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Nature’s Anthem of Praise

Nature’s Anthem of Praise!

I looked out my window and what did I see?
An anthem of praise under a tree.

Such a beautiful sight Ah! Amazing to me!
“Our Lady’s Delight” Oh, “A Trinity!”

Violets and Pansies that grow in the wild!
Tricolors and Jump-ups born free nature’s child.

Call them, as you will, they are all still the same.
Wildflowers or weeds, a name is a name.

All singing praises in the colors they wear,
To the three in one Godhead, yes, I see it there!

Yellow’s symbolic of our Father’s glory,
Purple the sorrow of the Incarnate Son,

White is the Spirit entwine them together,
Trinity Godhead three in one.

© 2005 by Dot McGinnis

“…See how the lilies of the field grow.
They do not labor or spin…”
Matthew 6:28 New International Version (NIV)

Spirituality—Victory Over Self (David 0. McKay)

Spirituality is the consciousness of victory over self and of communion with the Infinite. Spirituality impels one to conquer difficulties and acquire more and more strength. To feel one’s faculties unfolding and truth expanding the soul is one of life’s most sublime experiences. Being true to self and being loyal to high ideals develops spirituality. The real test of any religion is the kind of man it makes. Being “honest, true, chaste, benevolent, virtuous, and …doing good to all men” is a virtue which contributes to the highest acquisition of the soul. It is the divine in man that makes him king of all created things. It is this one final quality that makes him tower above all other animals.

Let us ever keep in mind that life is largely what we make it, and that the Savior of men has marked clearly and plainly just how joy and peace may be obtained. It is in the Gospel of Jesus Christ and adherence thereto. Do your duty no matter how humble, and resolve even in the face of difficulties and discouragement to be:

Like the man who faces what he must
With step triumphant and a heart of cheer;
Who fights the daily battle without fear;
Sees his hopes fail, yet keeps unfaltering trust
That God is God.

—President David 0. McKay

What’s So Good About Today?

http://library.lds.org/nxt/gateway.dll/Magazines/Ensign/1994.htm/ensign%20october%201994.htm/mormon%20journal.htm?fn=document-frameset.htm$f=templates$3.0#LPTOC5

Children’s Story, The

The teacher was afraid, and the children were afraid. All except Johnny. He watched the classroom door with hate. He felt the hatred deep within his stomach. It gave him strength.

It was two minutes to nine.

The teacher glanced numbly from the door and stared at the flag which stood in a corner of the room. But she couldn’t see the flag today.

She was blinded by her terror, not only for herself, but mostly for them, her children. She had never had children of her own. She had never married.

In the mists of her mind she saw the rows upon rows of children she had taught through her years. Their faces were legion. But she could distinguish no one particular face. Only the same face which varied but slightly. Always the same age or thereabouts. Seven, perhaps a boy, perhaps a girl. And the face always open and ready for the knowledge that she was to give. The same face staring at her, open, waiting and full of trust.

The children rustled, watching her, wondering what possessed her. They saw not the gray hair and the old eyes and the lined face and well-worn clothes. They saw only their teacher and the twisting hands. Johnny looked away from the door and watched the other children. He did not understand anything except that the teacher was afraid, and because she was afraid she was making them all worse, and he wanted to shout that there was no need to fear. “Just because they’ve conquered us there’s no need for panic fear, “Dad had said, “Don’t be afraid, Johnny. If you fear too much, you’ll be dead even though you’re alive.”

The sound of footsteps approached and then stopped. The door opened.

The children gasped. They expected an ogre or giant or beast or witch or monster—like the outer-space monsters you think about when the lights are out and momma and daddy have kissed you good night and you’re frightened and you put your head under the cover and all at once you’re awake and it’s time for school. But instead of a monster, a beautiful young girl stood in the doorway. Her clothes were neat and clean, all olive green—even her shoes. But most important, she wore a lovely smile, and when she spoke, she spoke without the trace of an accent. The children found this very strange, for they were foreigners from a strange country far across the sea. They had all been told about them.

“Good morning, children, “ the New Teacher said; then she closed the door softly and walked to the teacher’s desk, and the children in the front row felt and smelled the perfume of her- clean and fresh and young-and as she passed Sandra, who sat at the end of the first row, she said, “Good morning, Sandra,” and Sandra flushed deeply and wondered aghast, with all the other children, “How did she know my name?” and her heart raced in her chest and made it feel tight and very heavy.

