While a missionary in California, I knocked on more than a few doors.
I quickly learned to knock firmly enough to be heard.
Sheepishly walking on to the next house after a few soft taps, cursing the lack of engagement from those we sought at their homes—it didn't help anyone.
More broadly speaking, it does no good for anyone if we guard ourselves too deeply to be clear in our interactions.
How tacitly many of us go about our "lives of quiet desperation," longing to be heard. (Thoreau)
If we intend to be heard, we must speak.
No one else can be blamed for our failure to communicate.
Blaming others for not understanding us when we've lazily allowed them this misunderstanding, to justify our own laziness in communicating—what a silly, stupid circle!
Grasping at straws, clawing down straw men we've created by our own lack of clarity gets us nowhere.
How grateful I am to a wise leader of my young missionary self, who repeatedly carved this into my understanding:
In matters of great importance, it is not sufficient that we be clear enough to be understood.
We must be so clear, that we cannot be misunderstood.
My education in that level of communicative clarity began while teaching the Gospel full time. Due to short available time, I learned to use that time effectively.
I learned to teach the Gospel instead of talking about it.
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Imagine I'm selling you cookies on your doorstep.
I clutch a box tightly under my arm while I talk on and on about how delicious the cookies are. I describe to you the quality of the ingredients, the care shown in how they were mixed, the artfulness of their baking at the hands of skilled professionals. I keep talking, using as many words as I see fit to encapsulate their delicate flavors in spoken descriptions. I can see you just aren't quite getting it, so I try four more different analogies and alternate descriptions to try and force your mind to begin thinking like mine, talking in an endless parade, piling on word after word, upon word.
Now, let's start over.
I knock your door, and you answer. Instead of talking to you about the wonderful cookies and why you should want them, I simply smile and greet you kindly.
I reach forward with a cookie from my box, and invite you to try it.
You eat the cookie, and spend a few moments savoring its goodness while studying my name tag and company logo.
I ask you if you'd like more of these delicious cookies, of which I've brought enough to sell.
How simple is that?
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Talking about things is one thing. Allowing others to experience them by effective teaching is completely different.
I bet you can tell when someone in a church meeting is talking about things, as opposed to teaching the Gospel. If you can't, you're likely among those who indulge too much in talking.
Why is it that there is rapt attention on someone who is intentionally teaching, and anxious squirming in the congregation when someone is merely talking?
Most of the time that I spend silently squirming in a pew is when the speaker is endlessly talking only about themself, with little or no worshipful devotion to God being shown. It is easy to do, when pulpits are confused for social media posts, and the purpose of speaking there is never made clear.
Inspiring others with powerful teachings doesn't always come by saying something new. Far too many people think that they can't say anything that's been said before—that they must bring something "new" and "exciting" to the discussion.
You know what's always new and exciting? Clearly teaching basic principles of the Gospel with power and authority!
Speaking the truth in plainness and carefully inviting the Holy Ghost to confirm its truthfulness to the hearers will never grow old!
No matter how simple, those teachings which are offered in straightforward sincerity and in awe of the majesty of God will always win over sensational, attention-grabbing efforts to entertain or amuse.
Our purpose in teaching the Gospel is not to show others how smart we are, but how smart God is!
I have been amazed at the simplest of explanations, offered in sincerity and humility. They have touched my spirit and enlightened me. Often these simple teachings come from those newer to the Gospel, and are therefore unencumbered by too much concern for how they sound. When we focus on the Lord and teach what we know, simply, from our heart, we win.
I enjoyed learning to preach in Spanish. One reason is that I only had one or two ways to say what I knew. This made me much bolder in teaching, since I didn't waffle with words, by struggling to come up with the "perfect" way to say something.
It's interestingly backwards; learning and speaking a new language with a smaller vocabulary and less familiar grammar helped me communicate more clearly and effectively.
I also enjoyed speaking in Spanish because socially, I am much more outgoing, owing to the same freedom from overthinking in my native tongue and related halting mannerisms.
There's a lot of value in learning languages, since there can be whole ideas that don't translate straight across from one to another.
Example—
The typical Greek translation of John 1: 1, where we read about the "Word" that was with God in the beginning, leaves much to be desired in English.
"Logos" encapsulates ideas that far exceed the cursory rendering we may gloss over in a shallow, weak assumption of understanding.
To me, "logos" invokes logic, reasoning, explanation, lesson, form, deliberation, design, creation, purpose, idea, meaning, and plan. Poetically John identifies and describes our Savior using this masterful word, but this word has no equal in English.
It just doesn't carry the same meaning as only a "word!"
How much richer are John's words when we consider them in this light, including what we know about premortal councils wherein the joyous plan of the Eternal Father was determined to be fulfilled by His only begotten, firstborn Son! (Abraham 3: 22-28; Doc. & Cov. 49: 17; 93: 29, 138: 56)
In English, we have to talk all around it, instead of directly describing!
It's amazing how the way we speak can affect the way we feel, think, and behave.
When I learned to teach in Spanish, it's like I relearned the doctrines and principles I was preparing to teach to others. It was as though I had another, additional, or new testimony.
My saying "I know that God lives" is powerful and profound.
But saying "Yo sé que Dios vive" has a different feeling to it—one slightly more intimate and meaningful to me.
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Words matter.
My tendency is to try and reduce their number, to magnify their meaning.
Some words are essential, others are not.
Laying hands on a person to confer the gift of the Holy Ghost by saying that you are saying to them to receive the Holy Ghost is unnecessary. Why not just tell them to receive the Holy Ghost? If you tell them that, they will know that you told them that. You don't need to tell them that you told them that, even before telling them that!
My preference is simply to restate the person's name, then emphatically say "Receive the Holy Ghost" before blessing them with other words as the Spirit directs me.
I know why many feel other specific words preceding the conferral of the Gift are essential, but they usually haven't taken much time to think of what they're really saying, or why.
Praying “that (I/we) may be able” to do such and such might be vain repetition. I often hear it as a way of stalling the next prayed petition, perhaps to give time to think of something to pray!
Chances are, you're already able to do that thing you prayed. Instead, you might pray that you will do it. If you're feeling unsure, pray that the Lord will help you do it! He really will!
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Though I use English words as the medium, I've almost developed a new language of my own, which is primarily written, and more difficult for me to speak. This language is clear, complete, and concise. It sometimes follows a rhythm with a nice cadence. This manner of speaking may be all you know of me, so you might have some wrong ideas about my personality. Were you to know me in person, you might be surprised by my quiet, softspoken nature.
I believe I'm gifted with a sharp tongue. This is refreshing to some, and can be off-putting to others.
I love writing my articles, such as this one, largely because the words flow through me easily, with minimal processing or deliberation. I rarely make large edits to what I write—it usually comes out onto the keyboard as a finished product. When I do edit articles, it's chiefly to add material or to reorder the sequence of paragraphs. It's rare that I change what is already there.
Believe it or not, I can continue learning and growing by studying words I myself have written. This tells me I am being inspired by sources higher than my own limited knowledge or wisdom.
I've noticed patterns of writing that compress large amounts of information into few words. This style of mine has been honed over time and experience, much of it frustrating to me. Not having a clear understanding of various ideas or principles has forced me to have to explain them myself, which is to the benefit of any and all who may also think the way I do.
God has sharpened my highly mechanical, analytic mind into an effective tool for expounding abstract concepts into digestible discourses, if only for my own benefit.
As a child, I didn't speak. I listened. I observed. I thought.
I spoke so little, that I often shocked those around me when I did say something.
Very early in school, I was once scolded for talking out of turn. When she learned about me getting in trouble, my mother became angry with the teacher and told her never to talk to me again about talking too much—"That boy never talks, and when he does say something, you got him in trouble?!"
It's funny—I started life by mostly listening, then as I learned things, I've had to learn to keep myself from talking too much.
I always have an answer to the questions people ask in church settings, and can always interject with a fairly good comment, but I've learned not to try and squeeze it all in, or out.
I used to think that everyone needed to hear all that I was thinking, to know all I knew about something. They don't.
People fascinate me. I enjoy learning all I can, and like Mormon, I am quick to observe (Mormon 1: 2). I could easily dominate most conversations, but have conscientiously maintained my youthful conversational restraint despite being flooded with heavenly light in matters of doctrine and exhortation.
I work continually not to allow getting too full of myself, but to keep myself ever in wondrous awe of the ways the Lord fills me.
As a missionary, I learned not to say all I know. (See 2 Nephi 31: 3; 32; Jacob 2-4; Alma 12: 9-11; Doc. & Cov. 84: 85)
In person, as I was as a child, I still tend to say little. In writing, I enjoy a fuller breadth of breath.
It's nice to be building a corpus of doctrinal essays which I can call upon to teach at any spontaneous opportunity, instead of having to formulate the words in my mind on the spot.
It's nice to have my words laid out for inspection and prepared for delivery, instead of always relying on swift innovation or immediate synthesis.
Nevertheless, some of the most amazing things I've ever said have come only in the moment I needed them, and clearly defied my mortal abilities. These moments have helped me grow in humility, as I realize there was no way I was the only one talking. Many of these words, spoken in private settings, have gone unrecorded on Earth, and are now only for angels to look upon. (See Doc. & Cov. 62: 3)
I've learned that, above preparing lessons or sermons, it is much more important to prepare myself. (See Doc. & Cov. 11: 21)
Looking at my life overall, in judging myself, I think that I don't talk much, but I have a lot to say.
Or as Paul says,
"His letters, say they, are weighty and powerful; but his bodily presence is weak, and his speech contemptible."
"Now I ... myself beseech you by the meekness and gentleness of Christ, who in presence am base among you, but being absent am bold toward you"
2 Corinthians 10: 10, 1
See also:
Words Matter, by Ronald A. Rasband
The Lord’s People Receive Revelation, by Bruce R. McConkie
Content with the Things Allotted unto Us, by Neal A. Maxwell