Gospel Story Finder

New Era: Was there ever a time in your life when you were discouraged and felt that baseball wasn’t for you?
Brother Killibrew: Yes, I’ve had setbacks. I think everyone at some point in life experiences disappointments, no matter what field he is in. I’m no exception. In the early years of my career, I was moved around quite a bit, and I got really discouraged.
I was really down. I told my wife that I was convinced I could play major league baseball, but that I had to prove it to everyone else. I had two choices: give up and quit right there or try to prove to them that I could play major league ball. This was the low point in my career. The next year I had a good year in Chattanooga. Then I played for Washington, and I have stayed in the major leagues since then.
I learned a lot through all of this. There is a statement that every baseball player hears a lot: “Just try to meet the ball.” Well, for me that is not the way to do it. I feel that you’ve got to really attack the ball and swing with some authority—and that is what I try to do. When I’m up, I try to hit the ball hard and let it go where it will. And I think life is a little like that. There is no use taking a half-hearted swing at anything.

I completed my mission 10 months later. The week I returned home, I got a message on social media from a 17-year-old boy named Lucas. His profile picture looked familiar.
He told me that almost a year ago, my companion and I had come to his house during a rainstorm. He was moved by what we shared, and a few weeks later, he decided to go to church. He took the missionary lessons and eventually was baptized.
A feeling of gratitude swept over me as I remembered the peaceful evening we’d shared with his family. Heavenly Father had not only comforted me during that stormy time, but He had also shown Lucas how much He loved him by sending us to his family. My life had changed in that rainstorm, and so had Lucas’s.
Today, Lucas is serving as a full-time missionary in Brazil. He’ll face storms too, probably both literal and figurative, just as my companion and I did—just as we all do. But when we recognize God’s love for us and strive to show our love by obeying Him, we can make it through any weather. We can confront the storms, brave the heavy rains, and look forward to brighter, sunnier days.

Just like Esther, Joseph Smith, Joseph of Egypt, and many other scriptural figures, you can have the courage to stop your friends from speaking inappropriately about others. I was going through the same situation, and I had the courage to talk to my friends in a loving and understanding way. In the end, they accepted and understood how important it is to use pure and worthy language! Besides reading the scriptures and praying, fasting helps a lot in those situations. Pray and ask with faith that our Heavenly Father will give you the courage to speak and touch the hearts of your friends.
Paola H., 17, San Salvador, El Salvador

I didn’t know what to do. President Ezra Taft Benson said that we should all read the Book of Mormon, but it isn’t that easy. My mom and dad think that since I’m only five years old, I’m too young to have a Book of Mormon of my own. Since I don’t have my own Book of Mormon, I decided to borrow one.
The first thing I did was look for my father’s Book of Mormon. I was climbing on a chair to get it from the top shelf when Dad came into the room.
“What are you doing, Melissa?” he asked.
“I want to read the Book of Mormon.”
Dad got his book and sat down in a chair with me on his lap and showed me the picture of Nephi stretching out his hand, and the one with Abinadi standing before King Noah, and even the one of Jesus coming down from heaven. Then he closed the book, gave me a hug, and lifted me off his lap.
“But I want to read it,” I said.
He opened his Book of Mormon to one of the front pages. “See this yellow spot?” he asked.
“Yes?”
“That’s mustard from your last hot dog. See this brown smudge on page 229?”
I nodded.
“That’s from your chocolate ice cream cone.”
“Oh.”
“See these last two pages that won’t come apart, even when I shake them?”
“Yes.”
“Strawberry jam.”
Dad put his Book of Mormon back on the shelf and walked away. I decided that I would have to borrow someone else’s.
I went up to my brother’s room. It’s full of all kinds of things, but I looked around until I found his Book of Mormon in the bottom drawer of his dresser. It’s a small one with tiny print and a real leather cover, and it has his name written in gold on the front. Ryan says that he’s saving it to take on his mission. I was just opening it when he came into the room. When he saw me, his eyes got wide. He rushed over and grabbed it from my hand.
“But I want to read it,” I said.
“Leave it alone!” he shouted, flipping it open. “Look at this!”
“It looks like a crayon mark,” I said.
He turned to another place. “And this!”
“It looks like someone accidentally tore the page,” I said.
He closed the book and put it back in his dresser drawer. I slipped quietly from the room.
I went to my own bedroom and huddled in a corner. After a while my nine-year-old sister came in. What’s wrong, Melissa?” Gina asked me.
“I want to read the Book of Mormon.”
Gina smiled and patted my head.
“You can read mine,” she said. I watched her look around the room until she found her Book of Mormon hidden under a pile of blankets. “Here,” she said, handing it to me. It was a big one, with large print.
“Thank you,” I said. I sat down on my bed and opened it. I looked at the words really hard, but I still couldn’t read them. I squinted at the page. I turned the book upside down. I lay on my back and lifted the book above me in the air, but it was no use. No matter what I did, I couldn’t read the Book of Mormon like the prophet told us to. I closed it and put it beside my pillow. Maybe the prophet hadn’t meant for five-year-olds to read it.
That night my mother came up to my room to tuck me into bed. She leaned over and kissed me and pulled the covers up to my chin. Then she looked around the room for my bedtime storybook. Mom looked in the toy box and under the bed, and while she was still searching, I remembered Gina’s Book of Mormon.
“What about this book, Mom?” I asked.
She picked it up. She looked at me, then at the book, then back at me again. “Is this what you want?”
“Yes,” I said.
She opened it to the first page.
“I, Nephi, having been born of goodly parents,” she began.
It was better than my story book any day.

He informed his mother about his desire to get baptized and join the LDS Church, but she threatened to disown him if he ever did. All his relatives were against the idea of him joining the Church. Isaac had been admitted to study for his bachelor’s degree at Kwame Nkrumah University of Science and Technology. Isaac told the Cape Coast missionaries of his plan to attend church at Kumasi without the knowledge of his family. Isaac had studied with them for a little over a year without getting the opportunity to attend church. While in Kumasi, he looked for the LDS Church but could not find it. A student colleague directed him to the LDS Church about a month later. Isaac again met with the Kumasi missionaries. They were impressed with his knowledge of the restored gospel, but this was no surprise, as he had been taught much by missionaries while in Cape Coast.
The missionaries fixed a baptismal interview date with Isaac. He agreed and got baptized on October 16, 2010. However, he kept all this from his family. Isaac had the privilege of performing a proxy baptism in the temple when he came to Accra for Christmas vacation. He shared his experience in the temple: “When I got to the temple, I felt so much about being different and I remember reading a talk in the waiting room by President Monson. ‘Dare to be a Mormon; Dare to stand alone. Dare to have a purpose firm; Dare to make it known’ (“Dare to Stand Alone,” Liahona, Nov. 2011, 61).” This impression compelled him to inform his mother about his newfound Church membership and the blessings he had acquired. Breaking the news, his mother was furious initially, but subsequently, she began to understand and accept his decision to be a Latter-day Saint. However, his extended family was unforgiving of his decision.