The teacher got up shakily, “I, er, I—good morning.” Her words were faltering and she, too, was trying to get over the shock. And nausea.

“Hello, Miss Worden, “ the New Teacher said. “I’m taking over your class now. You are to go to the principal’s office. “

“Why? What’s going to happen to me? What’s going to happen to my children?” The words gushed from Miss Worden, and a lank piece of hair fell into her eyes. The children were agonized by the edge to her voice, and one or two of them felt on the edge of tears.

“He just wants to talk to you, Miss Worden, “ the New Teacher said gently. “You really must take better care of yourself. You shouldn’t be so upset

Miss Worden saw the New Teacher’s smile, but she wasn’t touched by its compassion. She tried to stop her knees from shaking. “Good-bye, children, “ she said. The children made no reply. They were too terrified by the sound of her voice and the tears that wet her face. And because she was crying, some of the children cried and Sandra fled to her.

The New Teacher shut the door behind Miss Worden and turned back into the room, cradling Sandra in her arms. “Children, children, there’s no need to cry, “ she said. “I know, I’ll sing you a song! Listen. “

And she sat down on the floor as gracefully as an angel, Sandra in her arms, and she began to sing and the children stopped crying because Miss Worden never, never sang to them and certainly never sat on the floor, which is the best place to sit, as everyone in the class knew. They listened spellbound to the happy lilt of the New Teacher’s voice and the strange words of a strange tongue which soared and dipped like the sea of grass which was the birthplace of the song. It was about two children who had lost their way and were all alone in the great grass prairies and were afraid, but they met a fine man riding a fine horse and the man told them that there was never a need to be afraid, for all they had to do was to watch the stars and stars would tell them where their home was.

“For once you know the right direction, then there’s never a need to be afraid. Fear is something that comes from inside, from inside your tummies, “the New Teacher said radiantly, “and strong children like you have to put food in tummies. Not fear “

The children thought about this and it seemed very sensible. The New Teacher sang the song again, and soon all the children were happy and calm once more, except Johnny. He hated her even though he knew she was right about fear.

“Now,” said the New Teacher, “what shall we do? I know, we’ll play a game. I’ll try and guess your names.”

The children, wide-eyed, shifted in their seats. Miss Worden never did this, and often she called a child by another’s name. The New Teacher will never know all our names, never! they thought. So they waited excitedly while the new teacher turned her attention to Sandra. Oh, yes, somehow she already knew Sandra’s name, but how could she possibly know everyone’s? They waited, glad that they were going to catch out the New Teacher.

But they were not to catch her out. The New Teacher remembered every name!

Johnny put up his hand. “How’d you know our names? I mean, well, we haven’t had a roll call or anything, so how’d you know our names?”

“That’s easy, Johnny, “ the New Teacher said. “You all sit in the same places every day. Each desk has one pupil. So I learned all your names from a list. I had to work for three whole days to remember your names. A teacher must work very hard to be a good teacher, and so I worked for three days so that I could know each of you the first day. That’s very important, don’t you think, for a teacher to work hard?”

Johnny frowned and half-nodded and sat down and wondered why he hadn’t figured that our for himself before asking, astonished that she had worked three days just to know everyone’s names the first day. But still he hated her.

“Johnny, would you tell me something, please? How do you start school? I mean, what do you begin with?”

Johnny stood reluctantly. “We first pledge allegiance and then we sing the song…

“Yes, but that’s after roll call, “ Sandra said. “You forgot roll call.

“Yes, you forgot roll call, Johnny, “Mary said.

“First we have roll call, “ Johnny said. Then he sat down.

The New Teacher smiled. “All right. But we really don’t need roll call. I know all your names, and I know everyone’s here. It’s very lazy for a teacher not to know who’s here and who isn’t, don’t you think? After all, a teacher should know. We don’t need roll call while I’m your teacher. So should we pledge, isn’t that next?”

Obediently all the children got up and put their hands on their hearts and the New Teacher did the same, and they began in unison, “I pledge allegiance to the flag of….

“Just a moment,” the new teacher said, “what does pledge mean?”

