Category: 2024

Feeling a Little Down in the Mouth

On By Peter WatkinsIn 20244 Comments

Dear Will:

Dana and I were headed to Italy—not right that moment, but in a few days—when it occurred to me that maybe I ought to have a dentist take a look at this weird bump in my mouth—you know, in case it was something. It was, the dentist told me, and recommended an excellent endodontist who could probably do a root canal before I boarded the plane for Naples.

The endodontist was excellent—enough to recognize that I did not need a root canal after all. “A root canal won’t do you any good,” she told me. “That tooth has got to come out. But I can recommend an excellent periodontist.” (Which, I guess, is not the same as an endodontist, neither of which is a just-plain-dentist even though they all went to dental school. How are we supposed to keep up with this stuff?)

Isn’t it funny how we all talk like root canals are the epitome of horrible when all along there is something actually worse? Have the idiom writers never been to the periodontist? It’s like they’re not even trying! I did not know it was possible for “You don’t need a root canal” to be bad news.  Someone should tell you these things.

Just so you know—in case you have a weird bump in your mouth, for instance—when they tell you the molar has got to go, you may then find yourself having another conversation you may never have anticipated. It goes something like this:

“So, you have a couple of options. We can just pull it out and leave a gap at the back of your mouth. Eventually the bone and skin will just grow over the hole. But if you do nothing, over time your upper molar will gradually descend from the gum to fill the gap. Eventually it could start to create problems of its own.”

Having not attended dental school, I have no idea if that’s actually true or even if what I just shared with you is an accurate reflection of what the periodontist said. But it is certainly what I heard. So rather than going with the eventual out-of-control, mega-molar super-fang, I opted for one of those ultra-glam implants everyone’s talking about. Or should be, anyway. Did you know that a dental implant involves both discarded cow bones and cadaver skin? Think about that next time you’re about to kiss Grandpa goodnight.

So yeah, this is the new me, partway through a dental implant procedure with a gaping hole in the back of my maw. And although I’m sure I’ve already over-shared, I feel I would be remiss if I stopped here without sharing one last thing.

All of this pain and suffering naturally got me thinking about the most recent election. (Didn’t see that coming, did you? And now you can’t even say, “Do we have to talk about this? I’d rather have a root canal!”—because I’ve ruined that idiom for you forever. Ha!)

So anyway, politics. Regardless of how you voted, perhaps like me you are mystified that over half the country disagrees with you, that even though the choice this time around was so obvious, more than half of your fellow Americans either believe you got it wrong or don’t care enough to pay attention. How is that possible?, you might wonder. It should not even be close! Everyone has access to the same information, and yet we come to totally different conclusions. No wonder we often find it hard to co-exist.

And yet, we must. “There must be opposition in all things,” the scripture says—and that’s not just a philosophical observation. Opposition—I recently learned while someone was jamming sharp instruments dangerously close to my uvula—may be the only thing keeping us from growing even uglier and more crooked than we already are. Pushback is not only a good thing—it’s vital to the whole operation.

I can’t tell if this not-very-profound thought is my attempt to make myself feel better about the pain I’ve been suffering, but I have found it helpful perspective as I ponder the future—of both my mouth and my country.

Go ahead and spit.

PW

Like Coming Home

On By Peter WatkinsIn 20241 Comment

Dear Will:

Dana and I were about 10 days into a two-week trip through Italy, with rain threatening to ruin our second day in Cinque Terre. Improvising, we decided to take an unscheduled side-trip to Porto Venere, a small hamlet set on a finger of land poking out into the Mediterranean. Along with its more-famous neighbors that make up the “five lands” of Cinque Terre, Porto Venere has been declared a UNESCO World Heritage Site. There are islands nearby and some old buildings. That’s about all we knew. 

Following a 45-minute train ride, a 15-minute slosh to the bus stop (got lost a couple of times), and a 35-minute ride on a local bus, Dana and I looked around and found that there wasn’t a whole lot going on in Porto Venere. But unlike the villages of Cinque Terre we had visited the previous day, Porto Venere was not overrun by tourists sent ashore from a nearby cruise ship. We loved it immediately. 

We made our way to the old church perched on a rocky outcropping at the edge of town. The Church of St. Peter, we learned, had been consecrated in 1198 (!). It’s a simple edifice, with a plain stone interior almost devoid of ornamentation. The main sanctuary contains simple pews and but one crucifix, and that cloudy day it was dimly lit only by natural light and a few candles left by previous visitors. Music from a single harp floated through its barren walls. It was so quiet and peaceful inside that small chapel that we were enveloped with a sense of reverence. I knew in an instant I had found the church where I would want to worship if I were a local Roman Catholic.

If you’ve spent time in Italy, you might find that a curious choice. During our visit we saw (along with hundreds of others) some of the most famous, magnificent spiritual sanctuaries in the world: the Florence Cathedral, with all of its gothic opulence; the massive St. Peter’s Basilica at the Vatican; the Sistine Chapel, the beauty of which is overwhelming; not to mention several other less-famous but also impressive churches that seem to arise on every corner of every town in Italy. All were beautiful and awe-inspiring, but for all their grandeur and artistry, none of them made me feel connected to God like that small church atop the rocks in Porto Venere. Entering the Church of St. Peter—away from the crowds and the spectacle—was like coming home.