“Am I ever bored,” Natalie said on Monday morning as she and her sister and brothers sat under the maple tree in their backyard, drinking lemonade. “School’s only been out two weeks, and I’ve already run out of things to do.”
“Me, too,” Travis agreed. “Later we’ll have swimming lessons and summer camp, but right now, what?” He was the oldest Carter child. They ranged in age from Johnny, who was six, to Travis, fourteen; with nine-year-old Natalie, ten-year-old Roger, and twelve-year-old Susan in between.
“I’ve been thinking,” Susan said slowly.
“Hooray!” Roger teased.
“Seriously,” Susan went on, making a face at Roger, “why don’t we form a club?”
“We’ve already had lots of clubs,” Johnny groaned. “And I never got to be president of any of them.”
“Not a regular club—a special one, one that isn’t just for fun, but to help people too.”
“Sure!” Travis exclaimed. “We could have a good-deed club, or something like that. We could secretly do nice things for people.”
“We’ll need a name and a general plan,” Natalie pointed out.
“Why don’t we each think of a different good deed. That way we’ll do one for each day of the week,” Roger put in.
“Let’s call ourselves the Sunshine Club,” Natalie suggested.
“OK!” the others chimed in.
“Let’s pick ideas from oldest to youngest,” said Susan.
They all agreed. Then Travis announced that he already had an idea for that day. “Remember Jeff, the boy who was burned in that house fire last week? We heard about it in sacrament meeting and in Primary. We could each write him a letter and send a get-well card.”
After lunch the children wrote notes to Jeff. Johnny cut out pretty pictures from a magazine to help fill his page, and Natalie included a poem she liked. Travis found a card with a happy verse in the family greeting-card box.
The children rode their bicycles to the post office and mailed the large envelope. “That was fun, wasn’t it!” Johnny whooped as they pedaled home.
After supper, the Sunshine Club met hastily on the back porch. They decided to announce their activity at ten each morning and to try to complete it during the afternoon.
On Tuesday, Susan suggested they pick flowers from their garden, make bouquets, and take them to the retired people’s center. That afternoon, while Susan and Roger cut flowers with Mom’s permission, the other three children found old jars that they cleaned and covered with foil or pretty wrapping paper.
“Off we go,” they cried as they headed into town, pulling a wagon loaded with colorful blossoms. At the retirement center, they split up and each delivered three small vases of flowers.
Roger was having a hard time deciding what to suggest for Wednesday. But when Mom said she would be gone all day, his eyes sparkled. “Today the Sunshine Club stays home to help Mom.”
“But we always help,” Johnny said, disappointed.
“We do our regular jobs—but I mean special ones.”
So that afternoon the children washed all the windows and the kitchen floor. Then they made some corn bread, heated up some stew, and sneaked out of the kitchen just as Mom came home. She was pleased to see the shiny clean windows and glossy floor and to smell supper on the stove.
“My, how wonderful to have so many mysterious elves around our home,” she remarked at supper. “This stew is delicious, and the corn bread tastes great!”
Thursday morning when the children met, Natalie appeared about to burst. “We’ll collect aluminum cans today and give the money we make to the homeless shelter.” All afternoon they knocked on doors asking for old cans. They searched along roadsides too. A large stack of cans grew in their backyard.
When Dad came home, he volunteered to take the cans to the recycling center.
“Thanks, Dad,” Travis said. The others nodded their thanks too. They all helped load the plastic bags filled with cans into their van. Natalie went into the center with Dad and proudly brought back a check for their efforts. “It’s not much, but every little bit helps,” she said.
On Friday morning, Johnny looked happy. He had finally decided on a project. “Let’s go through our toys and clothes. Richard’s family is having a hard time since his dad was hurt. We could give them some of our things.”
“What a great idea, Johnny,” Susan said. “I’ll write a note, and we can sneak up and deliver the things without them seeing us.”
The children were amazed at the many nice things they found that would be just right for someone in Richard’s family. They decided to give puzzles, a teddy bear, a ball, a baseball mitt, books, and some outgrown clothes that were still as good as new.
Mom came by and added two good blankets and some canned food to the pile.
“Wow,” said Johnny. “This looks great!” The children carted their box to Richard’s home. They left it by the front door with a note that said:
To Richard’s family—
Here is a gift to let you know we care.
The Sunshine Club
The children hurried home. That evening after supper they again sat under the maple tree.
“Boy, am I tired!” Johnny announced.
“But it’s a good kind of tired,” Susan said.
“Yes,” Travis agreed. “And this sure hasn’t been a boring week.”
“The club won’t stop, will it?” Natalie asked.
“Oh, no,” the others chorused.
“That’s good,” Roger asserted. “I already have a lot of new ideas for the Sunshine Club.”

I was sitting at a lunch table with my friends when I noticed that a new boy named Michael had transferred into our lunch period. It seemed like he didn’t really know anyone but was willing to make some new friends. He decided to sit with a group of older boys, who pretended to be his friends for a while but ended up making a joke out of him. They constantly made fun of him until he started to cry. I watched this happen, and it really bothered me. I later learned that Michael has autism.
I decided to ask Michael if he wanted to sit by my friends and me. He said no, probably out of fear of people making fun of him again. He decided he’d rather sit alone.
The next day, I went up to him and introduced him to my friends. I could tell he was glad I hadn’t given up on him, and we started talking. I learned that he is a tic-tac-toe pro. He is almost undefeatable. I also learned how incredibly smart he is. He knows all of the U.S. presidents and can tell you what years they served. He is awesome, but not many people were willing to see past his disability. Some of the other students teased me for sitting with him, but I didn’t let them bother me. I liked hanging out with Michael.
Each day as we met for lunch, I could tell Michael was becoming a happier person. He looked forward to lunch every day, and so did I. What I thought was simply an act of service was really the beginning of a wonderful friendship.