The children stood openmouthed; Miss Worden had never interrupted them before. They stood and stared at the New Teacher. Wordless, And silent.

“What does ‘allegiance’ mean?” the New Teacher asked, her hand over her heart.

The children stood in silence. Then Mary put up her hand. “Well, pledge is, ah, well something like—sort of when you want to do something very good. You sort of pledge you’re going to do something like not suck your thumb ‘cause that makes your teeth bend and you’ll have to wear a brace and go to the dentist, which hurts. “

“That’s very good, Mary. Very, very good. The pledge means to promise. And allegiance?”

Mary shrugged hopelessly and looked at her best friend, Hilda, who looked back at her and then at the Teacher and shrugged helplessly, too.

The New Teacher waited, and the silence hung in the room, hurting. Then she said, “I think it’s quite wrong for you to have to say something with long words in it if you don’t understand what you’re saying. So let’s sit down and talk about it. “

So the children all sat down and waited expectantly.

“What did your other teachers tell you that it meant?”

After a long silence Danny put up his hand. “She never said nothin’, miss.

“One of my teachers at the other school I went to before this one, “Joan said in a rush, “well, she sort of said what it all meant, at least she said something about it just before recess one day and then the bell went and afterwards we had spelling.”

Danny said, “Miss Worden, —well, she never told us. We just had to learn it and then say it, that’s all. Our real teacher didn’t say anything at all.”

All the children nodded. Then they waited again.

“Your teacher never explained it to you?”

All the children shook their heads. “I don’t think that was very good—not to explain. You can always ask me anything. That’s what a real teacher should do. “ Then the New Teacher said, “But didn’t you ask your daddies and mummies?”

“Not about I pledge. We just had to learn it, “Mary said. “Once I could say it daddy gave me a nickel for saying it good. “

“That’s right,” Danny said. “So long as you could say it all, it was very good. But I never got a nickel. “

“Did you ask each other what it meant?”

“I asked Danny once and he didn’t know and none of us knowed really. It’s grown-up talk, and grown-ups talk that sort of words. We just have to learn it. “

“Once in second grade Miss Sander said something about it, but it was only once and I forgot it, “ Johnny said hopefully.

“The other schools I went to, “ Hilda said, “they never said anything about it. They just wanted us to learn it. They didn’t ask us what it meant. We just hadta say it every day before we started school.

“It took me weeks and weeks and weeks to say it right, “Mary said.

So the New Teacher explained what allegiance meant, “…So you are promising or pledging support to the flag and saying that it is much more important than you are. How can a flag be more important than a real live person?”

Johnny broke the silence. “But the next thing is, —well, where it says ‘and for the country for which it stands. ‘ That means its sort of like, like a—” he searched for the word and could not find it. “Like a, well, sort of sign isn’t it?”

“Yes. The real word is symbol.” The New Teacher frowned. “But we don’t need a sign to remind us that we love our country, do we? You’re all good boys and girls. Do you need a sign to remind you?”

“What’s remind mean?” asked Mary.

“It means to make you remember. To make you remember that you’re all good boys and girls.

The children thought about this and shook their heads.

Johnny put up his hand. “It’s our flag, “he said fiercely. “We always pledge.

“Yes,” the New Teacher said. “It is a very pretty one. “ She looked at it for a moment and then said, “I wish I could have a piece of
it. Don’t you?”

“I’ve a little one at home, “Mary said. “I could bring it tomorrow.”

“Thank you, Mary dear, but I just wanted a little piece of this one because it’s our own special classroom one.”

Then Danny said, “If we had some scissors we could cut a little piece off.

“I’ve some scissors at home, “ Mary said.

“There’s some in Miss Worden’s desk, “ Brian said.

The New Teacher found the scissors and then they had to decide who would be allowed to cut off a little piece, and the New Teacher said that because today was Mary’s birthday (“How did she know that?” Mary asked herself, awed.) Mary should be allowed to cut the piece off. And then they decided it would be very nice if they all had a piece. The flag is special, they thought, so if you have a piece of it that’s better than having just to look at it ‘cause you can keep it in your pocket.

So the flag was cut up by the children and they were very proud that they each had a piece of it. But now the flagpole was bare and strange. And useless. The children pondered what to do with it, and the idea that pleased them most was to push it out of the window. They watched excitedly as the New Teacher opened the window and allowed them to throw it out into the playground. They shrieked with excitement as they saw it bounce on the ground. They began to love the strange New Teacher.

