After that home teaching appointment I spent a while trying to extract meaning from my father’s words of wisdom. I wanted him to feel better about this lasting memory he had created for his children. Maybe the monkey was a metaphor for temptation. If you avoid temptation at all costs you don’t have to worry about it. But if you go to the zoo and watch temptation, even behind reinforced steel bars, it will throw feces at you. Worse yet, if you try to take a picture with temptation, it can reach through the bars and bite your hand off. Or maybe the monkey was a symbol of the spirit. You keep the spirit with you, and if you always listen to him and heed his warnings, you won’t have any problems. On the other hand, if you try to fight the spirit you will lose, and probably end up missing several fingers and at least one ear. In this metaphor the spirit has razor sharp teeth and can heft 600 pounds above his head without breaking a sweat.

Over the years my dad tried to instill in me several other morsels of wisdom. When confronting me about my contraband boyfriend in sixth grade, he reminded me, “If you resist the temptation now it won’t be so hard later.” When confronting me about my contraband boyfriend in ninth grade, he said, “Boys only want one thing.” When confronting me about my contraband boyfriend in eleventh grade, he sighed. “I wish you would learn from the things your mom and I have been trying to tell you.” (In hindsight, I can see why he thought I wasn’t taking any of his advice to heart.)

Of course, there were other situations in which my father used these dad-isms. One I distinctly remember was after a long battle over my math homework. My dad had insisted that we go over each and every answer together, ensuring that I completely understood the principles of algebra that I was supposed to be learning. All I wanted was to be excused from the table so I could call my boyfriend… I mean… read a book… to some orphans. My dad got so excited about the math that I was learning, that he took the opportunity to explain to me why I was learning how to use sine, cosine, and tangent (or SIN, COS, and TAN, as I liked to call them). He drew a long curve that was supposed to be a small part of a circle and started a ten-minute lecture about measuring the length of a curve. After my exaggerated sighs became louder than his speaking voice and I was slouched so far down in my chair that my head was the only part of my body touching the backrest, the lecture came to a close. My dad looked at me seriously and said, “You know, you’ll only get out of it what you put into it.” I stopped moaning, sat up in my chair, and looked at my dad. Then I rolled my eyes at him. Yes, I decisively joined the club of eye-rollers—presided over jointly by Laman and Leumel. (Alma the Younger had a good run as treasurer before he absconded.)

In all those angst-filled years that my father spent trying to teach me, the only maxim that I truly took to heart without question or attitude was “never fight a monkey.” And after that home teacher’s visit my father believed that his righteous desire to impart wisdom to his oldest child was hinged on that one phrase.

Last month I heard about a guy who had raised a chimp to maturity. It was his pet and companion, like a huge terrier with opposable thumbs and the ability to snap your neck, given the right mood. One day this guy was playfully rough-housing with his pet chimp and the game turned ugly. The chimp went from Koko to King Kong in an instant. It was as if he suddenly remembered that he was a proud and dignified wild animal and he refused to be contained by leashes or diapers any longer. He wanted to be free—in a place where he could fling his feces whenever he so pleased. The chimp bit off the man’s fingers then, in true law-of-the-jungle fashion, went for straight for the groin. I’m willing to bet that, at that point in his life, that man wished that he had a father who had cared enough to remind him, “Never fight a monkey.” Or maybe he did, and he just rolled his eyes as his father tried his best to convince his son that he knew what he was talking about.

Luman Shurtliff, Nauvoo resident preparing for the trail west, 1845.
The temple now was nearly finished. On the 25th of December, 1845, Christmas, my wife and I received our endowments.

William B. Pace, member of the Mormon Battalion, 1846.
We arrived on the Gila River, safe from the desert and had a feast of watermelons, at the Pima Indian village, on Christmas Day 1846. Lieutenant Rosecrance said he enjoyed the luxury of a piece of roasted “rattlesnake” with an old Indian chief, same day and place.

