|
 The weather’s startin’ to turn cold up here around Squirrel, Idaho, and that means ol’ Rulon’s got one thing and one thing only on his mind and that’s spuds. Now, I don’t mean like what you’re probably thinkin’, or like Sister Wesson said the other day that made her laugh so hard she coughed up half a sandwich.
“I always knew you had mashed taters in your head,” she said, and a moment later, up came that chicken salad. There’s things a man ain’t gonna put up with in his own house, know what I mean?
Here at the Wesson place, we got about 75 acres in potatoes this year, and it’s getting high time to start bringin’ ‘em in. Me an’ the boys in the Squirrel 2nd Ward High Priests Quorum been helpin’ each other haul spuds for ‘bout as long as I can remember. Last week, we was over to Lester Baumgartner’s place, knockin’ down the vines, when suddenly I realized that what we were doing was just the same as what Heavenly Father wants us doing to the Gentiles. When I seen that, I had to climb down off the tractor and set a spell, ponderin’ the wonders of God.
See, with potatoes, before you harvest ‘em, you have to kill the vines, and to do that, you spray ‘em with sulfuric acid. That makes that big ol’ leafy green plant just up and wither away, leavin’ them tubers fat, dumb, and sassy in the ground, just waitin’ for ol’ Rulon to come along and dig ‘em up.
The way I see it, that’s just what the Good Lord has in mind for His missionaries here on earth. People who ain’t got the gospel are just like them spuds. All you see on the outside is useless stuff like the long hair and earrings on men who got no business looking like a girl, and girls in their short-waisted jeans and belly shirts what got no business looking like a prostitute. None a that is useful, and neither are their bad habits, like smokin’, drinkin’ coffee, and cheering for Notre Dame. As far as the Lord is concerned, all a that’s just junk.
But underneath that garbage, there’s a nugget worth keeping. That’s what the Church is supposed to be about—helping to bring those potatoes out of the mud they’re wallowin’ in and on to the Lord’s buffet table—scrubbed, peeled, and purified. So the way I see it, as a Mormon, it’s your duty and obligation to spray your neighbors with Spiritual Acid.
Now before I get into all kinds a trouble ‘cause some fool went and sprayed his neighbors with not-so-spiritual acid, like sulfuric, let me tell you what I’m talking about. Think of it this way. Next time you’re at the gas station, and one of them smart-alecky young punks pulls up with his rap music thumpin’ loud enough to kill cockroaches, just throw a Book of Mormon in their window. You’ll be amazed at the look on their face when you spray ‘em with that kind of powerful Spiritual Acid. You might see the earrings fall out. Their tattoos might just fade away right before your very eyes.
Or you can do what ol’ Rulon does whenever the Jehovah’s Witnesses come to my door. “Get the hell out of here,” I shout, waving my 12 gauge, “else I’ll pull this here trigger and spray your hides with Spiritual Lead!” Spiritual Lead’s about the same as Spiritual Acid, but I reserve it for the really hopeless cases. Keep in mind that the Lord relies on His foot soldiers to do the dirty work, so don’t be shirkin’ your responsibilities! Put yer shoulder to the wheel, that’s what I always say!
Now Sister Wesson, she has her own way, and while I hate to admit it, she often does a better job of knockin’ down the spiritual vines. She’s been known to take a loaf of fresh bread to our Baptist neighbors down the road a spell, and though they ain’t been baptized Mormons just yet, still, they ain’t burned my barn like some of the ungrateful people ol’ Rulon’s tried to help. Some folks got no appreciation for what the Lord’s servants are called upon to do.
We live in wicked times, brothers and sisters, and the Lord’s Spudyard is gettin’ overgrown with the vines of the world. Trust ol’ Rulon when he says it’s time to do our duty and bring them taters in. Like the Book a Mormon says, “The field is all green, ready to spray with acid,” or words to that affect. So get out there and knock those worldly vines down. I promise that if you do, you’ll be having spuds of an eternal kind at the Lord’s table by and by. Be careful not to get any acid on yourself, though. Hurts like hell.
|