Akin to the miracle of inspiration is the not infrequent occurrence where, through the workings of the Spirit, one receives a new understanding of a gospel principle, an insight. One Utah sister whose son has cancer bore this testimony: “Our strivings in behalf of little Thomas have helped me to understand what faith is. I’ve learned that faith is not just something you feel, it’s something you live. I’m grateful to my Heavenly Father for helping me to gain that understanding.”
Just as this sister felt the influence of the Spirit during a difficult time in her life, so do many other Saints receive the Lord’s help through answered prayers.
One mother told of a frightening incident she had had in the month previous with her eighteen-month-old toddler. He was exploring their bathroom when “he began to scream and scream. I ran into the bathroom, and I was horrified at what I saw. He had slipped and hit his head on the bathtub. It was turning an awful black and blue and was really beginning to swell.
“I’m afraid I almost became hysterical. I picked Ronnie up and carried him into our bedroom and laid him on the bed. All I could think to do was pray. So I knelt down there by the side of the bed and had hardly uttered the first few words of the prayer when I felt an almost tangible feeling of peace and calm.
“By the time I had completed the prayer Ronnie’s head was back to normal size, and almost all of the discoloration was gone.”

“Finished!” Mom said as she put the last of nine candles on the cake.
Tomorrow Maren’s friends were coming for her birthday party. There would be pizza, games, and best of all, presents!
“I can’t wait for the party,” Maren said. “Ella said she might get me a computer game, and Kisha told me I would love her present.”
Mom looked at Maren. “There is something you can do at your party that will be even better than opening gifts.”
Better than getting presents? Maren thought. What would that be?
“In family home evening we’ve been learning about Jesus and how He treated others,” Mom said. “Can you remember some things He did?”
“He was kind to others,” Maren said. “He healed them and took care of them. And He loved them all, even when they made mistakes.”
“That’s right,” Mom told her. “And if Jesus came to the party tomorrow, what do you think He might do?”
Maren thought for a minute. “Well, He would probably pay attention to everyone, not just some people. And I think He would try to help everyone have a good time.”
Mom smiled. “I think you’re exactly right,” she said. “And I think He would like being kind to everyone more than getting lots of presents.”
Maren nodded her head slowly. “Maybe.”
Mom gave her a hug. “Why don’t you try it and see for yourself?”
The next day was sunny and beautiful, just right for a party. Soon Maren’s friends arrived. Maren tried to do what Mom had said. She helped serve the pizza, and she held her baby brother for a while without complaining until Mom could take care of him. She thought that was what Jesus would have done.
After they ate, it was time to open presents. Maren was excited to get the new computer game and other fun things. She remembered to thank each of her friends. Then she noticed Riley sitting very quietly and looking at the floor. She realized Riley hadn’t brought a gift.
After all the gifts were opened, it was time to go outside for a candy hunt. The girls each grabbed a small bag and raced outside. But Riley stayed back and looked sad.
“Are you OK?” Maren asked, sitting next to Riley.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t bring you a present,” Riley said quietly. “My family doesn’t have enough money right now.” Riley looked like she might cry.
“Oh, that doesn’t matter!” Maren said quickly. “I’m just glad you could come to my party, and I want you to have fun!”
Riley looked up. “Are you sure?”
“Of course!” Maren said as she put her arm around Riley. “Friends are way better than presents. Now let’s go find some candy!”
Riley smiled. “OK!” She and Maren grabbed their bags and ran to join their friends.
Maren felt good inside. She thought she had done what Jesus would do.
“That was a fun party,” Maren told Mom after her friends left.
“What was your favorite part?” Mom asked.
Maren thought for a minute. Then she said, “I really liked getting all my presents. But when I helped Riley feel better and made her smile, I felt so happy! That was the best birthday present of all.”

While I was serving as an Area Seventy, one of the stakes in my coordinating council participated in a large temple excursion. The temple the members attended is small, and unfortunately there were several members who, despite making the long 12-hour journey, were not able to enter the temple because it had exceeded the daily capacity.

A few days after this trip, I visited this stake and asked the president if I could talk with some of the members who were unable to attend the temple that day. One of the brothers I visited told me: “Elder, do not worry. I was at the house of the Lord. I sat on a bench in the garden and pondered in my mind the ordinances. Then I was given the opportunity to enter, but instead I allowed another brother, who had come to the temple for the first time to be sealed to his wife, to take my place. They then had the opportunity to attend two sessions that day. The Lord knows me, and He has blessed me, and we are fine.”

One of the greatest challenges I faced growing up as a child in Guatemala was poverty—spiritual poverty because we didn’t know the gospel and temporal poverty because of the lack of money. My mother died when I was five years old, which left my father to raise four young children by himself. Because my father wanted to keep us all together, he had to delegate some of the household responsibilities to us children.
I was the oldest child and was assigned the task of preparing lunch and dinner for the family every day. It was hard at first, but I learned a few ways to cook. Each day my dad would leave me 25 cents to buy the food. I would buy a pound of beans for 6 cents and a pound of rice for 7 cents. Then I would buy 5 cents of charcoal that I used to cook everything, 2 cents of kindling, and 5 cents of tortillas. I did this every day, and every day we ate rice and beans with tortillas. Even back then 25 cents wasn’t much, but this was how we got by.

I’m not good at basketball. But for some reason, my friends still invited me to play. During one game, I hoped the ball would never come to me. Well, it did, and I decided to take a shot. As the ball flew toward the basket, I was sure it would miss. The ball hit the backboard and then fell through the hoop.
I made the shot!
My friends cheered as I stood in disbelief. I didn’t contribute much else to that game, but it felt good to be part of a team and to participate in my own small way.

A friend shared an experience she had as a small child in a branch of the Church where she was the only child of Primary age. Week after week, her mother held home Primary on the same day and at the same time. She eagerly anticipated sitting on the sofa with her mother and learning the gospel of Jesus Christ and how to live it. Minutes carefully recorded by her mother in a notebook revealed the home Primary meetings always included prayers, songs, and a lesson.

The desire of this mother’s heart was for her little daughter to develop a testimony of Jesus Christ and to feel the joy of the gospel. She provided her daughter with what had been so important to her as a child. This little girl, now a woman of faith and covenant, looks back on her childhood with deep appreciation for her mother’s enthusiasm and commitment to teach her of the Savior. This mother’s diligence became her daughter’s delight—with an exclamation mark.