Charles Lambert, British convert and early settler in Salt Lake City, 1849.
About one of the first things I done after I got here was to build a room. George Q. having made me some adobes, he leaving for California a short time before our arrival. We got into our house about Christmas with no door or windows, yet it was better than camping out in the snow. There been very few houses at that time. (it was 16×14 inside). I then went up Millcreek to burn coal for Brother Jonathan Pugmire all alone. All I had to live on was cornmeal, for which he made me a plough, as I had brought the iron with me also some end irons. We enjoy ourselves at this time very much in our assembling ourselves together.

Parley P. Pratt, Missionary in the Eastern States, 1856.
I spent Christmas in Philadelphia in a public party of the Saints–say 300 persons–assembled in a large hall neatly furnished and lighted. There were prayers, hymns, songs, recitations, comic, tragic, sublime and ridiculous. There was some music and dancing, merry making, eating and drinking till midnight.

Joel Hills Johnson, Settler in Genoa (now Nevada), 1859.
Sunday 25th, Christmas day. Attended meeting at Brother Huff’s. No party, no dance, nothing done here this Christmas but the eating of a few pies, sweet cakes and oysters.

Leaf 1: Is it just me, or is it getting colder?

(A gust of wind blows them all to the left.)

Leaf 2: Yeah, it’s getting colder.

Leaf 3: I’m just fine.

Leaf 4: That’s because I’m blocking the wind.

Leaf 5: Stop complaining. Let’s just focus on staying on, all right?

(A gust of wind blows them all to the right. Leaf 2 nearly blows off, and Leaf 5 catches him by the shirt and pulls him back.)

Leaf 5: Whoa there!

Leaf 2: Man!

Leaf 5: See what I mean?

Leaf 3:Good thing we have each other, right?

Leaf 4: Mm Hm.

(There’s silence as they sway back and forth.)

Leaf 1: Do you ever wonder if it’s worth it?

Leaf 2: What do you mean?

Leaf 1: Why are we up here, hanging on for dear life? Do you ever think of, I don’t know, letting the wind picking you up and carrying you to whatever’s out there?

Leaf 3: Blasphemy!

Leaf 4: What a thought!

Leaf 5: That’s suicide.

Leaf 1: It sounds liberating.

Leaf 2: Don’t you enjoy it up here?

Leaf 1: What’s to enjoy?

Leaf 2: The view.

Leaf 3: The rain.

Leaf 4: The greenness is spectacular.

Leaf 5: The company.

Leaf 1: Don’t you ever wonder if there’s more?

Leaf 3: More?

Leaf 1: Yea. Maybe we’re not supposed to stay up here for all time. Maybe we’re supposed to fall. Experience the change.

Leaf 5: More Blasphemies!

Leaf 3: I can’t believe you just said that.

Leaf 1: What, “change”?

Leaf 2: He did it again!

Leaf 4: Here’s another gust!

(A huge gust hits them from both the left and right, flying them into each other, and causing them all to lose their balance, and start to fall. One by one they regain their balance. Leaf 1 lets the wind start to take him, but the leaves pull him back.)

Leaf 5: Stop this nonsense. You’re going to get us all killed!

Leaf 1: Death wouldn’t be such an awful change.

(Leaf 2 claps his ears and shakes his head, trying to block it out.)

Leaf 3: Nonsense.

Leaf 4: Look!

(They all look down to where Leaf 4 is pointing. The wind stops and they are very still.)

Leaf 5: What is he doing here?

Leaf 2: (Shouting) Hey you, get out of our tree!

Leaf 3: Doesn’t he know he’s not allowed?

Leaf 1: Hey, there’s the woman.

Leaf 3: They’re talking.

Leaf 2: Don’t listen to the snake! Stay away from the snake!

Leaf 4: She’s listening.

Leaf 5: She’s grabbed our fruit!

Leaf 2: Maybe she’s just looking at it, maybe she won’t eat it…maybe…

Leaf 4: I think it’s too late.

