Value - Poem

Value -

Value of one life?

Christ’s sacrifice

By Janice Harten

8/20/2008

Copyright © 2012 Janice Harten

 All rights reserved

Sacrifice - Poem

Sacrifice

Adam and Eve cast, from one world to another

Stone upon stone, taught to build an altar

Without spot or blemish each sacrifice made

Hearts pleading and praying to one day be saved

Abraham’s altar built, willing son taken

His choice made, with knife raised to Heaven

Angelic intervention, sacrifice accepted

One heart, two hearts – and a ram in the thicket

An olive tree bent to serve as an altar

“Let Thy will, not my will be done,” He uttered

No angel or Father’s hand to stay this sacrifice complete

Immortal heart broken, body’s blood shed, resurrection sweet

Disciple's heart broken, spirit contrite

Laying open and tender on Christ’s altar, willing sacrifice

Sacred, scarred hands heal and hold

The wounds and entrance to my soul

By Janice Harten
Copyright © 2012 Janice Harten.  All rights reserved.

Grandfather - War History

My grandfather wrote a history about his service as a foot soldier in France, in WWI.  He tells about his enlistment and receiving a Patriarchal blessing before he left:

"Your life shall be precious in the eyes of the Lord. You shall be upheld and sustained and preserved from danger, both seen and unseen, and though many may fall around you, upon the right and upon the left, in the front and in the rear, God will preserve your life, for your days are numbered and your years shall never be counted less. Whether by land or by sea your Guardian Angel shall watch over you, and your life and liberty shall be precious in His sight."

Later he wrote the following account:

"They opened up a heavy barrage on our lines. The second shell struck in the line I was in - just a couple of feet from me. The flash was terrible. The pieces flew, but (to my safety) they struck the men just in front of me. A piece, that seemed more like the whir a bayonet would make as it flew through the air than a piece of shrapnel, flew just past my ear. The concussion was so terrible it blew us backward. When I began to turn I noticed I was on my back and my pal, Bolam, was on top of me. I said to him, "Are you hurt, Bolam?" He answered, "I don't know, but I am bleeding." I began to feel around to see if my feet and legs were on. I must have been numb for so long, because Bolam and I (in fact everyone who could) moved forward. I had to step and jump over the men that shell had killed and wounded.  My, it was awful. I learned that it killed or wounded fifteen of my company pals."

This is a small sample of many pages he wrote, describing similar battles, when he witnessed the death of those around him, and yet his own life was preserved.

Other memorable parts of his war journal include stories about later responsibilities he had, to sensor and deliver the mail (he received this assignment after having a foot problem).  These stories make me smile:

"Talking about the Christmas boxes that were coming in from home - one day three large bags of mail came in loaded with nothing but boxes of candy, etc. As Bolam and I took boxes from the top of one of them we ran across a few pieces of butterscotch. Bolam said that was just the kind he liked. All the way along there were stray pieces, so we ate them. Bolam said the fellow whose box that is will surely miss it. When we came to the bottom of the bag there was the broken box. As Bol lifted it he exclaimed, "It's mine!" Well, I just rolled and laughed, but it was no laughing matter to him.

Finally in March 1919, we left St. Georges. But the night before, I had to get rid of a package I had saved. It belonged to a Danish sailor who had been drafted in Seattle but had not wanted to remain with us. He had protested. His papers had been a long time getting through. He trained with us in Camp Lewis. He went across with us and remained until just before we went into the front. He had all his civilian clothes in a sack hoping to get his release and use them. His release came after he had stored his clothes. So he had gone to Denmark, and I had his clothes with no address.  Before [I left France], Bolam and I took the [Danish sailor's clothes to the] old man Provost [a Frenchman we had come to know], and dressed him up from head to foot - hat, shoes, collar, tie and all.  It was surely funny to see the old lady [the French man's wife] dance around him. We had a lot of fun for an hour, then I told the old man they were his. You have never seen anyone so happy in your life. That was the best outfit he had ever owned."

Finally, he wrote this about his return home:

"I remembered a letter Libbie had sent to me after I had arrived in France. She said when I was in New York, she dreamed I was to sail on July 12th. That was the exact day I stepped on the Olympic for France. Now I wondered if the same spirit would warn her of my sailing for home.

...It wasn't long in coming and our wives were in our arms. I don't believe any but those who were in the thick of the fight, as we two were, can quite appreciate the thrill of seeing those one loves again."

As part of this Memorial Day weekend, I pay tribute to my grandfather, my father, my son, and all other men and women who have given, or continue to give their lives; for honor, for their families, and for freedom.  And I remember with appreciation, those who wait at home for their return.

Pearl Harbor - Sacrifice

The meaning of real sacrifice, and the fragility of life, became personally significant when we visited Pearl Harbor.  Here, on December 7, 1941, Bill's father arose and was headed to breakfast, when chaos and terror erupted aboard the battleship West Virginia (right next to the place the Missouri Battleship is now mored).  His was located three decks down when the first torpedo hit the side of the ship.  His fight for escape and survival is one he pondered and relived the remainder of his life.  He wondered why he survived such a horrific scene of twisted steel, burning oil and strafing airplanes.  Years later, he shared that the only sense he could make of it, was that he was supposed to get married and have children.

We found a quiet spot, and Bill read aloud his father's story.  As his father jumped from the ship, into water covered with burning oil, he proceeded to swim around two languishing battleships.  He saw another struggling sailor and helped him get to Ford Island.  Many years later, this fellow found and thanked him for saving his life.

