That December her heart was so full of sorrow and concern for her six small children that she felt it would surely break. On Christmas Eve, all her children, except the oldest, Ellen, 10, were dancing around, excited to hang their stockings for Santa to come. Mary helped each one of her children hang a little darned and mended stocking, but she couldn't persuade Ellen to participate. Of all the children, Ellen alone knew there was nothing with which to fill the stockings.
Then the young mother sat by the fire, thinking of her plight. Spring had come very late and winter had come very early for the last two years, causing the crops to freeze and fail.
In October Mary had received a letter from her sisters living in Idaho who, despite their own setbacks, had asked what they could send her family for Christmas.
In November, in desperation, Mary had written.
Mary had requested only necessities. She told them how desperately the family needed food, especially wheat, yeast, flour and some cornmeal. She also asked for some old, used quilts and for some worn-out pants to cut up and use to patch her sons' clothes, and mentioned the family's desperate need for socks, shoes, gloves, hats and coats.
Then finally, Mary asked if someone might have a dress she had outgrown to send to Ellen, who only had one dress that was patched and faded. Mary felt she could fix up such a dress and thus bring some joy to Ellen, who had too much to worry about for a 10-year-old.
The week before Christmas Mary's husband, Leland, made a daily three-hour round trip into the town of Cardston to check at the train station and the post office for a package from Idaho. Nothing came.
Then at 3:30 on Christmas morning, while her husband and children slept, Mary heard a knock at the door. It was the mailman, a member of the Church from Cardston, telling Mary 10 large crates from the States had arrived for the Jeppson family. He knew they had been waiting for the packages and that there would be no Christmas without them. With horse and sleigh, he set out from his home Christmas Eve and traveled eight hours in a severe snowstorm to deliver the crates to the Jeppsons' isolated farm house.
Mary had thanked him all she could, but she always said that there just were not words enough to express her thanks. After all, how do you thank a miracle, and a Christmas miracle at that?''
Inside the boxes was a note from Mary's sisters. They told her that quilting bees had been held all over the Malad Valley, and from these, six thick, warm beautiful quilts had been made for them. They also told of the many women who had sewn shirts for the boys and dresses for the girls, and of others who had knitted warm gloves and hats.
The donation of socks and shoes had come from people for miles around. The Relief Society had held a bazaar to raise the money to buy the coats, and all of Mary Jeppson's sisters, nieces, cousins, aunts and uncles in Idaho had gotten together to bake the breads and make the candy to send.
There was even a crate half full of beef that had been cured and packed so that it could be shipped along with two or three slabs of bacon and two hams.
The letter closed with these words: “We hope you have a Merry Christmas, and thank you so much for making our Christmas the best one we've ever had!”
Mary's children awoke that morning to bacon, hot muffins and jars of jams and jellies and canned fruit. Every stocking that was hanging was stuffed full of homemade taffy, fudge, divinity and dried fruit of every kind.
The most wonderful miracle, though, occurred when Ellen, the very last to get up . . . looked to where her stocking was supposed to have been hung the night before and saw hanging there a beautiful red Christmas dress, trimmed with white and green satin ribbons. She later said it was the most wonderful Christmas morning ever.
“That morning,'' concluded President Monson, “with the Christmas dress for Ellen, a childhood had been brought back, a childhood of hopes and dreams and Santas and the miracle of Christmas.''
“If there is one common denominator, perhaps it is this: Christmas is love. Christmas is the time when the bonds of family love transcend distance and inconvenience,'' said President Monson. “It is a time when love of neighbor rises above petty day-to-day irritations, and doors swing open to give and receive expressions of appreciation and affection.”
(This is the true story of a young mother, Mary Jeppson, who lived in the remote prairie town of Hillspring, Alberta, and how she celebrated Christmas in 1927 as told by President Thomas S. Monson during the First Presidency Christmas Devotional in the Tabernacle Dec. 7, and reported in the Deseret News, 13 Dec 1997)
Saturday, December 11, 2010
A Christmas Dress For Ellen
Saturday, October 30, 2010
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
Saturday, October 9, 2010
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
Sunday, September 26, 2010
Saturday, September 25, 2010
Monday, September 20, 2010
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
Saturday, September 11, 2010
Sunday, September 5, 2010
Thursday, September 2, 2010
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
Monday, August 30, 2010
Monday, August 9, 2010
A Crabbey Old Woman
When an old lady died in the geriatric ward of a small hospital near Dundee, Scotland, it was felt that she had nothing left of any value. Later, when the nurses were going through her meager possessions, they found this poem. Its quality and content so impressed the staff that copies were made and distributed to every nurse in the hospital.
One nurse took her copy to Ireland. The old lady's sole bequest to posterity has since appeared in the Christmas edition of the News Magazine of the North Ireland Association for Mental Health. A slide presentation has also been made based on her simple, but eloquent, poem. ... And this little old Scottish lady, with nothing left to give to the world, is now the author of this "anonymous" poem winging across the Internet. Goes to show that we all leave "SOME footprints in time".....