When they were all back in their seats the New Teacher said, “Well, before we start our lessons, perhaps there are some questions you want me to answer. Ask me anything you like. That’s only fair, isn’t it, if I ask you questions?”

Mary said, after a long silence, “We never get to ask our real teacher any questions.

Johnny broke the silence. “But the next thing is —well, —“

“You can always ask me anything. That’s the fair way—the New way. Try me.

“What’s your name?” asked Danny.

She told them her name and it sounded pretty.

Mary put up her hand. “Why do you wear those clothes? It’s like a sort of uniform nurses wear. “

“We think that teachers should be dressed the same, then you always know a teacher. It’s nice and light and easy to press. Do you like the color?”

“Oh, yes,” said Mary. “You’ve got green eyes too.

“If you like, children, as a very special surprise, you can all have this sort of uniform. Then you won’t have to worry about what you have to wear to school everyday. And you’ll all be the same.

The children twisted excitedly in their seats. Mary said, “But it’ll cost a lot of money, and my momma won’t want to spend the money, ‘cause we have to buy food and food is expen—well, it sort of costs a lot of money. “

“They will be given to you, as a present. There’s no need to worry about money. “

Johnny said, “I don’t want to be dressed like that.

“You don’t have to accept a present, Johnny. Just because the other children want to wear new clothes, you don’t have to, “ the New Teacher said.

Johnny slunk back in his chair. “I’m never going to wear their clothes, “he said to himself, “I don’t care if I am going to look different from Danny and Tom and Fred. “

Then Mary asked, “Why was our teacher crying?”

“I suppose she was tired and needed a rest. She’s going to have a long rest. “ She smiled at them. “We think teachers should be young. I’m nineteen. “

“Is the war over now?” Danny asked.

“Yes, Danny. Isn’t that wonderful? Now all your daddies will be home soon. “

“Did we win or did we lose?” Mary asked.

“We—that’s you and all of us—we won.”

“Oh!”

The children sat back happily. Then Johnny’s hatred burst. “Where’s my Dad? What’ve you done to my Dad?”

The New Teacher got up from her seat and walked the length of the room and the children’s eyes followed her, and Johnny stood, knees of jelly. She sat down on his seat and put her hands on his shoulders, and his shoulders were shaking like his knees.

“He’s going to a school. Some grown-ups have to go to school as well as children. “

“But they took him away and he didn’t want to go. “ Johnny felt the tears close, and he fought back.

The New Teacher touched him gently, and he smelled the youth and cleanness of her, and it was not the smell of home, which was sour and just a little dirty. “He’s no different from all of you. You sometimes don’t want to go to school. With grown-ups it’s the same—just the same as with children. Would you like to visit him? He has a holiday in a few days.”

“Momma said that dad’s gone away forever!” Johnny stared at her incredulously. “He has a holiday?”

The New Teacher laughed. “She’s wrong, Johnny. After all, everyone who goes to school has holidays. That’s fair, isn’t it?”

The children shifted and rustled and watched. And Johnny said, “I can see him?”

“Of course, Johnny, I said wrong thought—not bad thoughts. There’s nothing wrong with that. But it’s right to show grown-up right thoughts when theirs are wrong, isn’t it?”

“Well, yes, “Johnny said. “But what wrong thoughts did he have?”

“Just some grown-up thoughts that are old-fashioned. We’re going to learn all about them in class. Then we can share knowledge, and I can learn from you and you will learn from me. Shall we?”

“Well, perhaps sometime when you wanted to talk about something very important to your dad, perhaps he said, ‘Now now, Johnny,’ or ‘I’m busy, we’ll talk about it tomorrow.’ That’s a bad thought, not to give time when it’s important. Isn’t it? “

“Sure, but that’s what all grown-ups do.”

“My momma says that all the time, “ said Mary.

And the other children nodded and they wondered if all their parents should go back to school and unlearn bad thoughts.

“Sit down, Johnny, and we’ll start learning good things and not worry about grown-up bad thoughts. Oh, yes,” she said when she sat down at her seat again, brimming with happiness, “I have a lovely surprise for you. You’re all going to stay overnight with us. We have a lovely room and beds and lots of food, and we’ll all tell stories and have such a lovely time. “

“Oh, good!” the children said.