As winter dragged on, the hours and days merged into a gray landscape of pain and exhaustion. Finally, on Valentine’s Day, Kari gave up. She lay in bed looking at an unopened valentine from her mother. Finally, she let it fall to the floor, still unopened. She was tired beyond caring. Her leg burned and itched. She was on the verge of vomiting. She lay back and gave herself up to “What if?” and “Why me?”
Turning her head as if to hide the pointless tears, she saw through her window the ropes of her swing. They moved lazily with the wind, pale lines against the bare oak limbs and gray sky. She struggled to her elbow, then slid heavily from her bed and limped to the window. As she looked down at the swing, a memory stirred and grew strong. She knew what she had to do.
She had made it down the stairs somehow and was halfway out the door when her little brother John found her.
“What do you think you’re doing?” he said. “Please get back to bed. It’s cold out here. You’ll catch cold and …”
“Just help me get to the swing.”
John couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “The swing? You want to swing? It’s freezing out here.”
Kari kept limping toward the swing. “If you won’t help me, I’ll get there myself.”
John put an arm around Kari’s waist, and she leaned on his shoulder. Together they moved on toward the swing. Each step took forever. Kari held her stomach to keep from retching, dragging her leg behind her.
Finally they reached the wooden seat. Kari sat down and John began pushing her. At first she could do nothing but hold on weakly, but then she felt a change. Her grip tightened. Her head felt less heavy on her shoulders. Slowly at first, then more swiftly, strength came flooding into her from some hidden reservoir. For the first time in weeks she felt fueled by a purpose. She began pulling hard on the rope and stretching her toes forward. She felt as if she were reaching with her legs for the height her soul required. With all the strength she possessed she struggled higher and higher, hanging at each summit in a weightless, timeless calm, then dropping back into a dizzy gulf. Soon she was higher than she had ever been before. Street on street opened to her. Suddenly the whole valley was before her, clear to the horizon. She could see to the edge of the world. Her toes touched oak twigs. She felt as if she had left her body behind while her spirit soared. With every swing the world looked new and different. The oak limbs blurring past were the color of Thomas’s new suit.
The pages of Dr. Walker’s book began to dance in circles through Kari’s mind. She thought of Joseph crying out to the Lord in the jail at Liberty, and she heard the answer:
“My son, peace be unto thy soul; thine adversity … shall be but a small moment;
“And then, if thou endure it well, God shall exalt thee on high; thou shalt triumph over all thy foes” (D&C 121:7–8).
She felt as if she were kneeling with the Prophet as he searched the heavens again for the height he needed, and again heard the voice. “If the very jaws of hell shall gape open the mouth wide after thee, know thou, my son, that all these things shall give thee experience, and shall be for thy good” (D&C 122:7).
Bells chimed somewhere in the valley, and Kari thought they were ringing in her soul.
All her newfound strength suddenly drained from her. She was barely able to hold on as the swing slowed. She went limp as John grabbed the ropes and stopped her.
He came around from behind the swing and faced Kari, steadying her as she slumped forward. He was surprised to see a calmness about her. And something that had been missing much too long seemed to have come back.
“John?”
“Kari, what is it? Do you need the doctor?”
Kari shook her head. “I was just wondering how long a woman lives. How old is a woman usually when she dies?”
John shivered in the 35-degree weather. “I had a teacher at school tell me the average life of a woman was 70 or so. She was about 50, and I think she told us that to take away our hopes of getting a different teacher in the near future.”
The wind stopped blowing for a moment, and the air felt less harsh. “John, Dr. Walker says I’ve got three more months of radiation treatments. Right now that looks like forever, but when I think of living 50 or 60 years after that, it’s really just an instant.”
John took his jacket off and put it over Kari’s shoulders. He glimpsed his mother at the kitchen window and knew that in a few moments she would be running out to bring Kari back to the safety of the house.
Kari made circles for a moment with her toe. “The surgeons think they got all the cancer, but they won’t be sure for at least five years, and even then there are no guarantees. But, John …” She took his hands and found that they were strong, like Thomas’s, like her father’s. “Even if they didn’t get it all—when I think of even the longest life compared to forever, it’s like sitting here on the swing and seeing just beyond the yard compared to being so high I can see the entire valley. It’s just a moment.”
John looked a little dubious. “I’d have to say it was a long moment, in my opinion.”
Kari smiled despite the churning of her stomach and the screaming of her leg. “Okay, a long moment, but still a moment.”
“Now let’s go in, Kari. Please? Mom’s coming out of the house, and she’s going to be madder than wet hornets.”
John lifted Kari from the swing. Her head began to swim, and her stomach lurched. He held her tight and started guiding her back to the house. Suddenly she stopped and turned around to look once more at the swing. She knew, as some things are just known, that she would swing again when the bluejays began to fly and the sun warmed the house once more.
“John, Thomas was right.”
John turned around and looked at the swing too. “Thomas is usually right, Kari. He’s the brains in this family.”
The swing began to move slightly as the wind picked up. Kari saw her mother out of the corner of her eye, running to help.
Kari turned her back to the swing, and at the same time she turned her back on giving up. Snow began to fall, but Kari’s thoughts were on the coming spring. She was thinking about the hours she would spend on the swing, and about how far she would learn to see.

Painting Yourself into a Corner
One day my father assigned me to varnish a wooden floor. I made the choice to begin at the door and work my way into the room. When I was almost finished, I realized I had left myself no way to get out. There was no window or door on the other side. I had literally painted myself into a corner. I had no place to go. I was stuck.
Whenever we disobey, we spiritually paint ourselves into a corner and are captive to our choices. Like repentance, turning around and walking across a newly varnished floor means more work—a lot of re-sanding and refinishing! Returning to the Lord isn’t easy, but it is worth it.
Elder Robert D. Hales of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles

