By Frank I. Kooyman
Dear Lord, another friend of mine
Has gone to far-off mission field.
Grant him, I pray, Thy power divine,
To be his armor and his shield.
And one thing, Lord, oh! may he learn,
Above all other things, in fact,
Which in the field are his concern:
With patience, zeal and love to tract.
He may lose courage, now and then,
When meeting ridicule and sneers,
But if he’ll try, and try again,
In faith, he’ll overcome all fears,
And soon will see the masses’ plight,
With pity view each wayward act,
Because they lack the Gospel light —
With patience, zeal and love he’ll tract.
And oh! what joy will swell his heart,
When he shall find truth-hungry souls,
Who’ll mend their ways, with error part,
And reach, in faith, for Gospel goals.
Be with him, Lord! He will succeed’
When by Thy power inspired and backed;
Bless him, that he may learn indeed
With patience, zeal and love to tract.
Another lesson in the 1923 Young Men’s MIA curriculum —
Lesson II. – Remembering
Memory and Recollection – Without our reminding power, our fund of knowledge would be limited to one notion. There would be one disconnected idea after another, a sort of drop, drop, drop, without the advantage of an increase available for use. And if our figuratively-speaking reservoir of knowledge should hold the information, the contents would be of no avail without the key of access – memory.
Remembering is of two general types: the spontaneous, or involuntary, and purposed, or voluntary. The latter is known as recollection. I meet a person and remember his face at once. I do not remember where I first met him, but I begin thinking and finally recall where our acquaintanceship began. At this point where thinking enters into memory, it becomes recollection.
Remembering and Forgetting. – We are constantly forgetting many things in order that we may attend to one. Our old mental associates graciously retire that we may entertain a new-comer, because of the impossibility of our being able to hold in consciousness more than one idea at a time. We cannot hold the idea of bread and the idea of butter at the same instant, but we can hold the combination, bread and butter.
We are in no way conscious of the process of forgetting, we are conscious only of having forgotten. We are conscious of being reminded, and we often say, “I am reminded,” spontaneously. We are conscious of recollecting, or reminding ourselves, by thinking in search of some lost idea or by making voluntary effort to see how much we know.
From the Relief Society Magazine, February 1953 –
By Shirley Sargent
“This is it,” Charlie said briefly and turned away to pay the cab driver.
Oh, no, Ann thought, staring at the square box-like frame house beyond the sagging wire fence. Tired umbrella trees drooped, shading straggly flowers in the front yard, and stubble fields stretched out, surrounding the planted area. Horrible! how could you stand a place like this, she wondered, looking down at her dust-covered high heels. She could never call a house like that home. Never. Dust swirled as the cab drove off.
Charlie was beside her, his thin mouth twisting upwards, saying, “Well, honey?”
The box is about 2 inches by 3 inches, 1/2 inch deep, gift wrapped and beribboned. It’s a little the worse for wear, with one side flattened and the paper coming loose at the corners. It has a right to be somewhat shopworn, after having been carried in my coat pocket for months.
My mother gave it to me at the airport, as I waited for the airplane that would take me to the mission field in France and Switzerland, farther away from home than I had ever been before, or, indeed, than I have ever since gone. She didn’t need to tell me what it was – I recognized it from the “we’ve got a secret” look in her eye. It was a travel-sized version of the wrapped box she had given me a few years earlier when I went away to school.
It was a box of home.
By John Lyon
Come on, ye rich, with all your gifted store,
Give to the poor, and God will give you more!
Your feeling hearts, responsive to His call,
Will find His love and blessing best of all:
Yes, tenfold int’rest on the things you have,
And more than all your charities e’er gave!
Why should the rich not help the lab’ring poor?
Both are compell’d to knock at Mercy’s door!
As well the river scorn the stream and brook
From which it all its swelling greatness took;’
Or the great sea retain her liquid store,
Nor give one drop to quench the parched shore;
As Wealth withhold accumulated toil,
And say to Poverty, starve on the while!
Let richer Saints pour in their glit’ring gold,
‘Twill pave your way to Zion’s mountain fold!
Ten thousand hearts with prayerful ardour seek
The means to live, yet mourn from week to week,
Who could be blest through your beneficence,
To go where labour gains a recompense!
Oh, then! let love your names in sums record
What you will do for Zion and the Lord!
Ye poor who labour, learn with pure delight,
How much in value was the widow’s mite!
How farthings multiplied to pence make pounds,
And pounds to hundreds, thousands, have no bounds!
‘Till ev’ry Saint’s relieved, and sinner stunned,
Will shout, look here! at this Perpetual Fund!
Girls Who Choose God: Stories of Courageous Women from the Bible, by McArthur Krishan and Bethany Brady Spalding; illustrated by Kathleen Peterson, Salt Lake City: Deseret Book, 2014. ISBN 978-1-60907-882-9. $17.99 ($16.19 at Amazon.com).
Michelangelo is supposed to have described his technique as something like finding the statue hidden in a block of marble, then cutting away every bit of stone that was not part of that statue. My search for personally meaningful Church history shares something of that technique: I want to know my role in the latter-day kingdom. When I look at how we’ve told our story, I tend to put to one side the tellings that are not part of that emerging personal vision.
For example, when I am looking for personally meaningful examples of women’s contributions to the kingdom, there are three specific models that I cut away:
The Wicked Witch – We have often used women’s lives as cautionary tales of what not to be: Mrs. Thomas B. Marsh with her milk strippings, and Emma Smith, in the era when we demonized her for keeping Joseph’s children out of the Church.
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From the Relief Society Magazine, April 1949 –
Through the Darkness
By Hazel K. Todd
With an aching heart Rebecca watched the little girl playing with her doll. The child, with her good little left hand, tugged at the blanket she was trying to wrap around the dolly, then, because she couldn’t make it go the way she wanted it to, she held one corner in her mouth while she arranged it around the rubber infant. Never once did she so much as raise the little right hand that hung lifeless at her side, the small fingers curled around like tiny bird claws.
“Make your other little hand help,” Rebecca pleaded, but, as always, it was no use.
“I just can’t, Mother,” the little girl said, indifferently, and straightway left the room, carrying the doll in one arm while the blanket dragged behind.
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