Isaiah 55:8-9

"For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways, saith the Lord. For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways, and my thoughts than your thoughts." Isaiah 55:8-9

Sunday, January 30, 2011

Miscarriages and Stillbirths

Can we put the names of our miscarried or stillborn children on our family group records? Will these children belong to us in the hereafter?

(Val D. Greenwood Morris S. Petersen Morris S. Petersen, "I Have a Question", Ensign, Sept. 1987, 27–29)

The first question is easily answered: Church policy does permit a family to record stillborn children on their family group record if they wish to do so. If the stillbirth takes place after the sealing of the parents, those children can be identified on the record as being born in the covenant (BIC). Miscarriages, however, are not normally recorded on family group records.

A miscarriage is delivery of a dead fetus, before it is viable—that is, before it could have lived on its own outside the mother’s womb. A stillbirth is delivery of the dead fetus that has developed to the point where it would normally have been viable, but for some reason is born dead. The line between a miscarriage and a stillbirth is not clear cut, and sometimes there is a question as to whether the fetus was viable. In this case, the decision to record or not to record the name on the family records is up to the family. The family may give the stillborn child a name for recording purposes, if they desire, and funeral services may even be held. But such children are not reported as births or deaths on Church records.

It should be noted, however, that no temple ordinances are performed in behalf of a stillborn child. Elder Joseph Fielding Smith, quoting President Brigham Young, wrote that “‘they are all right,’ … and nothing in the way of sealings or ordinances need be done for them.” (Bruce R. McConkie, comp., Doctrines of Salvation, Salt Lake City: Bookcraft, 1955, 2:281.)

The question of whether stillborn children will be resurrected and belong to their parents in the hereafter is really the crux of the matter. This question is, as yet, impossible to answer with certainty. Elder Joseph Fielding Smith wrote that “there is no information given by revelation in regard to the status of stillborn children. However, I will express my personal opinion that we should have hope that these little ones will receive a resurrection and then belong to us.” (Doctrines of Salvation, 2:280.) He said nothing about miscarried children.

One issue involved is whether an unborn child in the mother’s womb is a living soul. The answer to that question may depend in part on the answer to another question—When does the spirit enter the body? On this second question some Church leaders have made comments. President Brigham Young said he believed that “when the mother feels life come to her infant it is the spirit entering the body.” (Journal of Discourses, 17:143.)

The message “The Origin of Man” issued by the First Presidency in 1909 stated: “The body of man enters upon its career as a tiny germ embryo, which becomes an infant, quickened at a certain stage by the spirit whose tabernacle it is, and the child, after being born, develops into a man.” (James R. Clark, comp., Messages of the First Presidency of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, Salt Lake City: Bookcraft, 1970, 4:205.)

Elder Bruce R. McConkie, referring to “The Origin of Man,” expressed his opinion that the message “appears to bear out the concept that the eternal spirit enters the body prior to a normal birth, and therefore that stillborn children will be resurrected.” (Mormon Doctrine, 2d ed., Salt Lake City: Bookcraft, 1966, p. 768.)

It is not clear exactly at what point of development that “certain stage” of quickening—when the spirit makes eternal claim to the body—occurs. Even though quickening occurs before birth, we still do not know definitely when a living soul comes into existence. In fact, some Church leaders have suggested that a living soul does not exist until three essential elements—the body, the spirit, and the breath of life—are all present.
Unfortunately, grief, disappointment, and lack of knowledge sometimes lead some persons to doubt the justice and love of God when a child is delivered without taking the breath of life. At such times, our Savior Jesus Christ, who has suffered for all, has invited us to turn to him so that he may help us bear our burdens:
“Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.” (Matt. 11:28.)
Traumatic as miscarriage and stillbirth may be from our perspective, they need not end in sorrow. The Apostle Paul has written about how suffering can turn to hope when we experience the love of God:

“We glory in tribulations also: knowing that tribulation worketh patience;
“And patience, experience; and experience, hope:
“And hope maketh not ashamed; because the love of God is shed abroad in our hearts by the Holy Ghost which is given unto us.” (Rom. 5:3–5.)

Though our knowledge of the plan of salvation does not explain why miscarriages and stillbirths take place, nor what the eternal result will be, we can know with confidence that God, who is the father of all spirits, is merciful and just. We can know also that there is hope. Worthy parents can trust in him and know that they and all his spirit children will—one way or another—receive a just reward for their efforts and sacrifice, perhaps in ways that we do not presently comprehend.