What do you see, nurses, what do you see?
What are you thinking when you're looking at me?
A crabby old woman, not very wise,
Uncertain of habit, with faraway eyes?
Who dribbles her food and makes no reply
When you say in a loud voice, "I do wish you'd try!"
Who seems not to notice the things that you do,
And forever is missing a stocking or shoe.....
Who, resisting or not, lets you do as you will,
With bathing and feeding, the long day to fill....
Is that what you're thinking? Is that what you see?
Then open your eyes, nurse; you're not looking at me.
I'll tell you who I am as I sit here so still,
As I do at your bidding, as I eat at your will.
I'm a small child of ten ... with a father and mother,
Brothers and sisters, who love one another.
A young girl of sixteen, with wings on her feet,
Dreaming that soon now a lover she'll meet.
A bride soon at twenty -- my heart gives a leap,
Remembering the vows that I promised to keep.
At twenty-five now, I have young of my own,
Who need me to guide and a secure happy home.
A woman of thirty, my young now grown fast,
Bound to each other with ties that should last.
At forty, my young sons have grown and are gone,
But my man's beside me to see I don't mourn.
At fifty once more, babies play round my knee,
Again we know children, my loved one and me.
Dark days are upon me, my husband is dead;
I look at the future, I shudder with dread.
For my young are all rearing young of their own,
And I think of the years and the love that I've known.
I'm now an old woman ... and nature is cruel;
'Tis jest to make old age look like a fool.
The body, it crumbles, grace and vigor depart,
There is now a stone where I once had a heart.
But inside this old carcass a young girl still dwells,
And now and again my battered heart swells.
I remember the joys, I remember the pain,
And I'm loving and living life over again.
I think of the years .... all too few, gone too fast,
And accept the stark fact that nothing can last.
So open your eyes, nurses, open and see,
Not a crabby old woman; look closer ... see ME!!
Saturday, July 24, 2010
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
Look Closer -- See Me
A crabby old woman, not very wise. Uncertain of habit, with far-away eyes,
Who seems not to notice the things that you do. And forever is losing a stocking or shoe.
Who, unresisting or not; lets you do as you will. With bathing and feeding, the long day to fill.
A young girl of 16 with wings on her feet, dreaming that soon now a lover she'll meet.
At 25 now I have young of my own Who need me to build a secure happy home.
A woman of 30, my young now grow fast, Bound to each other with ties that should last.
At 50 once more babies play around my knee, Again we know children, my loved one and me.
The body is crumbled, grace and vigor depart. There is now a stone where I once had a heart.
I think of the years all too few ― gone too fast, And accept the stark fact that nothing can last.
So open your eyes, people, open and see. Not a crabby old woman, LOOK CLOSER, SEE ME.
Sunday, May 23, 2010
Thursday, May 20, 2010
Brian Tracy
Nightingale-Conant's Insight
pp. 19
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
Louis L'Amour
The Warrior's Path
pp 199
This is my sentiments when I approach writing anything. It is also why my life story was not written until my sister, Joy, took it upon herself to have me expound to her about my life. Unfortunately what I told her was not always clear in it's meaning and so to date it is a work in progress.
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
Friday, May 14, 2010
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
President Thomas S. Monson
Ensign
July 1988, pp. 5
Monday, May 10, 2010
President Spencer W. Kimball
Ensign
October 1975, pp. 5
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
Elder Boyd K. Packer
The Ensign
January 1983, pp. 51
Sunday, May 2, 2010
That leaves only today. Anyone can fight life's battles just for one day. It is only when we face the burdens of those other two days that we falter. It is not today's experience that drives men mad. It is the remorse and bitterness for something which happened yesterday, and the dread of what tomorrow may bring. So live just one day at a time if you wish to be happy.
Becky Brown Gibb
A Faithful Generation
pp. 85
Friday, April 30, 2010
H. Stephen Glenn with Jane Nelsen
Raising Children For Success
pp. 89
Thursday, April 29, 2010
Saturday, April 24, 2010
Lyle Clark (Indianapolis, Ind.)
Laughter, The Best Medicine
PP. 75
Friday, April 23, 2010
Thursday, April 22, 2010
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
Martin Groder, MD
Bottom Line Personal
Dec. 15, 1996, pp. 9
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
Napoleon Hill and W. Clement Stone
Success Through a Positive Mental Attitude
pp. 108
Monday, April 12, 2010
Sunday, April 11, 2010
Friday, April 9, 2010
There was an immediate look of concern on the faces of all the adult parents. "Don't be alarmed, "my father-in-law said reassuringly. "There are two more bathrooms downstairs."