It was an ill-fated, watermelon-selling trip to Alaska that exhausted all my hard-saved college fund, so I got a job as a graveyard-shift fry cook at a Provo diner. That was my first year at BYU.
I had taken a room, and the rent came due at the beginning of the month. But I didn’t make enough money to pay both my tithing and my rent. This caused me great concern. I desperately wanted to continue my education, yet I knew I should pay my tithing. Knowing I would receive greater assistance from my Father in heaven if I were faithful, I paid my tithing and awaited the day my rent would come due.
The day prior to the rent due date, my landlady, Sister Knight, asked me if my cousin and I would be willing to trim a large tree in her backyard in return for a month’s rent. Gratefully, I accepted.
The following month, I again paid my tithing immediately after receiving my check. I paid for my food and other school expenses, but found I was without sufficient funds to pay my rent. Once again, the day before the rent was due, Sister Knight asked me if we would be willing to chop the large tree in her backyard into firewood in return for another month’s rent.
For the next couple of months I was able to pay all of my expenses after paying my tithing. Then came another month when there was again not enough money to cover both rent and tithing. I paid my tithing. I knew that Sister Knight did not have any more trees to be cut, and I was concerned that I should pay the rent promptly. On the Friday evening before the rent was required, a local radio station in Provo announced a program called “Movie Merry-Go-Round” in which a prize would be offered to anyone who could answer questions regarding one of the movies then playing in Provo. I listened to the program and thought I might try to win the prize. That evening, the radio announcer offered $18 and two free movie tickets to the first person who could give the license number of a car that had been used in a brief scene in a recent movie. Miraculously, or at least so it seemed to me, I saw clearly in my mind’s eye the scene that the radio announcer referred to. I saw it with such clarity that I could read the license number. Once again I had sufficient funds to pay my rent.
As that first school year drew to a close, I again found myself without enough money to pay my tithing and my last month’s rent. I paid the tithing, hoping to find some extra work I could do somewhere to earn money. I was concerned because my already busy schedule did not provide much in the way of extra time, and I did not want to be late in paying Sister Knight. The day that my rent was due, there was a knock at my door. When I opened the door, Don Wood, a member of the BYU football team, was standing in the doorway. He handed me an envelope that he told me he had received earlier that evening from his father, President Charles W. Wood, then first counselor in the Union Oregon Stake presidency. President Wood had asked Don to deliver the envelope to me. Don had said he would be seeing me at school the following Monday or Tuesday, but President Wood had replied, “No, you take it to him tonight. As my plane was landing in Boise, I was impressed that Jim needed some help. I think he needs it now, and I want you to deliver this envelope to him tonight.”
I had never spoken to President Wood nor, to the best of my memory, to Sister Knight or any other person concerning my lack of funds. As the oldest of seven children from a very poor family, I had always been aware I could not expect any financial assistance from my family. The experiences I had already had my first year at BYU had greatly solidified my testimony of tithing.
Recalling all this in my mind, I thanked Don for delivering the message and envelope. Slowly I opened it; inside was $20.

