This month my letter is written from home, and a little early.  That is partly because we have had some particularly good Sundays, but also because I have just returned from a very brief trip to France, and I wanted to tell you about it while it is still fresh in my mind. 

If I am fortunate, it will help me to keep it sharper for myself also, as setting things down on paper often does.  This is my way of keeping a journal, not so much of daily events in the external world, which I must admit I would never go back and read, but more of inner events, the thoughts and experiences of the mind and of the spirit, which have enriched me, and for which I hope I have learned much.

I went to France for a mystery writers’ conference held every year in Le Havre, on the Normandy coast.  They invite one or two foreign writers to come for two consecutive years.  This was my second time.  All the other writers are French.  Last year was good, this year even better, because the agenda, the hotel, and almost all the people, were familiar to me.

My brother came with me because I don’t feel I can manage driving on the “wrong” side of the road, organizing the arrangements and doing the signings, questions, and so on, without a little help.  Also it was nice to have his company.  We flew to London, spent the night there, then caught the Eurostar train under the English Channel to Calais.  There we hired a car and he drove us through the coastal villages to Le Havre.

I know France is reputed to be beautiful, but I was still overwhelmed by the glory of it in full summer.  Great sweeping, rolling land verdant green, the fields deep in ripening grain.  Some of it looked already waist-high.  Trees billowed enormous, skirts wide, all barely stirring in the hot sun — and it was hot!  Most of the time it was between 90 degrees and 100 degrees in the shade! 

We did not see any sheep, pigs, or goats, but everywhere gorgeous cows, standing peacefully dozing.  I love cows.  They seem to be the embodiment of sanity, usefulness and quiet beauty.  These ones looked so sleek and well cared for.  Everywhere was lush, it must have been a good spring.  The blue skies had only the faintest puff of cloud on the horizon, and the slightest breeze carried the perfume of dry grass in the sun, warm earth and ripening crops.

The architecture is lovely, most of it very old, elegant and with plenty of sense of space, deep windows, curious and interesting roofs.  There were some exquisite mansions as well as the more ordinary residences.

There was very little traffic.  I don’t know where everyone was.

We reached Le Havre about 7p.m., and were heartily welcomed back at the same bed and breakfast hotel as last year, and by Dominique and Ann, the couple who were our hosts at the Festival.  It was a case of meeting friends again.  There is so much of tragedy and ugliness in the daily news that it is of intense value to meet people who have spent their working lives showing school children the beauty, value and intellectual wealth to be found in literature, and in the riches of other cultures. 

But even more than that, it is my personal opinion that a good teacher conveys the value of dignity, honesty and laughter and the joy of work.  If their pupils learn those things, then the facts they teach will be useful, but by far the lesser portion.

And even if I have heard those things before, a catch-up course is never out of place.  Goodness cannot be taught, but seeing it in others can inspire one to wish to learn, and that is the beginning of wisdom.  Once the hunger is there, once the beauty and the excitement has been tasted, the journey has begun.

We were there three nights and two days.  As one might expect in France, the food was delicious.  They offered the same breakfast as last year, morning fresh bread, butter and home-made jams — I chose the apricot as usual — and to drink, there was fresh hot chocolate made with milk.  I could seriously over-eat!

We joined everyone else for lunch.  The second day it was at the le Havre Yacht Club overlooking the harbour, full of small boats.  The light on the Normandy Coast is remarkable, glittering clean and soft, which is why so many impressionist painters choose to live and work there — particularly Monet, but others too. 

Le Havre has a marvelous museum, which I visited last year.  Reproduction of paintings really gives you only an idea of what they are like; the true glory of them doesn’t come through.  Monet’s lily pools look as if you could fall into their cool depths.  One can almost smell the shadowed water.

We spent the afternoon in tents on the beach, signing books for members of the general public.  That sounds as if it would have been cool and lovely, but the wind was off the land, not the water, and it was 100 degrees inside the tent.  There were ambulances on the beach. I think someone may have had sunstroke, and I wouldn’t have been surprised.  The sirens were going and there was a bit of drama.  I am very sorry, because that is a dreadful way to feel.

Prizes were given to students and beginning writers, to showcase their work and encourage them, which is the purpose of the whole Festival.

