Gospel Story Finder

Another one of the stake’s service projects was St. Francis Care Centre, a hospice and palliative care for persons suffering from life-threatening and life-limiting conditions. Members participated in some much-needed garden work at the centre, before returning for a play date.

Four months ago, in my study of the scriptures, I was reading about Alma’s mission in Ammonihah when I came across this suggestion in Come, Follow Me: “As you read about the great blessings God gave the people of Nephi (see Alma 9:19–23), ponder the great blessings He has given you.” I decided to make a list of God’s blessings to me and record it in my digital version of the manual. In a matter of minutes, I had listed 16 blessings.
Foremost among them were the great blessings of the Savior’s mercy and atoning sacrifice on my behalf. I also wrote of the blessing I had to represent the Savior as a young missionary in Portugal and, later, with my loving eternal companion, Patricia, in the Brazil Porto Alegre South Mission, where we served with 522 powerful and wonderful missionaries. Speaking of Patricia, many of the blessings I recorded that day are blessings we have enjoyed together throughout our 40 years of marriage—including our sealing in the São Paulo Brazil Temple, our three wonderful children, their spouses, and our 13 grandchildren.
That simple suggestion in Come, Follow Me to think about my blessings brought a sweet spirit and some unexpected spiritual insights. As I continued reading about Alma and his ministry in Ammonihah, I discovered that Alma provides a good example of what it means to ask, seek, and knock. We read that “Alma labored much in the spirit, wrestling with God in mighty prayer, that he would pour out his Spirit upon the people.” That prayer, however, was not answered the way he hoped, and Alma was cast out of the city. “Weighed down with sorrow,” Alma was about to give up, when an angel delivered this message: “Blessed art thou, Alma; therefore, lift up thy head and rejoice, for thou hast great cause to rejoice.” The angel then told him to return to Ammonihah and try again, and Alma “returned speedily.”

When I was 17, my oldest brother, John, passed away. He was only 27 and left behind a wife and young son. I could not have endured through this tragedy without the scriptures to lead and guide my life.
If you have ever had anyone close to you pass away, then you know the pain that strikes in every part of your being. It hurts for a long time. Even though we learn to be happy again and move on, no matter how much time passes, there’s still a pain.
When my brother passed away, I learned that it was OK to let myself hurt. It was OK to be sad. I didn’t need to be so strong all of the time. Sometimes there are challenges where we have to rely on others. And I learned I had to rely on the Lord.
About nine months before my brother passed away, I had prayed to my Heavenly Father to find a scripture I could use as a theme in my life that year. I was reading my scriptures and came across Proverbs 3:5: “Trust in the Lord with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding.”
This scripture struck me with such force that I knew this was supposed to be my theme scripture for that year. For the next nine months, I tried to “trust in the Lord.” In every experience I went through, those words would echo in my mind.
About a week after John’s death, the words in Proverbs echoed in my mind again, and I realized why the Lord wanted me to practice trusting in Him. When my brother passed away, I could have asked my Heavenly Father, “Why? Why did this have to happen to us?” But that question never crossed my mind, because for nine months the Lord had been preparing me to trust in Him. Instead, I was ready to bring comfort to other family members around me who needed it. I felt the peace that comes from the knowledge that family is eternal, and I knew that I hadn’t seen John for the last time. Although at times I feel that pain that comes from losing someone you love, I know that my family can be together again after this life. This scripture in Proverbs brought me hope, peace, and guidance in a time of great need.

I pray to Heavenly Father so I can feel better and make my inferiority my strength. I try not to be too concerned about what other people say. I believe that everybody has a gift. We just have to find it by putting every effort into doing so. The best I can do is to live with faith in Christ, trusting in Him. That’s how I can have peace in my heart.
Srinakorn Supakote, 18, Korat Branch, Khon Kaen Thailand District

Consider one example of a consequence of deprivation. Some, doctrinally perplexed, lament, “If God is good and all powerful, why does He permit so much human suffering? Why does He allow so much evil to be in the world He created?” A very prominent religious leader in England several decades ago spoke of this with unusual candor: “All of my life I have struggled to find the purpose of living. I have tried to answer three questions which always seemed to be fundamental: the problem of eternity; the problem of human personality; and the problem of evil. I have failed. I have solved none of them. … And I believe no one will ever solve them.”

