“Mirthright,” Ensign, Oct. 1978, 25
As I delivered a late wedding gift to a new bride, I asked, “How are you managing?”
“Barely,” she said with a smile. “But you’ll be glad to know that we have our year’s supply of food storage.”
“Of course, we spent everything we had on storage. Now if we can just hold out until there is an emergency we’ll be in good shape.”
Dora D. Flack
I was assisting my eleven-year-old son by providing personal statistics he needed to complete a family group sheet as a Sunday School assignment. Of course, I stopped short of the information “died.” In response to my son’s quizzical look, I explained that that information wouldn’t be forthcoming until I passed away.
“But, Dad,” he exclaimed, “the assignment’s due next week!”
Robert D. Larsen
Las Vegas, Nevada
As I was washing the dishes one morning, I was singing, “We Thank Thee, O God, for a Prophet.” As I turned around to pick up another dish, there was my three-year-old daughter, arms folded, head bowed, saying, “I’ll give the opening prayer, Mommie.”
Fort Worth, Texas
One of our elders quorum counselors told us of his seven-year-old son who returned home from Sunday School singing, “I hope they call me on a mission when I have grown a foot or two.” Puzzled, he stopped and asked his father, “Dad, how many feet do you have to have to go on a mission?”
H. Kent Rappleye
The bishop’s children were playing house with the second counselor’s son. The only girl played the mother, the kitten was the baby, but the two boys couldn’t decide who would be the father. After a great deal of thought, one of the boys piped up, “I know, let’s have two dads: one to go over to the church, and the other one to stay home and play with the kids.”
Lynda G. Mallory
At the close of a particularly hectic day when our baby had been super-cranky, five-year-old Marilynn added this postscript to her prayer, “And Heavenly Father, please bless Patrick, ’cause even though he is bad he is still a Mormon.”
Darlene O. Cowley
I didn’t realize the impact of my new calling as a member of the stake presidency until I heard my daughter, Jennifer, ruefully explain to her grandmother that I was no longer a bishop, but “one of those stake prisoners.”
One morning I was playing with my four-year-old son, Jeff, rolling him in a blanket on the floor and tickling him. Everything was fine until he got so wrapped up in the blanket that he couldn’t get out. He screamed and came up fighting for air. With tears in his eyes he cried, “Mom, I just about suffered in there, and Jesus said suffer not the little children.”
Prior to the fourth birthday of our oldest child, we instituted the idea of presenting a special number as part of our family home evening activities. My husband and I had taken turns making this presentation until shortly after our daughter’s birthday, when it became her turn.
My husband announced, “Kristy will present the special number tonight.”
Kristy stood up and proudly declared, “The special number is Four.” And then she quietly sat down.