From the Improvement Era, January 1953 –

Trouble Insurance for Bob

By Lucille Harvey Walker

Myra Anderson walked more slowly along the wintry streets as she neared her home. The ache in her heart kept her from her usual enjoyment of the sparkling beauty of moonlight-jeweled snow. The hour at sacrament meeting had not brought its customary peace to her troubled spirit; in fact, the speaker’s message had only made her problem stand out in sharp silhouette. If only her husband had been with her, he might have been affected by the message also. But that was just it! He had not been at Church, and he probably would not be therein the future.

The thought of him and Babs, their fifteen-year-old daughter, sprawled comfortably in the living room at home, watching television, gave her anxiety a painful twinge as acute as if someone had bumped a sore spot, but this twinge would not be over in a moment – not until her problem was solved.

She must be careful not to allude to the family disagreement that occurred before church. Hashing things over never did any good – just made Fred more antagonistic.

how she hated discord! Yet it seemed to be a common thing in the Anderson home of late, especially since Christmas. Fred claimed it was her fault; perhaps hew as right. Certainly she had only aggravated their chronic differences with her latest appeal. As quietly and tactfully as she could, she had said: “Fred, let’s use the money you were going to spend for some of the luxuries we don’t need for Christmas to pay our tithing for the year. It hurts me to know we haven’t paid a dollar. now that our Bob is in Korea, and we have need of so many blessings, I thought you might feel like paying something to the Lord.”

She might have known that mentioning tithing would be like throwing a lighted match into a bed of dry weeds. Sparks flew in all directions. Fred was not often so explosive. “Good heavens, Myra, are you starting to tell me how to spend my time and my money? You know how I feel about tithing: I don’t believe in it. My folk were so religious – made me pay a tenth of every cent I got and dragged me to church with them while I was a kid. I vowed I’d not do either one when I got to be my own boss. now you are starting on me. The Church doesn’t need our money. I’m no tightwad, but I like to put my money where I can see that it does some good. Isn’t it more important to love your neighbors and try to help them?”

Myra had to admit that Fred did help his neighbors. He was very generous with everyone, except the church. Look how he’d helped her widowed sister’s family, and bought coal for poor old Sister Peterson, and bought crutches for the Haskell boy who was crippled with polio. He’d even paid part of his assessment on the new chapel; said he didn’t mind paying that, because he knew what it was to be used for. Fred was a fine man, but so stubborn! If only she could help him see the great good the church was doing with the tithing – things individuals couldn’t possibly do! Why couldn’t he understand that people owed tithing for the blessings they’d received? How had she bungled the job of trying to influence him? Now he seemed to close his mind and heart every time she mentioned the controversial subject. And she had failed with her son, Too. Bob had been faithful in his Church duties until he grew up, then he seemed to incline to his father’s viewpoint. “What’s good enough for Dad, is good enough for me,” he often said, when he wanted to go fishing with his dad on Sunday. Fred had such a way with young folk. What a leader in the church he might become, if he once got started.

It used to be that Fred had been willing to go to church with her part of the time, but now he would not leave his favorite television programs. When she had urged him to accompany her tonight, he had refused, saying he would get more enjoyment out of staying home; TV had better speakers and better music. it was no use trying to help him see that the purpose of church services was not to provide entertainment, but to give spiritual food, to partake of the sacrament, to gain fresh resolves to live better, and greater strength to carry out those resolves. to all these explanations, Fred would simply say in his teasing, good-natured way: “I seem to have heard all this before, my dear little broken record.”

What made tonight’s episode so disturbing was that Babs, who had generally been so faithful in church activities, had decided to stay home with her father. “Gee, Mom,” she said, “I want to see the rest of this program. You ought to see it, too; it’s a scream.”

So Myra had gone to church alone. The speaker emphasized the necessity of obeying God’s commandments as the only effective defense in these perilous times, and suggested that judging by the small percent of the ward’s membership in attendance, not many people believed in this kind of defense. Myra felt as if salt were being rubbed into her sore spirit.

Fred hardly took his eyes from the screen as she entered the living room. In his pleasant, casual manner he asked: “how was church? Plenty of uplift?”

Myra carefully removed her coat before answering. She wanted so desperately to pass on the important message she had heard, in a way to impress her family. “The speaker was wonderful,” she began. “He made it plain that the only effective defense for a nation, family, or people is in righteous living – keeping God’s commandments.”

Absently Fred dismissed the subject: “Oh, sure, that’s right. But where on earth will you find a more generous and enlightened nation than America, or a finer or better family than ours? You’re good enough to make up for all our shortcomings, isn’t she, Babs?”

Babs grinned at her mother. “Dad’s on the beam, Mom. No need to worry about our family when we have such a swell mom. Only trouble with you is that you take things too seriously.”