“Tonight for our family home evening activity, we’re going to weed Sister Lee’s garden,” Dad announced at dinner.
Preston liked going to Sister Lee’s house. She had chickens and roosters and yummy berries growing in her garden.
After dinner Preston helped his family load shovels and rakes in the back of the van.
On the drive to Sister Lee’s house, Mom asked, “Why is service so important?”
Preston thought for a moment. He wasn’t quite sure.
“It makes you feel good,” Preston’s older brother said.
“That’s true,” Mom said. “Any other ideas? Does anyone remember the scripture we just memorized together? ‘When ye are in the service of your fellow beings …’”
The rest of the family joined in. “‘Ye are only in the service of your God’” (Mosiah 2:17).
“That’s right,” Mom said. “It’s from King Benjamin’s speech to his people. Preston, can you think of any other reasons why we serve?”
Preston thought of the comic book he had read that morning, the one about the boy dressed in a cape, saving the world. Superheroes did good things for other people. “Serving is like being a superhero!” he said.
Dad smiled. “You’re right. It is like being a superhero. You’re saving the day when you serve.”
They arrived at Sister Lee’s house. Preston liked the idea of being a superhero. He flew out of the car, grabbed a pair of gloves, and super-sprinted toward the garden.
First Sister Lee showed everyone the new baby chicks. Then the family got to work. There were hundreds and hundreds of weeds. They were the biggest weeds Preston had ever seen!
He imagined those weeds as evil forces, attacking the innocent tomato plants. Using his super strength, it was easy to pull the weeds out of the ground. He could feel his muscles getting stronger as he shook the dirt loose from the roots and threw the weeds in a pile.
Some of the weeds were too tough to pull by hand. Preston pulled out his super-power shovel, the one with the red blade. He jumped on the back with both his feet. The blade sunk deep into the dirt, and weeds came out even faster. The pile of pulled weeds grew until it was almost as tall as Preston!
Finally Sister Lee said, “That’s great! Come pick some berries, and then we’ll have a treat.”
Preston’s superhero strength was almost gone. With the last of his energy, he helped pick gooseberries, raspberries, and currants. Then Sister Lee brought out three different ice-cream flavors. Preston chose chocolate.
They were tired, but Preston felt good inside.
“Thank you so much for your service,” Sister Lee said. “You did in one hour what would have taken me a whole week.”
Preston smiled and licked his ice-cream cone.
Having super powers not only felt great. It tasted great too!

