From the Relief Society Magazine, May 1958 –
By Frances C. Yost
Tom sat down at the breakfast table. He noticed the crisp white tablecloth, the neatly folded napkins, the pretty dishes Sally had used. Then he looked at the breakfast fare and a frown gathered on his face.
“What, cracked wheat cereal and powdered milk again … oh, no!” Tom shuddered, looked at Sally, and shook his head.
“I’m sorry, Tom, honest I am.” Sally looked a little hurt.
More jottings in the pocket book of J. Golden Kimball:
If you begin to run short of things to be thankful for, commence to pray for your enemies and you will be surprised how soon you will want to quit and say, Amen.
Reformers do not improve anybody, neither do they make people happy. They are snooping into the lives of people to gratify their ambition and to gain notoriety: They always use force. Old Satan’s plan.
Almost everything now a days is standardized, staked out, fenced in, blue printed and so perfectly all planned and laid out that the Lord couldn’t get in a word edge-ways.
Cultural events have long been popular in Mormon society. And the Welsh have always loved their music. Here’s a report, mostly positive, from a Welsh newspaper dated 17 December 1852:
Latter-Day Saints. — Concert. — A concert of vocal and “Instrumental” music, (the instrument being an accordion), was given by this sect at their chapel, at Llanelly [Breconshire], on Monday last. The meeting commenced by prayer offered by “Elder” Abednego Jones after which, President Clarke, took the chair, and having addressed the meeting generally to the effect that the Saints Church was the only true Church on earth, invited his audience to observe the concert as a thanksgiving. The Carmathen and Llanelly choirs afterwards sung [sic] many popular airs, songs, duetts, &c., mostly sentimental and comic — except two or three only, sacred. Elder Martel excited much merriment by the recitation of a dialogue between a Saint and a “man of the world,” (persons not coinciding in opinion with the followers of Joseph Smith.) The proceedings also included an imitation by “Brother” Ephraim of the bleating of a sheep!! A Mr. Weasel played several airs with the accordion. The chapel was densely crowded, and there were present many respectable tradesmen and inhabitants of the town “men of the world” to enjoy the rare treat. We have never before seen prayers offered up at the commencement and termination of a concert like this.
I would expect they were blessed to all return home safely.
Many of the Saints of this branch would have worked here, at the Sirhowy Iron Works:
Bernice T. Clayton
A precious bit of paradise
Was father’s garden. In his eyes
It was a place for children’s play,
Where flowers bloomed to give away;
The place where he could best express
His love of home, his happiness.
A quiet man, he spoke in deeds
And flowers grown from precious seeds;
His choicest blossoms for the wife
He loved and cherished all through life.
Just one extravagance he had –
That lovely garden of my Dad.
One day he went to buy some clothes
He long had needed, but he chose
To order Holland bulbs, and then
He wore his shabby suit again.
How could we know that every spring
The suit he didn’t buy would bring
A wealth of memories
Instead of just a gorgeous tulip bed?
Orson Pratt’s astronomical observatory, located on Temple Square’s southeast corner, built in 1869.
Did you realize that two of the three songs Brigham Young is known to have sung on his “first real mission,” in the winter of 1832-33, “were not peculiar to Mormonism, but came from wider Christian hymnody”?
I didn’t, but discovering that Brigham sang and found a spiritual nourishment from traditions beyond Mormonism struck a chord. Why? To answer that question, I invite you to tramp along with two brothers, Brigham and Joseph Young, and me as we share across religious denominations.
From the Relief Society Magazine, September 1961 –
A Parable for Polly
By Maude Proctor
It is an odd thing about Marge. She says she never, never gives advice to her daughter or her daughter-in-law, even when they ask for it, on how to rear children.
“How in the world do you manage?” I asked her one day as we sat on the back porch shelling peas. “I never can keep my mouth closed, when I should.”
Marge laughed a little. “I never was known for my restraint!” she protested.
We visited and enjoyed the warm summer sunshine for half an hour or so before Polly came, Marge’s son’s wife, plodding along the dusty road with a discouraged droop to her shoulders.
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Gordon Hackney was baptized in 1926, at age 10. His mother had been a member since before her marriage, but his father never joined; his grandmother had also been a member much of her life, but Gordon’s grandfather never joined. The family lived in Kentucky, deep in the Southern States Mission where so many Saints were scattered far from organized branches, yet here was a family who had passed the gospel down through three generations.
By the time he was 16, Gordon was serious about living as a Latter-day Saint, keeping the commandments to the best of his ability. Yet he was worried – very worried. When he was 12 or 13 years old, he said, “I ran around with a friend of mine who was a year or so older than I was. When we were out he would curse and smoke and at times would take things that did not belong to him. And during this time I am sorry to say I yielded to temptation and would once in a while say something I should not say or would not dare say around any of my other friends or people.” This is not the memory of an adult, many years after the fact, remembering and perhaps distorting the follies of youth. These are the words of the 16-year-old boy.
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