I looked at the menu, and I didn’t understand a word on it. I hadn’t been in Peru long, and I spoke almost no Spanish. I was traveling with a group from the university, and we were there not as tourists, but to learn. During the first few days the meals had been planned for us, but for this one, we were on our own.
More Personal Voice Features
While driving back from a camping trip this past month, my son had his window down and was flying his hand through the air like…well, like a flying hand hanging out a car window. Since the rest of us were relying on the air conditioning to cool us off, the flying hand wasn’t a very welcome thing. The conversation in the car unfolded as follows.
Fathers’ Day was not long after summer break started, and I was trying to figure out something I could do for my father. That was when my brother, Albert, came to me and said he had a great idea; something we could do that would be a wonderful gift for Dad. “You know how the garbage has piled up in the garage? We’ll take it out to the field on the edge of the desert and burn it." I had to admit that it sounded like a great gift.
Millie loved to sing in primary, but she sang monotone. She sang as loud as she could, and though she was only four, she almost matched all of the other children put together. One day, as primary was ending, one of the teachers pulled me aside. “Don’t you think you should see if you can get Millie to sing quieter?” she asked. “She sings so badly.”
It has been a few years since I’ve officially been a scoutmaster. Years ago, I had as many as eighteen boys in my troop. Even after I moved on to other assignments, I still spent a lot of time camping with the boys when their scoutmaster needed another adult. But now I’m scoutmaster again. I hadn’t been in long when a couple of the boys came to me and asked about going camping.
Ten minutes after arriving to Church this Mother's Day, having found our row of metal seats in the back, our little girl made it clear she had other plans for her breakfast besides keeping it in her tummy. What happened after was a near perfect illustration of motherhood.
One spring for primary I decided we should sing a few songs for the season. We had just finished singing a song about baby animals being born and how life was new, when a little four-year-old boy raised his hand. “Yes, Jeremy,” I said. “What do you want?” “Babies don’t just get born in the springtime,” he said. "and I know where they come from."