9 For I, the Lord, will judge all men according to their works, according to the desire of their hearts.
1. When we’re helping, we’re happy,
And we sing as we go;
And we like to help mother*,
For we all love her so.
2. Tra la la la la la la,
Tra la la la la la,
Tra la la la la la la,
Tra la la la la la.
1. A poor, wayfaring Man of grief
Hath often crossed me on my way,
Who sued so humbly for relief
That I could never answer nay.
I had not pow’r to ask his name,
Whereto he went, or whence he came;
Yet there was something in his eye
That won my love; I knew not why.
2. Once, when my scanty meal was spread,
He entered; not a word he spake,
Just perishing for want of bread.
I gave him all; he blessed it, brake,
And ate, but gave me part again.
Mine was an angel’s portion then,
For while I fed with eager haste,
The crust was manna to my taste.
3. I spied him where a fountain burst
Clear from the rock; his strength was gone.
The heedless water mocked his thirst;
He heard it, saw it hurrying on.
I ran and raised the suff’rer up;
Thrice from the stream he drained my cup,
Dipped and returned it running o’er;
I drank and never thirsted more.
4. ’Twas night; the floods were out; it blew
A winter hurricane aloof.
I heard his voice abroad and flew
To bid him welcome to my roof.
I warmed and clothed and cheered my guest
And laid him on my couch to rest,
Then made the earth my bed and seemed
In Eden’s garden while I dreamed.
5. Stript, wounded, beaten nigh to death,
I found him by the highway side.
I roused his pulse, brought back his breath,
Revived his spirit, and supplied
Wine, oil, refreshment—he was healed.
I had myself a wound concealed,
But from that hour forgot the smart,
And peace bound up my broken heart.
6. In pris’n I saw him next, condemned
To meet a traitor’s doom at morn.
The tide of lying tongues I stemmed,
And honored him ’mid shame and scorn.
My friendship’s utmost zeal to try,
He asked if I for him would die.
The flesh was weak; my blood ran chill,
But my free spirit cried, “I will!”
7. Then in a moment to my view
The stranger started from disguise.
The tokens in his hands I knew;
The Savior stood before mine eyes.
He spake, and my poor name he named,
“Of me thou hast not been ashamed.
These deeds shall thy memorial be;
Fear not, thou didst them unto me.”
*For All Family Members* Read or tell the story listed below (taken from the Sept 2001 Ensign). Testify of the importance of serving others.
After our three eldest sons grew up and moved out of our home, and our youngest became busy with all the activities of high school, I found myself feeling lonely. In spite of staying busy with my family, business, and Church work, I still felt something was missing. My transition to becoming an “empty-nester” was painful.
Then I learned about Matthew. He was a four-year-old with freckles, curly red hair, and a hesitant smile. His family had moved onto our street and into our ward a few years before. Although I had often spoken to them, I had never really gotten to know them—until Matthew was diagnosed with diabetes.
Late one night his father called and asked my husband, Sherm, who was a member of the bishopric, to give Matthew a blessing. The next morning Sherm told me that Matthew had been rushed to the hospital to be treated for diabetic shock. Then he asked me to help Matthew’s family with whatever they needed that week. I took the charge seriously.
I called the house regularly to talk to the other children, stopped by whenever I could, and ran various errands for them. I took in dinner one night and arranged for others to do the same. I visited Matthew in the hospital. When he was released, I fussed over him at home. But mostly I watched helplessly as Matthew and his family struggled to make the necessary adjustments in their lifestyle. I wanted to help, but I didn’t know what more to do.
One day I opened my front door and found Matthew’s mom crying. I listened while she poured out her heart. Matthew’s diabetes had taken its toll on the entire family. The Halloween holiday was approaching, and she could envision his disappointment as he went door-to-door with other children to collect sugary sweets that he alone could not eat. Being different from the other children was going to be hard on four-year-old Matthew. I realized then what I could do.
During the upcoming days, I bought some noncandy treats and tracked down sugar-free candy. Then I found some small orange gift bags andHalloween stickers and prepared 26 notes of explanation to accompany the bags. A couple of days before Halloween, I packed, decorated, and labeled the special gift bags for Matthew. I found myself enjoying the work involved, and I especially looked forward to seeing his reaction.
The morning of Halloween I called the Primary president and asked her to come over. As she curiously surveyed the jumble of treats in my living room, I explained Matthew’s situation and asked for her help to distribute the gift bags. She readily agreed and I handed her 11 treat bags with 11 notes of explanation for delivery to the houses on her street. My visiting teacher went to the eight houses on her street, and my youngest son went to the seven on ours.
