Judy Bush, Sykesville, Md.
Though it happened several years ago, this story will forever be engraved in my memory.
My daughter was riding in the car with my then-6-year-old grandson, Kyle, as it was announced on the radio that the 172nd Annual General Conference would soon be starting. Shortly after that, Kyle asked my daughter how many minutes there were in 170 seconds. Not knowing why he asked, she quickly figured it up in her head. After Kyle received his answer, he said, "This conference sure won't be very long, then, will it?"
Kathleen Marshall, Cottonwood Heights
Hate to wait
The ward executive secretary approached me before church and asked if I would give the benediction in sacrament meeting. "Oh, no!" I exclaimed. "I don't like to give closing prayers. I spend the whole meeting worrying about what I'm going to say."
"That's OK," he said. "I'll put you down for the invocation next Sunday."
Berneice Neeley, Salt Lake City
Some years ago my husband, our two small children and I lived in southern Oregon. We had been there for a couple of years and truly loved the community and our ward. My husband then received a job transfer to Seattle. It was not my desire to uproot and leave the security we felt, but we knew we had to go where the job took us. On our last Sunday in the ward, we were asked to speak in sacrament meeting, along with two other families who were also moving out of the community. The bishop stood halfway through the meeting and announced that "we now will be favored by a musical number, a violin solo of the hymn, 'Ye Simple Souls Who Stray.' " This was not lost on the congregation who thought the irony of that particular hymn that particular Sunday was, to say the least, humorous.
Janeen Hullinger, Farmington
It was a hot July afternoon sacrament meeting in a time before air-conditioning was installed in our building. The speaker had talents other than talking in church, and he droned on and on while nature took its toll on the congregation. My 3-year-old son, Todd, stood on the bench at my shoulder, watching the speaker. He then turned around, intently observing the people behind us. After a short while he turned back to me and quietly whispered in my ear: "Lots of people think he's praying, huh, Mama?"
Doris Moir, Salt Lake City
My wife and I were driving down the highway one day while serving in the Mississippi Jackson Mission when we were stopped by a highway patrolman with sirens blaring and red lights flashing. He approached our car and said he had just received an "all points bulletin" for two bank robbers who had just left the scene of the robbery in a brown Toyota just like ours.
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