Gospel Story Finder

Attending sacrament meeting for the first time was a real switch for Cesar. It wasn’t anything like the meetings he was accustomed to.

“There was a man carrying the bread and water trays. He was very busy fixing the microphone and saying hello to everyone. There were so many people there, I wondered if they would all fit in the church! It seemed funny that the man fixing the microphone was the bishop.

“It was also a real change to be in church for three hours; that seemed like a long time. I still remember that first Sunday School class. We talked about the birth of Jesus Christ, and I asked a lot of questions. After class, Betty’s brother, Isaac, helped me find the missionaries. I didn’t go to priesthood meeting that day; instead, I had my first discussion with the missionaries.”

That discussion led to more discussions during the week. By Thursday, he had had an interview with the bishop, and the following Sunday—exactly one week after his first attendance at Sunday meetings—he was baptized.

“It was pretty fast,” Cesar admits, “but by that time I had already read the Book of Mormon. Before meeting the missionaries, I had also read Doctrines of Salvation, Truth Restored, and The Miracle of Forgiveness. I had started reading Jesus the Christ. I felt I was ready.”

In 1955, after my freshman year of college, I spent the summer working at the newly opened Jackson Lake Lodge, located in Moran, Wyoming. My mode of transportation was a 14-year-old 1941 Hudson automobile that should have received its burial 10 years earlier. Among the car’s other identifying traits, the floorboards had rusted so badly that, if not for a piece of plywood, I could have literally dragged my feet on the highway. The positive is that unlike most 14-year-old cars in this time period, it used no oil—lots of water in the radiator, but no oil. I could never figure out where the water went and why the oil continually got thinner and thinner and clearer and clearer.
In preparation for the 185-mile (298-km) drive home at the end of the summer, I took the car to the only mechanic in Moran. After a quick analysis, the mechanic explained that the engine block was cracked and was leaking water into the oil. That explained the water and oil mystery. I wondered if I could get the water to leak into the gas tank; I would get better gasoline mileage.
Now the confession: after the miracle of arriving home, my father came out and happily greeted me. After a hug and a few pleasantries, he looked into the backseat of the car and saw three Jackson Lake Lodge towels—the kind you cannot buy. With a disappointed look, he merely said, “I expected more of you.” I hadn’t thought that what I had done was all that wrong. To me these towels were but a symbol of a full summer’s work at a luxury hotel, a rite of passage. Nevertheless, by taking them I felt I had lost the trust and confidence of my father, and I was devastated.
The following weekend I adjusted the plywood floorboard in my car, filled the radiator with water, and began the 370-mile (595-km) round trip back to Jackson Lake Lodge to return three towels. My father never asked why I was returning to the lodge, and I never explained. It just didn’t need to be said. This was an expensive and painful lesson on honesty that has stayed with me throughout my life.

Illustrations by David Habben
While serving in the Massachusetts Boston Mission, my companion and I were driving home one day after conducting some baptismal interviews in a town in southern New Hampshire. My companion asked me if we needed anything from the store since we had not been able to go grocery shopping on our normal preparation day. I replied, “Yeah. We need some milk and a few other things to tide us over for a couple of days.” We then went to a local supermarket and bought the items.
By the time we started driving home again, it was getting dark outside. As we came over a small hill, we noticed a car parked on the downhill side with some women standing outside it. The car had its hazard lights on, and from the look on the women’s faces, it was obvious they needed help.
As missionaries we are always looking for opportunities to serve others, so we pulled over and offered our assistance. The woman who owned the vehicle gladly accepted our help. We then noticed there were two small children in the backseat. The car had a flat tire, and although the women had tried many times to wave people down, no one had stopped to help. The area they were stranded in was also a very poor spot for cell phone reception. When they explained their situation, we felt glad we had decided to stop.
As I was changing the tire, one of the children in the backseat was screaming uncontrollably. My companion offered the mother some treats for the child, but she said, “No. She’s picky. She will only drink milk.” My companion replied enthusiastically, “We have milk!” He then got the milk we had just purchased, and the mother filled a cup with it and gave it to the child, who immediately stopped crying. The woman asked, surprised, “Why do you randomly have a gallon of milk in your car?” We briefly explained why.
After working on a couple of over-tightened lug nuts, I finally got the wheel off and replaced it with the spare. We wished the group luck and offered them a pass-along card. The woman who owned the car gladly took the card and said, “Just because of what you two did for us today, I will look into this.” Then we went our separate ways.
I was now filthy from working on the ground and wrestling with the wheel. I turned to my companion and said, “I knew I wore my good suit today for a reason!” I really didn’t mind, though, because the feeling I had was worth way more than any suit.
That night I learned a valuable lesson. I learned that we should always take the opportunity to help people in need and that even if they have never met us before, we just might be the ones they are counting on to give them a hand.

