A Baptist Minister Shares His Testimony of The Book of Mormon!

I stumbled upon this interesting article this morning and had to share it with you.  I guarantee it will both surprise and enlighten you!

The Baptist Version
of
The Book of Mormon

Protestant Doctrines within the Book of Mormon

by
Lynn Ridenhour,

Southern Baptist Minister

Book Review - The 4-Hour Work Week

Holy Cow, what a refreshing look and life and living!  I wish I'd read this book 40 years ago!  Of course it wasn't written then. 

The cover picture is a bit of misnomer, because you're not likely to find Timothy Ferriss lying in a hammock somewhere.  If, and that's a pretty big if, you catch up with him somewhere, you're not likely to keep up with him.  He won't be "working" but he will be busy, have purpose, and he will be enjoying life.

Ferriss breaks out of the 9-5 rut in the most exciting imaginative way!  He challenges all norms, not to be contrary, but to find the vitality or lack thereof, in their assumptions.  He just won't tolerate leaks in a bucket that claims to hold water.  Most of us, blindly accept things as they are, even if they're intolerable.  Not Timothy Ferriss, if something doesn't make sense, he finds a way that does.  I have never found so much common sense packed in so few pages.  His notions and approaches are entirely practical, realistic, achievable and moral.  Not only that - it is completely adaptable to your hopes, your dreams, your priorities and your circumstances.  Ferriss is not trying to cast his audience in his own mold.  His objective is to help each of us to shape our own lives into something more individual, fulfilling and authentic.  Like any great innovator, he has identified principles, exemplified practices and freely shared his discoveries with us.

I won't be letting this gem gather dust.  Now that I've read it, its time to dig in and apply its principles in my own approach to life.  You see The 4-Hour Work Week not only instructs, it stands as a reference to which I'll likely refer for the rest of my life.  A life which I expect to be much better for having done so.

Coincidence? I Don't Think So!

I was talking with a young friend yesterday.  She has recently been released from Detention after a fairly lengthy incarceration.  She was anxious about the sudden emergence of temptation.  Temptation that had seemed distant and far from enticing when she was locked up, now is fiercely taunting her.  Having become trusting friends during her imprisonment, she called to see if I might come and help her get past it.  Awareness of the magnitude of the consequences of another slip has checked her inclination to give in and I rejoice over that.  Still she needs a more long term and permanent method, if she is to remain sober and out of trouble.  That she would ask for help is a very hopeful sign.

With her mother just out of ear shot, we sat in the living room of her home for about an hour discussing how we might proceed.  You see, I have been struggling with unusually persistent temptation lately as well.  Both of us are recovering addicts.  Neither of us has enough higher ground under foot, to presume to lift the other.  All we can do is commiserate and try to discover from our successes, how to overcome our failures.

As we spoke, my dear young friend observed that she needs to be occupied doing something productive.  So far, she hasn't got back in school, found a job, committed to attending church.  "Maybe," she said, "I just have too much idle time on my hands."  That really struck a chord with me.  A chord that had sounded in my ear once before on that day.  I'd gone to school to pick up my granddaughter from kindergarten.  I was reading a book while I waited.  The book is about freeing up more time and in the current chapter addresses the very real fact that people who acquire more time (by efficiency, retirement, etc.) often become depressed.  Then the author makes this observation:  "Too much free time is no more than fertilizer for self-doubt and assorted mental tail-chasing.  Subtracting the bad does not create the good.  It leaves a vacuum.  Decreasing income-driven work isn't the end goal.  Living more - and becoming more - is."  Later he says, "Retirees get depressed for a second reason, and you will too: social isolation."  (see The 4- hour Work Week by Timothy Ferriss) Oh, by the way, Sweetie had tried to teach me the same principle the night before!

So here we are, me and my young friend.  Both of us with a pile of free time on our hands, both of us isolated from clusters of friends from our previous situations and both of us - depressed, vulnerable, tempted and full of fear and anxiety.

We both concluded it was time for each of us to start living more and becoming more!

Now, do you not think it interesting that what I had just been taught by Sweetie, what I had just read in the book, what my friend had just observed, and what both of us were currently experiencing should all intersect at the same place and time?  Some would call that coincidence.  I'd rather think a loving Heavenly Father is orchestrating our lives.

Let me share a story from a few years ago.  I was driving for UPS.  One day, in a quite isolated and rural part of my route I was accosted by a little girl.  She said she wanted to grow up to be a UPS driver and asked for my autograph.  I had never been asked for my autograph before.  I didn't know what to make of it.  The little girl seemed desperate for attention and even affection.  That concerned me.  I didn't know if her parents were home.  I didn't feel comfortable encouraging her.  I could see she was desperate for love and all she wanted was a friend.  I just couldn't see how I could appropriately meet her need.  I chose to keep my distance.  As I drove away I studied the situation and concluded that if I encountered her with her pals around, I might be able to reach out a bit more safe and fittingly.