Look at the carousel of my mind, Lord—
colored horses, brass rings,
dreams, illusions—
waiting for a summer day that never comes,
a people never known,
a love never shared.
Around,
around,
around
it goes—
but where?
I am a blue-eyed damsel in distress,
falling deeper,
deeper,
and deeper
into this unreal world
safe only to the mind
that knows not only
where it’s at
but where it’s going.
Lord, everything is uptight—
youth searching frantically for
truth,
justice,
equality;
generations war over the same words:
love,
God,
life.
Where do I go from here?
God help me.
Do you know what it feels like to be alone all of the time? to move from day to day on a psychedelic crutch? to want so much to belong, but not knowing to what, or why? to pour out your soul to itself and feel no closer to an answer than you did the last time? to die alone …
About this time a year ago, give or take a few hours, I was somewhere in California, stoned out of my mind on something or other. I was living away from home in the fabricated world of a drug freak, filled with illusions. What was around me was not what I was looking for. Granted, I didn’t know what it was that I searched for, but I did know that I hadn’t found it.
In the hip sense, I was free. I dropped a little acid here, a little mesc there. I walked the streets and jived with the folk. I thought I knew where things were at.
As I kept telling myself, “You’re happy,” I wondered why I had to work so hard to convince myself. I had become dependent on something outside of myself. As I drew more into the scene, I grew away from my friends.
Where am I? What am I? Who am I? I was haunted day and night by these questions, and day by day I was led further from the answers.
One night as I walked the streets under the influence of only-my-pusher-knew-what, I made a discovery. In the midst of this freedom the only thing I was acquiring was death. And I stood alone, suffocating in my solitude.
I used to get high on people until I dropped those magic pills and flew into a temporary fantasy world where escape was supposed to be but wasn’t. I knew that somewhere out there was a warm, tender, feeling person—but where? The world felt sad that night. Maybe tomorrow would feel happy. But what if it didn’t? Would I crawl into my shell again? leave reality again? I felt dehumanized, desensitized, unable to cope with the reality around me because I wasn’t touching it.
Someone once told me that to find peace you must expand your world of experiences and take it into your soul. It all had to do with finding an ultimate spiritual freedom.
I was raised a Catholic. As a matter of fact, I was about to join the convent after high school, but some friends talked me out of it. So as an alternative I wandered into the world I had been sheltered from all my life. I saw violence and hate and wickedness, and like anyone who has never been forced to work at having faith in his ideas, I began to question and doubt … and finally fell. I rationalized everything I did, bringing my ideals down to the level of my actions.
In a letter to an old friend, I wrote: “There is much that is pushing its way through my head—so much that I am getting lost. Much that is almost disastrous has happened since I came here—and I can’t quite describe the experience. It’s like there have been brief moments of joy, but nothing strong enough to compensate for my confused mind. I feel that the harder I try to figure myself out, the farther I fall into the pit. There is something lacking. I am not at peace, and I wonder if I ever will be. But I guess it’s the struggle that makes the victory relevant. Someday . …”
That someday came much sooner than I expected. As I sat in my room listening to a few tunes, I remembered an old friend. Was she in town? To my surprise she was at home with her husband and newly arrived baby.
That afternoon as we sat together, catching up on the years we had been apart, we began talking about alternatives: What did I want? Where was I headed? How was I going to get there? I didn’t have the answers. I was still looking. Then my friend’s husband, a convert to the Mormon Church, told me what it was like to feel that you had a place and a mission and a destiny. He told me that he knew who he was and why he was here because he had discovered the truth in his church. Could this be?
Later that same evening I had a date with a Latter-day Saint friend from my high school days. Before going to the show we stopped at his bishop’s house and somehow got back to a discussion of alternatives. We talked about goals and methods of achieving those goals. There was talk about the Church and what it meant to have a real testimony of the gospel. I didn’t understand.
During the show all I could think about were those beautiful, happy people I had met. I wanted to taste some of the happiness they felt. But how?
The next day my friend and I went back to the bishop’s home. We talked again and saw the film, “Man’s Search for Happiness.” As we prepared to leave, the bishop’s wife came up to me and challenged me to read the scriptures and pray. There is a wonderful promise in the Book of Mormon, she said. “And when ye shall receive these things, I would exhort you that ye would ask God, the Eternal Father, in the name of Christ, if these things are not true; and if ye shall ask with a sincere heart, with real intent, having faith in Christ, he will manifest the truth of it unto you, by the power of the Holy Ghost.
“And by the power of the Holy Ghost ye may know the truth of all things.” (Moro. 10:4–5.)
Pray? What a strange thing to say. Would God really listen to me? But I really didn’t have anything to lose. I knelt down to pray that night for the first time in years. It was the most difficult thing that I had ever done.
Where shall I go from here? What shall I do? Can I be forgiven? Can I start over again? These questions rolled over and over in my mind. Then I remembered what my friend’s husband had said earlier about the Church—and what the bishop’s wife had said about the scriptures. Something kept saying, “Try it out; you don’t have anything to lose.”
The next day, through the bishop, I met a girl who was to become one of my closest and dearest friends. Gail is one of those people you like instantly. She is honest, trustful, and untiring. From her I learned about the Prophet Joseph Smith and his revelations. I learned about how important the family is in the eternal perspective. I learned what it means to be truly committed. As each new idea was presented, something inside me kept saying, “Yes, this is right.”
It wasn’t a loud, crashing voice but a peaceful feeling that came as I realized where things really were at. It was like the feeling I used to have as a child kneeling by my bed in prayer. It was like the feeling I have when my parents tell me they love me. It was a feeling of belonging.
I attended my first Mormon meeting the following day. It was fast Sunday. As I became involved in what was going on around me, I realized that I couldn’t deny the Church any more than any of those who got up and told how the gospel was the driving force in their lives. I knew at that moment what I wanted. And I knew that my search was finally over.
Less than a week later I was baptized. As the date of my baptism approached, I became more and more nervous. I realized that the commitment I was making was more than a superficial promise to try something out and see if it worked. I knew that this would be a total commitment to a way of life. I tried to find excuses for not believing, but I couldn’t. The big question in my mind was, “Will I have enough strength?”
The feeling I had when I was baptized is extremely difficult to put into words. It was like everything had drained out of me. It was a clean, almost empty feeling. I staggered into the dressing room, fell on my knees, and cried uncontrollably. I can’t remember what I felt. Perhaps relief. We all act in response to the faith and love that has been given to us. My parents had always had faith in me and love for me despite my sometimes erratic behavior. Now I was becoming the person my parents had prepared me to be. I remember wanting so much to share that moment with them.
That night I thought, today really is the first day of the rest of my life. But tomorrow is going to be just as important, because each day has been given to me as a special gift. I’ll keep my good ideals but with a new realism that comes from the knowledge of past experiences. I have gone one step further, not by my own ability, but by a knowledge of the Spirit of God as it influences everything I do.
God lives—and cares. I know that now. And now, finally, I can live—with a little help from my friends.