When I was 11, my family moved to West Germany. My father and my mother ran a laundry to make a living, and I was the laundry delivery boy. I saw some shiny red bicycles, and I wished I could have one to make my deliveries. But I needed a heavy-duty bicycle to pull the cart with the laundry on it. I rode around pulling that heavy laundry cart before school and after school. It was hard seeing the other children play. But everyone in our family had to work hard, and I was an important part of the family business.
As I grew older, I learned about the blessings of doing things that at the time you don’t realize are important and good for you. When I was very little, I came down with a lung disease, but no one knew it at the time. When I grew older, I joined the air force. The doctors saw spots on my lungs. Because of the hard work of pedaling that heavy load, somehow my body had healed itself. I had built up endurance. I had built up strength. The doctors said that the disease took care of itself and that I passed my physical. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have been able to become a pilot.
As a pilot, I flew all over the world. I never tired of looking at the stars, the clouds, the landscapes. I saw the beauty of the different countries with their different cultures. I know from going to those places and seeing the people and seeing the Church in those different places that the gospel is for everyone, no matter what nation you live in or what your traditions are. It is the gospel of Jesus Christ. The word of God—whether it is written in the scriptures or spoken by the living prophets, whether we read it in Church magazines or hear it at general conferences—is for everyone.

In the Book of Mormon, Lehi gives a blessing to each of his sons before he passes away that helps them to see their strengths and eternal potential. I am the youngest of eight children, and this past year I have been the only child at home for the first time. Not having my siblings close by and not always having someone to talk to has been hard for me. There have been nights when I have felt very lonely. I’m grateful for my parents, who have tried their best to help me. An example of this is when my dad offered to give me a priesthood blessing of comfort during a particularly challenging time. After his blessing, things didn’t change right away, but I was able to feel peace and love from my Heavenly Father and from my dad. I feel blessed to have a worthy father who can provide priesthood blessings whenever I need them and who helps me to see my strengths and eternal potential, just as Lehi did when he blessed his children.