There was no humor or happiness in the smile Myra gave them as she went to her room. She must be alone to think things through. How had she failed in her job as mother and wife? Had she, perhaps, been too insistent that her family live their religion? Had she been lacking in tact, or – there must be a way to help them see things in the true light. But how to do it –

She knelt in prayer a long time, putting her perplexities before One who knows all the answers. Comforted and sure that her Heavenly Father would point the way to solve her problem, she got out pen and paper. She would write to Bob. Dear amiable, sensible Bob, who was always ready to help his mom. If he were only here now, perhaps he could tell her how to appeal to his dad. Next best was to talk over her anxieties with him by letter. Her heart warmed as she wrote.

She had finished her letter and was asleep when Fred turned off television and went to bed.

Nearly a month went by – peaceful days with no controversial discussions to mar them. Myra had concluded her problem was too big for her.

It was dinnertime at the Anderson home. Fred had just remarked how queer and quiet it was without Babs or Bob, when Babs rushed in, glowing with adolescent excitement: “Sorry I’m late for chow, Mom. had to practise for the glee club concert. But look what I’ve brought you!” She handed her mother a letter. “I stopped by the post on my way home. Hurry and see if there’s a note in it for me.”

Myra opened the air mail envelope with trembling hands. Unfolding the thin sheets covered with a familiar boyish scrawl, she cried: “Why, Fred, this is just for you. doesn’t say ‘Dear Folks’ as usual. Here –” she handed him the precious papers. “If it isn’t too private, read it out loud.”

Fred looked pleased. “Well, I wonder what’s struck the kid, writin’ just to his old dad?”

He cleared his throat and read: “‘Dear Dad: Don’t die of shock at this request! I don’t usually bother you with my errands, but this is a matter of business, and no one can take care of business deals like my dad.

“‘Been doing a lot of thinking since I landed in Korea. Don’t have much else to do sometimes as I drive Uncle Sam’s big wrecker. Folks in Washington think this is not a real war, but the G.I.’s over here think it’s war’s twin brother – an identical twin, in fact. Guess the Koreans think so, too. Anyway, seeing these poor folks here makes me wish I could take out some kind of trouble insurance. Oh, I know I’ve got G.I. insurance. but that’s not the kind I want. I want a special kind of protection against temptation, sickness, and catastrophe. Don’t want to be like some of the fellows I work with – never think of the Lord till they get in a jam, and then send out a frantic SOS for help. I’m like you, Dad. I don’t want something for nothing, not even from the Lord. Now don’t get me wrong. I’m not asking God to shield me at the expense of my buddies, if some of us have to pay the price of war. But fi my number is called, I want to feel prepared and unafraid. I want the security of knowing I’ve earned the right to ask my Heavenly Father to help me meet any emergency like the man you’d want me to be. Also, I want to feel that god will protect and bless my folks and comfort them, if necessary.

“‘Gee, I didn’t mean this to be a sob story. Don’t get all excited! I’m well and perfectly OK. Just want to be prepared.

“‘Before I left, Mom and I had a wonderful talk about this very thing – insurance. She said it amazed her that good businessmen who were so sold on insurance for their businesses, their cars, their homes, and their lives that they often pay out their last dollar to keep their policies from lapsing, neglected the most vital form of protection – trouble insurance that gives peace and security for this world and the life to come. I mulled this idea over a lot on the boat coming over here – when the waves were too high for comfort! Talked t our chaplain about it, too. He’s a peach of a fellow. Said he was sure Mom was right and had suggested the answer to my problem. So I’ve decided I want that kind of insurance, and it’s up to you, Dad, to help me get it.

“‘When sickness or trouble comes to me or any of my family, I want to feel that we have a policy in force to draw on – that I’ve kept my part of the premiums paid up and am entitled to the help it gives. Only way to get that protection is to pay the price by keeping God’s commandments or requirements – not just one or two, but all of them. Guess I used to be a little like you, Dad, before I thought this through, wanted to live the commandments as I saw fit, and leave out the ones I didn’t like. But that way won’t suit the Maker of the policy.’”

Fred cleared his throat. His voice was husky. “Here,” he said, “read the rest, Mother.”

Myra’s eyes were blurred, but her heart was singing as she finished: “‘I’ve been trying to fill the requirements – you know, being honest, decent, keeping the Word of Wisdom. Tell Mom I’m even trying to love my enemies, my commanding officer included. Been going to L.D.S. service, too. Seems good.

“‘But now comes your part, Dad. I want you to draw $122.00 out of my savings at the bank and pay it to the bishop for my full tithing. Then I’ll be insured. Come what may, the Lord will look after me and bless me as he promised – and my family, too.

“‘Well now, that’s off my mind. There will be peace for me, even if the famous peace talks here are just baloney.

“‘Give Mom and my dopey sis a great big G.I. kiss.

Love, Bob.’”

Myra could hardly read the last words for the lump in her throat. It was a relief to have Babs break the tense moment. “Well, if old Bob hasn’t ‘come to’ at last. What do you know about that!”

Fred was busy wiping his eyes and his glasses. When he could control his voice, he said:

“Know anyone who wants to rent a TV set for Sunday evenings, Babs? We have an appointment to keep at church. Bob’s not going to pay my share of that trouble insurance policy, if I can help it.”