(There’s an incredible wind gust again, and they are tossed back and forth against each other, out and in. The lights go on, and off, and on again.)

Leaf 1: Did you feel that?

Leaf 4: Yeah.

Leaf 3: (Talking to Leaf 4) You’re turning all red! (Turning to Leaf 5) And Orange! (Turning to Leaf 2) And Yellow!

Leaf 2: No! I’m green! I’m forever green! I’m an evergreen!

Leaf 1: Not me. I’m ready for it.

(He starts to let go of everyone, but Leaf 2 holds him back.)

Leaf 2: Don’t do it!

Leaf 5: Are you sure it’s the right thing?

Leaf 3: He’s gonna (gulps) jump?

Leaf 4: No, it’s just falling.

Leaf 1: It’s what we’ve got to do. It’s what we have to do. We have to change.

Leaf 2: Not me!

Leaf 1: You’re going to eventually.

Leaf 2: All ‘cause that person ate some fruit? No.

Leaf 5: I think he may be right.

Leaf 3: And it will leave room for new leaves.

Leaf 4: (Putting his hand on Leaf 1’s back) Go. We’ll follow after, in our own time.

Leaf 2: Oh, so if everyone jumps off a tree, are you just going to jump after them?

Leaf 1: It’s time now.

(Leaf 1 lets go. And a huge gust of wind sways everyone else back and forth, and it picks him up and carries him offstage. Now it’s just the four leaves.)

Leaf 3,4,5: (Said in rhythm) Five little leaves, swaying in a tree. Along comes a wind and one shall flee. Four little leaves, swaying in a tree. Along comes a wind…

(Another gust of wind comes and starts to carry off Leaf 5, who lets go of everyone.)

Leaf 2: No! No! Don’t go! The less there are, the less strong we are. The less I can hold on!

Leaf 4: There’s joy in this fall, I’m sure of it.

Leaf 5: And one shall flee.

(Leaf 5 is carried off by the wind.)

Leaf 3,4: Three little leaves, swaying in a tree. Along comes a wind…

(They start swaying back and forth. Leaf 3 starts to let go.)

Leaf 2: No, not my best friend! Why must you go?

Leaf 3: I was never the strong one. I was never the beautiful one. But I held on like everyone else. Now, I get to fly! Don’t you see? No matter who I am, whether I was the most marvelous…I still get my chance! My change! My wind!

Leaf 2: But you can hold on…help me hold on. We’ll never have to change!

Leaf 3: But I want to…

Leaf 4: Three little leaves swaying in a tree. Along comes a wind…

(The wind picks up again, and Leaf 3 leaps off and is carried away.)

Leaf 2: Now we’re alone. Why did they all jump? Why did they all fall?

Leaf 4: My friend, did you not see? They leapt, and then, the wind gently lifted them, first to the left, then to the right. They seemed to float, and fly, being tossed about through these mighty gusts. And yet, in every moment, they were carried. Up and down, not knowing when they would land. And then somewhere, beyond the distance of our eyes, they did land, to rest forever.

Leaf 2: And what will I do here alone?

(Leaf 4 shrugs his shoulders. And they are both tossed into the wind, and Leaf 4 breaks away from the clutches of Leaf 2 and leaps, and is carried off. Leaf 2 sways back and forth, shivering.)

Leaf 2: So if everyone jumps off a tree, would you do it to?

(The wind blows him to the left.)

Leaf 2: Stupid snake. Stupid fruit. Stupid leaves.

(The wind blows him to the right.)

Leaf 2: I like it up here.

(Left.)

Leaf 2: The view.

(Right.)

Leaf 2: The rain.

(Left.)

Leaf 2: The greenness is spectacular.

(Right.)

Leaf 2: The…the…company.

(Lights fade to the sound of the wind.)