On Halloween evening I answered the door dozens of times; I exclaimed over each costume, handed out treats, and waited for Matthew. When he finally arrived, he was dragging a shopping sack two-thirds his size that was brimming with little orange gift bags. I added mine and hoped he was happy.
The next day I received a hand-scribbled thank-you card from Matthew and a letter from his mother that read:
“Yesterday was a hard day for Matthew. He was aware that things were going to be different for him. My husband took him trick-or-treating, so I didn’t get to see the expression on Matthew’s face as he collected his special Halloween treats, but I could imagine it. The difference in his mood from when he left to when he returned was like night and day. He was so excited. He enjoyed every treat, and he shared them with his brother (who forgot all about his Halloween candy). It was as if he were finally able to accept his diabetes—and be happy at the same time.”
Tears trickled down my face as I read and re-read the last line. I experienced joy as I felt I had made a real difference in someone’s life.
The Savior taught, “Whosoever will lose his life for my sake shall find it” (Matt. 16:25). I realized that when I lost myself in my project for Matthew, I thought less about my own troubles and more about the needs of others. Through service to someone in need, I found the fulfillment I had been looking for.
Testify of the importance of serving others.
*For Younger Children* Read or tell the story listed below (taken from the October 1993 Friend). Testify of the importance of serving others.
About the first part of October, our teacher, Miss Olson, began telling us about Halloween in the olden days in our town. People wore special costumes and went around town doing good deeds, such as taking food and clothing to those who needed them. “They weren’t like some of you boys today, going out Halloween night and destroying people’s property or putting their plows on someone else’s roof.”
I was sure she was looking directly at the four of us sitting in the southwest corner of the classroom. As far as I knew, none of us had been involved in any vandalism. But we were in the fifth grade now and were strong enough to do almost anything. The idea that Halloween had been a night for doing good and not for mischief kept coming up the next few weeks, but none of us boys realized how much of it we had absorbed.
One Monday, Miss Olson announced, “Next Saturday night you are all invited to a Halloween party at my home. Everyone is to wear a costume. We’ll play games, and there will be refreshments. The party will begin at seven-thirty, and anyone who shows up without a costume will be sent home.”
Directly after school, Tom, DeForest, Raymond, and I conferred. None of us had any money to buy a costume, so we all figured out what we could rig up. We had several conferences during the week to update each other’s progress, and we decided to meet at the corner a half block from my house, then walk the four blocks to Miss Olson’s home together.
Even though we arrived early the night of the party, several girls were already there, wearing the usual Halloween costumes—princess, ballerina, and so forth. There was one Gypsy. She pretended to tell our fortunes, telling us we’d go on journeys or inherit a large fortune. After each “fortune,” she placed a small piece of hard candy in our hand, closed our fist around it, and patted our cheek. One girl was wearing an Austrian dirndl (native dress) that her brother had brought home from his mission there.
We had a wonderful time playing games. When we bobbed for apples, none of us boys was able to get one. Only one of the girls got one. She dunked her whole head into the water to do it, and almost all the curl came out of her hair.
The next game went more smoothly. Apples were hung from the ceiling on strings. A girl on one side and a boy on the other were to try to get a bite from it without using their hands. I was matched up with Nora. We eventually worked out a solution: We both pressed our mouths against the apple to keep it somewhat stationary. Then Nora was able to get her teeth a little way into it and hold it still until I got a bite. Most of the others saw what we did, and succeeded in getting at least a nibble too.
After some more games, we sang songs around Miss Olson’s piano. Then the living room door opened, and her mother and father came in carrying plates. On each plate was a cheese sandwich cut diagonally, a mound of potato salad, and a cup of hot chocolate. Forks and napkins followed. And as soon as we gobbled down the food, the plates were taken to the kitchen and we were each given a dish heaped with orange ice cream with small black candies on it, and a large orange cookie with a dab of black frosting on top! It was then after nine-thirty. We all shook hands with Miss Olson and her parents and thanked them for the nice party.
Outside, the four of us boys got together. The moon was about half full, and some thin clouds partially obscured it. We knew that our parents weren’t expecting us home till about ten o’clock, so we walked along the streets, looking for evidences of Halloween pranks. A few gates had been removed, and just in front of one door a bucket of water had been balanced on the top of a rake. The dwellers would get a watery surprise when they opened the door the next morning!