Arlene C. Crane
Reader's Digest
August 1971, pp. 140
Thursday, April 8, 2010
Tuesday, April 6, 2010
Allen Klein
The Healing Power of Humor
Prologue, pp. xxi
Sunday, April 4, 2010
Saturday, April 3, 2010
Stephen R. Covey
The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People
pp. 80
Thursday, April 1, 2010
New Life and New Hope
Somehow, the hope of spring can make it easier to believe in unseen realities. Yet even in spring we may grapple with discouragement, despair, or anguish of soul. Like Job of old, we may sincerely wonder, “If a man die, shall he live again?” At such times, when we need new hope, when we yearn for the nurture of charity, we might find seedlings of faith in our own souls.
Almost in an instant, the trials of life can strip away the superficial and help us discover who we really are and what we really believe. C. S. Lewis said: “You never know how much you really believe anything until its truth or falsehood becomes a matter of life and death to you. It is easy to say you believe a rope to be strong and sound as long as you are merely using it to cord a box. But suppose you had to hang by that rope over a precipice. Wouldn’t you then first discover how much you really trusted it? . . . Only a real risk tests the reality of a belief.” Sometimes only in the winters of our lives can we truly appreciate and believe in the miracles of spring. Like children who run through grassy fields in search of hidden eggs, adults too can search and find new life and new hope as we turn our hearts to God.
Music & the Spoken Word
Delivered On: March 23rd 2008
Delivered By: Lloyd D. ewell
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
I know that we have prophets to lead us and give us counsel and instruction and guidance. I am grateful for what we can read and what we can hear from ward, stake and general conferences and from our Church magazines and other publications. I KNOW the Gospel is true and I know that the true Gospel is here in the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I know that Joseph Smith saw what he said he saw and heard what he heard. I know that he was the instrument to restore the Gospel and the Church that Christ organized when he was on the earth. I know if we are in church when we should be, if we read the scriptures and pray for understanding, and pray in gratitude for our blessings, and try to live the way we know to be right - all of that will help us in our journey here and help us to return to our Father's home when that time comes.
I know that agency allows us to make choices that bring heartache, sorrow and misery sometimes - to ourselves, and to those who love us - and to others sometimes. I also know that happiness comes from making right choices - and that we are not really happy unless we are trying to make right choices. Part of our experience here on earth is to find that joy.
I feel that it was part of the plan that I come to earth before you and feel blessed to be the mother and grandmother in this family - blessed beyond what I could ever have deserved. But I am so grateful to be part of the same family - of some of the best people in the world. We are all brothers and sisters, after all - and I am grateful to know that too. I love you all more than I can express.
Anne W. Fisher
Family Letter
March 28, 2010
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Napoleon Hill and W. Clement Stone
Success Through a Positive Mental Attitude
pp. 105
Sunday, March 28, 2010
Saturday, March 27, 2010
Sterling W. Sill
The Best of Sterling W. Sill
pp. 59
Friday, March 26, 2010
Denis Waitley
Seeds of Greatness
pp. 72
Thursday, March 25, 2010
Amy Saltzer, MD
Bottom Line Tomorrow
March 1997, pp. 3
Thursday, March 18, 2010
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
Mary C. McNew
Reader's Digest
August 1971, pp. 113
Monday, March 15, 2010
Brian Tracy
Nightingale-Conant's Insight
pp. 18
Saturday, March 13, 2010
Elmer G. Stark
Reader's Digest
August 1971, pp. 79-80
Friday, March 12, 2010
Lloyd Newell
The Spoken Word
March 16, 1997
Thursday, March 11, 2010
Sterling W. Sill
The Best of Sterling W. Sill
pp. 53
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
Lawana Blackwell
Reader's Digest
August 1990, pp. 164
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
Sunday, March 7, 2010
Brian Tracy
Nightingale-Conant's Insight
No. 114, pp. 17
Friday, March 5, 2010
While we were all standing at the nursery window looking in, our threeyear old asked, "Are these all ours?"
Claire Shattuck
Reader's Digest
October 1985, pp. 48
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
Sunday, February 28, 2010
"Simple," she answered with a satisfied grin. "I do the chore first, and then I put it on the list and cross it off!"
Brenda M. Witt
Reader's Digest
November 1985, pp. 84
Saturday, February 27, 2010
Friday, February 26, 2010
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
Sunday, February 14, 2010
Friday, February 12, 2010
Thursday, February 11, 2010
Stephen R. Covey
The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People
pp. 77
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Brian Tracy
Nightingale-Conant's Insight
No. 114, pp. 15
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
Brian Tracy
Nightingale-Conant's Insight
No. 114, pp. 14
Sunday, February 7, 2010
Friday, February 5, 2010
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
Sterling W. Sill
The Best of Stirling W. Sill
pp. 46
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
Monday, February 1, 2010
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Denis Waitley
Seeds of Greatness
pp. 69
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
Sunday, January 24, 2010
"You mean a brand new Cadillac?" she asked eagerly.
"No," said the husband, "a 1979 Cadillac."
Art and Chris Samson, NEA Inc.
Readers Digest Large Type Edition
Jan. 1997, pp. 134