It was the finals of the stake basketball tournament, and our ward's Young Women were playing
in the championship game. One family was gathered to watch their oldest girl play. It was an
athletic family -- they cared about the outcome.
And they were having a great time, because our team was winning in a low-scoring game. Six to
nothing. Eight to nothing. Ten to zero. Twelve to zero.
And then the other team scored.
Now, our building is one of the older ones, constructed back in the days when wards had a lot
more say because they were paying a lot more of the costs. So we have a fantastic basketball
floor and a cool electric scoreboard.
Where this family was sitting, though, they were looking at the scoreboard nearly side-on. And
the scoreboard's design was such that while they could see both digits of the other team's score,
only the second digit of our team's score was visible.
So what their six-year-old saw was, not 12 and 2, but 2 and 2. The first digit of the 12 was
invisible to her.
"Dad," she said, "aren't we winning?"
"Yes," said her dad. "We're doing just fine."
"But the scoreboard says we're tied. Two and two."
Instead of trying to explain to her about the hidden digit, he simply said, "Run over to the other
end of the cultural hall and look back and you'll see that everything's all right."
So the six-year-old did what her father said, looked back, and saw the full score: 12 to 2.
Then she ran back and, full of awe, said, "How do they do that?"
I know this story because her dad is our bishop, and after the speakers in sacrament meeting he
got up and told us the story. The point was clear: From where we sit, we can't see the score. It
can look like things aren't working out right. It can seem unfair.
But if you get farther away and take a look back, it all makes sense. It comes right. It's fair after
all. Nobody missed the score.
The incident really happened.
And it was a wonderful parable.
If, as Jacob and Nephi did, we liken the scriptures to ourselves, we learn more. But we can also
find parables in real life, if we're looking for them.
It's a funny thing. People get hungry for revelation, for miracles, for signs, for things to bring
them awe. So they make stuff up.
That's why the First Presidency had to send out a letter debunking something that someone once
said, trying to make the youth of the Church feel good about themselves. The intent was
probably good.
And the original speaker of it probably said something fairly mild. But it grew and grew, until it
became doctrinally false -- no, ludicrous -- and it was attributed, not to the original speaker, but
to various General Authorities.
What began as hyperbole very quickly became a lie.
I remember that only two days after 9/11, I got a "web weeper," one of those "faith-promoting"
rumors that fly around the internet.
The story was that a meeting of missionaries had been scheduled in the World Trade Center for
the very morning of the attack -- but every single person who was supposed to attend that
meeting was delayed, one way or another, so none of them was there. They were all
miraculously saved!
There were so many reasons why this was an obvious lie. First, the Church has a perfectly good
building on the upper West Side -- why would they ever pay the exorbitant rent and hold a
meeting in the World Trade Center?
But it was also doctrinally offensive. What was the message of this: God protects the
missionaries, but not the thousands of people who died in that tragedy? Not the missionaries
who die from other causes each year?
Of course it didn't happen. It was a lie from the start. What baffles me is why somebody
thought that making up a lie about 9/11 would increase people's faith.
Likewise, why do you think you have to flatter the youth of our Church with absurd hyperbole in
order to motivate them? They don't need lies, they need truth. They don't need flattery, they
need encouragement and trust and something real to do in God's service.
The gospel is true. If you live it, it works. If you pray and study, the Spirit confirms it.
Life confirms it. Real things happen all the time that, if you're watching with the Spirit of God
in your heart, you'll recognize as parables, teaching us how to live and understand the gospel
better.
We don't have to fake it. The secret is to look outside ourselves and "see what God has done."
If we're paying attention, the Spirit will make scripture all around us.
Orson Scott Card is the author of the novels Ender's Game, Ender's
Shadow, and Speaker for the Dead, which are widely read by adults and
younger readers, and are increasingly used in schools.
Besides these and other science fiction novels, Card writes contemporary
fantasy (Magic Street,Enchantment,Lost Boys), biblical novels (Stone Tables,Rachel and Leah), the American frontier fantasy series The Tales of Alvin Maker
(beginning with Seventh Son), poetry (An Open Book), and many plays and
scripts.
Card was born in Washington and grew up in California, Arizona, and
Utah. He served a mission for the LDS Church in Brazil in the early 1970s.
Besides his writing, he teaches occasional classes and workshops and directs
plays. He also teaches writing and literature at Southern Virginia University.
Card currently lives in Greensboro, North Carolina, with his wife,
Kristine Allen Card, and their youngest child, Zina Margaret.