“You look so ridiculous, Ed. I’m totally serious,” the lovely and talented Maggie, my 10-year-old sister, told me as I was leaving to go to work at Reel Life Video store. I caught a glimpse of myself in the entryway mirror. Unfortunately, she was right.
And you would look ridiculous, too, if you were required by your employer to wear shiny shoes with pointed toes, black tuxedo pants, a red cummerbund, a ruffled shirt, and a snappy red bow tie. It doesn’t help, either, that I have to wear a former employee’s name tag because my manager hasn’t had a new one made up for me yet. So that is why I, Ed McIff, an ordinary, boring teenager with an ordinary, boring life, wear a name tag that says “Sergio” instead of my name.
“See you later, Sergio!” my mom trilled from the kitchen. And then she burst into gales of laughter.
Doesn’t it say somewhere that mothers aren’t supposed to laugh at their children who are required to wear stupid clothes to work? I opened our ordinary, boring front door and let myself out into a boring evening in ordinary, boring Salt Lake City, Utah.
Actually, work was okay. We were pretty busy, which helps the time go by faster. I was surprised when Marv the Manager told me and Wendy, another proud Reel Life Video employee like myself, to go on break.
“Want to get some ice cream next door?” Wendy asked as we walked out the door together.
I gave her a sideways smile. “A triple scoop of burnt almond fudge, chocolate, and vanilla …”
“… in a sugar cone,” she finished my sentence for me and grinned.
“My treat,” I said.
“You always treat, Ed,” she said, giving my arm a friendly slug.
“You’re right, I do.”
Wendy Duncan is possibly the only human being I know who likes ice cream more than I do, which is one of the things that makes it so fun to buy it for her. In fact, we like a lot of the same things—baseball, science fiction novels, old movies, breakfast at George’s Cafe. You get the idea.
After getting our cones, we sat down on the strip of grass in front of Reel Life Video and looked at the evening sky while licking ice cream. The moon was high and bright.
“Sometimes when I really miss my brother,” Wendy said, “I step out onto our front porch and wonder if he’s looking at the moon, too. Thinking about him doing the exact same thing I’m doing makes it feel like he’s not so far away after all.”
Wendy cupped her hands around her mouth. “Alo, irmão Ben,” she called to the moon. “That means, ‘Hello, Brother Ben,’ in case you’re interested.” Wendy’s brother, Ben, is on a mission in Brazil.
“When I was a little boy my mother told me I could make wishes on a star,” I told her. “But I liked the moon better because it was way bigger, so I always made my wishes on the moon.”
“Moonlight, moon bright, the first moon I see tonight,” Wendy laughed. “So what do you wish for on the moon tonight, Ed?”
“Nothing,” I told her. “I happen to know from personal experience that wishing on the moon doesn’t work.”
Actually, this is only partially true. Wishing doesn’t work, it’s true, but I do it anyway. And what I wished for that night as I sat in front of Reel Life Video eating ice cream with Wendy was that my life wouldn’t be so ordinary and boring.
What I wished for was excitement.
Wendy and I were busy shelving videos when someone tapped me lightly on the shoulder. “Excuse me. Do you work here?”
“Yes, I work here,” I answered politely as I tucked Ivanhoe back on the shelf. Then I turned to discover, standing there, the most beautiful girl I have ever seen in my life.
Okay. Here are some adjectives to help you get the picture. Tall. Brown hair. Tan. Blue-eyed. Smooth-skinned. Gorgeous. You look at her and think she’s so much higher up on the food chain than you are that the two of you don’t even belong to the same species.
For the record, this is the kind of girl who is never interested in guys wearing red cummerbunds.
She flashed me a dazzling smile (her teeth, in case you’re interested, were white and even, not unlike pearls). Then, looking at my name tag, she said, “You’re Sergio. What a cool name!”
My heart began to pound beneath my frilly shirt. Here it was. My big chance to stop being ordinary, to stop being boring.
“Yes, indeed,” I said, barely believing what was coming out of my mouth. “My name is Sergio. Sergio Mendez.”
Wendy looked at me in pure disbelief, then crossed her eyes.
Sergio Mendez? Now where had that come from? Somehow it was a name with a vaguely familiar ring.
“Wow!” the amazingly beautiful girl said, and I could tell she was interested, really interested. In me! “Sergio Mendez. Are you from somewhere else? I mean besides Salt Lake City?”
Wendy was watching me now with a great deal of interest.
“Yes,” I blurted out. This is not technically the truth since I was born in Salt Lake City and have lived in Salt Lake my whole life. It’s just that I would have been from someplace else if I’d had the chance. “I’m from Brazil originally.” I even faked a little bit of an accent when I said this.
Wendy began to choke, and the beautiful girl shot her a look of real concern. “Are you okay?”
Wendy nodded, causing the beautiful girl to smile kindly at her as she spoke. “Isn’t that cool he’s from Brazil, but he speaks English like a native.”
“Like a native,” Wendy agreed. “He probably speaks Brazilian like a native, too.”
Brazilian?
Wendy’s little joke did not register with the beautiful girl who forged ahead. “I’d love to go to Brazil. Wouldn’t you?” she asked Wendy, who nodded truthfully.
The beautiful girl wrapped her beautiful arms around herself and sighed dreamily. “I’ve never been anywhere, really. Just being here in Salt Lake City this summer is such a huge deal for me. And I love it here. Honest! I love the way you can walk outside at night and see lights everywhere. It feels like there are a whole bunch of people all around you doing really interesting things.”
“Where are you from?”
The girl gave a dismissive wave of her hand. “Well, I’m for sure not from Brazil. I come from Fountain Green. You’ve probably never even heard of it. It’s a little town way down in Sanpete County. I’m staying here for the summer with my Aunt Mary, who’s a student at the University of Utah. She got me a job waitressing at the same place she works. By the way, my name’s Liesel.”
“And I’m Wendy.”
Liesel grabbed Wendy’s hand and shook it. I could tell that Wendy was surprised. I mean who shakes hands when they’re 16? Surprised or not, however, Wendy was softening.
“Wendy and Sergio,” Liesel gave a happy little laugh. “You’re my new friends in Salt Lake City.”
Marv the Manager, who absolutely cannot stand it when his employees look like they’re having fun, joined us. “Are these two helping you find everything you need?” he asked Liesel.
Liesel linked her arms through mine and Wendy’s. “They were just going to show me where I can find The Sound of Music. My mom named me after one of the characters, you know.” She winked at Marv. He did a little backwards stagger as though he’d just been kissed. It was easy to see that Marv was totally smitten. Just like the rest of us.
