Title: “A Service a Day Keeps the Blues Away”
Exhibitor: Jean DaBell
Description: A story read at Christmas time prompted this idea of service. It is
about a young man who recorded his daily “good deeds” for a year. I challenged each member of my family to jot down their daily acts of service either in a small notebook or on a daily calendar. Doing this has helped us think of service a lot more. The spirit will guide you to think about “little” acts of service, which President Hinckley has challenged us to do.
How To’s: Year Long Gift Dazzles a Dad (Story)
“Present Spread Lots of Joy and Cost No Money,” by Lincoln
J. Card (Deseret News, December 20, 2001)
All night, fierce winds swept the ground of the crisp, white snow and had chipped at the frozen earth, eroding off precious particles of top soil. The driving winds caused ground blizzards that had piled snow in great grayish-brown-tipped drifts around the house. As the frigid winds subsided, the whole world seemed frozen in the quiet, crisp chill of the frosty dawn. Meager threads of smoke curled upward from guarded blazes of stoves desperately tryin to heat the scantily equipped homes. The 1930’s depression was at its peak. It seemed that no one was spared from the bony clutches of this catastrophic experience.
We were no exception. The furnace in our home sat cold and muted. The 10-room, two-story house had been closed off except for three adjoining rooms. The bathroom, kitchen, and dining rooms struggled for the warmth from the coal-burning stove in the kitchen.
A Christmas tree crowded the corner of the dining room. My older brothers had tied a rope from the hinge of the door leading to the front entry hall, then diagonally across the room to the hinge of the door leading to the kitchen. From this rope hung 10 limp well-worn stockings, many of them filled from heel to toe with loving stitches. Mother’s stocking hung at one end of the line, followed in succession, the oldest to the youngest, by each family member, ending with Father’s stocking.
I was eight years old and had saved every penny since the past February in order to buy presents for my family. My oldest brother, Brigham, had been working on a government highway project high in the Rocky Mountains of southern Alberta. He had sent all of his earnings home to my father to help the family survive the stranglehold of financial depression.
Today, however, was Christmas morning, and the laughing excitement of eight children electrified the air as they lined up at the kitchen door awaiting Father’s signal to enter the magical Christmas room. Enchantment had swallowed up the harried struggles for survival of the past year.
“Open the door!”
This signal brought cheers of delight as eight eager children flew to their stockings. For a fleeting moment, I had a feeling of disappointment as the stockings appeared as limp and lifeless as they had been on Christmas Eve. However, on closer observation, my disappointment turned to thrilling delight as I recognized some small bulges stretching the sides of the otherwise gaunt stockings.
A comb, a pair of socks, a toothbrush, a pair of shoelaces, some handkerchiefs, a few nuts and most of all, the wonderful hardtack candy with colored stripes and designs. A feeling of love, excitement and joy filled the room.
From the corner of my eye, I noticed Father open a plain, wrapped, small gift. It was a notebook, the kind a man carries in his shirt pocket. As he fingered through the pages, his cheerful smile melted into thoughtful reflection. Tears began to dazzle his eyes, overflowing in little bursts of silver down the creases of his weary, worn cheeks. Quickly he left the room.\
Briefly, I wondered about this strange behavior on Christmas. My wonderment was soon distracted by the excitement of all the “ohs” and “ahs” and “thank yous” and laughter that punctuated this magic morning.
Soon, father reappeared. His countenance was subdued and calm. There was a glow about him as if he had seen some heavenly vision. He walked slowly to his stocking, bowed his head for a moment then slowly raised it in a composed and gentle voice. He called out, “I would like to have everyone’s attention.”
This unusual request on a Christmas morning brought quick silence from eight children and mother. All eyes were fixed on father in the wonderment of expectation. Slowly he raised his hand, which held a little well-worn book, and spoke. The sound of his voice rang with a mellow yet driving sincerity that seemed to infuse my very being.
“I have just been given the greatest Christmas gift that I have ever received.”
There was a short pause as he blinked away the mists that blurred his vision. Then he continued, “I want to tell you all about it. This is a gift from your brother, Brigham. It is a little book with a notation written for each day of this year. In the front of the book is a note which says, ‘Dear Father, I had no money to buy gifts this year. This is all I have to give you. It is a record of a good deed which I have done for someone each day of the year.”
Father then stopped speaking. A hush fell over the whole family. The impact from the message of this gift left us all in thoughtful, reverent silence. Then someone began to clap their hands. Soon everyone was clapping with the joy of having experienced such an inspirational moment.
Though many years have passed since that eventful Christmas morning, the impact of its message of service and love lingers on as a brilliant, guiding star.
From a mom: Let my 15 year old with her learners drivers license drive around for an hour delivering cookies to her friends. The service on my part came because I had to be in the car with her.
From a dad: Got scriptures out for everyone. Went jogging for myself.
From a teenage girl: There were two girls in the bathroom. I knew one girl. Her friend asked the girl I knew to get her some toilet paper but she was two stalls away. I said, “Do you want me to get you some?” So, I did.
From another teenage girl: I vacuumed the whole upstairs for my mom without being asked.
From a newly married college girl: While walking on a snow trail, I saw someone coming toward me. I stepped off the trail into the unpacked snow so they could pass.
From her husband: Went fishing with a friend that makes it a little more work than fun.
From a missionary: I arrived for the baptism that I was to give. I started talking to her and basically gave council. The Spirit told me exactly what to say and how to help her. I was talking Spanish perfectly. When the 45-year-old lay heard the advise she needed, she asked, “How old are you?”
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