“Can I stay up till eight o’clock?” Mary asked breathlessly.

“Well, as it’s our first new day, we’ll stay up to eight-thirty. But only if you promise to go right to sleep afterward.

The New Teacher smiled at her. “Of course. Perhaps we should say a prayer now. In some schools that’s the custom, too. But let’s pray for something very good. What should we pray for?”

“Bless Momma and Daddy,” Danny said immediately.

“That’s a good idea, Danny. I have one too. Let’s pray for candy. That’s a good idea, ain’t it?”

They all nodded happily.

So, following their New Teacher, they all closed their eyes and steepled their hands together, and they prayed with her for candy.

The New Teacher opened her eyes and looked around disappointedly. “But where’s our candy? God is all-seeing and is everywhere, and if we pray, He answers our prayers. Isn’t that true?”

“I prayed for a puppy of my own, lots of times, but I never got one, said Danny.

“Maybe we didn’t pray hard enough. Perhaps we should kneel down like it’s done in church. “

So the New Teacher knelt and all the children knelt and they prayed very hard. But there was still no candy.

Because the New Teacher was disappointed the children were very disappointed. Then she said, “Perhaps we’re using the wrong name. “ She thought a moment and then said, “instead of saying ‘God’, let’s say ‘Our Leader’. Let’s pray to Our Leader for candy. Let’s pray very hard and don’t open your eyes till I say.”

So the children shut their eyes tightly and prayed very hard, and as they prayed the New Teacher took out some candy from her pocket and quietly put a piece on each child’s desk. She did not notice Johnny—alone of all the children watching her through his half-closed eyes.

She went softly back to her desk and the prayer ended, and the children opened their eyes and they stared at the candy and they were overjoyed.

“I’m going to pray to Our Leader every time,” Mary said excitedly.

“Me, too,” Hilda said. “Could we eat Our Leader’s candy now, Teacher?”

“Oh, let’s, please, please, please.

“So Our Leader answered your prayers, didn’t he?”

“I saw you put the candy on our desks,” Johnny burst out. “I saw you! I didn’t close my eyes and I saw you. You had ‘em in your pocket. We didn’t get them with praying. YOU put them there. “

All the children, appalled, stared at him and then at their New Teacher. She stood in front of the class and looked back at Johnny and then at all of them.

“Yes, Johnny, you’re quite right. You’re a very, very wise boy. Children, I put the candy on your desks. So you know that it doesn’t matter who you ask, who you shut your eyes and “pray” to—to God or anyone, even Our Leader. No one will give you anything, only another human being. “She looked at Danny. “God didn’t give you the puppy you wanted. But if you work hard, I will. Only I or someone like me can give you things. Praying to God or anything or anyone for something is a waste of time.

“Then we don’t say prayers? We’re not supposed to say prayers?” The puzzled children watched her.

“You can if you want to, children. If your daddies and mommies want you to. But we know, you and I, that it means nothing. That’s our secret. “

“My dad says it’s wrong to have secrets from him.”

“But he has secrets that he shares with your mommy, and not with you, doesn’t he?” All the children nodded.

“Then it’s not wrong for us to have a few secrets from them, is it?”

“I like to have secrets. Hilda and me have lots of secrets, “ Mary said.

The New Teacher said, “We’re going to have lots of wonderful secrets together. You can eat your candy if you want to. And because Johnny was especially clever, I think we should make him monitor for the whole week, don’t you?”

They all nodded happily and popped the candy into their mouths; and chewed gloriously. Johnny was very proud as he chewed his candy. He decided that he liked his teacher very much. Because she had told him the truth. Because she was right about God. He’d prayed many times for many things and never got them, and even the one time he did get the skates, he knew his dad had heard him and had put them under his bed for his birthday, and pretended he hadn’t heard him. “I always wondered why He didn’t listen and all the time He wasn’t there, “ he thought.

Johnny sat back contentedly, resolved to work hard and listen and not have wrong thoughts like Dad.