There was a little surprise waiting for me in the parking lot when I got off work. Liesel and another girl, who was a few years older, were sitting in a truck. Liesel waved and smiled when she saw me, then elbowed the girl next to her. I walked over to say hello. Or make that “alo.”
“This is the boy I was telling you about, Mary,” she said. “Sergio Mendez. Sergio, this is my Aunt Mary, the one I’m living with this summer.”
“Sergio Mendez?” the aunt repeated, looking me up and down. I started to feel nervous. What if she thought I was—you know—a phony?
“It’s very nice to meet you,” I said in my best Eagle Scout voice.
“Pleased to meet you, too, Sergio,” Liesel’s aunt said through the pickup window. She had a little smile on her face. I wasn’t sure it was a friendly smile, to tell you the truth, but then again it was hard to tell in the dark.
“Can you teach me some words, Sergio?” Liesel said. Then she lowered her beautiful voice to a whisper. “By the way, I know you speak Portuguese. Not Brazilian. I went along with Wendy when she said that because I didn’t want her to feel stupid. She’s really sweet, Sergio.”
“Right,” I said. A strange, uncomfortable feeling shot through me. Whatever the feeling was, it didn’t stop me from calling Sweet Wendy the next day. “You have to help me learn some Portuguese quick.”
“You’re crazy, Ed. Oh, excuse me. Senhor Sergio Mendez.” Wendy did a very obnoxious accent. “Talk about lame. My father still has his old Sergio Mendez and Brazil 66 albums from when he was in high school.”
No wonder my new name had sounded familiar to me. I used to be a rock star back in the late ’60s. I prayed that neither Liesel nor her Aunt Mary had recognized the name.
“Didn’t Ben teach you any words besides ‘Alo’?” I pressed on, ignoring Wendy’s wisecracks.
“Well,” Wendy sounded reluctant, “I can say the days of the week.”
“The days of the week are good. I can just stand there and say Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday over and over again in Portuguese, and Liesel won’t know the difference.”
“Ed …” Wendy paused.
“Well?”
“Ed, my first impulse is to hate girls that look like Liesel because—well, because I don’t look like them. But Liesel seems really nice. And innocent. And maybe even a little lonely.” Wendy stopped.
“So what’s your point?” I said, playing really stupid. The feeling from last night returned, although this time I came closer to recognizing it for what it was.
“My point, Ed,” Wendy pressed on, “is that you’re tricking her. She’s going to feel bad if she finds out.”
“Who says she’s going to find out?”
Wendy snorted.
“Please, Wendy,” I pleaded. “This is my chance to—to be somebody different. Somebody who is not ordinary, boring Ed McIff.” As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I realized how totally pathetic they were. And also how true.
“Okay, fine,” she snapped. “Sunday is domingo. Monday is segunda-feira. Tuesday is terca-feira …”
You know that feeling I had while talking to Liesel and Mary? Well, I’m pretty sure it was guilt.
Liesel returned the next day, looking as fresh as flowers in the morning. Her Aunt Mary was with her, and so was another guy who looked like he spent his lunch hours in the gym every day.
“Hi, Sergio,” Liesel said with a sunny grin. “I brought you a surprise today. Mary’s friend, Rick!”
Just what I always wanted for a surprise. A guy with big muscles.
“Rick went on his mission to Brazil, and Mary thought it might make you happy to have somebody to talk to in your own language again,” Liesel said, her face alive with kindness and concern.
“Como vai?” Rick smiled and crushed my hand, although in fairness I think he only meant to shake it.
My stomach dropped like a loose elevator. I opened my mouth to answer him. “Domingo, segunda-feira, terca-feira.”
Rick looked at me closely. “Que?”
I repeated myself, “Domingo, segunda-feira.”
Rick didn’t say anything, but I could see from his expression that he realized what was going on. Just my luck.
Liesel giggled, “Hey, what are you guys saying to each other?”
“Not much,” I said truthfully.
“Mary, show Liesel that movie we were looking at the other night and ask her if she wants to check it out,” Rick said. Liesel gave me a smile then hurried down the aisle after her aunt.
“Okay,” Elder Rick whispered to me, his face close to mine. “I’m giving you a choice: either you come clean with her, or I’ll do it for you. Okay, Sergio?”
I swallowed and nodded, fear and shame coursing through my veins like salmon swimming upstream. I looked over at Wendy. Her face was unintelligible.
Mary, Liesel, and Rick returned with an armful of videos which I checked out for them. Liesel was chattering away happily, but I only heard part of what she said because I was so distracted.
“Ah, Liesel,” I said, as they turned to go. “Could I talk to you for a minute? Alone?”
Rick looked over Mary and Liesel’s heads and gave me a little smile that was actually friendly. “We’ll wait for you in the truck, Liesel,” he said, then left with Mary.
Liesel gave me a sidelong glance while smiling and shuffling her feet a little bit. She was acting like a girl who knows you’re going to ask her to dance.
I cleared my throat. “I owe you an apology. I … I lied to you. My name isn’t Sergio. It’s Ed McIff. I’ve never been to Brazil.”
The smile faded slowly from Liesel’s lips as my words sank in.
“The only reason I wear this name tag is because my manager hasn’t made me a new one yet,” I went on.
Liesel looked straight at me for a long time, then said, “You must think I’m pretty stupid, huh?”
“No!” I said. “I don’t think you’re stupid at all!”
“Then why did you lie to me?”
I hadn’t let myself think about how Liesel would feel if she found out I was lying. But now I could see that she was hurt, maybe even a little humiliated, which made me feel like the complete jerk I’d been. “I don’t think you’re stupid at all. I was just trying to impress you. I was trying to be somebody I’m not to get your attention.”
“But how do you know I wouldn’t have liked Ed McIff?” she asked.
“I don’t know.”
“You misjudged me, Ed,” Liesel said softly. “It’s too bad, too. We could have been friends this summer.”
She gave me one last look out of those huge blue eyes, picked up her videos, and walked out of the door. And out of my life.
Wendy let out a low whistle. “Wow.”
Just then, Marv the Manager came scuttling up the aisle like a crab toward me. “I got something for you here.” He dropped a plastic name tag in front of me.
I removed my old name tag and put on the new one.
Wendy looked at it and smiled. “Welcome back, Ed. Somebody from Brazil named Sergio has been inhabiting your body. It’s been kind of spooky.”
In spite of the fact I was feeling like dirt, I had to smile.
“He was pretty cute,” Wendy went on, “but he was such a liar. I like you a lot better.”
“Really?” I said, “Why?”
“Because you buy me ice cream and because you make me laugh,” said Wendy. “Be yourself from now on, Ed. Okay? It’s less confusing that way.” She chucked a video at me. “Now go shelve this.”
I snagged it on the fly. “Yes, ma’am.”
Wendy smiled, and it occurred to me what great eyes she has. I gave the video a little flip, then caught it again.
So that’s it. My story about last summer when I learned to be true by suffering the consequences of playing false. The summer I was Sergio.