We stopped in front of the Christiansens’ home. All the blinds were drawn, and there wasn’t a light anywhere. They were an elderly couple and were almost totally deaf. Mr. Christiansen spoke only Norwegian, and though I understood Norwegian pretty well, I couldn’t speak it. Most Norwegians can understand Danish, even if they can’t speak it, but when I tried to talk to him in Danish, he’d wave his hand and tell me that I should know that he didn’t understand English.
Next to the kitchen of their home was a wooden lean-to. Its foundation was four feet above the ground. Under it Mr. Christiansen stored his wood and coal so that it could be out of the weather but handy to get at.
Miss Olson’s lessons about Halloween in the olden days struck a chord in us as we stood there, and we decided to chop some wood for the Christiansens. When I went home for my favorite ax—my father had made it specially so that I could cut kindling—I told my parents what we were going to do, and they seemed very pleased.
Having the shortest distance to go, I was at the woodpile first. I found several pieces of sawed logs under the kitchen stairs and was busily chopping those into kindling by the time the others arrived.
At first we worked as quietly as we could, but then we began to sing. Pretty soon we were singing louder and louder, and I was thinking, How happy Mr. Christiansen will be when he comes out in the morning and sees all this kindling. And how happy Miss Olson is going to be on Monday when we tell her what we did after we left her party. I don’t know how the other boys felt, but I was feeling pretty pleased with myself.
Suddenly the light in the kitchen went on, the door flew open, and out came Mr. Christiansen. He was in his nightshirt, and his feet were bare. He yelled, in Norwegian, “Thieves! Thieves! You are stealing my wood!”
I tried to speak to him in Danish, but he just yelled, “No! No! I don’t understand English, and you are stealing my wood!”
Then Mr. Christiansen saw the lighted lantern that I had placed on a nearby rock. “And you are trying to burn my house down!” he bellowed.
All we could do was grab our saws and axes and leave. I felt terrible. This certainly wasn’t the way it was supposed to turn out.
DeForest was the first to say anything. “So much for doing good deeds onHalloween. I wonder if people in the olden days ever ran into this kind of trouble.”
Now, I can understand the old man’s confusion. As poor as they were, Mr. Christiansen had always worried about someone setting his house or his barn on fire or stealing his kindling. And it must have been hard for him to chop and cut all the wood for their everyday needs. We had tried to reason with him, but was it really us? I mean, that night I was dressed in a mountain man costume—a red flannel shirt underneath a jacket that Mom had sewn fringes of cloth scraps on, Dad’s old leather boots, and a hat I’d made from a rabbit skin. Our string mop had become my scraggly beard.
Tom wore an old crumpled hat, one of his father’s old coats that his mother had sewn patches on here and there to cover supposed worn spots, and an old pair of overalls that were also covered with various colored patches. He had rubbed soot on his cheeks to look like a scruffy beard, and was a very convincing hobo.
DeForest had so many freckles that they seemed to be plastered on top of each other. He hated them, so he had painted his face white and his nose red, made a top hat out of black construction paper, stuffed paper into his dad’s work shoes, and wore two different plaids for his pants and shirt. He made a really great clown.
Raymond was wearing a suit of long underwear that had been dyed green and had “muscles” sewn into it, and a blue blanket that had been fashioned into a cape. He’d glued blue scraps of material onto the front nt in the shape of the letters SR for “Super Raymond.”
So no wonder Mr. Christiansen didn’t recognize us. When he’d gone to bed, all had been quiet. Then he was awakened by our singing, which to his deaf ears must have sounded like coyotes’ howling. Imagine how he must have felt when he saw all sorts of strange-looking characters lurking around his woodpile. I would have yelled too.
When I went home and told my folks, my mother said, “We’ll get this all straightened out tomorrow. I’m sure that when Mr. Christiansen finds out what you were trying to do, he’ll be happy and grateful.”
The next morning on the way to church, I was startled to see him bundled in two heavy quilts, sitting in a rocker in his yard. He was asleep, and I figured that if he had been sitting there protecting his woodpile all night, he was entitled to sleep.
He was asleep in the chair again on Monday morning. His head was bent over to one side, and he looked cold and tired.
At school, we told Miss Olson the entire story and how puzzled we were by the outcome.
“I know all about it,” she told us. “I’m very proud of you boys for what you tried to do. I’m in touch with Mr. Christiansen’s daughter, Mrs. Larsen, and I’m sure that everything will be straightened out to your credit.”
Neither the chair nor Mr. Christiansen were in his yard when I came home from school that afternoon. As I entered the kitchen, my mother said, “Miss Olson and Mrs. Larsen have explained to Mr. Christiansen what you boys were trying to do for him last Saturday. He wants to apologize to all of you. You’re to go over tomorrow after school.”
