I’ve had many jobs in my life. When I was seven, I sold rocks to the neighbors. Then there was the time I took care of a neighbor’s dog for three whole months. But the paychecks for those jobs were nothing compared to the joy I received from my special “job.”
I always went to church each Sunday, but I wasn’t really there. My mind always seemed to be on something else. I enjoyed going but only because I got to see my friends. Church had always been a place to hang out, but after my job it was completely different.
One Sunday morning, I woke up feeling the day was going to be out of the ordinary. My friends and I had plenty to talk about in Sunday School; sadly, none of it related to the Old Testament. Then, right before sacrament meeting, my mom said she had a job for me. I complained for a minute, and then she said, “It will be worth it.”
“A little money never hurt anyone,” I said. But Mom said it wasn’t that kind of pay. She asked if I would walk Sister Clove home from church. I couldn’t believe that she would ask me to do such a dumb job. I wanted to tell her no, but something inside of me made me agree.
After sacrament meeting I went to get Sister Clove, and I told her I wanted to walk her home from church. We both enjoyed it so much that my mom didn’t even have to ask me the next week. I volunteered. After that, Sister Clove and I became good friends. We would walk home together every week, and I loved to hear her stories. Once she even gave me a jar full of candy to let me know I was appreciated.
I know now why the job my mom gave me would be “worth it.” The pure joy of service was so much better than any reward my parents could ever have given me.