The final evening my brother and I dined with Ann and Dominique in their home, which was one of the nicest of all events for me.  We ate in the garden, surrounded by flowers, as the dusk drew in.  I thought again, what utterly delightful people, gentle, intelligent, funny and kind, generous and hospitable, but certainly not without opinions, or afraid to fight against wrong, or to work hard for what they believe in.

I returned home so grateful for the opportunities to travel and to meet people, see so much beauty of sight, sound, taste and experience, and even get to call it “work.”  I would be guilty of the ugliest ingratitude if I did not thank God for it, and try to share some of its riches.

I am very fortunate to live where it is not a hideous cost in time or money to travel to other countries and partake in the abundant charm and richness of their culture.

Journaling One’s Life

This past Sunday it was my lesson, as it so often is when it is time to write my letter to you.  Possibly it is no coincidence.  It is also an example of what a blessing it is to teach, because it makes one think far more deeply about whatever the subject may be. 

This month it was on keeping a journal.  I admit, I did not approach it exactly as the manual suggests, because the emphasis was very heavily on seeing church history unfold, holding the priesthood and observing its power to perform miracles, and leaving a record of your times for your posterity.  Well in this far corner we only see the very edge of church history, and many of us do not have the priesthood in our homes, nor do we all have posterity.  I really make an effort in my lessons not to leave anyone excluded.

So I approached it that any person’s experiences, and especially their thoughts, are valuable.  It might be shared with others, either later, or now.  Or it might be simply to think more deeply as you try to explain and understand, and then in some future time, look back, both on your joys and successes, and also on some of the difficulties or failures and realize how far you have come.  Or it could be to realize that we all have certain feelings that hurt, and we can learn from them also.  At the time the experiences may seem harsh and pointless, but the future may show their benefit.  Or on the other hand, we may realize how to avoid them, for ourselves, or others.

Beautiful things seen or heard can enrich us, compliments, happy escapes from misfortune, questions raised, perhaps to be answered later.  If you have a problem or a question, why not write it down?  Sometimes simply putting into words, where no one else will see or judge, can clarify it to the point when the answer appears.

All honest writing is a journey of self-discovery, and that cannot be bad.  Share it if you wish, but not if you prefer it remain private.  Don’t worry about spelling, grammar or punctuation, just be honest.  There is nothing wrong in admitting that you hurt, that you feel ashamed of something, or that you are lonely.  There is no “should” or “should not” in a journal.  The only rule is, “omit what you wish, but don’t lie to yourself.”

Everyone’s experiences are uniquely valuable.  There is no other kind of person on the earth except sons and daughters of God, so whoever you are, you cannot be worthless or unimportant.

The Ultimate Family Resemblance

Which brings me to another point.  I recently received a letter from a friend in Florida.  I have never met him, but we have corresponded for some time.  He seems to be a spiritual and deep thinking person.  He wrote about the genetic heritage we have from our parents; height, build, features, colouring and so on, and talents, abilities, strengths — the way we grow throughout our lives.  Often family resemblances are easy to see.

Then surely it follows that God who created the whole universe is simply using the same pattern in us?  Think that we too “resemble” the Father whose genes we carry — and be of good courage, and full of hope.

Ugly Behavior

There have recently been other lessons to learn as well.  Events have happened in far larger areas, affecting millions, which have made me think deeply on certain sides of our nature.  The World Cup is currently being played (as I visit) and the Wimbledon tennis tournament.  Racist hatred is acknowledged almost everywhere as one of the most hideous of all human characteristics.  In many countries it is actually a crime.  But where is the moral difference, between race hatred and nationalist hatred, or class hatred, or any other sort of patronizing, excluding or abusing of someone else because they are in some way different from us?  Such sentiments are always around, but sports can make them particularly visible.

I caught myself recently in feelings I despised.  Scotland did not make it as far as the play-off in Germany, and one prominent Scottish politician unwisely, I think, voiced strong anti-English sentiments, saying they would back anyone at all, just so long as they beat the English.  I am afraid my instinctive response was retaliatory, along the same lines.  And then I realized what I was doing, and how ugly it was, and I was ashamed of myself.

I hadn’t said anything aloud, but I could hear it in my head.  If I were a person one could respect, and who could look the Lord in the face, I would admire all good play, all courage and skill.  In spite of the fact that I would like my own team to win, I could applaud all excellence.

