The wintry day descending to its close

Another year dwindles to its closing hours. From my perspective, it has been a good one, and the Lord has smiled with favor upon us as individuals and as a family. I express my love and gratitude to Him, the Giver and Sustainer of all that is good, and to each of you, members of my family, who are among the delights of my life.

As the year descends to its close, I am reminded of a nostalgic poem written by Orson F. Whitney, which was later set to music and placed in our hymnal, about the settling of the Mountain West by the Mormon pioneers. I first remember this hymn from the years when I was a teenager in Idaho.

The wintry day, descending to its close,
Invites all wearied nature to repose,
And shades of night are falling dense and fast,
Like sable curtains falling o'er the past.
Pale through the gloom the newly fallen snow
Wraps in a shroud the silent earth below
As though 'twere mercy's hand had spread the pall,
A symbol of forgiveness unto all.

I cannot go to rest but linger still
In meditation at my window sill,
While, like the twinkling stars in heaven's dome,
Come one by one sweet memories of home.
And wouldst thou ask me where my fancy roves
To reproduce the happy scenes it loves,
Where hope and memory together dwell
And paint the pictured beauties that I tell?

Away beyond the prairies of the West,
Where exiled Saints in solitude were blest,
Where industry the seal of wealth has set
Amid the peaceful vales of Deseret,
Unheeding still the fiercest blasts that blow,
With tops encrusted by eternal snow,
The towering peaks that shield the tender sod
Stand, types of freedom reared by nature's God.

The wilderness, that naught before would yield,
Is now become a fertile, fruitful field.
Where roamed at will the fearless Indian band,
The templed cities of the Saints now stand.
And sweet religion in its purity
Invites all men to its security.
There is my home, the spot I love so well,
Whose worth and beauty pen nor tongue can tell.

Orson F. Whitney was born in Salt Lake City, Utah Territory, on July 1, 1855, just eight years after Brigham Young led the first band of pioneers into the valley. He was a grandson of Newel K. Whitney and Heber C. Kimball. Orson was a businessman, journalist, historian, professor, politician, and poet. He was called as an Apostle and sustained on April 9, 1906, the same day as David O. McKay, and served in the Quorum of the Twelve until he died at age 75 on May 16, 1931, some three and a half years before my parents were married.

When he was 21 years old, young Orson was called to serve a mission in Pennsylvania. During that mission, he had a remarkable dream that would surely contribute many years later to his calling as a special witness of the Savior:

"I thought I was in the garden of Gethsemane, a witness of the Savior's agony. I seemed to be standing behind a tree in the foreground of the picture, from which point I could see without being seen. The Savior, with the Apostles Peter, James and John, entered the garden through a little wicket gate at my right, where he stationed them in a group, telling them to pray. He then passed over to my left, but still in front of me, where he knelt and prayed also. His face, which was towards me, streamed with tears, as he besought the Father to let the cup pass, and added, 'not my will but thine be done.' Having finished his prayer, he arose and crossed to where the Apostles were kneeling fast asleep. He shook them gently, they awoke and he reproved them for their apathy. Again he bade them pray, and again crossed to his place and prayed, returning as before to find them sleeping. This happened three times, until I was perfectly familiar with his face, form and movements. He was much taller than ordinary men, and though meek, far more dignified than any being I had ever beheld; and he wore a look of ineffable tenderness and compassion, even while reproving His disciples. My heart went out to him as never before to anybody or to anything; I loved him with all my soul. I wept at seeing him weep, and felt for him the deepest sympathy.

"Then of a sudden the circumstances changed, though the scene remained the same. Instead of before the crucifixion, it was after. The Savior and the three Apostles, whom he had beckoned to him, now stood in a group at the left, and were about to take their departure, ascending into heaven. I could endure it no longer, but rushed out from behind the tree, fell at his feet, clasped him around the knees and begged him to take me also. With a look of infinite tenderness, as of a father or an elder brother, he stooped, lifted me up and embraced me, saying as he did so in the kindest and gentlest manner possible, while slowly shaking his head and sweetly smiling, 'No, my son, these can go with me; for they have finished their work; but you must stay and finish yours!' Still I clung to him, and the contact was so real that I felt the warmth of his bosom as I rested upon it. Gazing up into his face, I once more besought him, 'Well, promise me that I will come to you at the last.' Again he smiled sweetly, and there was a look as if he would have gladly granted my request had it been wise to do so. He then said, 'That will depend entirely upon yourself.'

"I awoke with a sob, and it was morning. This dream made a wonderful impression upon me, paving the way to my thorough conversion, which soon followed. Among the things it taught me was not to sleep at my post, and to regard first the duties of my mission, and not allow anything to interfere with them" (adapted from entry on Orson F. Whitney in LDS Biographical Encyclopedia; see also "Through Memories' Halls," 1930, 82; quoted in Bryant Hinckley, The Faith of Our Pioneer Fathers, 211-13).

