Richer than I You'll Never Be

Late Saturday morning I took all three girls for a walk to Edgerton Park (“The Dog Park”) where we spent an idyllic hour frolicking through wood and meadow, picking flowers and resting in the shade. Lia stayed home and called on all her forest friends to help her clean the house. We were gone about an hour and a half, during which time Lia proudly accomplished all her cleaning goals.

During the walk home Julia offered some extemporaneous class commentary. “Daddy,” she stoutly observed, “we are paupers.”

“Paupers?” I asked.

“Yes, Paupers,” she replied. “Paupers means poor. So we’re paupers.”

This assessment proved an irresistible temptation to moralize.

“Well,” I began, “if by ‘poor’ you mean that we don’t have a lot of money, I suppose we might be considered paupers. But in other ways I feel very rich. I feel rich to have a wonderful wife and three beautiful daughters. I feel rich to have the gospel and I feel rich to be a member of the Church.”

I paused for effect. Julia nodded enthusiastically, as though much impressed by this bold defiance of Babylon and firm resistance to how the world classes wealth. At length she broke the silence.

“Yep,” she agreed, “and do you know what makes you really special?”

“No,” I said. “What makes me really special?”

“You’re the ward mission leader!” she burbled.