And if I lose I could do so generously, without excuses or bitterness, or trying to make it somehow someone else’s fault.  I would generously say that on the day the other team played better — no twist in the tone of my words.  Being petty, lying about it, making excuses does not make my team’s play any better, it just makes me someone who cannot be generous, or even honest.  I don’t fool anyone — except maybe myself, into thinking that is anything other than grubby and pathetic.

But how easy it is to design all sorts of behaviour into self praise, and the putting down of other people.  We are better, because... then immediately try to think of some reason why we are actually superior.  We are morally better?  We stand up for freedom, truth, saving that world — whatever.  We are clever, we invented — anything that comes to mind.  We are more civilized, we don’t do — we beat you at — then think of something quickly.

Why are we so uncertain of our own value that we have to be building it up in such ways — which if only we could see, actually lessen it?  Qualities we really are sure of we don’t need to trumpet.  If I have really faced with courage the dangers that frighten me, that is enough.  I have no compulsion to say so. 

Similarly if I am honest, no matter how painful it may be to admit something, the act itself needs no outward praise.  “Methinks thou dost protest too much,” stretches to a lot of things.  We say it of people who say too often “I love you,” and that is easy to understand.  Those who really do care, show it in their acts, and to say it at all is pleasant, but quite unnecessary.  We do not rush up to people and tell them, over and over, that the sun rose today, or even that it will rise tomorrow. Both our heads and our hearts already know it.

Generosity of Spirit

I would like to be able to listen to someone else’s achievement and praise it, without feeling the need to add my own, to laugh at someone else’s joke without topping it with another.  I would like to be generous enough of spirit that I did not need to add myself in at all. 

Of course I doubt myself, my value, my acceptability, just as it seems we all do, but perhaps if I acted with more grace, the inner certainties would come?  Even if they didn’t, I would be a better person.

The only one we ever truly compete with, in any sense that matters, is the people we could be, if we lived up to all our potential — if we multiplied all the talents the Lord gave us.  If we return two for every one given, that is perfect.  It is high time we realized that perfection is not being without fault.  Potatoes have no sin, for goodness sake! 

More than that is required of us:  We must grow, eternally.  Whatever we can do, achieve, learn, create, we can always dream of more, and achieve that too, with time and faith. 

Perfection is doing your very best now, today, with what you have now.  If you are given two talents and return four, that is perfect.  If you were given thirty-five, then you need to return seventy.  Any less, and you “could have done better.”  Double what you are given, that is always possible in God’s eyes, and to do that is perfect.  Can it really matter, in the long run, what anyone else thinks?

If we see what is good in others, and help them to see it, believe in it and magnify it, then surely we have magnified our own gifts also, possibly without even thinking of ourselves?

Spiritual Guidance

In the past while, several of our last lessons and Sacrament talks have centered, one way or the other, on the Holy Spirit’s guidance.  Some wonderful stories were told, encouraging — uplifting and thought provoking.  The Holy Spirit is there to do all those things, including to guide us into safety when there is danger, to tell us when and how to help others, and to distinguish between truth and falsehood. 

I believe it will also help us to understand other people when language or custom make it harder and help us see what is meant when it might be obscured by nervous, frightened or hurt behaviour.  It can help us praise what is good, and perhaps heal some of what is bad.  It can certainly help us to have the courage to cling to what we feel is generous, merciful, honest, brave and wise, in spite of the temptations others may put to us to retaliate against perceived insult or belittlement, or threat to our self-esteem.

We should praise what is good, wherever it comes from; and deplore what is evil, and fight against it wholeheartedly, but without hatred or anger.  It is not a person’s or an act’s origin that determines its value, but its nature.  The whole earth is God’s, and every human being His child.  That is an awfully big thing to grasp, and at times we pay it lip service, but forget it the moment after the words are said.

This next while I am going to try to do a little more of seeing people, and the world itself, more as God sees it and rather less as my defensive human nature sees it.  I am absolutely certain it is immeasurably more beautiful that way — and so would I be, if I could achieve that!  There’s a thought!

May the Lord be with you, in the beauty of kindness and truth, until next month (and of course, forever).