“Mirthright,” Ensign, June 1986, 63
Visitors to our ward, which is made up almost entirely of young families, are usually rather surprised. Even on our more reverent Sundays, the noise level of three hundred children under twelve can be distracting to the unprepared. And many visiting friends and relatives are amazed to see five or more babies blessed on fast Sunday.
But our bishop’s counselor helps break the tension as he welcomes everyone to the “maternity ward.”
Anne M. Caron
West Valley City, Utah
On one of his many trips to the Genealogical Library in Salt Lake City, my husband noticed a couple who were standing by the elevator looking lost. He asked if there was anything he could do to help them.
“Yes,” they gratefully replied. “We are looking for someone.”
“Living or dead?” he asked.
Our bishop recently explained to his children that he would be giving their new little brother a name and a blessing on Sunday.
His five-year-old daughter, Julie, asked: “Are you going to raise Joey up in the church, Daddy?”
Concerned that she should even wonder about such a thing, the bishop drew her up into his lap and explained Heavenly Father’s plan for families. He told Julie that all her brothers and sisters would be ‘raised up in the Church,’ that each one was precious, and that they as parents had a sacred obligation to teach their children righteous principles.
Julie squirmed down and, in frustration, said, “No, Daddy, I mean ‘raise him up in the church’! You know, hold him up in the air so everybody can see him!”
Sure enough, Joey was given his name and blessing, and afterwards he was ‘raised up in the church.’
As I finished reading about David and Goliath to my Primary class, five-year-old Jamie pointed at the picture of Goliath in the scriptures and, with a sigh of relief, said, “I’m glad he’s not in our ward.”
Shelly W. Tatton
North Ogden, Utah
I had recently been called as a member of the stake high council when our seminary teacher became ill and asked me to teach her early morning seminary class the next day. That evening a severe snowstorm blew in, and I knew from experience in our mountain town of Wyoming that the snow would make it dangerous, if not impossible, for many of the students to get to seminary at seven o’clock the next morning.
I began telephoning students to tell them that there would be no seminary the next day. My five-year-old son watched as I made call after call with the same message: “Seminary has been cancelled.” Finally he said, “Daddy, now I know what a high cancel-man does.”
Mads J. Cottrell
Early one Sunday morning I sat down with my three-year-old daughter to explain fast Sunday.
“Christy,” I said, “on fast Sunday we don’t eat or drink anything. It’s a special day for Mommy and Daddy.” I further explained that we abstained from both breakfast and lunch.
Then I asked, “Christy, do you want to try to fast with us today?”
“Yes,” she answered enthusiastically, and her wisdom belied her age as she added: “But I want to wait until after lunch.”
Our priesthood quorum discussion leader, Mark, had to travel a long way for our meetings and occasionally showed up late. One morning before he had arrived, we began singing the opening song, “Israel, Israel, God Is Calling.” Near the end of the song we saw him slip in the back, just as we sang the appropriate line: “Mark how judgment’s pointing finger justifies no vain delays.”
One day my six-year-old daughter, Esther, asked: “Mommy, who am I going to marry when I grow up?”
“I don’t know,” I replied. “But be sure to marry a young man who can take you to the temple.”
She replied, “But what if I’ve got my own car?”
Ann W. Calvert
I’m polishing this talk to perfection
As I go through each household chore.
I can just see the bishop’s approving nod,
All the faces just pleading for more.
It’s witty, hard-hitting, uplifting.
Its equal has never been heard!
What a shame that this is the twenty-fourth,
And I spoke on the twenty-third.