Does anyone out there remember President Spencer W. Kimball’s plea for us to “Get around to it; Do it!”? After he preached this over the pulpit, the church manufactured some flat, round things with words printed on it. I can’t remember how they spelled the words, but I believe it was “tuit”. Thus someone might say, “Do you have a round tuit? Somebody refresh my memory!

Anyway, we wrote a poem about getting around to it:

Get around to it; Do it, when we choose a righteous goal.
As we choose what is right, then we will surely grow.
Throughout this life of joy and sorrow, we each must choose our way.
The choices we have made determine who we are today.

Let us live our lives right now. Now’s the time to do it right.
When evil temptations surround us, we can look unto the light.
We can say a silent prayer, and the Holy Ghost will know.
The strength will flow from Heaven, and we will surely grow.

Our choice to be baptized is the right thing to do.
The gift of the Holy Ghost can help us to stay true.
It’s up to each of us to fade, or grow in truth’s pure light.
The more we read and learn of Christ, we grow in Heaven’s might.

Remember to get around to it. Study, fast and pray.
Commit to god to do it each and every day.
Repent and ask forgiveness whenever we are weak.
When we are sincere and humble, god helps all who truly seek.

p,.s. Our weakness turns to strength as we serve the poor, sick and meek.

Ether 12:27
Matthew 3: 13-15

Last week Bob (dressed in Santa attire) and I (like Mrs. Santa) gathered up three of our grandchildren, who wore elf hats, and visited an assisted living center. Our 10-year old grand daughter, Parleigh, wrote a poem for the occasion. I was most impressed, and have chosen it for our poem this week:

Decorations, feel cheer,
Christmas time is finally here.
Christmas wreath, mistletoe,
Star on top, lots of snow.
Ornaments and evergreen,
Polish angels ’til they’re clean.
Snowman, cookies, flying reindeer,
Santa, sleigh bells, stockings cheer.
Garland, presents, family & friend.
Never let your happiness end.

Presents and stockings are okay,
But what about the manger filled with hay?
On a silent, chilly night,
A child born, filled with light.
A manger for the Lord of Earth,
Who blessed the world with his birth.

Some shepherds, wise men (far, not near),
Came to see and feel and hear.
The star on the tree is the Christmas star,
The shepherds followed from afar.
Praise and follow Christ the Lord,
For kindness, love is his sword.
He sacrificed and died for us,
So must we sin and hate and cuss?
Enjoy your presents by the fire,
But remember Jesus and God are the ones you admire.

Many years ago, I rocked my 3-month old firstborn baby boy, and pondered the spirit I could see in his eyes. I was overcome with gratitude and awe, and penned this poem/song:

I know of a baby just as small as you,
Born in a country that the shepherds knew.
A host of angels sang a song to him.
Birds chirped praises and ox kept time.
Stars shone brightly on the night divine
For the little boy born in Bethlehem.

He was born that night for you and me,
So we could grow to perfect be,
and live in joy forever, together.

See the star high up on the Christmas tree,
Filling our hearts with a glow so heavenly.
The packages, tinsel and shiny bows
Remind us of the gifts so long ago,
Giv’n to the babe in the manger hay,
For the very first time on Christmas Day.

He was born that night for you and me
So we could grow to perfect be,
And live in joy forever, together.

And now as I rock my baby tenderly,
I see in his eyes a spark of divinity.
I think of the babe of Bethlehem
Born to crown his fellowmen
And set us free to sing in joy
In remembrance of Mary’s baby boy.

He was born that night for you and me
So we could grow to perfect be,
And live in joy forever, together.

I entitled this painting “Silent Night” in an attempt to visualize–“Silent Night, Holy Night. Shepherds quake at the sight. Glories stream from heaven afar. Heav’nly hosts sing alleluia.”

This time of year, this holiday season, really is magical. There seems to be a warmth that comes from the heart and overtakes us. We are more charitable, kind, happy, tolerant, and grateful. There really is a spirit to Christmas that has nothing to do with shopping or gift giving. I believe it is the spirit of Christ that is generously poured out, and I do wish everyday could be like that.

When Christmas comes with winter’s snow,
Each family has it’s certain glow.
The children’s eyes shine like the star
Three wise men used to guide afar
In search of the young Prince of Earth,
Born to Mary of virgin birth.

If there were but one day to use,
And God gave me the right to choose,
I’m sure my choice would always be
The Lord’s birthday eternally.

For after Christmas Day is through
And spring creeps in with green and blue.
As Christmas Day fades into dust
And man makes room for mortal lust,
He turns back to his life of sin,,
Outside he smiles, but cries within.

If there were but one day to use,
And God gave me the right to choose,
I’m sure my choice would always be
The Lord’s birthday eternally.

I know the way that I must go, the rules that I must keep.
But the road is hard, and in some places dark and steep.
Just let me sit and rest awhile, and turn my back away.
But then the road grows longer still; I find that I must say,
“If I had a hand to rest in mine, that yonder hill I might could climb.
The road much easier would be, if I had someone to walk with me.”
And lo, my hand, it reaches out, and many hands in answer shout,
“Just take my hand and trust in me. I’ll lead you there, I’ll stay with thee.”

Inspiration comes to us when we learn to find
Those quiet sacred moments that ease our troubled mind.
At dawn before the rush begins of another care-worn day,
When we truly try to listen, when we sincerely pray.

We can strive to have a constant prayer linger in our heart
And watch out for those temptations that distract us from truth’s art
And lead us into pathways full of sorrow, pain and sin,
Yet, if we ask in these dark places, inspiration will come in.

As we climb above the ‘rat race’, inspiration helps us grow.
It’s the sacred thread that connects us to our Father’s wondrous soul.
Nature flows with inspiration, as each butterfly flows by,
We can see it in the eve, in the colors of the sky.

In the words of holy prophets, or our Lord Christ’s inspiring life,
As we meditate upon holy scriptures, we climb above all earthly strife,
And more threads entwine together between us and our holy God,
Until the thread becomes a cord and we grasp the iron rod.

Inspiration’s a spiritual muscle; the more we use it, it will grow.
We must each learn how to listen to this music for the soul.
We pray that we may listen more at work, church and play,
So our Lord’s sweet inspiration will grow stronger every day.