The experience brought to mind a story told by Elder Robert E. Wells in which he describes the embarrassment he felt as a missionary bringing a sophisticated, cultured, well-educated woman to church for the first time. The services were held in an old building under the direction of inexperienced local volunteers. It was a bit of a sloppy mess from start to finish:

On the way home, one of the missionaries began to reflect his embarrassment. He explained: “Please excuse our present building. Some day we will build a lovely new chapel here.” Then he added: “Please excuse our new leaders. We have a lay priesthood, so we take turns conducting, and the new leaders are still learning how to conduct services.” He was just about to give another excuse when Sister Herta Mellor turned to him and said somewhat sternly: “Elder, don’t you apologize! It must have been like this at the time of Christ!”

When I heard that talk (in Spanish), delivered in Elder Wells’ signature baritone, it spoke to my heart. I myself was a missionary—serving at the time in Barrio 15, a small unit of our church near downtown Montevideo, Uruguay. Our tiny congregation met each week in a small, four-room building across the street from a cemetery. In that makeshift chapel we had to rearrange the furniture between meetings. It had broken glass and a wall that was slowly crumbling. Its roof leaked with enthusiasm any time it rained. But, oh! how I loved Barrio 15.

The people of that congregation were humble, faithful, and full of love—unimpressive, and yet the very embodiment of what you might refer to as “the pure love of Christ.” Though I was a foreigner, they embraced me (often literally) as one of their own, showering me with so much love and affection that I would happily have remained in Barrio 15 for the full length of my two-year mission. When it came time for me to move on to my next assignment, I rose before the congregation to say good-bye, but words failed. I stood, I stammered, and then I sobbed like a baby.

So yes, I know something of humble sanctuaries. Thus, when Dana and I discovered the busker whose harp accompanied our visit to the Church of St. Peter, we gladly added a few coins to his hat. To thank him for speaking to our hearts. For helping us connect memories and emotions across the years. For filling us once again with the love of God.

PW

Interior Sanctuary Image: © Achim Tomae/Getty Images

What Will They Call Our Generation?

On By Peter WatkinsIn 20243 Comments

Dear Will:

With all due respect to “The Star-Spangled Banner,” when it comes to patriotic anthems I’m all about “America the Beautiful.” I can sing either one with full-throated enthusiasm, but when they cue up “America the Beautiful” I have to brace myself, knowing that if the music director decides to go for all four verses, chances are very high that I won’t get through it all without my full-throat catching and my eyes misting over. 

Perhaps Katharine Lee Bates’ wonderful lyrics have had the same effect on you. Her tribute to pilgrims and patriots and soldiers are fitting evocations of the love of country and countrymen that lies at the heart of what has made my beloved nation remarkable—in spite of its various flaws. The third verse, in particular, always speaks to my soul: 

O beautiful for heroes proved
In liberating strife,
Who more than self their country loved
And mercy more than life!

I thought of these words again in recent days while watching the 2024 Summer Olympics broadcast from Paris. NBC ran a segment focused on some of the few remaining veterans of the D-Day invasion who had returned to France to be honored while also paying honor to their many fallen friends and comrades. I felt humbled by these centenarians, now feeble and wheelchair-bound, men and women who embody a selflessness that I could never hope to match. As these aged vets looked out over the cemetery there on the cliffs of Normandy, it was plain to see why these Americans, both living and dead, have been rightly called the Greatest Generation. 

I can’t witness such a scene without feeling a deep sense of inferiority and inspiration. I find myself pondering: “What have I done? What sort of sacrifices have I ever made on behalf of others?” It leaves me with a determination to try to be better, do better, make some sort of positive difference in whatever small way I can to make my community, my country, this world a better place for others. I’ve learned to pay attention to such urges when they come because they seem to me a signal of truth, a solemn prompting to pay attention to what I’m seeing and feeling. These are more than mere nudges, I believe; they are God’s way of helping me see the gap between who I am and who I could be.

Occasionally I’m subjected to different kinds of promptings altogether, and I pay attention to them in a whole different way. From time to time I read or hear someone urging me to give in to that other side of myself that puts my selfish interests ahead of others. They will encourage me to take offense where I had not previously, to feel a sense of grievance that had not existed before. Such people would have me vilify those around me who are different, blame them for my misfortunes, call them names and treat them with disrespect and contempt. They even seem to reject the nobility of the cause that brought young men ashore on Omaha Beach and would gladly leave underdogs to fend for themselves against much larger oppressors. What I notice as I hear or read their screeds is that they would have me become a worse version of myself and, in the process, make the world around me worse than it already is. And I wonder: If this is the sort of person we choose to follow, what do you suppose the historians might call our generation?

I’m a church-going fellow, as you know, a guy who has chosen throughout my life to follow the Greatest Leader of them all, one who taught His followers to put others first: to feed the hungry, clothe the naked, visit the lonely and imprisoned. To bear the burdens of others. To answer offense and grievance with lovingkindness. I believe that the best leaders are those who similarly inspire others to strive to become better versions of themselves, who motivate their followers to pull together and achieve something they might not be capable of otherwise. Could I ever justify concurrently supporting someone who actively encourages me and others to do the opposite? It’s unthinkable. 

I acknowledge that some may see in their options ambiguity that I do not. If that includes you, may I suggest the following: As you listen to the speeches and consider both the message and the messenger, pay attention to what they are inviting you to do or to become. Then heed the advice of one prophet who taught a simple way to judge: That which invites you to do good comes from God, and that which does not, does not. 

Then choose good.

I pray along with Katharine Lee Bates that God will indeed shed His grace on America as we work together to crown our good with brotherhood from sea to shining sea. What will they call our generation? We are about to find out. 

PW

Photo: Best Defense Foundation