Not yet, at least

In my last posting, referring to the yucky cold I've had for a week now, I concluded with the observation that it will end sometime soon. Not yet, at least. On Christmas Eve, after we returned from a lovely evening, with most of our family at Michael and Shauna's house, I noticed that my left eye was infected. So, on Christmas morning we went to Instacare, and the doctor there was surprised that after a full week I was still as sick as I was and had a fever, so she prescribed an antiobiotic, a decongestant, and some eye drops, and told me to stay home and take it easy for at least another couple days or until I started feeling up to it.

Claudia and I celebrated our 35th wedding anniversary in November of this year. And yesterday, as it turns out, was the first time in the 36 Christmases we've shared that it was just the two of us alone on Christmas morning. (Paul and Eliza, who live with us now, had slept overnight at Paul's dad's house.) And, so we decided to spend it at Instacare and the only pharmacy we knew of that was open on Christmas morning and at Albertson's, which was probably the only grocery store open in town.

Our first Christmas, just a month after we were married, was spent in California with Claudia's parents. All subsequent Christmases had one or more or all of our eight children living with us. Last year's Christmas, coming just weeks after Talmage and Louise were married, thus officially making us empty nesters, would have been our first alone together, except we camped out at Michael and Shauna's house while Michael and Shauna spent much of the night from Christmas Eve into Christmas morning at the delivery room trying to have the twins that did not actually come for another two and a half weeks.

It was a pleasant enough day if you ignore that I felt miserable and still couldn't talk much. It had snowed a lot the night before, and the sun came out, and it was a gorgeous, though cold, white Christmas.

The family gathered in the late afternoon for more eating, and final gifts, and playing games, and visiting. Representations were made of how each couple or family used what they received of the Grandpa Lange Christmas money. (We had everyone here except Rachael and Robert in Malad; he was on call for the holiday, and actually had to deliver a baby early Christmas morning; and Rebecca and Cade, who were returning home from St. George.)

I survived yesterday

Yesterday morning two of my sons-in-law, Chris and Paul, gave me a health blessing, and that blessing coupled with a lot of faith and answered prayers made it possible for me to teach the adults of our ward a special lesson on the Prophet Joseph Smith. There were several families who had visitors in town (for example, we had Rachael and her girls visiting for the weekend and Mary visited our ward to see some of her old friends who were visiting their families), so the room was packed. With the help of a microphone, I was able to make myself heard, and the Spirit was there, which is always energizing, so the experience was a good one.

After church, we had all our family (including Grandpa Lange but not Cade, Becca, and their family, who were in St. George) together for our annual Joseph Smith birthday party. We ate our traditional menu of stew (lovingly prepared by Grandma Claudia), cornbread (lovingly prepared by Louise), apple crisp (lovingly prepared by Pete), apple pie (lovingly prepared by Shauna), apple juice (prepared by the apple trees and whoever put the apples in the bottles in the form of juice), and apricot nectar (lovingly prepared by Grandma Claudia). We ate, visited, watched the video The Restoration, and otherwise had a good, noisy time.

Robert called from Malad and had Rachael turn on the speaker phone, and he shared some tender thoughts and feelings he had had today about the Prophet Joseph (he could have taught my lesson this afternoon had he been here).

In the morning, before our church, we had driven out to Murray to attend sacrament meeting in Vince and Mary's ward. They sang in the choir and also did a beautiful job singing a duet.

After all that, I felt wiped out by the end of the day. Pretty yucky. Someday this too shall pass. 

I'm back, but will the voice be?

Surprise to one and all. I am actually blogging again after a nearly nine-month hiatus.

Chalk it up, if you will, to my being sick with a very nasty cold and being tired of just resting all the time so that I am in some sort of condition to teach Sunday School tomorrow morning (more of that starting in the next paragraph). Or, alternatively, chalk it up to the new MacBook Pro computer that we just got this week as Mom's and my Christmas gift to each other. It's fun still to play around with the new computer.

Mom was called and sustained a month ago to serve as one of four Gospel Doctrine teachers in our ward. Two teachers alternate lessons in the west Relief Society room, and two teachers alternate in the east Relief Society room. We are assigned to the west crowd.

Since the final lesson in the published manual was taught last Sunday, that left the final two weeks of the year with no scheduled lessons. Mom's teaching partner was going to be out of town the final two weeks of the year, so she had the brilliant idea of asking me to teach a special lesson on the Prophet Joseph Smith tomorrow since Sunday, December 23, is the 202nd anniversary of his birth. I happily agreed, but in the meantime got this nasty cold and had laryngitis on Thursday and Friday. Today I have some voice back, and by tomorrow we are hoping to have a lot of voice back. We do believe in miracles, after all.