Down to the stickyard came the sun to play
Break-a-long ache-a-long
Shining all the day
Shining on the ashes
Shouting on the stones
Peeking in the graveholes, waking up the bones

This piece was originally published on the Wilderness Interface Zone.

2.
Matter as well as spirit is eternal, uncreated, self-existing. However infinite the variety of its changes, forms and shapes; — however vast and varying the parts it has to act in the great theatre of the universe; —whatever sphere its several parts may be destined to fill in the boundless organization of infinite wisdom, yet it is there, durable as the throne of Jehovah. And ETERNITY is inscribed in indelible characters on every particle. Revolution may succeed revolution, — vegetation may bloom and flourish, and fall again to decay in the revolving seasons, — generation upon generation may pass away and others still succeed, — empires may fall to ruin, and moulder to the dust and be forgotten, — the marble monuments of antiquity may crumble to atoms and mingle in the common ruin, — the mightiest works of art, with all their glory, may sink in oblivion and be remembered no more, — worlds may startle from their orbits, and hurling from their spheres, run lawless on each other in conceivable confusion, — element may war with element in awful majesty, while thunders roll from sky to sky, and arrows of lightning break the mountains asunder—scatter the rocks like hailstones—set worlds on fire, and melt the elements with fervent heat, and yet not one grain can be lost—not one particle can be annihilated. All these revolutions and convulsions of nature will only serve to refine, purify, and finally restore and renew the elements upon which they act. And like the sunshine after a storm, or like gold seven times tried in the fire, they will shine forth with additional lustre as they roll in their eternal spheres, in their glory, in the midst of the power of God.

3.
“As in Adam all die even so in Christ shall all be made alive.” Now let the reader endeavour in particular to understand the precise object of the mission of Jesus Christ into our world; and what was to be accomplished by his death and resurrection. We have already endeavoured to show the effect of Adam’s transgression in a physical as well as moral point of view; we have seen that sin materially affected the earth itself, as well as all its animal and vegetable productions. Now the object of a Saviour to bleed and die as a sacrifice and atonement for sin, was not only to redeem man in a moral sense, from his lost and fallen state, but it was also to restore the physical world from all the effects of the fall; to purify the elements; and to present the earth in spotless purity before the throne of God, clothed in celestial glory, as a fit inheritance for the ransomed throng who are destined to inherit it in eternity. If the question be asked for what Christ died? the answer is, first, he died for all of Adam’s race. Secondly, for all the animal and vegetable productions of the earth, as far as they were affected by the fall of man. The lion, the wolf; the leopard and the bear; and even the serpent, will finally feel and enjoy the effects of this great restoration, precisely in the same degree in which they were affected by the fall. Thirdly, Christ died for the earth itself, to redeem it from all the effects of the fall, that it might be cleansed from sin and have eternal life.

Enough, if you can learn to love the yearning,
trust the manna, never hoard. Call it good,
sweet aching empty, then the filling, then the spending–
like the tides, like the branches waving in the wind.
Wax, coil, spring, dance, rejoice.
wane, wink, yawn, bend, breathe.

Enough, a pleasant peaceful place. But
here’s a stranger saying maybe there’s a way
to do without the yearning, satisfy it once and
for all, achieve in one bite the end,
reach your destination.

(Didn’t even know you were on a journey.)

—–Now you catch
a glimmer of the path beneath your feet:
appetite, imagination, expectation, lust
for all that’s good–and how can it be wrong
to have it, whatever it is, ingest, digest,
become, arrive, achieve, be full?

Didn’t God plant the hunger and the tree?

Now you sit and sigh against the tree
in momentary satiety, feel the changing of your heart
as bubbly spirit turns to muddy blood under your skim
that pools around your still digesting gut and
wakes a new and gnawing lust for meat,
wakes a fear of cold and thirst and death,

wakes, with growing horror and with joy,
a mind to see that yes, it was a lie, and yet
it was a truth as well: there is a destination;
there is a path.

This piece originally appeared in Irreantum.