The next afternoon, Miss Olson opened the door as we approached the Christiansens’. The old couple were sitting by the window. Their daughter stood next to Mr. Christiansen. “Now, here is the way we’ll work this,” Miss Olson said. “You boys line up in single file. When I introduce you, you shake hands with Mr. and Mrs. Christiansen, then tell Mrs. Larsen your parents’ names and where you live. She’ll translate your words into Norwegian for them.”
Tom was called on first. Mr. Christiansen thanked him profusely, in Norwegian. The old couple smiled and shook hands with him.
DeForest was next. The couple knew his family quite well. In fact, Mr. Christiansen had made bins for DeForest’s grandfather’s salt refinery.
Then came Raymond. After Mrs. Larsen explained in very loud Norwegian who he was, Mr. Christiansen thanked him over and over again. Then Raymond winked at Mr. Christiansen and grinned at him. One of his teeth had been blacked out with black gum. Mr. Christiansen almost laughed out loud.
I was last. As Mrs. Larsen started to tell the couple about me, Mr. Christiansen waved her to silence. “I know this boy. He comes over to visit, and he talks to me in a very strange language.” He grabbed my hand and held it in both of his. Mrs. Christiansen did the same with my other hand.
“Well, I think that everything is straightened out now,” Miss Olson said. “Do you boys think that you could finish what you’d started to do for the Christiansens last Saturday night?”
I hurried home for my special ax, and Raymond and DeForest borrowed Mr. Christiansen’s ax and saw. Tom busied himself with carrying in the wood. We soon filled up three coal buckets, two for the kitchen and one for the bedroom.
Mrs. Larsen told us to wash our hands; then we were ushered into the dining room, where we saw stacks of sandwiches, a huge bowl of potato salad, a tray full of pumpkin pickles, and cups of steaming hot chocolate. Mr. Christiansen offered a prayer in which he thanked the Lord for us, our families, and Miss Olson.
When we left, the Christiansens stood by the door and thanked us again for coming. We decided that maybe we’d have an olden-days Halloweennext year too.
Testify of the importance of serving others.
*For Teenagers or Adults* Read or tell the story listed below (taken from the October 1979 New Era). Testify of the importance of serving others.
Brad Van Bibbler, a teacher, pushes the dust mop down the wide expanse of floor, tired, a little warm, but with a happy grin on his face. “Where are the deacons?” he asks, not really minding having to do the sweeping himself.
Alan Miner, second counselor in the bishopric, is on his knees in the corner, wiping a splotch of punch, a weary, kind of satisfied expression curving his mouth.
David Moffat, a priest, is heard to chuckle as he carries out enough cardboard boxes to crate all the neighborhood refrigerators.
In the kitchen, Cyndi Haymore, Laurel class president in charge of divvying up leftovers, asks with a laugh, “Okay, you guys, who wants the 23 hot dogs with mustard? We also have here 14 cups of lovely green jello!”
Upstairs Pete Smith, a priest, is seen climbing out of something that looks suspiciously like a coffin, and the priests and deacons are folding up sheets from which the former ghostly inhabitants have fled.
The young people and their leaders have been working hard all afternoon, and they are still working late into the night. So why the happy faces? Ask the little clown skipping out to the family car with his sister, the witch. Or ask the sleepy green Dracula with cupcake frosting on his nose, or the small, curly headed Wonder Woman who is resting in her mother’s arms with a bottle of warm milk.
Or better yet, ask their parents.
The scene is the close of the fifth annual Valley View Sixth Ward (Salt Lake Valley View Stake) neighborhood Halloween party. Once again it has been a success and once again, in spite of the work, it has been satisfying and fun and safe.
It all started a few years ago when the young men and women of the ward began to hear of the not-so-happy experiences some children around the country were having as they went out on Halloween night to trick-or-treat. Remembering how much they as youngsters had enjoyed the traditional activities of this night, they felt it somehow wasn’t fair that their younger brothers and sisters should have to miss out. And so a new tradition was born.
The first year the party was held, only the Primary children and their parents were invited, but about halfway through that evening the young people realized they were leaving out almost half the children of the neighborhood. The next year everyone under 12 and their parents were invited. “This year we brought nine nonmember neighbors,” said Adrienne Brantzeg, a Laurel. Two of those were six-year-old Martin Seraphin and his mother who had recently moved with their family to Salt Lake City from New Jersey. “He’ll remember this until he’s 43,” Mrs Seraphin said of her son. “I can’t believe there are young people who would go to all this work just to serve the neighborhood children.”
