Prescript:
Two days ago Ila called and asked for my story about the sailor who was contemplating suicide. (See Saving the Sailor in this book). She wanted to use it for the devotional thought that she was to give in seminary the next morning. That’s why I posted that particular story on yesterday’s blog (11 Sept. 2012).

The quail were working the block of bird-seed. I was sitting at the table eating breakfast and watching them.

Young James valued his legs. He didn’t know that he valued his legs. In fact, he never even thought about them, but he was grateful that he was able to do everything that a good set of legs allowed him to do. Each day when he got off the bus after a day at school, he changed clothes, and immediately set off on a long hike up in the woods above his house. The hikes relieved the stresses of the day. Out there in the mountains he didn’t have to worry about relationships, false friends, or about what people thought of him. Nature was his friend. He knew every nook and cranny and secret place on that side of the mountain. He’d been to the top of the 8,000-foot peak, and had visited every lake that was within a day’s hike of his house.

Thursday 15 August 1991
The Tuesday before last I lifted a rock incorrectly while camping with Matt and Wells Holmes. By Saturday evening I was in the worst pain any session with my back has ever given me. I could barely shuffle, I couldn’t sit, stand or lie down. By Monday morning I was blacking out when I stood up.

The first thing I remembered was my prison being rolled around with me inside it. I guess I had been dimly aware of its walls before that, and I’d been comfortable enough; but all of a sudden I became very aware and just had to get out.

She stands 5’6″, and weighs 120 when she’s “fat”. When she’s thin she’s weighed 98. That’s after she’d nursed the baby for eight months, at which point her husband made her quit. All told, she’s probably lost 320 pounds over a span of 13 years.—A new dieting record? No. Just the 40-pound weight gain and loss with each of her eight babies.

As a new father one of my most vivid memories is of coming home from work and finding my little wife rocking her crying baby. The unusual thing about this was that she was crying, too. She was tired, frustrated, unable to comfort her child, and sure that she was neither smart enough nor capable enough to be a mother.

A little way up Hunt Mountain, through the trees, and over a rise is a strange little cove. Here is one of the few spots in the Willow Creek drainage that has a hill with a southern exposure. The mostly treeless, semicircular hill is not more than an acre in area. It has a microclimate all its own. The snow melts sooner. The flowers bloom earlier. May 2nd, and the wild strawberries are in full blossom. An Oregon Grape has sent out two fully-developed spikes just ready to turn yellow. The short bushes are leafed out. The grass, though sparse, is tall and green.

While I was stationed in Yokosuka, Japan, my ship was dry docked, so I was a permanent member of the branch on shore. That made me available to my branch president for spur-of-the-moment assignments.

An incident occurred while I was a sailor serving on a ship based in Japan. The branch of the Church met in a little chapel on the base at Yokosuka. One Sunday I was standing at the door greeting people as an unfamiliar sailor approached. I welcomed him to church, and he said, “How do I go about joining this church?” My friend and I replied that he’d have to take the six missionary discussions, and that he and I would be happy to give them to him since there weren’t any full-time missionaries serving there.

One Sunday morning when I was bishop, I was seated on the stand. Sacrament meeting had begun. As I looked out over the congregation I realized that one of my flock was missing. Sister Mensing, a widow in her sixties, wasn’t in her usual place. That struck me as odd. Many other people had missed church before, and I hadn’t done anything about it, but this time something inside me impelled me to check on her. I rose, and walked out of the meeting to my office where I telephoned her.

Once upon a time there was a man who had a wife and a clock. The man loved his wife, the wife loved her husband, and the man liked his clock. They all lived together very happily.

Jamie was a boy with a talent. It was a talent that no one else in the history of the world had ever had. Jamie was able to find four-leaf clovers. He could walk through a patch of clover and just see them. If there was a four-leaf clover in the patch, he’d see it. His eyes would scan the patch and pick out patterns that were out of the ordinary.

Grampa lived a half mile up the hill in a log house. Behind the house were five huge pine trees. Behind the trees were the mountains.
The mountains were 9000 feet high and were covered with forests. Grampa loved the mountains and the forests, and he loved his mountain valley.

Jamie was a farm boy. The farm was an exciting place to live. There were lots of things to do on the farm.
Every morning Jamie woke up with feelings of excitement and anticipation. He’d dress and eat breakfast as fast as he could so that he could get started with the day’s adventures as quickly as possible.

Jamie was a boy who spent his time pretending. He played with his big brother, and he played with his little sister; but when he was alone, he pretended. He liked to play with others, but he also liked to play alone because he pretended exciting things.

“Look at that beautiful rainbow,” Jamie’s mother said. Jamie’s father added, “Did you know that there’s a pot of gold buried at the end of the rainbow, Jamie?”

“Come on, Jamie,” his dad said. “Let’s go down to the pond. I’ll show you what I used to do when I was a boy.”

It was dull lying there in the hospital bed. Margie had only been in Portland for three days, but to a twelve-year-old girl, it seemed like forever. Margie’s mother was with her, sitting beside her bed; but Margie missed her home, her daddy, her brothers and sisters, school, and playing in the back yard.

Jamie was in, out of, under, and behind the chairs. He was waiting for the doctor to come into the examination room.
And he was nervous. He couldn’t hold still. He crawled under his dad’s chair, thinking that he’d hide there from the doctor.

Hannah was making cakes in the tiny, quiet house when suddenly its door burst open.
“Come see what Mara has done!” Jacob said excitedly. He turned and limped away as Hannah shouted after him, “Did she have her foal?”

It had been a long winter. The snow was finally gone, and grass was making the neighbor’s field green. But on the side of the fence where the cows were, the ground still looked brown and barren. Grass was trying to grow there, too, but the cows kept every blade nipped off right at ground level.

Jamie was mad when he heard what his uncle had done. Uncle Andy had taken a nest of baby bluebirds, and had thrown it into the creek! The nest had been up under the eaves outside Andy’s room. He said that the chirping birds were keeping him awake.

Table of Contents for “Stories for My Grandchildren”

Cover of “Stories for My Grandchildren”