Happiness does not consist of how much of the world's goods you own

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And I always tell my young couples like this: that happiness does not consist of how much of the world's goods you own, but how contented you make yourself with the portion that's 'lotted to you. That's right too.

I've seen couples that didn't have nothing. I married a couple here some years ago. I don't know how they ever asked me to marry them, but the boy was a friend of mine. His father worked the public service company with me, very sharp, intelligent-looking young man, and he married a millionaire's daughter. The door knobs was fourteen carat in their home. And I had to practice the ceremonies so long, going back in there, and throwing rice and stuff, and kneeling on a silk pillow. And oh, such a ceremony--

But when I married them, about three months later, my brother said to me, he had a couple that was going to get married, only the boy didn't have enough money to get married on. He had a girl, but he didn't have the money to pay the preacher. And he said, "Well, my brother never charged nobody for nothing."

You know, I'm fifty-one years old, been in ministry thirty-one years, and never took a offering in my life. Never took a off-- Don't never intend to. So, I just don't do it. It's all right. It's got to be done. But I just-- Whatever anybody gives me anything all right; if they don't, it's all right anyhow. He can rain food out of heaven, so I just let it go like that. So, I just believe Him. I've never missed any meals; I've postponed some, but I haven't missed any as yet. But it's always been nice to know Him.

So when this young couple come down, I looked at that boy standing there. During the time of that depression, he-- old washed-out pair of trousers, and an old shirt, one collar, piece of collar buttoned higher than the other-- hair cut, needed it bad. That little girl had hitched-hiked from Indianapolis down; her little feet was on the ground. I felt like buying that child a pair of shoes. Very pretty little girl--

And when I said, "Where you going to take her, son?"

He had an old boxcar down on the river, where there used to be an old Dial Ironworks, where they used to-- They do the puddling there. Why, he was going to go down there and live in this boxcar.

And I said, "What are you going to do if this job runs out? You haven't got nothing; you don't even have nothing to eat?"

She said, "I'll love him just the same." That's right; that's it.

Well, one day I went down, going to visit my friends that lived on Silver Hills. And Herman, I knew him real well, Herman Holtz, a very good friend of mine, he married E. V. Knight's daughter. And they had a nice home; he didn't have to work no more, just had it made, because they had plenty of money, run the big sand companies and things on the river and so forth.

And I went up there to see him just at the right time, I suppose. One was setting in one corner and the other in the other, fussing. And they had been out to a dance the night before, some party, and there'd been some man to dance with her, and made her angry, or him angry. And so there it was; they was fussing.

And when I come up on the porch, you know what they done? Run grab one anothers' hands, and come up to the door, and said, "Hello, Brother Branham." Now, that's painted fire. That don't last. That's no good.

I said, "I'm glad to see you all." I said, "Are you happy?"

"Oh, yes dear, aren't we?"

I knew right then; I'd done heard them when I come around the house. See? I knew they were fussing. Well, they went on and you could see it wasn't right, the spirit didn't feel right.

One day, I thought I'd find out what become of this couple I'd married and lived in a boxcar. So I was working for the public service company; I was a lineman there for seventeen years. I went out on the river and kinda played the part of a hypocrite, put my spurs on and safety, and went walking down along the river like I was watching poles.

I slipped up, and I seen his old Chevrolet out there with the headlights wired on with bailing wire. And I went up towards the door. I heard them talking. And he'd got him a job off the PWA, or what it was, they worked on there. And he had worked at some lumber company up there making about eight or ten dollars a week. That was pretty good money. And so, he had--

They had taken that old box car and put newspapers up and tacky buttons. Who knows what a tacky button is? What part of Kentucky you from, son? Take cardboard, and put a tack in it, and just push it in the wall. See? And paper and newspapers--

He had brought down some old boxes, and they'd had a table made out of it. But, brother, if I ever found a heaven on earth, it was. She was setting on his lap. He had his old hat out, mashed the top of it in, had poured his pay check out. And they had so much laying here for food, and so much for the insurance, and so much for here.

He said, "Honey, I want to get you that dress so bad. I believe it was about a dollar and a quarter, something like that."

She said, "But, honey, we-- I appreciate that." One arm around him like that--

And he looked up at her. And I was standing there like a hypocrite watching, you know. And, so, they begin to count this money out, and they didn't have enough to go all the way around.

And he said, "Well, I worked till-- I've been trying so hard. The little dress hangs in the window up there, it's a dollar and a quarter. Couldn't we just let the insurance go or something?"

She said, "No, honey, I appreciate it." Oh, he put his arms around her.

And I stood there and turned around this way and looked up on top of the hill, and I could see the home of the other, the steeples on top of the house. I thought, "Which is the rich man? Which one would you want to take, Billy, if you were going to take your choice?" Let me have a real true wife, one that loves me. Let me live down here in a boxcar. For I tell you, happiness and contentment money cannot buy. Money cannot buy love. That's the real things.

-- Brother Branham
July 11, 1960