The Teacher waited for them to finish their candy. This was what she had been trained for, and she knew that she would teach her children well and that they would grow up to be good citizens. She looked out of the window, at the sun over the land. It was a good land, and vast. A land to breathe in. But she was warmed not by the sun but by the thought that throughout the school and throughout the land all children, all men and all women were being taught with the same faith, with variations of the same procedures. Each according to his age group. Each according to his need. She glanced at her watch. It was 9:23.

James Clavell

King’s Falcon, The

In the old days of hunting, before gunpowder was invented, when bows and arrows were used, in some spots of Europe falcons were trained to help them in the hunt. This bird is a species of hawk, and, if we are to believe history, these fellows were really faithful and efficient. The falcon would soar into the air, survey the country round about, and, if he discovered the deer, with the shriek of his voice or the flap of his wings, he guided his master to the game.

Now the king had been out hunting with his fellow noblemen but he had got lost. In fact, he had separated from his friends and the commissary department two days before. He had with him his trained falcon that rested on his wrist. The king was nearly starved to death as was the bird but worse than the call for food was his thirst. He got so desperate for water that he would have eaten mud. His tongue was as thick as leather; his eyes were bulging with concern; his eyes had desperately scanned every rock for some signs of moisture. He and his falcon were pretty nearly dead. The monarch could hardly pull one foot in front of the other.

But lo and behold, off a hundred yards he detected something that looked like dripping water. It was! New strength came into his veins. He automatically leaped forward with the cup he always carried with him, the falcon, of course, ever present on his wrist.

Drip, drip, drip, and the cup was finally full. The king was just putting it to his lips when his falcon knocked the cup from his hands. Had the bird gone crazy? He’d fill it again—and he did. With one eye on the hawk and one on the cup, for the second time he raised it to his lips, but for the second time it was knocked from his grasp.

The king unsheathed his sword. He talked to his friend that had been so faithful to him up to now. “You do that again, and off comes your head. “

Drip, drip, drip for the third time. Did you ever hold a pigeon in your hands? Their strength is really astonishing. When you talk about their wing strength, and especially if he uses his claws, a hawk is a piece of dynamite. For the third time the falcon was on the job watching his master and newly filled cup. As the hunter raised the water to his lips, in some super way the bird got loose, clawed the hands of the king, and knocked the life-saving, sparkling water to the desert floor.

The king had made a promise, the ruler’s word must be kept. He had promised the bird he would take his life if he pulled the stunt once more. Out came the sword—off came the head of the falcon. As the parched earth
absorbed itself the blood of his before now precious hawk, the king scratched his forehead; he was thinking. What in the world had possessed his feathered servant? He would make an investigation.

Once again his eyes followed those precious drops of water as they trickled down the rock. “I’ll climb up there. “ It only took a minute and he was at the source of the miniature spring. He turned a ghastly pale. He nearly fainted at what he saw in that hollow rock where came that drip, drip, drip.

Taking up a great part of the stagnant pool was coiled a poisonous snake that had been dead for weeks. The water, while it sparkled over the rocks, was cankered with the virus of the serpent. That handful of water meant “dead men’s bones.”

Hesitantly the king retraced his steps and now gazed on the lifeless form of his feathered hero, but too late. His temper had ruled him. “All the kings horses and all the kings men” couldn’t put that falcon’s head back again and start again the flow of blood that soaked the sand to course again through its sacred body. The bird had been flying over those hills for two days. His viewpoint was better than the king’s whose experience had been confined to the domain covered by his feet only.

Marvin 0. Ashton

Father’s Prayer, A (I thank Thee)

I thank Thee, Lord, for this my son,
Whose spirit comes from Thee;
Help me mold his soul divine
Unto maturity.

Even unto godlike strength,
May his manhood grow—
Tall and strong in righteousness,
Armed for any blow.

Help me light the spark divine
Within his vibrant breast;
That he may seek Thy holy ways,
Throughout his lifelong quest.

Help him rise above the snares,
And foolishness of sin;
Help him find Thy Kingdom, Lord,
And humbly enter in.

My son, wherever you may sleep,
My love will there abide;
May purity and innocence
Be ever at your side.

May God within His loving arms
Protect and comfort you;
And nourish you, and love you, son,
Forever, as I do.

So live that when at last you come
To your eternal home,
Your Father, there will welcome you
Redeemed—His very own.

That He may say, “Come, enter in,
Receive thy glory won!”
This I pray each night and day,
For you, beloved son.