I had a model UPS truck at home and I took it to work intending to find an opportunity to give it to her along with some encouragement.  I carried it a couple of weeks before I encountered her again.  We'll call her Columbine, though that is not her name.  She was walking home from the bus stop with a few other kids and I pulled over.  I told her I was pleased she wanted to grow up to drive for UPS and that I had a little present for her.  I gave her the model package car.  She gave me a quick hug and ran to show her friends.  My prayers for her and my hope for an appropriate way to reach out to a sweet and melancholy child, had been answered.  She seemed so pleased to show her friends that she was important to somebody.  I only saw Columbine a time or two after that.  Her family moved away.  But I often wondered about that pretty little waif who seemed so desperate for love that she would seek it from a stranger.  I suppose, the UPS man seemed like a safe stranger, but still.

Anyway, yesterday, as I drove to see my troubled friend I passed Columbine's house.  I hadn't thought about her and the little UPS truck for years.  It was then it struck me - I was going to see Columbine!  Could they be the same person?  Could she be living in a different house in the same neck of the woods?  She could, and we both shed tears as we discovered that we had been friends much longer than we we'd been aware.  She told me she'd been abandoned by her father and that those were lonely, sad and confusing days.  She showed me she still cherishes her precious little UPS truck.

You might, again, call it coincidence.  But Columbine and I know that there is a third party to our friendship.  A loving Savior, who knows how to succor His children, each of us.

Growing Up In Himni, Utah - Episode 9

School Lunch

School Lunch was popular in the sixties. Oh, there were a few who sneaked off campus for a bottle of pop and a bag of potato chips (corn chips weren’t invented yet), but most of us stood in the lunch line and ate whatever the lunch ladies put on our trays.

A favorite place to socialize was in the lunch line and the lunch room. The food was pretty ordinary, but I thought it tasted great.

I remember standing in lunch line one day a few kids behind Marjorie Green and her girl friends. They were the popular girls of the Senior Class and always wore the most stylish fashions. Marjorie had on a green and orange dress that day. It was sort of a sack dress all pea soup green with a garish orange panel down the front. Separating the green from the orange panel were two large zippers, one down each side. The zipper pulls were two three inch brass rings. They were pretty predominant ornaments at her neckline. We hadn’t been standing there long when Billy Morton and Brock Hoopes walked by. Brock turned aside, walked up to Marjorie, inserted an index finger in each of those rings and pulled them clear down to her hemline where they completely disconnected. The whole orange panel fell to the floor. Bob Jensen, Marjorie’s football hero boyfriend, felled Brock with one punch.

When the pandemonium cleared up the Principal gave Marjorie the worst of it for wearing such a ridiculous outfit to school. “Seems to me,” he said, “She was begging for it.”

Lunch was pretty predictable. There were ten basic meals with few variations. These were cycled through with regularity. Then one day the cooks decided to get creative. They went Mexican. I had never eaten Mexican food. There was no Taco Bell in Himni; infact, I don’t think Utah had one anywhere. I didn’t know a burrito from a canoli. I got exposed to tacos the following summer when my aunt and uncle took me to San Diego for a couple of weeks. At this point in my life, though, this was as exotic as it gets!

As Mitch, Lew and I worked our way past the cooks at the lunch counter, Lew watched Nettie, our favorite cook, slap a large brown gooey looking glob next to the Spanish Rice on Mitch’s tray. He asked, “What is that!?”

“Refried Beans.”

Lew looked up at Nettie, then down at the glob. Then looking back at Nettie asked,”How many times?”

As Lew’s own glob now slowly slid down the front of his shirt, we walked cautiously over to our seats.

By the time we were Seniors, School Lunch was going out of vogue. My gang still ate there regularly, but fewer and fewer joined us. Along about April came National School Lunch Week. We decided in honor of our fair cooks and in order to promote School Lunch, we’d better do something special. We put our heads together and came up with a pretty good gag.

Between us we managed to gather up a complete collection of linen, china, crystal, silver and candelabra. After paying the clerk we ducked out of line and grabbed a table where we set out the whole table setting, lit candles and all. To our amazement, as we turned to go get our food, Nettie appeared at our table with all our food on a huge tray she’d conjured up somewhere. She served us with finesse befitting a king and then to our utter amazement, accepted our invitation to sit and dine with us. She was fine company, but kept picking at our poor table manners.

We had a newcomer in the gang that year. Bob Elkington was an exchange student from New Zealand and had fit right in. We loved trying to mimic his accent. Bob picked up his fork in his left hand, placed the tines, pointed down, on his plate and began stacking potatoes and peas on the back of the fork with his knife. “Mind your manners, Bob,” Nettie scolded, “One day you may eat with the Queen!” Bob replied, without even looking up, “Pahdon me mum, but this is ‘ow the Queen eats.”

Nettie stared resolutely at Bob for about a minute, then quietly switched her fork to the left hand and picked up her knife.