Ensign Article Coping With the Heartache of Miscarriage found HERE
Ensign Article Easing the Pain of Miscarriage found HERE

Monday, January 24, 2011

The Owl Express

Image of Lumberjack Steam Train

The Parable of the Owl Express

James E. Talmage, "Three Parables—The Unwise Bee, the Owl Express, and Two Lamps", Ensign, Feb. 2003, 8

During my college days, I was one of a class of students appointed to fieldwork as a part of our prescribed courses in geology—the science that deals with the earth in all of its varied aspects and phases, but more particularly with its component rocks, the structural features they present, the changes they have undergone and are undergoing—the science of worlds.

A certain assignment had kept us in the field many days. We had traversed, examined, and charted miles of lowlands and uplands, valleys and hills, mountain heights and canyon defiles. As the time allotted to the investigation drew near its close, we were overtaken by a violent windstorm, followed by a heavy snow—unseasonable and unexpected, but which, nevertheless, increased in intensity so that we were in danger of being snowbound in the hills. The storm reached its height while we were descending a long and steep mountainside several miles from the little railway station at which we had hoped to take [a] train that night for home. With great effort we reached the station late at night while the storm was yet raging. We were suffering from the intense cold incident to biting wind and driving snow; and, to add to our discomfiture, we learned that the expected train had been stopped by snowdrifts a few miles from the little station at which we waited.…

The train for which we so expectantly and hopefully waited was the Owl Express—a fast night train connecting large cities. Its time schedule permitted stops at but few and these the most important stations; but, as we knew, it had to stop at this out-of-the-way post to replenish the water supply of the locomotive.

Long after midnight the train arrived in a terrific whirl of wind and snow. I lingered behind my companions as they hurriedly clambered aboard, for I was attracted by the engineer, who during the brief stop, while his assistant was attending to the water replenishment, bustled about the engine, oiling some parts, adjusting others, and generally overhauling the panting locomotive. I ventured to speak to him, busy though he was. I asked how he felt on such a night—wild, weird, and furious, when the powers of destruction seemed to be let loose, abroad and uncontrolled, when the storm was howling and when danger threatened from every side. I thought of the possibility—the probability even—of snowdrifts or slides on the track, of bridges and high trestles which may have been loosened by the storm, of rock masses dislodged from the mountainside—of these and other possible obstacles. I realized that in the event of accident through obstruction on or disruption of the track, the engineer and the fireman would be the ones most exposed to danger; a violent collision would most likely cost them their lives. All of these thoughts and others I expressed in hasty questioning of the bustling, impatient engineer.

His answer was a lesson not yet forgotten. In effect he said, though in jerky and disjointed sentences: “Look at the engine headlight. Doesn’t that light up the track for a hundred yards [90 m] or more? Well, all I try to do is to cover that hundred yards of lighted track. That I can see, and for that distance I know the roadbed is open and safe. And,” he added, with what, through the swirl and the dim lamplighted darkness of the roaring night, I saw was a humorous smile on his lips and a merry twinkle of his eye, “believe me, I have never been able to drive this old engine of mine—God bless her!—so fast as to outstrip that hundred yards of lighted track. The light of the engine is always ahead of me!”

As he climbed to his place in the cab, I hastened to board the first passenger coach; and as I sank into the cushioned seat, in blissful enjoyment of the warmth and general comfort, offering strong contrast to the wildness of the night without, I thought deeply of the words of the grimy, oil-stained engineer. They were full of faith—the faith that accomplishes great things, the faith that gives courage and determination, the faith that leads to works. What if the engineer had failed, had yielded to fright and fear, had refused to go on because of the threatening dangers? Who knows what work may have been hindered, what great plans may have been nullified, what God-appointed commissions of mercy and relief may have been thwarted had the engineer weakened and quailed?

For a little distance the storm-swept track was lighted up; for that short space the engineer drove on!
We may not know what lies ahead of us in the future years, nor even in the days or hours immediately beyond. But for a few yards, or possibly only a few feet, the track is clear, our duty is plain, our course is illumined. For that short distance, for the next step, lighted by the inspiration of God, go on!

Thursday, January 13, 2011

Final Awakening

Reno, NV LDS Temple

“Death - the last sleep?  No, it is the final awakening."  Sir Walter Scott

Death and Butterflies

Image courtesy creative commons license flickr.com by Bob Rockefeller June 2008

“What the caterpillar calls the end of the world, the master calls a butterfly.”  
Richard Bach (Illusions)