Chapter 51

The Hymn of the Poor

In the early hours of Christmas Day, Carolyn mourns the plight of the poor while listening to
sobering music—The audience weeps during a first performance of the third movement of Shostakovich
Symphony No. 5 during the reign of Joseph Stalin in 1937—Coco mourns the suffering of a hungry stray
cat that had passed through the neighborhood recently.

It was early morning on Christmas Day, 1:40 AM to be exact. The Spirit watched as the
Zion-implementation meter passed the two-dollar mark—the finishing touches on the Springville
East Stake were now complete. Like tiny snowflakes falling upon a town in a miniature snow
globe, a flurry of spiritual gifts and blessings had started to fall down from the heavens upon the
members of the stake. The special glow of the Christmas season was present everywhere
throughout the world, but even more so here in Springville where the love of God was
unrestrained in the hearts of the people.

In the valley, there was a foot of snow, and it was very cold, only ten degrees Fahrenheit.
Powerful winds whistled through the trees, creating snowdrifts against the windows of many
houses. It was a good time of year to be inside and snuggled under blankets.

In the Williams' home, all the guests had left, and Grant and Carolyn had already gone to
bed. Carolyn, however, was still awake. Tossing and turning the last two hours, she had tried to
keep her eyes closed, but it was no use. She got up from bed, entered the hallway and quietly
closed the bedroom door behind her. Down the hall was a converted bedroom where she
maintained a desk, a computer, all her books, a small TV, and many other important and useful
items of hers. She entered the room and turned on the light. Like Grant, Carolyn, too, had an
office at home. She made good use of it every day, communicating with friends and family and
staying organized in all her activities. It was also the place to go when she wanted to be alone,
relax, and listen to her favorite music.

The family gathering for Christmas Eve had been a joyful occasion––a fine dinner, the
exchanging of gifts, the singing of carols, and the setting of the beautiful Williams' home had all
contributed to a wonderful evening. There was also the aforementioned episode with the kittens,
and the question as to whether they truly spoke as the children had said. At this late hour,
Carolyn took the opportunity to record this incident in the family’s spiritual journal.
Unconvinced of the accuracy of the children’s version of events, she described the incident
matter-of-factly in the journal, leaving it open for further study and revision. On the other hand,
being somewhat of a child at heart herself, and having a great love for animals, the story was

intriguing to Carolyn. If not for the fact that she was troubled in spirit by something else, she
might have enjoyed taking a little time to think more about it at this moment.

But Carolyn was feeling a little sad. Something disturbing to her had happened during the
evening's party. In the course of serving dessert to the dinner guests, she had chosen to use the
family's large silver tray that Grant had purchased years before. The dessert was prepared with
Carolyn’s usual attention to detail––the apple pie was mouthwatering, having in it her own
special mix of spices and filling; the vanilla ice cream was homemade and was so good that it
could have been served all by itself; and the two dessert items together were served on special,
eight-inch glass dessert dishes she had kept cold in the fridge.

To accommodate Martin and Sandy’s family, the dining room table had been extended,
and extra chairs assembled around it; but this also reduced the amount of space whereby one
could pass by and easily serve those who were seated. For the most part, there was room enough
for Carolyn to walk around the table while still holding the serving tray with both hands. It was
only a problem in the corner of the room where the china cabinet was located. The central
section of the cabinet projected forward and contained shelves enclosed by elegant glass doors;
Carolyn’s best china was stored there. The outside shelves of the cabinet were not enclosed. On
these, books, pictures of the family, and other important keepsakes were on display. Among the
items on the right side was an adorable white ceramic goat roughly two inches high. Carolyn had
purchased this little keepsake earlier in the year from a street vendor in Peru when she and Grant
had picked up their grandson Marcus from his mission. While serving dessert to those seated in
the corner, Carolyn hadn’t noticed that the tray had gotten caught on the decorative fabric liner
meant to protect the maple wood finish on the exposed shelves. As she moved the tray forward in
her hands to serve the dessert, the fabric on the shelf also moved forward, causing the contents to
spill out with a crashing sound onto the dining room floor. The little goat was out in front and
was the first of the display items to hit the ground. Somewhat fragile, it broke instantly into
several pieces.

Stepping back in alarm, Carolyn was gravely disappointed once she realized what had
happened. Putting the tray down, she carefully picked up the remains of the figurine, placed the
pieces onto a paper towel, and carried them off to her office. At such a wonderful time of year,
and with all of the family around, the incident might normally have been overlooked and
certainly not have been a cause for any significant reaction on Carolyn's part; yet, for the rest of
the evening, Carolyn lacked her usual energy and was less talkative than usual. She smiled and
gave embraces to everyone as the guests were ready to leave, but she did so with a heavy heart.

Hours later, while sitting in her office chair, she attempted to reassemble the tiny goat
with a special glue that she had on hand for situations like this. The pieces, however, were small,
brittle, and difficult to handle. She tried for several minutes, but finally gave up and put the cap
back on the tube of glue. Her mood and facial expression were like that of a little girl whose
favorite doll had just been broken.