“Something Practical” by Melody Burris

“Waiting” by Katherine Cowley

2nd place:

“When the Bishop Started Killing Dogs” by Steven Peck

1st place (and winner of the $400 Grand Prize):

“Avek, Who is Distributed” by Steven Peck

But voting for a President in any country isn’t actually about choosing the President. It’s about expressing your belief in Democracy, your faith in the doctrine that true authority comes from the consent of the governed. It’s about stepping up and playing a role in a story you’ve shared with your fellow citizens for months or years: you vote to put yourself in the crowd of community members who are ritually featured at the climax of a recurring national epic of competing values.

We vote less to influence an outcome than to witness that we belong in a certain story.

Over the past two weeks, we have shared the twelve finalists in the “Four Centuries of Mormon Stories” contest, and from now until November 6th, we are asking readers to cast votes for their favorites to determine who will win the $400 Grand Prize. In this election, of course, a single vote might well make a difference. But voting in this contest is really about stepping up and showing you’re a part of this story: that you care about Mormon writing, that you believe in the power of stories that explore where we’ve been and where we’re headed.

To cast your vote:

1) Read at least six of the twelve finalists and rank your top four.

2) Email your ranked list of four to everydaymormon@gmail.com with VOTE in the subject line.

Again, in order to be valid, votes must:

1) Be sent to everydaymormon@gmail.com by the end of 6 November with VOTE in the subject line.

2) Include four pieces ranked from 1st favorite through 4th favorite. (Be sure to list votes by story title, as some authors have two stories.)

Feel free to include any other feedback you have on the “Four Centuries of Mormon Stories” contest in the body of the email below your ranked vote list.

Please share these voting instructions with friends–give them a chance to be part of this contest’s story!

But we’re only going to write one $400 check.

The winner of the “Four Centuries of Mormon Stories” contest will be selected by audience vote. Voters must first read (or hear, in the case of voters who are not yet literate) at least six of the twelve finalists and then rank their top four. These four ranked votes should then be emailed to everydaymormon@gmail.com with VOTE in the subject line. (One vote per person please, even if you have multiple email accounts.) Votes with fewer than four pieces ranked will not be counted.

First place votes will be counted as four points, second as three, and so on. The piece with the most points by the end of November 6th will win.

Again, in order to be valid, votes must:

1) Be sent to everydaymormon@gmail.com by the end of 6 November with VOTE in the subject line.

2) Include four pieces ranked from 1st favorite through 4th favorite. (Be sure to list votes by story title, as some authors have two stories.)

Feel free to include any other feedback you have on the “Four Centuries of Mormon Stories” contest in the body of the email below your ranked vote list.

Please share these voting instructions with friends–they may appreciate the chance to participate in an election with more than two choices and where their vote might actually be decisive!

“Sorry Luciana. Luke has an obsession with throwing toys through visitors.”

Luciana smiled. “My kids do that all the time. Last week my uncle actually came over and Tiago thought he was a projection. Luckily he only threw a rubber ball.”

Jayla chuckled, and then clutched her rounded belly, biting her lip as she felt the strength of the contraction. Soft music began playing in her earpiece, fading as her skin relaxed and the cramp beneath her belly lessened. The contractions always came in sets, four or five an hour, enough to make her wonder when the baby would come, but never enough to go to the Birthing Hospital.

Luciana looked concerned. “Are you sure you don’t need me to come over and help? Three weeks until your due date—the baby could come anytime.”

“I’m fine, really. What were you saying about earthquakes?”

“Well, isn’t it interesting that just a year ago the prophet told all the Saints in the South Pacific that it was their turn to move to Zion, and to do so quickly. And now there’s all these earthquakes and tsunamis?”

At her doctor’s orders, Jayla had turned off alerts on the millions of casualties; the news gave her panic attacks, which were bad for the baby. “Did everyone move?” she asked, guessing the answer.

