devotion and testimony
have blessed my life. Maybe I could tell him how his expressions
of faith and life of service have blessed all his descendants. Maybe
I could tell him that a file filled with his letters and journals
are among my most cherished possessions.
But how does
one predate a letter almost 110 years? I do not know the answer
to that question but I felt that, if I made the effort, my message
for my great-grandfather would not be wasted. I might—-even now—-write
him a letter and both of us would be blessed by the effort. Time
is no barrier for the work of God.
Elder Maxwell
wrote about time: "Even now, time is clearly not our natural dimension.
Thus it is that we are never really at home in time. Alternately,
we find ourselves impatiently wishing to hasten the passage of time
or to hold back the dawn. We can do neither, of course. Whereas
the bird is at home in the air, we are clearly not at home in time—because
we belong to eternity. Time, as much as any one thing, whispers
to us that we are strangers here" (1980, p. 220).
As Alma observed,
"time only is measured unto men" (Alma 40:8). God lives outside
of time. While we impose our clockwork chronology on life, somehow
God surveys all creation and employs the goodness in one corner
to the blessing of all. "It is the constitutional disposition of
mankind to set up stakes and set bounds to the works and ways of
the Almighty" (Teachings of the Prophet Joseph Smith, p.320). God
seemingly can make our actions retroactive, sending goodness rippling
through all of eternity.
We have a friend
who has gotten the help of a therapist to work through her bad feelings
for her parents. Her therapist suggested she mentally bring back
her deceased father and unload on him; let him know how hurt, betrayed,
and neglected she felt. Tell him off. After doing just that she
sought my feedback. I did not want to interfere with her work with
her therapist but I suggested that some time she may want to try
a different exercise. I suggested that some day she might again
use her imagination to bring her father back from the grave. I suggested
that she kneel at his feet and invite him to describe what he would
have done for her had his health and knowledge been different. How
might he have supported, encouraged, and loved her? What great times
together would they have had if he had not been bedridden? In that
interview, they could create a new relationship, a new history.
Even as I shared the suggestion with my friend, I felt invited to
travel across time making improvements on my marred life story.
The past may
be more malleable that we think. The Lord has said that He can make
what is crimson as white as wool (Isaiah 1:18). When He removes
the stains from our past, He does not leave a void, a vacuum, a
gaping hole in the fabric of our lives. He, with our cooperation,
creates a past filled with purposeful living and specific goodness.
As we become a new creature in Christ, we get a new history filled
with all those things we would have done if we had had the convictions
we now have. We indeed are changed.
Even now our
choices to understand, obey, love, and bless can ripple both forward
and backwards through time. Our choices can change eternity. They
can bind the hearts of children to their fathers and the mothers
to their barely-remembered ancestors.
With the tunnel
vision of mortality, we do not glimpse the ripples of our choices.
We march along mortality gritting our teeth, grieving yesterday's
losses, and dreading tomorrow's ambushes—unless we have that transcendent
faith that lifts us above the worries of mortality. With that faith
we know that a perfect Father will backfill the sinkholes or our
life histories with love, purpose, growth, & joy. In eternity
we will inherit the wisdom gleaned from our own experiences and
the wisdom He has given as a divine gift. He can repair anything,
even the past.
Brigham Young
gives us a glimpse of total trust in the Lord in instructions he
provided to missionaries:
When you
pray for your families . . . you must feel—if they live, all
right; if they die, all right; if I die, all right; if I live,
all right; for we are the Lord's, and we shall soon meet again
(Discourses of Brigham Young, p.324).
For now the
veil keeps me from seeing my beloved great grandfather, but my heart
knows that we are bound together eternally in a bond of love. I
may not understand just how to capture his eye with my long-delayed
letter, but I know that we are connected. I will write him a letter
and date it April, 1892.
April 1, 1892
Dear Grandpa,
Oh! How I
love you! Thank you for your letters, pictures, and journals that
have provided me a view of your life and commitments. Thank you
for dedicating your life to the Good News of Jesus Christ. Thank
you for your sweet devotion to your family. Thank you for your
example of using all your gifts to advance God's work and bless
His children. You will bless generations far beyond your mortal
parting.
May peace
and purpose fill all the days of your mortal ministry. May glory
crown your immortality. Even as you receive this message, there
are those who rejoice in your whole-hearted offering.
Love,
Your great-grandson
I hope that
somehow Ben's loneliness in that distant day and land may be healed
by my message written 110 years later.
But wait, even
now Ben sends a reply filled with love and encouragement for his
descendent who is still stuck in time. I cannot discern all the
words, but I feel its spirit.
Thank you,
Grandpa. It is so good to hear from you.
Notes
Neal A. Maxwell (1980). Patience. In Brigham Young University
1979 Devotional and Fireside Speeches. Provo, UT: University Publications.
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