Lorin F. Wheelwright

Smoking Ain’t Never Hurt Me Yet!

Cheer up. It will. Bullets, guns, electric chair, drowning, hanging, and poison are faster. But for slow suicide, there’s nothing like cigarettes, cigars, and pipes.

Cigarette smoke contains nineteen poisons, including carbon monoxide, nicotine, carbolic acid, and furfural. One cigarette contains as much furfural as 20 ounces of whiskey. Furfural is 50 times as poisonous as alcohol. It causes tremors, convulsions, muscle twitching, paralysis of respiratory muscles.

Hudson Maxim said, “With every breath, smokers inhale imbecility and exhale manhood.” So. FAMOUS LAST WORDS: “I’m different. I can take it. It never hurt me yet.”

That’s What I Call a Friend

One whose grip is a little tighter,
One whose smile is a little brighter,
One whose deeds are a little whiter,
That’s what I call a friend.

One who’ll lend as quick as he’ll borrow,
One who’s the same today and tomorrow,
One who will share your joy—and sorrow,
That’s what I call a friend.

One whose thoughts are a little cleaner,
One whose mind is a little keener,
One who avoids those things that are meaner,
That’s what I call a friend.

One when you’re gone will miss you sadly,
One who’ll welcome you back again gladly,
One who, though angered, will not speak madly,
That’s what I call a friend.

One who’s been fine when life seemed rotten,
One whose ideals you have not forgotten,
One who has given you more than he’s gotten,
That’s what I call a friend.

John Burroughs

Tomorrow’s Yesterday

Looking back on it now, it seems incredible that we didn’t see, didn’t understand. The signs were so obvious. Everything clicked into place so smoothly and right on schedule.

Elizabeth, how could we have been so blind? Those days seem to me now like dim nightmares of the past. Of course, in many respects those days were nightmarish in quality, but they were terribly real.

Pain! Did we actually feel it? Of course we did. And sorrow and—most unbelievable of all—doubt. Elizabeth, how could we ever have doubted? But we did, Little Timothy Johnson, the boy on the next estate—oh, you know him. He was born two years after the Second Coming. Know the boy I mean? Yes, that’s the one. He asked me again and again about that.

“How could you have helped but know there is a God, Sister Martin?” he insisted. “There were the stars to watch at night. There was the moon. God made them.”

“Yes, Timothy, “ I have said, “but, . .

“And the sun in the daytime. Didn’t people know? When they saw his handiwork with their own eyes…and couldn’t explain it or govern it themselves.

“Timothy, “ I floundered, seeking words and wondering at the same time at our stupidity in those days, “You must understand that we couldn’t live in the presence of the Lord then. All the information we had came through the mouths of the prophets. And unless you had the Holy Ghost, you didn’t recognize the truth of what the prophets said.”

And then Timothy nodded eagerly, “But Latter-day Saints knew for sure, didn’t they Sister Martin?”

There you are. What could I say? As always I was at a loss for words. Seriously, what excuse did we have? Those of us who are members of the Church—and failed to measure up?

Oh, yes, I know—Lucifer. I must admit that with Lucifer bound it’s just as hard to remember his wiles now as it was then to imagine life without him. I have to keep reminding myself how difficult he and his Angels made things.

The old motion pictures! Remember, Elizabeth? The absurd styles of dress and undress and mercy—the importance we attached to them! Lucifer was extremely clever there. He used the guise of physical beauty to cover all kinds of wickedness. The lovely painted mouths of harlots uttered every manner of false doctrines so simply, so convincingly that even some of our own young women aped their degrading styles and manners. Oh, I’m not forgetting some of the really splendid and fine things the world had to offer in the field of art. Our Saints would go to see these good things, but along with them, Sons of men brought is subtly veiled rottenness. The first thing we knew we were accepting immorality and laxness in obedience to his commandments as necessary and natural. Our youth began to take such negligence as a matter of course. It warped their sense of values. Everything had to be—what was the word—“exciting? “—no, “glamorous!” How empty and shoddy it seems now, compared to millennial life.