While the Prophet respected young people, he expected them to behave respectably. Goudy E. Hogan, as a fourteen-year-old, sat behind Joseph Smith during a Sunday meeting in the grove near the Nauvoo Temple. He watched while the Prophet interrupted the elder who was speaking and told the congregation that “he wished some of those young men on the outside of the congregation that were making disturbance by talking loud to the young ladies would not do so but wait and go to their homes and speak to them by the consent of their parents.” Evidently the disturbance continued, so Joseph walked down through the congregation to talk to the youths. “There was no more disturbance in that meeting,” added Hogan.

The van and the truck pulling the canoe trailer turned into the parking lot at the edge of the national forest. The big Duluth packs, specially made for canoeing and portaging, were unloaded. Next were the canoes. The thought of carrying everything the girls needed to set up camp, their food and clothes, and their canoes and paddles was a bit daunting. There was a lot to learn in a short time.
First order of the day was learning to carry the canoes over their heads. Even at 70 pounds apiece, the canoes were heavy and awkward, but the girls were grateful for modern technology that made possible sturdy but lightweight aluminum canoes. Brenda Crepeau and the Young Women president, Dawna Rice, were the first to try carrying a canoe. Together they picked the canoe up and balanced it on their hips for a moment. Then on the count of three they lifted it above their heads. Suddenly, it became apparent that this simply was not going to work. Brenda was facing one way and Dawna the other. Each thought she was in front and tried to walk forward only to be jerked to a halt. When they realized their problem, both started laughing so hard they had to drop the canoe.

I am a missionary for our Lord Jesus Christ. I am serving in the great country sometimes known as the Land Down Under (Australia). I have always enjoyed the New Era and Ensign magazines, but I didn’t ever appreciate them as much as I do now. I love the Missionary Focus department of the New Era. I don’t get the New Era on a regular basis, so I really look forward to seeing a copy. As a missionary, there are many times when I get depressed, but reading in Missionary Focus about the different way people do missionary work is the best way I know to get myself motivated to go out and do it again. I also learn that there is nothing we can’t overcome. I especially liked the Missionary Focus “Captive Missionary” in the April issue. We can be missionaries anywhere if our hearts are right.
Elder Daniel A. WashburnAustralia Melbourne Mission

Tom served a mission in the northern United States. Soon after that he joined the United States Marine Corps during World War II. One of his missionary companions also joined the marines. Together they taught other marines the gospel. Some even joined the Church!

Lucy Mack Smith spoke in general conference in 1845, after all of the Book of Mormon witnesses in her family had died of illness or been killed. She told a story from her son Samuel’s first mission.

Samuel, one of the Eight Witnesses, visited the home of Rhoda Greene, whose husband was on a mission for another church. Samuel asked Rhoda if she would like a book. “It is a Book of Mormon that my Brother Joseph translated from plates out of the ground,” he explained.

Rhoda accepted a copy of the book to read and show her husband. When Samuel returned later, Rhoda told him her husband had no interest, and she could not buy the book. Sad, Samuel took the book and began to leave. Rhoda later told Lucy that Samuel then paused and looked at her. “She never saw a man look so,” Lucy said in her conference talk. “She knew that he had the Spirit of God.”

“The Spirit forbids me taking this book,” Samuel told Rhoda, who knelt and asked Samuel to pray with her. She kept the book, read it, and received a testimony of it. So, eventually, did her husband. They chose to abide by its precepts throughout their lives.

