Life Among the Mormons: Summer Camp
Dear Mom and Dad:
Well, here I am
At summer camp. We’re all unpacked
But first they got us in a row
And told us how we ought to act.
We mustn’t yell—it’s very rude;
We’re ladies though we’re roughing it,
And we’re supposed to eat our food
In little bites, not stuffing it.
We have to keep the cabins neat,
Clean up the campground all we’re able,
And always ask to leave the table.
I thought you sent us to this place
To learn to live like pioneers—
Not to have to bathe, and wash our face,
And brush our teeth, and scrub our ears.
For if they’d had to make their bed
Real neat, and have some camp boss grade it
Before they hit the trail ahead,
I’ll bet they never would have made it!
Judge Ye Not
I dreamed that death came the other night
And heaven’s gate swung wide.
With kindly grace an angel
Ushered me inside.
And there to my astonishment
Stood folks I’d known on earth,
Some I’d judged and labeled
As “unfit” or of “little worth.”
Indignant words rose to my lips
But never were set free,
For on every face showed stunned surprise—
No one expected me!
When government spends more than it gets, and when labor gets more than it gives, that empty feeling in your pocket is inflation.
—Roger M. Blough
The point of the lesson was focused sharply for Mesa 12th Ward Relief Society by Sister Simona Williams when she said: “One day being a thousand years with the Lord, then we’re only gone from him for an afternoon. Seems as though we could behave ourselves for an afternoon.”
—Venla K. Nielsen, Mesa, Ariz.
To the Unmarried Sisters on Turning Thirty
The transitory movement of digits,
In the exchange of two for three,
Can cause dislocating wigits
And troublesome periphery.
But should you not give a bother,
And determine no cause for alarm,
You’ll find, I’m sure, rather,
That you’ll have no real loss of charm.
For gentleness in women’s stature
Is improved from two to three,
So go find your world to capture
And you’ll capture eternity.
Archaeologist, studying stone tablet, to colleague: “Well, roughly translated, it says, ‘Do not fold, spindle, or mutilate!’”
I am not certain if it was embarrassment or astonishment that swept over the congregation in Sunday School when a small girl concluded her 2 1/2-minute talk, looked right at the audience, and added, “Please repeat.”
—David G. Hart, Glastonbery, Conn.
My four-year-old nephew was visiting with his grandfather after church one Sunday. “What did they tell you in Sunday School this morning?” he was asked. Without changing his expression, he replied, “They told me to be quiet!”
—E. N. Hurst, Orem, Utah