His father was a member of the band, on the West Virginia, having been assigned there just three months earlier from off of the Arizona.  And the night before the attack, he had participated in the "Battle of the Bands", with his former shipmates.  Their total loss was devastating to him.  Another friend, who was a diver, found and retrieved his trumpet in the days that followed.  The blackened bell visually reminds us, daily, of the gift of life he was granted.

Bill's father remained on duty, at Pearl Harbor, for the next several years.  Besides his regular duties, he helped clean at the Royal Hawaiian Hotel, and he continued with the band, welcoming in the submarine crews, and playing with visiting musicians and entertainers that came to entertain the troops, such as Bob Hope.  During his free time, he spent many hours on Waikiki Beach, surfing.

I find it interesting and profoundly meaningful, that both Bill and I have very personal ties to these islands.

Sonnets - Poem

Sonnets

Let knight slay dragon for his young maiden fair

Let prince climb tower to rescue damsel in despare

Let Romeo hear Juliet from yonder balcony call

My husband's endearments are more tender than them all

First, sweet nothings he whispered in my ear

Now nighttime sonnets fill our bedroom air

Evidence of his love and exhausting daily labor

Every thought and effort for my comfort and care

Sing on, sweet sonnets, beneath the moonlit sky

Remind me of my loved one still laying by my side

Janice Harten

Mar 17, 2009

Copyright © 2012 Janice Harten.  All rights reserved.

Salt Lake Utah Temple - Love

There is one word that entered my mind when we attended the Salt Lake Temple, love.  When the pioneers entered the Salt Lake Valley in 1842, there was nothing but sage brush and harsh desert.  The saints had been driven from their homes in beautiful Nauvoo, Illinois, and made the long difficult trek to the mountains.  When they arrived, Brigham Young declared, "This is the right place", meaning this was the place the Lord had shown him in a vision, they would live and build again.  Only this time, they would not leave.  The saints were destitute, bringing with them a few seeds and items they could carry in wagons or handcarts.  So, they began anew, building a city with their bare hands, and faith.

The Salt Lake Temple was a labor of love.  The first foundation laid, which took nine years, was filled in when the army of the United States once again threatened to enter the valley and persecute the saints.  When it was uncovered, there was a serious flaw discovered and the decision was made to begin again.  For 40 years, the people devoted resources, time and talents, to build a temple to God, like the ancient temple in Jerusalem.

When I look at the beautiful details in every inch of the walls, doorways, ceilings, floors and more, I feel the labor of their love, and their testimonies.  They were building a place for the Lord to visit and give instruction to his prophets and saints.  Several rooms have floor to ceiling murals depicting the creation of the world.  Intricate carvings and colorful moldings decorate the ceilings.  Doorknobs made of brass, are works of art with symbols of beehives or other meaningful items.  They used their best artistry and yet their humility is evident.  Their work was not to be seen of men and praised by the world.  It was to furnish a house unto the creator of heaven and earth.

For a long time, Bill and I sat, gazing at the beautiful furnishing, and feeling the spirit of the Lord.  We watched as many others quietly entered.  I noticed people from many other nations, brought together in worship.  One young sister from the polynesian islands, entered.  She was soon greeted by family members and friends, with long hugs and tears.  Again and again, they came to hug and congratulate her on receiving her endowments.  Her tears flowed.  This was a place for family and friends to greet and show their love for one another.

This is a place to feel the love of the Lord and receive his blessings.

More interesting information about the Salt Lake Temple can be found at :
http://www.ldschurchtemples.com/saltlake/
http://saltlakemormontemple.com/162/a-history-of-the-salt-lake-mormon-temple


This information mentions, the Salt Lake Temple is a fulfillment of the prophesy found in Isaiah 2:2

"And it shall come to pass in the last days, that the mountain of the Lord's house shall be established in the top of the mountains, and shall be exalted above the hills; and all nations shall flow unto it."

Winter Quarters Nebraska Temple - Willing Hands and Hearts

As we drove through the fields and rolling hills of the midwest, from Des Moines, Iowa, to Omaha Nebraska, I tried to imagine the Pioneer Saints traveling in their covered wagons or pulling handcarts,  along this route.  The newly harvested fields and green landscape were beautiful from inside our comfortable car.  But, as I felt strong winds push sideways against the car, and saw groups of semi-trucks pulled over for safety, I realized the pioneers had traveled under very different circumstances.  Their journey was in the middle of winter and in freezing blowing snow.  Every step was a battle for life, and many lost their lives.  These were my people, my family, my heritage.

Temple stained glass windows, with Pioneer scenes

I regret we did not have time to explore a nearby church visitor site, with details about the pioneer's experience.  So, if you ever visit, allow an extra hour or two, to maybe pull a handcart!  But, we were lucky just to make this evening journey, during a week of business meetings in Des Moines.


We met a young woman, who was celebrating her twelfth birthday with her family, by attending the temple and doing baptisms for her ancestors.  I was impressed that she chose to serve others on that day.  I also thought of other young men and women I worked beside, just a week ago.  We participated in a service project, organized by our ward, to trim and clean up the grounds around the elementary school.  It was hot, challenging work, but they stayed for almost three hours, and they were cheerful.  Whenever I hear news events that would discourage me, I picture them.  They keep my hopes for the future alive and bright.  I see the faith and willingness to sacrifice, traveling from the pioneers of the past, into the hands and hearts of our modern-day youth.