“And thus the work began,” Lucy testified, “and then it spread like a mustard seed.”10

Let me contrast her painful despair with another family’s hope in Christ during a heartbreaking time.
Twenty-one years ago the newborn son of my nephew Ben Andersen and his wife, Robbie, was life-flighted from their Idaho farming community to Salt Lake City. I arrived at the hospital, and Ben explained the severe, life-threatening complications with their baby’s heart. We placed our hands on Trey’s tiny head. The Lord blessed him with continued life.
Trey had heart surgery the first week of his life, and more surgeries followed. As the years passed, it became apparent that Trey would need a heart transplant. Although his physical activities were limited, his faith expanded. He wrote, “I have never felt sorry for myself because I have always known the importance of having faith in Jesus Christ and a testimony of the plan of salvation.”
Trey kept on his phone this well-known quote from President Nelson: “The joy we feel has little to do with the circumstances of our lives and everything to do with the focus of our lives.”
Trey wrote: “I have always looked forward to serving a full-time mission, but … my doctors won’t let me serve a mission until at least a year after my transplant. … I’ve put my faith in Jesus Christ.”
Trey was excited at being accepted into the accounting major at BYU beginning this semester, but even more excited in late July when he received the very anticipated telephone call to come to the hospital for his heart transplant.
“One year,” Trey said, “and I will be on my mission.”
There were great expectations as he entered the operating room. However, during the surgery there were devastating complications, and Trey never regained consciousness.
His mother, Robbie, said: “Friday had been the most heartbreaking day … just trying to wrap our minds around it. … I had stayed up late just trying to process everything. … But Saturday, I woke up with a feeling of absolute joy. It wasn’t just peace; it wasn’t denial. I felt joy for my son, and I felt joy as his mother. … Ben had gotten up a lot earlier than me, and when we finally got a chance to talk, Ben had awakened with the exact same feeling.”
Ben explained: “Clarity came to my soul as God taught me through His Holy Spirit. I awoke at 4:00 a.m. and was filled with indescribable peace and joy. How is this possible? … The passing of Trey is so very painful, and I miss him so much. But the Lord does not leave us comfortless. … I look forward to a joyful reunion.”
Trey had noted in his journal these words from President Nelson’s general conference talk: “It doesn’t seem possible to feel joy when your child suffers with an incurable illness or when you lose your job or when your spouse betrays you. Yet that is precisely the joy the Savior offers. His joy is constant, assuring us that our ‘afflictions shall be but a small moment’ [Doctrine and Covenants 121:7] and be consecrated to our gain.”

“We have some great nonmember neighbors, and we decided to invite them to dinner on a Monday night, and then we casually asked them if they would like to participate in our family home evening. We had a great time getting to know one another, and they were impressed by the spiritual quality of our evening and the closeness that such a night can bring to a family. Inviting nonmembers to share a family home evening with you can be great fun and can work as a great missionary tool.”

A reported 60,000 members filled Pacaembu Stadium, while thousands more watched via satellite around the country, as more than 8,000 local Saints and 1,200 missionaries sang and danced in celebration of the São Paulo Brazil Temple’s rededication on 21 February.

A continuous rain failed to thin the crowd as dancers in traditional costumes, a 1,200-voice choir from 60 stakes, and giant props such as animals, soccer players, and other puppets performed.

The 1 1/2-hour show took four months to prepare and required several hundred volunteers involved with planning, security, cleanup, and medical assistance.

One night I went in my parents’ bedroom to ask my dad something, but he was kneeling in prayer, so I left and returned a few minutes later to find him in the same position. I decided to get ready for bed, thinking he would surely be done praying when I was finished with my bedtime routine. I returned to my parents’ bedroom about 10 minutes later to find him still praying! Seeing that example from my father strengthened my testimony. He was truly pouring his heart out in prayer to Heavenly Father.

In December 1830, the Church was commanded to “assemble together at the Ohio.” (D&C 37:3.) Newel Knight said that this entailed the sacrifice of their property. Newel sold 60 acres, Freeborn DeMille 61 acres, Aaron Culver 100 acres, and Father Knight 140 acres, with “two dwelling houses, a good barn, and a fine orchard.” Led by Newel, sixty-two Knight relations moved to Ohio as part of the first gathering. Unlike other Church units, the Colesville Branch remained intact.

