In the Book of Mormon, Nephi listed several of the activities (2 Nephi 5) that he and his people were doing and summed up their lives with “...(we) lived after the manner of happiness.” (2 Nephi 5:27)
This is Nephi’s outlook even though he and his family were told to “...flee into the wilderness...” and start a new community to save their lives. They weren't popular or safe.
I love Nephi’s list. I agree with Nephi’s list. I want to share Nephi’s list. I think it's useful to anyone that wants to incorporate more happiness into their lives.
For the next few weeks, I'll post Nephi's insights along with a comment and picture about how that behavior has also brought me happiness.
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(Unbeknownst to me, our grandson Levin took this picture [including the filter] a couple
of months ago. It depicts repentance to me, for there isn't a day that goes by that my day
doesn't need some correcting done to it. |
Repentance
2 Nephi 5:22 " . . . they shall be loathsome . . . save they shall repent of their iniquities."
Though he was referring to another group of people in this verse, the truth applies to all of us. Repentance is the quickest way I know to drop 100 pounds. The relief the Atonement of Jesus Christ brings when we repent is glorious.
I've shared this experience before, but it taught me so clearly about sin and repentance I'd like to post it again.
We had two service stations close to where we lived. Hollister, Idaho, population 87, supported Dude’s and Monte’s. Dude’s was on one side of the highway and Monte’s was on the other. Our family shopped at Dude’s. I don’t ever remember my parents stepping foot on Monte’s gravel. However, one summer when my grandmother and aunt came to visit I went with them to gas up Aunt Cleo’s car. They pulled into Monte’s because the gas was cheaper by one penny—I think it was 32 cents a gallon. I felt like a traitor being on the other side of the road and hoped Dude didn’t see us and tell my dad. Just being at Monte's felt daring and a bit sinful.
I went to Monte’s one other time. Every Tuesday morning in the summer we went to Primary (a church program for children). Each child took a few pennies to Primary and put them in a box for the Primary Children’s Hospital in SLC, Utah. We had a Primary rule that you could not leave the church grounds, but the church didn’t have penny candy and pop, Dude’s and Monte’s did. However, they were down the road from the church and therefore off limits . . . and a sore temptation.
This particular Tuesday morning, (I must have been about five years old) I decided to save my penny and not put it in the sick children’s box, but go to the store and buy a little black licorice candy instead. When our leaders dismissed us for classes, I sneaked out the door and headed for Monte’s. Even though our family always shopped at Dude’s, Dude’s was on the other side of the highway from the church and since I knew I wasn’t supposed to cross the road by myself, I took my penny to Monte’s. I panicked, however, when I got in his unfamiliar store because no one was inside. Monte must have been out back doing his chores so the store was silent, except for me helping myself to the jar on the counter. I waited with my candy, but no one came. I feared they would miss me at Primary if I didn’t hurry back, but still no one came to take my penny and I was not going to leave without my piece of candy—it had taken too much thought to get it. I waited a few more moments and then finally put my penny on the counter and started to leave. When I got to the door, I realized someone might take my penny then it would be like I stole the licorice baby, so I turned around and picked up the penny and got more frightened and confused on what I should do. Then, I had a great idea: I would put the coin in the bottom of the Reeses’ candy bar box. When the last Reeses was gone and Monte was ready to throw the box away, he’d find my penny. I dropped the coin in the box and covered it under a candy bar and hurried outside. The minute I hit the bright sunshine I wanted to melt and hide. I knew I’d done wrong.
I hurried through the crested-wheat borrow-pit back to the church and was met at the door by Elsie and Vera, two of our Primary leaders. They asked me if I’d been to the store and I said that I had. They asked me why, and I blurted, “I had to buy mustard for my mom.” They told me to run along and play baseball with the other children, but I didn’t feel like it. I felt so ashamed I went straight to the car, hid behind the seat and pulled my sweater over my head and waited till Primary was over. I didn’t play outside at home for the rest of the day, either.
That incident haunted me for years. Many times when we drove by the weigh station (which my brother told me had a holding cell in it for criminals and thieves) I worried they’d sense a thief in the car and chase us down so they could lock me up. I worried I’d get to heaven and Jesus would be ashamed of me and say He never knew me. Sometimes I could forget about the penny and candy, but then Susie, our Sunday school teacher would recite some dreadfully, scary poem like the “Jabberwocky” and I’d remember all over again and wonder what hell would feel like. I never told a soul about my stolen licorice candy.
Finally, when I was
seventeen I went to Monte and, with a dime for inflation, told him what I'd done and apologized. It was a huge relief to let the air out of that secret. Somehow when I was holding it by myself it kept expanding, the minute I repented and told Monte it went back down to a size I could carry.
A few years ago, Calvin and I stopped at an old fashioned candy store with barrels and barrels of obsolete candy. I found the little licorice candies and bought some, wondering if they were as good as I had remembered. No, they were not. They were terrible. However, I still keep those licorice candy in my drawer at work to remind me that sin, no matter how small, does not bring happiness. Not one bit.