What a shame, she thought.

Asleep on his blanket in the family room and close to the warm air of a nearby heater
vent, Coco had been awakened by Carolyn when she passed through the hallway. Opening his
eyes and lifting his head, he monitored the situation carefully for half a minute or so, wondering
if she had gotten up for the sole purpose of serving him a late-night snack in the kitchen—an
excellent idea on her part, he thought. Thirty seconds later, he lowered his head back down upon
his paws and resumed his catnap. No snack was forthcoming.

Twenty minutes passed, then thirty; the house remained quiet.

Suddenly, there was noise in the hallway. It was diffused and somewhat distant, like
sound waves coming from the outer reaches of the universe, but it persisted. Coco raised his head
again and looked around. What was this? The sounds were organized and complex, showing the
mark of creative genius and intelligent design, not some accidental noise of nature. What was it?
It was... music.

Carolyn had closed, but had not completely shut the door of her office, permitting a little
sound to seep into the hallway. She had loaded up a recording of Shostakovich’s Symphony #5
on her computer, a performance by the WDR Symphony Orchestra Cologne of recent years
conducted by the Soviet-born Semyon Bychkov.

She advanced directly to the third movement of the symphony, a favorite of hers which
she listened to every so often, and especially at sad moments like this. She called it “The Hymn
of the Poor.”

The movement, a beautiful piece of music some sixteen minutes in length and, in
particular, the first three and one-half minutes and the last three and one-half minutes of the
movement, was special in that it helped a person, while listening, to visualize the suffering of the
great populations of poor throughout the world. The symphony was performed for the first time
in Leningrad in 1937 when Russia was ruled by Joseph Stalin. Words can scarcely describe the
suffering and terror experienced by the people during the Stalin regime. When the third
movement played, the audience reportedly wept.

Coco’s ears, like miniature satellite dishes, tuned into this pleasant array of sound waves
coming from the hallway. The sounds were curious to him, yet comforting, and they served to
entertain him for a while. For several minutes, he listened carefully to the notes... like a
connoisseur of fine music might do. His concentration was interrupted halfway through by
violent knocks against the windows from the cold winds outside, but soon the disturbance died
down, and his mind was free to listen again. Approximately three minutes from the end of the
piece, a change of some kind occurred in Coco. The music, aided in part by the Spirit's presence,
started to consume Coco's whole being. It was a soft piece, but very intense, and it powerfully
penetrated his emotions. He suddenly felt hunger pains in his stomach and dryness in his throat,
like the time he had been left alone in the house for days without food or water.

The music was soothing—

The slow buildup of the strings reminded him of the hunger and thirst he experienced
hour after hour, and the disappointment of passing the cat dish each time and not seeing the
expected food and water present.

The harp notes were like the little drops of water he heard in the kitchen and bathroom
sinks, little pools of water he had found to partially quench his thirst.

The simple keyboard notes sounded to him like the ringing of the front doorbell—the
sound he waited for while sitting on the rug by the door. In the past, the doorbell noise had
always been accompanied by people arriving and the opening and closing of the front door; he
knew the doorbell could ring at any moment, so he had to be ready to meow loudly when it
occurred.

The soft string sequence at the end, where the music slowly fades out, was like the
calmness present in the house... like the quiet innocence in the homes of hungry families in poor
countries who go to sleep fasting.

In her office, Carolyn closed her eyes and listened to the music, allowing the Spirit of
God to warm her insides. Like Coco, she heard every note.

The small goat from Peru, now broken, had great sentimental value to her. One day while
walking along a street market in a poor section of Lima, she saw a number of independent
vendors with goods out for sale. While Grant and Marcus went inside one of the nearby shops,
Carolyn remained outside to browse the display stands on the sidewalk. Not seeing anything of
interest, she looked over to the other side of the street. There, she saw a couple of vendor carts,
and also a woman sitting off to the side of the road with a blanket spread out in front of her.
Beside the woman, who looked to be in her mid-thirties, was a baby wrapped snugly in a second
smaller blanket. The baby was quiet, perhaps accustomed to being out in the hot sun every day
and within range of the small rocks and dust particles that got stirred up whenever vehicles
passed.

The woman’s hopeful eyes looked up at every passerby, watching as tourists occasionally
crossed the street and walked up to one or both of the carts located just a few yards from her.
They saw what she had out on display, but weren’t interested. The competition was fierce, and
her humble product offering on the blanket, although nicely arranged, was not very appealing.
The other vendors were poor, but this woman was poorer than they. It was not clear where she
lived, or if this was her only source of income, but it seemed likely that it was.