“Most of them.” Luciana paused. “I keep wondering when our area will be called to go. But the Second Coming could happen before then. The nice thing is whether or not we’re living in Zion, the Lord will protect us. ”

Jayla shivered, wishing her husband was home to wrap his arms around her and whisper that everything would be fine. But he was thousands of miles away, and they weren’t even allowed to make holographic calls. Perhaps the military would make an exception when she had the baby.

Jayla felt worried and worn. She groped for the words to signal the end of the visit. “Well, I’m sure you’re busy, and I have some things I need to take care of…” Jayla looked to the left and blinked twice, trying to bring back the controls. She glanced around the room and spotted Tyren and Luke in the corner. They must have overridden the system using their computer. “Give the living room back to Mommy. Right now please.”

Instead they grinned and clapped their hands, turning off every hologram except for Luciana. Jayla closed her eyes, not wanting to look at Luciana, who could now see what her living room really looked like. Limp, faded couches, ripped and sewn back together. Toys and cereal strewn across the floor. A pile of dirty laundry in the corner.

“I had to sell the last of the cleaning bots,” Jayla whispered. “My husband’s salary hasn’t arrived for months, and I had to buy food.”

Luciana stood up, no judgment on her face. “Well, it sounds like you do need my help. I’ll be over in a couple hours, whether you want me or not.”

After the projection faded, Jayla turned to her sons, uncertain of how to discipline them. “Tyren, you need to be a good example to your younger brother. And Luke…” Luke ran from the room. “No simulations for the rest of the day!” Jayla heard a loud crash from the kitchen—something broken that she would not be able to fix.

“Tyren, go keep your brother out of trouble. But give Mommy a hug first.”

Tyren dutifully approached her, said “I love you Mom,” and gave her a brief hug. Then he pulled her hair and ran from the room. Jayla knew she should follow her sons, but she stayed on the couch, waiting.

Why couldn’t the Savior just come, so she could live peacefully in Zion with her husband and children?

Jayla reactivated the screen on her eyepiece, which was really just an old-fashioned, electronic contact lens. “Bring up the LDS forums on Signs. Summarize relevant details.”

“Still no confirmed rainbows this year in the Western hemisphere.” The computer summarized riots, assassinations, battles, and natural disasters, showing maps and images from the events. There had been signs for hundreds of years, and now there were so many of them. Yet still the time had not come.

An alert from the pregnancy monitor appeared on her eyescreen. Her stress level and heart rate were increasing, as always happened in the minutes before a panic attack. Worse, the baby’s heart rate was dropping. It wasn’t enough just to take care of her physical body; she had to control her emotions or she’d harm her future child. Jayla logged out of the forum and began to calm herself, but she couldn’t stop worrying and waiting. After a few minutes, her next contraction started, accompanied by soft sea sounds in her earpiece.

“How long since the last contraction?” she asked.

“16 minutes,” said the computer’s voice in her ear.

“How far am I dilated?”

“Three centimeters.”

Still three centimeters. There were so many things Jayla could and should do before the baby came, but she didn’t want to start any projects she might not finish. And so she waited. Waited for the next contraction. Waited to hear from her husband. Waited for the Second Coming. Waited, because she was too stressed to play with her sons, too tired to think about dinner, too distracted to prepare her Sunday School lesson. Waited, because surely her visiting teacher could fix more than just the mess.

Jayla heard a soft buzzing in her ear. “Yes?” she asked her computer.

“Scripture reading.” If she glanced right, it would postpone the task. Jayla glanced left.

“What’s that scripture in the D&C… the day and the hour?”

The words came up on her eyepiece screen. “For the time is at hand; the day or the hour no man knoweth; but it surely shall come.”

Jayla pulled out her earpiece and eyepiece, and folded her arms in prayer. Then she stood up, careful not to jolt her belly. She would not just wait; she would do something. The Lord had always been good to her before, and He would surely help her now. When the time came, she wanted Him to find her on her feet.

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