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I grew up in Germany (and Maryland) in the US military. I lived on or near military bases until I was 30 years old. I was BORN on a military base. Which is to say that I grew up in black neighborhoods. When I was raised in the military, it was 52% black. When I served in the military myself, it was still about 50% black. My most of my closest friends were black: Reggie (who was absolutely smitten with my girlfriend), Dwight (with whom I enjoyed many philosphical conversations), Sharon (who came to me for help writing a letter complaining about the sexual harrassment of the women's dorm sargeant, who lost two stripes as a result), Mickey (whom I car-pooled and laughed at bad jokes with), Sampson (who took me to the dance-clubs, and ended up calling me Disco Dusty), Sandy (who had a crush on me), Truck (a nickname) (who always knew where to get anything you needed), Sugar Bear (I never knew his real name, but he was our master of all things admin), Marilyn (whom we all called mom), Clarence (who sang with me in the Frankfurt temple), Frank (my best friend during my last year in Germany at AAFES, who, like me, had married a German girl, and who, like me, had come to regret it), and many more. I still keep a photo of Dwight in my album. But, that's just the sort of thing that a lot of people say in order to justify what they say next: "BUT ..." No buts here. I grew up in black neighborhoods, and at least half my friends were black. We hung out together. We walked across the base to the pool together. We worked together. We endured together. And I remember them all fondly. But where are they now? I have always had a soft spot in my heart for my black brethren. Even after that vile, racist book, and, later, movie, Roots, poisoned our relationship, and people started naming their kids Jamal, Sheniqua, and such, just to reject white America, I never let it affect me. What affected me was having to stand by and watch as Hollywood and the media drove a wedge straight into the heart of America, possibly never to be healed. Now, I mention all this only because of its parallel with the Book of Mormon. Look closely, and you'll see that Zoram and his children represent a far better parallel to black America than do the Lamanites. (And remember: THE Lamanites are not OUR Lamanites.) (But that's a subject for another day.) Even the name, Zoram, as Nibley points out, is a Canaanite name, meaning a refreshing summer shower. But the Zoramites were gradually seduced away from their loyalty to the Nephites by the Lamanites. Notice also, that it's only because of these shifting alliances that we actually even know anything at all about how the religion of the Lamanites, once identical to that of the Nephites, had drifted from its roots, incorporating many Jaredite traditions, as we see in their use of Rameumptum, about as Jaredite a word as we find anywhere in the Book of Mormon. (Remember Irreantum? Mahonri Moriancumr? Jaredite words all.) And does this not parallel how black Americans, once almost exclusively Republican, were gradually beguiled by the Democrats into believing that the party of the south, of slavery, of the KKK, were somehow the friend and ally of black Americans? But, the Book of Mormon also shows the Zoramites turning around, and reuniting with the Nephites. And this is what I see happening in America today. And I am overcome. How glorious! "For friends at first are friends again at last", marching side by side. I've been trying for years to find my old friend, Dwight. Who knows? Maybe this will make it easier for him to find me. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ So, now ... Don't misunderstand this. Remember the importance of variety! And just where is it that you've heard that concept emphasized? THREE TIMES! And, if you're confused by that, just consider what God is doing here: He's creating life! Yes! Still today. Remember, the seven days of the earth's temporal sojourn all take place within the SEVENTH day of creation, where God continues his work through man. And life is rare. Nowhere is it written that those 'millions of earths like this' are concurrent. This is it! Life is precious! Life is so precious, that, we are never to play fast and loose with it (neither ending it NOR BEGINNING IT, without proper cause and authority), and one of the greatest threats to life is a mono-culture. Remember the Gros Michel banana? That's the one whose extinction prompted the old, hit song, Yes, We Have No Bananas! And its less-favored replacement, today's Cavendish, is now also threatened, which is why banana growers are promoting plantains, and working on other alternatives. And Hass avocados are in trouble, too. By the way, bananas are evidence that humans and bananas have been together a long, long time. Bananas are SEEDLESS! They do not multiply on their own. A living culture must be manually split off and transplanted. And that doesn't happen any other way than with human hands. So, mono-cultures of bananas and avocados are doomed to extinction. BUT, at least there are other plants in the garden. And, for comparison, just look at the variety in apples. And there's absolutely NO danger of them being wiped out by disease. And the same goes for humans, an idea that you'll find reinforced in scripture, over and over again, especially in the Book of Mormon. Ever wonder what that 'near kinsman' stuff was about? On the other hand, Abraham was promised, "... in thy seed shall all the nations of the earth be blessed". And how can that happen without at least some admixture? Is this yet another case like Adam and Eve and the fruit, where God commands us not to do what he knows we're going to do, but worked that into his plan all along? And that's my real point. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ My kids love me. Seeing how much I miss my Pazzo, my middle boy, River, probably conspiring with his siblings, went out and bought me a pair of cats today: A girl named Belle, and a boy named ... what? Rev Run?! What the heck is that? I promptly renamed him to the first thing that popped into my head, Boscoe. Belle and Boscoe are already romping and tearing through the place, after thoroughly inspecting my keyboard, spending an hour snoozing on my chest, playing with my shoelaces, and much, much more. Poor Wally (my son's girlfriend's Australian Sheepdog who spends more time here than there) is so jealous. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ I forgot! Remember what I was telling you about farmer Hoggett being a metaphore for God in the movie, Babe? Well, I completely forgot to point out the song he sings to Babe, If I had words. The music is from the main theme of the maestoso section of Camille Saint-Saëns' magnum opus, Symphony No. 3, so, of course, that'll be familiar, but listen to the words, and see if they sound like anything you've read in scripture about singing (our first language), creating via words, creating a new day, lasting for all time... If I had words to make a day for you I'd sing you a morning golden and new I would make this day last for all time Give you a night deep in moonshine The original ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ |