A Miracle on a Cold Texas Morning
It was early spring in 1917 and the last remnants of a rare Texas snow storm were melting around the farmhouse where my widowed grandmother was raising her six children. This was near the small LDS community of Kelsey, deep in the piney woods of East Texas. My Grandfather and Grandmother White had provided two missionaries with supper and a bed for the night one winter evening back in 1898 and in return, the elders taught them a restored gospel that would bless their family for the next five generations.
On that spring morning in 1917 my uncle Cecil, then fourteen years old, stepped onto the front porch of the farmhouse and carefully dropped his load of the day’s firewood. He saw a large cottontail rabbit hop from behind the big sycamore tree in the lane. Cecil thought of how he would love a hot bowl of rabbit stew for dinner. Times were hard on the farm and any additional food was welcome. “Quick, Reuben,” he called to his twelve year old brother, “Bring me the rifle.” As he took careful aim on the rabbit, he was unaware that Morris, six years old and the youngest of the family, was behind that sycamore tree waiting for the right moment to pounce on the cottontail. Morris and the bullet reached the rabbit at the same instant.
Morris lay on the ground holding his stomach. Grandmother White, hearing the shot, ran out of the kitchen and reached the stricken child at the same time as Cecil and Reuben. As she picked up her son, Morris opened his pain filled eyes and spoke. “Mother, I have been shot. Send for the elders.”
Grandmother always spoke of the faith she saw in the eyes of her injured little boy. His first words were for a blessing. Cecil jumped on the mule and rode out across to pasture toward the place where the missionaries were living. Providentially, he found them and they gave Morris the asked for blessing. Immediately afterward, Elder Smith rode to town and found the country doctor, who performed surgery on the kitchen table of the farmhouse.
Morris’ recovery was always considered miraculous in the little Mormon community of Kelsey. While they gave thanks for the blessing of a healed little boy, the true miracle had occurred earlier in that small Texas farmhouse on a cold winter evening in 1898. Two humble missionaries shared their testimony around a hearth fire and the spirit of the gospel was kindled in a young couple. It would warm generations to come.
Monday, November 17, 2008
Monday, August 4, 2008
Three "Degrees" of Happiness
The Three “Degrees” of Happiness
How I learned about Fun, Happiness, and Joy
School was out for summer vacation and my friend Robert and I were sixteen. As we made plans for the warm Dallas days ahead, I suggested that since our newly minted driver’s licenses gave us greater freedom of movement, we find work other than our usual sacking duties at Mr. Parker’s store. Robert said, “Let’s have a contest to see who can get the best summer job.” We were always friendly rivals. “OK, you’re on,” I agreed. This sounded like fun.
After a week’s search with no success Brother Franklin, the beloved scoutmaster in our ward, stopped me in the hall at church. “Mark, I hear you are looking for something to do this summer. If you aren’t afraid of getting your hands dirty, I have a job for you at my warehouse.” Early Monday morning Brother Franklin greeted me as I arrived to begin my duties. He explained, “When freight is shipped long distances, cartons of canned goods are sometimes damaged. Your job will be to open the broken crates, find cans that have not been smashed, and repack them.” Needless to say, leaking cans of pet food stored for weeks in a hot warehouse do not improve with age. I found myself elbow deep in a smelly, decaying mess.
A couple of weeks later I ran into Robert at our favorite fast food drive in. He quickly told me of his summer job. “Mark, I have the best job ever! It is so much fun. I work at the amusement park on the Giant Sombrero ride.” My friend explained his excitement. “I get to go on all the attractions and hot dogs are free to employees. I wish this summer would never end. As Robert told me about his great new job, my weeks of scraping insect larvae off cans of cat food seemed endless.
It was on a cool September morning that Robert and I met at the steps of Sunset High for the first day of the new school year. After a few minutes of chatting, I conceded defeat in our summer job contest. “I guess you won, Robert. Your job was a lot more fun than mine.” Robert hesitated, then looking me in the eye he said, “Mark, my job was not what I thought it was going to be. At first it was great. I rode the rides and ate free hot dogs every day. But after a while it wasn’t so much fun. I can’t smell a hot dog now without getting a little sick. I close my eyes at night and see the endless spinning of that Giant Sombrero in my mind. The fiesta music it played won’t leave my head. I don’t ever want to go to the amusement park again.”
What I learned about Fun:
Reflecting on Robert’s experience, I came to understand that while appropriate fun is important for refreshing the mind and body, it is by nature transitory. If fun becomes the controlling activity in my life, I will find that it bears a perishable fruit. By its largely physical nature it is time sensitive. Fun adds a needed dimension, but like broken cans of pet food, it has a limited shelf life.
During the summer month of January in my nineteenth year, I walked along a hot, largely deserted road in a remote area of northern Argentina. The temperature had stayed above 100 degrees for several days and the black tar that covered the streets of San Pedro had begun to form small bubbles along the edges. My companion and I were assigned to this little town where LDS missionaries had not labored before. The people were friendly and although seeds of faith were planted each day, the harvest was not yet. I was discouraged that so many good people were not opening their hearts to the gospel. During the past months we had knocked on every door in the village without apparent success and were preparing to visit every home a second time. This particular afternoon I was thirsty, tired, perspiring, and my new “greenie” missionary shoes hurt.
My companion walked beside me. Elder Carey, perhaps the wisest twenty year old missionary ever to come out of Burley Idaho, noticed my fatigue. “Elder White”, he asked. “Are you having fun yet?” I answered him with a grin. “No”, I thought to myself, “Today is not fun. I remember fun and this is not it.” As I walked I examined my thoughts. Though physically exhausted and discouraged, I still wanted to be there. I looked forward to finding the next family and sharing with them the beauty of the Restoration. Even when our message was rejected, we left a blessing of peace in the home. I realized what I felt could only be described as HAPPINESS. This was a new thought for me. How could I be sore and tired and hot… and happy? The understanding came that happiness had little to do with external conditions and everything to do with the service I rendered. Happiness grew as I forgot my immediate problems and lost myself working to bless the lives of others.
What I learned about Happiness:
One blessing from missionary service is that while we share the gospel with others, we learned much about ourselves. If fun is largely about what my senses feel, happiness is largely dependent upon my actions. Happiness has its beginnings in service.
Five years had passed since that afternoon in Argentina. I was twenty four years old and ready for an adventure. While I loved Provo, something led my thoughts to graduate school in my home state. Packing all I owned into the trunk of the tiny two seat British automobile my dad had given me at graduation from BYU, I headed south on University Avenue one beautiful June morning. The car’s top was down and the sun reflected golden light on the mountaintops. After two days of driving I arrived in Denton Texas. With a little wandering through unfamiliar streets, I finally located the apartment where the institute director had arranged for me to live with other LDS students. Mike, one of my new roommates greeted me warmly. “We’re going to family home evening with the ward Young Adults. Come with us.” I was weary after traveling twelve hundred miles, but went with him to a softball park for the activity. Mike led me over to a picnic table. “Let me introduce you to someone,” he said. There I met Kathy, tall and straight as a true king’s daughter, with dark hair and soft brown eyes. A year later I looked into those eyes as we knelt across a holy altar in a sacred temple. I saw eternity reflected in mirrors of endless images. In those reflections were glimpses of something beyond even happiness. I learned about joy.
As time goes by and the years press upon my shoulders, I begin to understand something about joy and its intimations of eternity. Joy has become for me a sweet manifestation of the Spirit, found most often in sacred places. It attended the births of our children and grandchildren. Joy often comes unexpectedly. It may be granted in moments of trial and testing and then, perhaps, it enfolds in response to something as simple as a hymn of faith. It is the “earnest of our inheritance,” (Eph. 1:14) the promise of what Heavenly Father has planned for us if we remain faithful to new and everlasting covenants.
What I learned about joy:
During moments of quiet reflection, I recognize that joy is a gracious gift of the spirit. It comes when the veil grows thin and I feel near to the Source of all joy. It is an experience we share with Deity.
There are moments in life filled with fun, happiness, and joy. As the Apostle Paul’s analogy of the sun, the moon and the stars (1Cor. 15:41) helps us to better understand the varying degrees of post-mortal conditions, we may also come to understand and cherish the three “degrees” of fun, happiness and joy in the richness of life’s journey.
How I learned about Fun, Happiness, and Joy
School was out for summer vacation and my friend Robert and I were sixteen. As we made plans for the warm Dallas days ahead, I suggested that since our newly minted driver’s licenses gave us greater freedom of movement, we find work other than our usual sacking duties at Mr. Parker’s store. Robert said, “Let’s have a contest to see who can get the best summer job.” We were always friendly rivals. “OK, you’re on,” I agreed. This sounded like fun.
After a week’s search with no success Brother Franklin, the beloved scoutmaster in our ward, stopped me in the hall at church. “Mark, I hear you are looking for something to do this summer. If you aren’t afraid of getting your hands dirty, I have a job for you at my warehouse.” Early Monday morning Brother Franklin greeted me as I arrived to begin my duties. He explained, “When freight is shipped long distances, cartons of canned goods are sometimes damaged. Your job will be to open the broken crates, find cans that have not been smashed, and repack them.” Needless to say, leaking cans of pet food stored for weeks in a hot warehouse do not improve with age. I found myself elbow deep in a smelly, decaying mess.
A couple of weeks later I ran into Robert at our favorite fast food drive in. He quickly told me of his summer job. “Mark, I have the best job ever! It is so much fun. I work at the amusement park on the Giant Sombrero ride.” My friend explained his excitement. “I get to go on all the attractions and hot dogs are free to employees. I wish this summer would never end. As Robert told me about his great new job, my weeks of scraping insect larvae off cans of cat food seemed endless.
It was on a cool September morning that Robert and I met at the steps of Sunset High for the first day of the new school year. After a few minutes of chatting, I conceded defeat in our summer job contest. “I guess you won, Robert. Your job was a lot more fun than mine.” Robert hesitated, then looking me in the eye he said, “Mark, my job was not what I thought it was going to be. At first it was great. I rode the rides and ate free hot dogs every day. But after a while it wasn’t so much fun. I can’t smell a hot dog now without getting a little sick. I close my eyes at night and see the endless spinning of that Giant Sombrero in my mind. The fiesta music it played won’t leave my head. I don’t ever want to go to the amusement park again.”
What I learned about Fun:
Reflecting on Robert’s experience, I came to understand that while appropriate fun is important for refreshing the mind and body, it is by nature transitory. If fun becomes the controlling activity in my life, I will find that it bears a perishable fruit. By its largely physical nature it is time sensitive. Fun adds a needed dimension, but like broken cans of pet food, it has a limited shelf life.
During the summer month of January in my nineteenth year, I walked along a hot, largely deserted road in a remote area of northern Argentina. The temperature had stayed above 100 degrees for several days and the black tar that covered the streets of San Pedro had begun to form small bubbles along the edges. My companion and I were assigned to this little town where LDS missionaries had not labored before. The people were friendly and although seeds of faith were planted each day, the harvest was not yet. I was discouraged that so many good people were not opening their hearts to the gospel. During the past months we had knocked on every door in the village without apparent success and were preparing to visit every home a second time. This particular afternoon I was thirsty, tired, perspiring, and my new “greenie” missionary shoes hurt.
My companion walked beside me. Elder Carey, perhaps the wisest twenty year old missionary ever to come out of Burley Idaho, noticed my fatigue. “Elder White”, he asked. “Are you having fun yet?” I answered him with a grin. “No”, I thought to myself, “Today is not fun. I remember fun and this is not it.” As I walked I examined my thoughts. Though physically exhausted and discouraged, I still wanted to be there. I looked forward to finding the next family and sharing with them the beauty of the Restoration. Even when our message was rejected, we left a blessing of peace in the home. I realized what I felt could only be described as HAPPINESS. This was a new thought for me. How could I be sore and tired and hot… and happy? The understanding came that happiness had little to do with external conditions and everything to do with the service I rendered. Happiness grew as I forgot my immediate problems and lost myself working to bless the lives of others.
What I learned about Happiness:
One blessing from missionary service is that while we share the gospel with others, we learned much about ourselves. If fun is largely about what my senses feel, happiness is largely dependent upon my actions. Happiness has its beginnings in service.
Five years had passed since that afternoon in Argentina. I was twenty four years old and ready for an adventure. While I loved Provo, something led my thoughts to graduate school in my home state. Packing all I owned into the trunk of the tiny two seat British automobile my dad had given me at graduation from BYU, I headed south on University Avenue one beautiful June morning. The car’s top was down and the sun reflected golden light on the mountaintops. After two days of driving I arrived in Denton Texas. With a little wandering through unfamiliar streets, I finally located the apartment where the institute director had arranged for me to live with other LDS students. Mike, one of my new roommates greeted me warmly. “We’re going to family home evening with the ward Young Adults. Come with us.” I was weary after traveling twelve hundred miles, but went with him to a softball park for the activity. Mike led me over to a picnic table. “Let me introduce you to someone,” he said. There I met Kathy, tall and straight as a true king’s daughter, with dark hair and soft brown eyes. A year later I looked into those eyes as we knelt across a holy altar in a sacred temple. I saw eternity reflected in mirrors of endless images. In those reflections were glimpses of something beyond even happiness. I learned about joy.
As time goes by and the years press upon my shoulders, I begin to understand something about joy and its intimations of eternity. Joy has become for me a sweet manifestation of the Spirit, found most often in sacred places. It attended the births of our children and grandchildren. Joy often comes unexpectedly. It may be granted in moments of trial and testing and then, perhaps, it enfolds in response to something as simple as a hymn of faith. It is the “earnest of our inheritance,” (Eph. 1:14) the promise of what Heavenly Father has planned for us if we remain faithful to new and everlasting covenants.
What I learned about joy:
During moments of quiet reflection, I recognize that joy is a gracious gift of the spirit. It comes when the veil grows thin and I feel near to the Source of all joy. It is an experience we share with Deity.
There are moments in life filled with fun, happiness, and joy. As the Apostle Paul’s analogy of the sun, the moon and the stars (1Cor. 15:41) helps us to better understand the varying degrees of post-mortal conditions, we may also come to understand and cherish the three “degrees” of fun, happiness and joy in the richness of life’s journey.
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