Things of My Soul

There once was a man, short and quite strong With a lovely family, he did belong A loving dear wife, and six pretty kids A wonderful bunch, and they were all his They lived in a village, just outside of town It was pretty, and fruitful, the crops did abound He worked in the fields, digging out beats Hard manual labor, stuck on his feet Thoughtful and caring, though he didn’t have much He was constantly looking, to leave a nice touch Picking a flower, or writing a note His life to his family, he did always devote All of the family, they did depend On the man of the house, to bring home the bread He scrimped and he saved, to provide a little better If he could buy a truck, work wouldn’t be such a sweater With the truck now you see, he’d haul into town The fruit of the village, oh he’d be proud He’d haul for the farmers all of their goods Provide more for his family, just like he should After many years working, just making end meet Eno...

Hey Sis, I've been thinking about ya more than usual lately. With training after being out so shortly, there can be a lot of questions about what you're doing. You know what preach my gospel says, and you think you're doing it right, but there's an element of confidence that comes with time. I had a similar experience on my mission that I'd like to share. It was the beginning of my fourth transfer and I was moving to my second area. I had 4.5 months under my belt, I felt like I was a good missionary, but hadn't baptized anyone. My trainer had taught me to work hard and be obedient, but part of me wondered if we knew what we were doing. Part of me wondered what the work was about period. I was doing it right, right? Well, my second area came and I was thrown into a pretty tough situation. I had two companions, not just one. One was old, 3 weeks left, and he was tired. The other was young, 5 weeks in, and he was fiery. Fiery is good, if pointed in the ...

Into the Deep We want it, we want it, that’s what we said Listening to his stories, as he readied us for bed The stories he told us, the knowledge he had The deep experience as a voyager, the deep love as a Dad We gazed up with wonder, listened with awe How could we become like him, he seemed without flaw He spoke with such passion, loved with such depth It seemed he knew everything, was there anything left? As he told us his stories, we’d always seem to laugh They were filled with surprises, and told with such craft Some of them were short, some of them were long But all had in common, choosing right over wrong And as we grew older, we still longed to be Like our old man, strong, wise, and free But how could we do it? That’s what we said So we too could tell stories, and live in his stead He looked with compassion, as we longed for this wish It wouldn’t be easy, and our presence he’d miss We’d have to go out, into the world Live ...