And they do go to a lot of work. Planning begins during the last two weeks of September. Youth and adult leaders meet to make assignments. Traditionally, the Laurels are in charge of food (a light dinner), the Mia Maids handle publicity and decorations, and the Beehives plan and direct games. The priests, teachers, and deacons put together the spook alley that wanders through several rooms on the second floor of the meetinghouse, and the priests build the cardboard tunnel slide that swoops the children from the end of the spook alley, down the stairs, and into the foyer of the chapel. All are asked to help with cleanup.
After the assignments are made and specific class members are put in charge of different items and activities, adult leaders can take a deep breath and relax. “My Laurel adviser kept calling to check on how the food was coming,” said Cyndi, “but she didn’t have to worry.”
“I spent an entire afternoon making 350 individual Jello salads in plastic cups,” said Monika Guertler. “And after the party was over, and I looked at the Jello puddles here and there on the floor, I still felt it was worth it!”
Mia Maid president Allison Wright and her classmates hand-made and delivered invitations to all the homes within the ward boundaries. Over 300 people attended, with approximately 100 being nonmember children and their parents. “It’s a great chance for us to associate with and get to know those we don’t usually meet through Church activities,” said Marianne Miner. “I was in charge of the punch and chips, and I got a big cauldron-looking pot, put dry ice in the punch to make it smoke, and asked one of my neighbors to dress up like a witch to serve it.”
The Beehives, with Kim Astin directing, decided on five games, some of them successful repeats from former years. “We played Pin the Grin on the Pumpkin, Bite the Apple, Pop the Great Pumpkin’s Balloon, Keep Your Nose Clean (wet sponges are thrown at a member of the ward who stands behind a large cardboard partition and sticks his head through a small opening), and we also had a cakewalk, which works something like musical chairs,” said Kim.
Each year the young men try to make the upstairs spook alley even better than the year before. This year each of the quorums was in charge of a room. “It was pretty spooky,” one little clown was heard to say, “but you don’t have to go through it alone.” The young men make sure that one of their number or a young woman who isn’t busy at the moment accompanies each child through so that no scares are taken too seriously. And many children brave the alley not only because of their “big” friends who help them through, but also because if they don’t go through the spook alley, they don’t get to go down the cardboard slide. The Moffat brothers, Kayle and David, have always volunteered to build the slide. Kayle built it with David’s help for a couple of years, but now he is serving as a full-time missionary and David is handling it alone. David says that by the time he gets his call in a year or two, Kayle will be back and able to take over again.
Do the children seem to miss the trick-or-treat activities of the past? “We think they’d miss our party more,” said the deacons. Weeks beforeHalloween each year, neighborhood children and their grateful parents, member and non, ask if there’s going to be another celebration.
“Altogether it’s a great tradition,” said Marianne. “You feel happy and satisfied when you see that everyone has enjoyed themselves.” “You feel like you’ve accomplished something,” added Cyndi. “And every year,” said Monika, “you feel as if it is the best party so far.”
Will they do it again next year? You bet! After all, everyone likes to feel happy, and it’s an even deeper and more lasting happiness when there’s a little bit of tired, a good amount of work, and a whole bunch of share involved. Start your own tradition of service and make it a habit! According to the young men and young women of the Valley View Sixth Ward, you not only create a warmer, friendlier, safer neighborhood, you create a better you.
Testify of the importance of serving others.
Funny Bones or Forked Eyeballs
1. Follow the instructions on the candy wafers package to melt the candy in a wide bowl. For each bone, press marshmallows onto both ends of a pretzel stick or rod, with the marshmallows’ flat sides parallel to the pretzel.
2. Dip each pretzel into the melted candy to coat it. Lift it out with a fork, letting the excess drip back into the bowl. Place the bone onto a sheet of waxed paper to set at room temperature.(Taken from Family Fun)
2 (11-ounce) bags white chocolate chips
12 doughnut holes
Semisweet chocolate chips
Tube of red decorator frosting
2 tablespoons vegetable oil
1. To coat a dozen doughnut holes, melt the white chocolate chips with the oil over low heat (and keep the chocolate warm while you work). With a fork, spear each doughnut hole and submerge it in the melted chocolate to coat it, then gently tap off any excess.
1- Share the FHE treat with a neighbor.
2- Rake leaves for a neighbor or the elderly in your neighborhood.
3- Visit someone elderly in the neighborhood.