I’ve had many problems with my temper. I used to yell at people because I thought they were such idiots. My temper had a very short fuse. The way I overcame my “short fuse” was by reading the Book of Mormon, writing my feelings down on paper, and making a conscious effort to change. After about a week, I could tell that I wasn’t getting mad at people nearly as often.
Elder John O. Leyer, 19Indianapolis, Indiana

A few months before Cécile’s first visit to Banipur in 1986, a local welfare organization had managed to build a poultry yard with 120 hens, which provided each of the eight hundred ashram children with one egg per week. The eggs were a valuable source of protein in a food diet made up exclusively of rice and roots dug up in the jungle. Unfortunately, by the time Cécile arrived, the hens were dying.
“When I returned to France,” Cécile says, “I decided that if I went back to Banipur, I would build a poultry yard, because it was vital for the children. The conditions there had moved me so deeply that I knew I had to find a way to get back again to help in some real way.”
It took five months for Cécile to recover from paratyphoid. But “as soon as I felt better, I resumed my work and started saving money. But it did not take me long to realize that my personal means would not be sufficient. I prayed and asked Heavenly Father to help me,” she says. “And I felt that I should tell my family, friends, and fellow Church members about my project. At a party at my place, many of them—without previously consulting each other—gave me envelopes containing money for food, for the hens, and for the general welfare of the children. I was deeply moved by their confidence and their love.”
Next, she told her stake president, Daniel Pichot, about her project. “He advised me to write a letter to the members of the stake and tell them about my project in Banipur. Three days later, I received with emotion a check from the stake. It was the proceeds of the stake’s ‘drop of water’ campaign—voluntary contributions that had been collected during a stake fast to help relieve misery in the world. Stake leaders had now decided that the money would be used for the poultry yard.”
The following September, Cécile was back in Banipur. There, she bought 120 laying hens, 120 chickens that would start laying eggs five months later, enough building materials for a poultry yard, enough grain to feed the hens for a year, and thirty laying ducks—whose droppings would feed the fish in a nearby pond. With the rest of the money, she bought enough powdered milk to last the children in the ashram six months.
Cécile had asked French poultry experts for advice on how to manage the poultry yard. Thanks to their help, the Banipur hens now lay hard-shelled eggs, which is unprecedented in the area.
Through this emergency hunger-relief action, Cécile taught principles of self-reliance: “Now the children are responsible for the good care of the poultry yard. They collect and count the eggs; they all have tasks, even the youngest. And they are learning to be responsible for one another—because in an ashram there are only two adults in charge and three handicapped cooks for one hundred children.”

When I began teaching at the University of Kansas City in 1940, I spent a lot of time on the trains, going back and forth between Kansas City and Chicago. My salary just about kept the Atchison, Topeka, and Santa Fe rolling. I would often find myself in the club car with the world’s traveling salesmen. They meet there. They would begin a ritual—a very tight ritual. It always seemed to have the same opening phrase. They would say, “What are you in?”
One man would say he was in glue, and they would talk about that for a while. Another man would say he was in brass doorknobs, and they would talk about brass doorknobs for a while.
Then they would turn to me and say, “What are you in?”
At first I used to invent things. I had a feeling that it would take too much explanation to tell a club car full of salesmen that I was a poet.
But one day, for the fun of it, when the question came to me, “What are you in?” I said, “I am a poet.”
I found that it took very little explanation. As a matter of fact, there was a long silence, in which people detached and regrouped. After a suitable interval, I went into the main body of the car and sat down. Soon a salesman slid into the seat next to mine and began talking in a low voice. He had something that he wanted to say to me that he could not say to other salesmen. This experience was repeated many times. Often the salesman would have a poem in his wallet. I think I have seen some of the world’s most miserable and most uninspired poems out of the wallets of salesmen.
Always they would make the terrifying mistake that all bad, over-enthusiastic poets make—the assumption that if the subject is large enough, it does not matter whether or not the poem is good. If you can just take the largest possible subject and begin the poem “Truth is … , “Beauty is … ,” “Life is … ,” you have got to end up beautiful. I am afraid such a poem is more likely to be a disaster. The size of the poem is not determined by the size of the subject. It is determined by the size of the mind that is trying to enclose it. The value of a science is not decided by the size of the subject it studies. Otherwise microbiologists would be insignificant people and only geologists would really count. They deal with mountains and whole continents.