Yes, Lucifer crept into everything. Remember the stories and books? Little by little immorality flourished there, too. Adultery was treated as a harmless complication of married life that should be met naturally and calmly—ugh! The way the wool was pulled over our eyes! The popular songs were slyly suggestive and—what, Elizabeth? Oh, yes! The advertising! Anything to get money—even lies, if they could get away with it. And for what? So they could gain the pleasure of the flesh, most of which led one straight down the path to Lucifer.

It wasn’t all wickedness, though, in those days. Not always! There were the good times and the good, humble people, too. What feasts of the spirit those annual conferences were! Knowing as we do now that often Angels and heavenly beings were present, it’s no wonder we felt so near to Him on those occasions. Those were the times when I wept for joy and often longed to burst into songs of praise as we do now.

Then too, in the presence of death, I felt very close to Him. Death—the word seems foreign to my tongue now. Do you know what I mean?

Elizabeth, it makes me humble to know that I, as unrighteous as I felt (I made so many foolish mistakes) was still enabled to rise in the morning of the first resurrection.

Yes, I’m weeping, I know. But I can’t help it! To hear that call—to see the graves opened! My grave, Elizabeth—and yours! My husband’s
—and to see him again as I had known him in life—the same dear face, but so glorious, shining! How eagerly we embraced. Remember how the heavens were opened? I used to wonder what that expression meant, “the heavens opened”—and they did. There was that heavenly singing—and those glad hosannas ringing through the air! And when I looked up—I shall never forget it! There coming down toward us, followed by hosts of Angels , was Jehovah!

I wept—how I wept—tears of exultant joy. I saw my own daughter—still living on earth—caught up to meet him. We were all weeping—my father, my blessed mother, all of us! At last it was over. At last! The trials, the pain, the sorrows of separation. All was over. All was sheaved in joy. And all through the sacrifice of Jesus Christ—Jehovah!

Oh, Elizabeth, if we could have but imagined one hundredth of the eternal joy that is the reward for righteousness. It seems to me life couldn’t have been so hard. We couldn’t have—well, I can’t find the words, that all. I just can’t find the words.

This I can say: my testimony of the Gospel hasn’t changed since the earth days, except to grow stronger. I had a testimony of the Gospel then, as I do now. I knew then that God lived as I know it now. The only difference is that now I can see Him; now I live in his presence. But by faith and repentance, by study and, of course, through the personal witness of the Holy Ghost, I had gained the knowledge of Him even then. I knew him when I saw him. I remembered him from days in the spirit world. Best of all, perhaps, when I looked into his eyes, I knew that he knew me. Every prayer I’d ever uttered, the times I’d felt him close. They were all there between us.

Eternal life.

I’ve often thought that I wish I could send some message back into the past to help us then. If I could, Elizabeth, this is what I should say:

“Never doubt! “ I’d say, “Ever, do not permit the slightest shred of doubt to enter your heart. Doubt is a waste of time and effort, for God lives. And every word he has ever uttered will be fulfilled. Get that, “ I’d admonish them, “every word, not just those that you can understand, or think plausible or reasonable. But EVERY word. Therefore, search out the scriptures and find what those words are that you may prepare yourselves. And the ten tribes are coming; every prophecy uttered concerning them will be fulfilled- —literally. “

I’d tell them that the Temple at Independence would in very deed be built and how beautiful it would be.

“Accept the words of the Lord’s anointed,” I’d say, “all of their words. It’s not for you to decide whether or not they speak under inspiration. And when God speaks to you through those men, chosen by Him, don’t complain about what they say, or criticize, or doubt.”

I’d testify to them that no sacrifice is too great for righteousness. I’d plead with the young girls to be virtuous and modest and womanly. I’d plead with the young men to be chaste and to honor their Priesthood, oh, how I’d emphasize that!

I’d let them know that there wasn’t long to wait; I’d urge them to trim their lamps for the coming of the Bridegroom. I’d make them ashamed for trying to imitate the ways of the world, and I’d challenge them to pride at being a “peculiar people” when that meant being the Lord’s chosen people.

That’s what I’d tell them, Elizabeth. The same things the Church Authorities told us them. The very same thing, as a matter of fact, that the Lord had spoken before time, and did speak during time.

Foolish man, why couldn’t he see that without God, he is nothing! Why couldn’t he recognize that God’s words were truth and that strict adherence to principles alone could save him? Why, Elizabeth? Why?

—Luacine C. Fox

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