Carolyn started to cross the street and the woman quickly spotted her. Reaching the other
side in a few steps, she smiled at the woman and looked closely at what was assembled on the
blanket. Getting down upon her knees, and unable to speak Spanish, Carolyn motioned with her
hands if it was okay to pick up and handle some of the items. The woman eagerly raised herself
up on her knees and responded, “Sì,” shaking her head up and down with a smile and pointing to
what seemed to be her best products—a collection of miniature ceramic lambs and goats
arranged out front in a small semicircle. The price was marked. Carolyn reached into her pocket
and pulled out the little remaining cash she had left after a busy day of shopping in the best

department stores of downtown Lima. She had just enough to buy one of the miniature animals.
Pointing to the one she liked best, the small goat, it was gathered up from the blanket and handed
to her. The woman was clearly delighted by the purchase and took the money handed to her
graciously. No sack was available, so Carolyn put the little goat into a handkerchief and carefully
stowed it away in her purse. With politeness and a humble smile, the woman treated Carolyn to
the sweet parting words “Gracias, gracias!” and put the money into a small pouch located behind
her baby. The business transaction was complete.

After a while, the music stopped, and the office went silent. Carolyn, her eyes still closed,
but her eyelids moistened with tears, lifted up her heart to God in serious prayer for the
impoverished woman and her baby.

In the family room, Coco, feeling pains of hunger and thirst, waited for the music to
begin again. It had played through three times already in the past hour, and he had a particular
liking to the sweet doorbell sounds that came along each time near the end.

In an instant, however, something flashed into his mind—the image of a scrawny-looking
stray cat that had passed through the neighborhood the day before. The cat had no home, was
dirty and sickly, and probably had not eaten a real meal in a while. Feeling hungry and thirsty
himself—like members of the Church who fast twenty-four hours each month—it was much
easier for Coco to feel compassion for the other cat. The stray cat, he imagined, was most likely
in the snow outside––cold, hungry, and standing beside an empty cat dish somewhere. As a
fellow cat, he needed to do something.

Getting up from his blanket, he entered the kitchen. His movement through the sliding
door was quick and decisive this time—there was no pause or indecision. When one is in the
service of his fellow man, or fellow cat in this instance, having the welfare of others foremost in
his mind, the decision to act is instinctive and fast. Coco hopped onto the kitchen table and then
onto the windowsill to see if the other cat was anywhere outside. Looking out through the
window, he shivered, feeling the cold through the glass.

Oh, it’s terrible outside!

It was hard to see anything through the window with the wind-whipped snow flurries, the
snowdrifts, the frost, and the many icicles. The stray cat was out there, probably miles away,
chased away by man and animal both. It was cold and its fur still damp, hungry, fearful, and
meowing quietly in the shadows of some improvised shelter. Coco watched and waited at his
post by the window for several minutes—like a 1970s “Helping Hand” poster—hopeful that the
other cat might pass by so he could alert Carolyn to open the front door. The stray cat lacked the
safety of a warm and loving home, the nourishment of a good cat chow meal, a place to rest and
dry off one’s fur, and a comfortable spot on a blanket close to the heat register where one could
look upon the lights of the Christmas tree and ponder upon the ideal.

Scrawny cat... where are you?

Our cat chow sack is large and has plenty. Come to the door, ring the doorbell, and me
and Carolyn will let you in.

After a while, Coco, feeling weary, jumped down to the ground and returned to his spot
in the family room. But he kept a prayer in his heart for his friend. The law of consecration is
also to feel compassion, share burdens, and mourn for others even when it seems there is nothing
immediate we can do. Prayers are helpful and accomplish much in the general workings of God
throughout the earth. We just need to make them mighty and powerful, full of faith, and full of
love.

Noticing that the piece had ended, Carolyn started it up for the fourth time, allowing it to
play through again to build feelings of compassion within her. Beautiful music can lead one up
the stairs of the gospel to where charity and the law of consecration are found. Inspiring music
and the love of God in one's heart––what a wonderful combination!

The thought of this poor woman and her baby on the side of the road with her meager
merchandise offering, waiting and hoping for customers, made Carolyn weep inside. Her
feelings were like those of James spoken of earlier as he sought for the best way to serve those in
need around him:

He[James]and Beth had reached a certain level of happiness in their lives by living the
gospel, but he could see that it was an empty, self-oriented happiness in some ways. As a
priesthood leader, he had served others as best he could, but it was a service provided mostly
from a distance. After counseling or assisting a person in need for an hour or so, he could then
leave and go home to his comfortable life again, largely shielded from the pain they felt every
day. He was a mere witness of events only, standing idly by while so many suffered around him.

Carolyn felt this way now. She was a mere witness of events only, having returned that
day to her comfortable hotel room in Lima, and then to her comfortable home in Utah. By
purchasing the tiny ceramic goat, she had provided a small financial help to this woman for a
day’s bread. But who will buy from her tomorrow? And the next day? What will come of this
poor woman and her baby in Lima, Peru?

While there are some poor in the United States, the suffering of the poor in Third World
countries is infinitely greater. There is a great need for all of us as Latter-day Saints to weep
inside, to lift our hearts to God in fervent prayer, and to get involved and help people. The
suffering of so many in this world goes far beyond words.