This is a relatively short snippet I have chosen to share. It's the opening scene of, not the Book of Mormon, but the story I want to tell.
There are so many horrible attacks that happen around the world every day. The question in everyone’s mind and repeated on many lips is: “Why?” Why do these people do these horrible things? What kind of belief system allows the murder of innocent people? And one of the most perplexing questions is: Why would a loving God allow these sorts of things to happen?
To say that Nephi's two oldest brothers, Laman and Lemuel, make life difficult for the rest of the family would be to understate the facts.
Where did they go? The ancient Pueblo, the Hopewell and Fremont Indians, the Aztecs, Maya, Olmecs. They all certainly left their mark on the earth with ancient ruined cities, great earthworks, pots, plates and myriad other artifacts. We know where they lived, maybe a little about how they lived. But what happened to them? Where did they go? Or even more importantly, why did they go?
In Part I I started the story about why we moved from Utah to Oregon. At the end of that post I had reached the time when the bank foreclosed on our house and we moved 35 miles south to Orem, to live with my in-laws, the Carters.
In one of my previous posts I talked about our decision to move to Oregon from Utah as being in response to a spiritual prompting. This post will relate at least some of that story.
Four days ago I had my surgery to remove the cancerous growth from my thyroid and nearby lymph nodes. Four days ago I went under the knife for the first time in more than 30 years. It was a nerve-wracking experience, but one we got through okay.
"Pain is temporary, but glory is forever." That's how one of the quotes goes. Another says: "Pain is temporary and chicks dig scars." I'm not sure who to attribute those quotes to, but the second was repeated often during my time training in the martial arts.
In my eyes, this is what’s meant by a trial of faith.