When I was in my last year of Primary, a wonderful older lady named Marth Christensen was our teacher. She helped us learn the Articles of Faith. To this day I still know the Articles of Faith because of what I learned in Primary. We visited Sister Christensen’s home often. It was always a wonderful experience to be there. She taught us cooking skills, and we made cookies and candy. Sometimes we took the treats we had made to somebody who was homebound. The examples of wonderful teachers taught me to serve.

Karen said she thought writing to her parents and sharing her experiences at the conference with them was a good idea. They aren’t members of the Church, and she wanted to share some of her enjoyment with them. She was first introduced to the Church by her next-door neighbors, who invited her to a home evening, then to worship services. “Now I go to church every Sunday, even though I’m not a member yet,” she said. “I do my seminary, too. Having friends who are members has given me a place to turn for support.”

Wooden shoes make wonderful sounds. They slurp out of muddy lanes, crunch along gravel roads, clatter down cobblestone streets. Walter Stover’s shoes made all those sounds and more on the long walk to school each morning. The German schoolboy didn’t wear wooden shoes for the sounds, though. He wore them because they cost only 20 cents a pair, and money was scarce.
Young Walter’s life was never exactly easy, but things always seemed to work out. His mother died when he was an infant, but his father’s second wife proved to be a kind and loving woman. “My father was bedridden the last three years of his life,” Walter, now 87 years old, remembers. “At a very young age I had to help with the work. We lived on a little farm. I remember when I brought the grain to the miller, we didn’t have any money, but he took seven pounds out of 100 for his fee.”
When Walter was 11 years old, his father died. At 14 the young farmboy was apprenticed to a metalworker. At 16 he was drafted into the German army, fighting in the artillery on the battlefields of France and Belgium during World War I.
After the war he opened an upholstery and mattress business and married Martha Bohnenstengel. Then in 1923 two young men knocked on his door. They were Elder Wayne Kartchner and Elder Otto Andre. In broken German they told about a boy named Joseph, about an angel, a book, a promise.
Walter and Martha were baptized in the Warthe River one cold November midnight. The ordinance had to be performed at night because of the anti-Mormon feeling in Germany at the time. “Nobody liked the Mormons. We were considered by some to be the most terrible people who ever lived.” Walter became the president of the Landsberg Branch. The 30 members met in his mattress factory.
Heeding the call to gather to Zion, he and Martha emigrated to Utah in 1926. Martha found employment sewing men’s dress shirts at $7.50 a week, and Walter worked in a mattress manufacturing plant at $20 a week. In 1929 they founded the Stover Bedding and Mattress Company.
As his business flourished, Walter became known for his generosity and compassion. He gave freely of his worldly goods and of himself. He does not like these acts of kindness to be spoken of, but many burdens were lifted and many lives brightened by his caring.
Walter’s own life was darkened, however, by the storm clouds of war that billowed over Europe. Soon his homeland and his adopted nation were killing each other’s sons on the same battlefields where he had fought as a young man.
When the guns of World War II finally fell silent, Germany awakened to a gray world of hunger, disease, and despair. Her cities lay in ruins. The whole nation was exhausted. Millions were homeless. Food, clothing, fuel, and shelter were almost nonexistent. People were dying every day for lack of the simple necessities.
Faithful Latter-day Saints had suffered with the rest. Some had died when the bombs fell. Many had been killed in combat. Others were prisoners of war.
The love of the Saints for one another during the apocalyptic last days of the war and the grim aftermath was a kind of miracle. They shared their food, their homes, and their faith. Their native leaders worked with great devotion to obtain what supplies they could for the members.
Still, the time came when there was no more to share and no more to buy. By late 1946, the situation was desperate. One of the coldest winters on record came howling in through bomb-shattered cities to the north. Meeting in unheated buildings, the faithful Saints watched in amazement as the water froze in sacrament cups.
Elder Ezra Taft Benson of the Council of the Twelve had come to Europe early in 1946 to assess needs and open channels for the hundreds of tons of relief supplies that the wards and stakes of the Church had been contributing. In the fall of the year, just as the need was becoming most desperate, these supplies began flowing into Germany.
And not long after welfare supplies began arriving, the Church sent another great gift to Germany—a man of faith and love and compassion. A strong, humble man who had long since outgrown his wooden shoes but who would never outgrow his love for the land of his birth. Walter Stover was called to minister to the war-torn Saints of Germany as president of the East German Mission.
Eager to do his part, he purchased with his own funds two railroad carloads of food and relief supplies and took them with him to Germany. Because of his generosity many lives were saved.
President Stover was sustained as mission president in a meeting at which Elder Benson presided. It was held in a bombed-out school in Berlin. Members of the Church approached President Stover after the meeting and told him, “We have lost our homes, our farms, and all our belongings, but we have not lost our testimonies of the gospel.”
Seven of the East German Mission’s eight districts lay within the Russian zone. President Stover launched a series of district conferences into this zone, gathering together the remnants of the Saints. Many branches had almost disappeared. Some had only women and children. The men were dead or in prison camps. The people were reduced to eating weeds to supplement their meager ration of black bread. The members thronged to the conferences, as hungry for spiritual nourishment as they were for food. Time after time President Stover crossed into the Russian zone in his green Pontiac, taking both spiritual and temporal aid, a shepherd to a scattered and ravaged flock.
There was some danger in these travels. He was arrested several times, and once he was taken at gun point to be tried by a Russian military court as an American spy. He was released unhurt. He had been promised by President George Albert Smith that the adversary would have no power over him as long as he was doing his duty, and this promise was honored many times.
And always, he fed and clothed the Saints. Time after time he staved off starvation and exposure with Church welfare supplies, and sometimes with goods he purchased himself.
His reports from those days are filled with touching stories. “I went to visit one sister whose husband was killed in action in Russia. She lived with no heat, no windows, no water. There was hardly any bedding. Two small children were in bed shivering. The mother was hard of hearing, and the oldest daughter, 11, was half-starved and frozen. The little girl had no shoes and little clothing. … We gave them warm food and clothing.
“I will never forget the thankful expression on the little girl’s face when she got underclothing, a dress, stockings, and new shoes. We also could help the mother and other little girl from the welfare supplies. We gave them a couple of blankets and a few other things. The family might well have frozen to death if they had not come to our attention.”
Another time he wrote: “I gave a little girl an orange. She eyed it with suspicion and then began to play with it. I told her it could be eaten, and before I could show her how to peel it she began to eat the peeling and all as if it were an apple. Children have no knowledge of fruits or sweets. The gaunt adults remember such items as milk, eggs, butter, fats, and meats but vaguely.”
Members from all over the Church contributed to the rescue of the German Saints. President Stover was part of an event which he would call “the most beautiful and inspiring thing that has ever been my privilege to witness during my entire membership in the Church.” It began on a visit to Holland when he graphically described the suffering of the German members. Cornelius Zappey, president of the Netherlands Mission, was so moved that he asked the Dutch members if they would plant seed potatoes in their flower gardens for their former enemies. They responded enthusiastically, and in November of 1947, they sent 60 tons of potatoes to Germany, along with 96 barrels of herring. They sent another 60 tons of potatoes in 1949.
President Stover’s own generosity to the Saints was legendary. He built and paid for at least four new chapels from his own funds. Once he rented a train to bring the members from East Germany into the American sector of Berlin for a conference.
One Christmas he and the West German Mission president purchased a chocolate bar from the U.S. army commissary for every LDS child in Germany. After that the children called him their “chocolate uncle.”
At the end of his mission, President Stover and his wife adopted two little German girls, Heidi and Brigitte.
President Stover witnessed the birth of the Cold War. He saw the Iron Curtain come down across Europe. He saw access to his beloved Saints in East Germany become more and more difficult and infrequent. But he worked on tirelessly to serve his people in every way he could.
After his release in 1951, Brother Stover continued his giving ways back in Salt Lake. He hired many impoverished immigrants at his business, and quietly helped unnumbered others, shunning publicity, but always giving. Giving was his hobby, his passion, his mission. Students living in Helaman Halls at BYU enjoy one small part of his generosity. He donated all the mattresses and box springs for the whole complex.
In the meantime, he fulfilled many Church assignments, both in his own ward and as a member of Churchwide committees. He didn’t know any other way to spend his life except in service, and he saw chances for service everywhere. President Ezra Taft Benson has said of him, “Brother Walter Stover, whom I have known and loved for over 40 years, is a man without guile and an exemplary Latter-day Saint.” President Thomas S. Monson says, “Walter Stover has contributed his all after the fashion of the Master, quietly and unceremoniously—without any fanfare or credit to himself.”
Walter Stover’s whole life has been dedicated to building Zion and taking care of the needs of his Father’s children. He could have been a very rich man by now as the world measures riches. He could have had estates and mansions and fleets of vintage autos. Instead he has invested his money and himself in the lives of his fellowmen and in the restored gospel. And so instead of being very rich in dollars and cents, he is very rich in love and joy and the Spirit of the Lord.
The Savior must surely have been thinking of people such as Walter Stover when he said,
“Then shall the King say unto them on his right hand, Come, ye blessed of my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world:
“For I was an hungred, and ye gave me meat: I was thirsty, and ye gave me drink: I was a stranger, and ye took me in:
“Naked, and ye clothed me: I was sick, and ye visited me: I was in prison, and ye came unto me.
“Then shall the righteous answer him, saying, Lord, when saw we thee an hungred, and fed thee? or thirsty, and gave thee drink?
“When saw we thee a stranger, and took thee in? or naked, and clothed thee?
“Or when saw we thee sick, or in prison, and came unto thee?
“And the King shall answer and say unto them, Verily I say unto you, Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me” (Matt. 25:34–40).