“He Is Here Today”

One Sunday, my four-year-old son, Timmy, invited Bobbie, a little Korean boy, to go to Primary with him. When we stopped by Bobbie’s house to pick him up, I stopped to look into his dark, shining eyes and said, “Well, are you ready to go to church with Timmy?” As if he could hardly contain himself he bubbled over, “Do we get to see God?” The sweet innocence of his question brought a smile. I quickly answered, “Well, no, but his spirit will be there and you will learn lots of special things!”

I repeated Bobbie’s question in my mind on the way to church. “Do we get to see God?” My mind wandered to the mount where Jesus sat and I could almost hear him as he taught, “Blessed are the pure in heart: for they shall see God.” (Matt. 5:8.) I could almost see him as he gathered the little children and loved and blessed them saying, “Suffer the little children to come unto me, and forbid them not: for of such is the kingdom of God.” (Mark 10:14.)

That Sunday as I sat among the Primary children, we sang “This is God’s house and he is here today.” (Sing With Me, A-6.) The words struck me forcibly. I felt I had been taught a valuable lesson. Each week as I enter the chapel doors, I am in his house. May I ever be worthy to “see” him. M. Roxine Summers, Fort Bliss, Texas

[photo] Photography by Michael M. McConkie

Her Quiet Gift

Shortly after I became pregnant with our first child, complications developed. After several days of hemorrhaging, I miscarried. A few days later I lay on my couch, emotionally as well as physically drained, and watched my husband, Ron, leave for a church meeting. When he was gone I looked around the house. From my couch bed I could see the dishes stacked in the sink. A week of neglect had left my furniture coated with dust and the floors in need of vacuuming and sweeping. The cluttered house plunged my spirits even lower.

Ron had not been gone long when I heard a car pull into the driveway. We had lived in the Bannock Creek ward for about five months, and I knew Mary Harris only well enough to shake her hand and exchange greetings with her each Sunday.

Seeing me on the couch, she came over and put her arms around me. Then she told me how sorry she was. “I would have come sooner,” she said, “but I just found out what happened this morning.” She hugged me again and then sat up and said, “I want to visit with you, but I’d like to do something while I visit.” She looked around the room. “How about if I wash those dishes?” Without waiting for a reply, she went to the sink, pushed up the sleeves of her dress, and plunged in. Not only did she wash the dishes, but she wiped the counters and table and swept the floor.

Normally having someone else do my housework makes me feel a bit ill-at-ease, but Mary’s attitude and amiable chatting put me completely at ease. She made me feel as though I was doing her the favor. By the time Ron returned, she had finished in the kitchen and had also dusted and vacuumed the living room. When she left, I found that my dark mood had lifted and gone with her, and I was grateful for a sister who could so willingly and ably serve one of the least of these. Dayle King Searle, Pocatello, Idaho