“A hot fudge sundae says you miss,” Clay Carson taunted from the edge of the cement basketball court behind the elementary school.
“Make that a double,” Tad Patterson yelled from under the basket.
At half court I bounced the ball three times and then held it at chest level. Eyeing the basket, I crouched slightly in the knees and was about to send the ball arching toward the basket when a voice called behind me, “I’ll make that a triple.” My concentration crumbled, and although I still pushed the shot off—I was too far into it to stop—I missed the rim entirely. Barely hit the backboard.
Amid hoots, hollers, and hassling, I turned to see Samuel Feagin, our priests adviser, standing at the other end of the court with his hands on his hips and a goading grin on his face.
Brother Feagin was probably the best athlete ever to come out of Rolling Hills High School. He had been a two-time All-Stater in both football and basketball and second in the 100 meters his senior year. Although he was a little over 30 and had a desk job at a bank, he continued to stay trim and fit, maintaining his weight at a healthy 185 pounds, just 10 pounds heavier than the day he graduated from high school.
“Thanks a lot, Brother Feagin,” I muttered, wiping the sweat from my brow with my shirttail. Tad and Clay were coming up behind me, Clay bouncing the ball and Tad pulling on the shirt he had discarded on the grass 30 minutes earlier.
“Ross needs a little more practice,” Clay teased me, slapping me on the back. “He just doesn’t have the touch today.” He wagged his head. “In fact, I’m not sure he’s ever had the touch.”
“I’ve hit seven of those today,” I said, turning to Brother Feagin, who was ambling toward us, kicking a couple of pebbles from the court as he came.
“I’d have drilled that one too if you hadn’t yelled when you did.”
Brother Feagin chuckled, “Ross, you’re always telling me how good you are, but whenever I come around you lose your concentration. I don’t know how you ever managed to be voted All-State guard as a junior. Must have been a bad year for basketball players. Do you think you can even make the team this year?”
I didn’t answer. I knew Brother Feagin was only joking. Tad, Clay, and I had been on the Rolling Hills varsity football and basketball teams since we were sophomores. Though none of us had played much that first year, Brother Feagin had rarely missed one of our games; and though to our faces he didn’t hesitate to kid us about our athletic prowess, we knew he bragged about us otherwise every chance he got. A lot of our success had to be attributed to him. He’d spent more than one afternoon scrimmaging with the three of us, giving us pointers, pushing us to our limits, and humbling us a little when it was timely and appropriate. He wasn’t just an adviser; he was a friend, a coach, and just an all-around good guy.
“How’d you find us, Brother Feagin?” Tad asked, looking a little sheepish.
Brother Feagin didn’t answer right away. He snatched the ball from Clay and bounced it a few times. “I figured I’d find you here playing basketball. Or out front on the lawn playing football. You’re pretty consistent, you know.”
“Are they finished over at Sister Howard’s place?” Tad asked.
“Yep. I came to tell you the grub’s ready.” He dribbled toward the basket, jumped, and pushed the ball off. It jangled through the chain net. “If you’ve earned it,” he added, as he ran after the ball.
“We helped,” I responded. “Didn’t we?” I asked, turning to Tad and Clay.
“Yeah,” Clay corroborated. “We raked up two of those big piles in back. Honest.”
Brother Feagin was walking back, bouncing the ball as he came. “I know. I saw you. For a while I thought you’d stick around. Then the next thing I knew you were gone.”
“Ah, Brother Feagin,” I groaned, “those service projects are so—so blah. They’re so sappy.”
“You’re the guys that organized the thing for the Mutual. It was your idea.”
“But it was your suggestion,” I pointed out.
“You didn’t come up with anything better.”
“Service projects are dumb,” Clay grumbled.
“Clay, service is what the Church is all about,” Brother Feagin came back.
“Yeah, but it’s not raking leaves and hoeing weeds,” I countered. “Why don’t we do something meaningful? Something that will make a difference. We’re always running around trying to scare up some service project, just something to keep us busy. We put in our hour and a half and we’re supposed to be better people for it. I’d rather play basketball.”
“There’s more to life than basketball, Ross.”
“Football?” Tad joked.
Brother Feagin studied us for a moment. We couldn’t look him in the eye, though. We stared down at the court and felt his eyes on us. “Go ahead, chew us out and get it over with,” Clay mumbled. “Then let’s go eat.”
“I didn’t come to chew you out,” he came back. He tossed the ball hard into Clay’s stomach. Though it caught Clay off guard, he caught it, but not before it knocked his wind out. Brother Feagin grinned. “You’re getting better, Clay.” Then he became serious. “There are a lot of people looking up to you three. A lot of the kids back there are wondering why the three of you get off. You might not want to be examples to those other kids, but you are. But it’s up to you as to the kind of examples you’ll be.” He pushed his hands into his pockets. “I’m not going to chase you down anymore when we have a service project,” he announced simply. “If you want to be there, you be there. If you’re good enough to start for Rolling Hills, you’re good enough to stay with a service project until it’s finished.”
“Are you threatening to resign?” Tad asked knowingly, trying not to smile, but the smile escaped through his eyes.
Brother Feagin took a deep breath. “No, I’m not going to resign. I guess I like you guys too much. Don’t ask me why,” he muttered, then smiled wanly. “Maybe you remind me too much of myself.”
“Yeah,” Tad grinned, “you probably skipped out of all your service projects when you were growing up. Now you feel guilty so you want us to do all the work to relieve you of your guilty conscience.”
Brother Feagin rubbed his chin with the backs of his fingers. “Maybe. Maybe I don’t want you to feel guilty when you’re 30 and looking back.”
“Hey, Brother Feagin,” I burst out, “if we were doing something that was unique, we could handle it, but who wants to rake leaves?”
“Yeah, if there were about ten banana splits that needed to be cleaned up, we could handle that,” Tad offered.
“Or if you know of three lonely, beautiful girls, we could make them happy,” Clay suggested. “That would be a praiseworthy service project.”
“Yeah,” I agreed, “we would have two or three service projects like that a week. One a night if you wanted.”
“Just give us something—something tailored to us,” Tad said seriously. Then he grinned.
“It’s not what you do. It’s why you do it. That’s what makes service unique. The task isn’t nearly as important as the attitude.” Brother Feagin thought for a moment and then said, “But if I think up something unique, something that’s never been tried before, you’ll do it?” We eyed him suspiciously and glanced at each other. “I might even be able to make it so there was food involved. And maybe a girl or two. What do you say?” The three of us shifted our weight uneasily and then nodded, entrusting ourselves into Brother Feagin’s care.
We soon forgot about the deal we had made with Brother Feagin. Football season was almost upon us and the three of us were trying to work summer jobs, push weights in the evenings, do a little jogging, and work on our plays before we started two practices a day in a week and a half.
One evening after one of our workouts, Brother Feagin called up and asked us to drop over by his place for a few minutes. Still wearing our shorts, T-shirts, and running shoes, we strolled over to his place. He and his wife Connie were sitting on the front porch in a bench swing while their three little girls were out playing on the lawn. Tad, Clay, and I dropped down on the front steps.
“What’s up?” I asked, feeling the sweat trickle down the small of my back.
“I’ve got your service project lined up,” Brother Feagin announced, “and it’s tailored to you.”
I glanced at Connie who looked at her husband and then smiled down at the three of us.
“What’s he got planned for us, Sister Feagin?” I asked.
Her eyes sparkled and her quiet smile blossomed into a full grin. Just then her youngest daughter, Tara, padded barefoot up the steps and scampered over to her. Sister Feagin pulled her up into her lap and then answered, “You’ll have to ask Sam about his plans.”
“We’re waiting,” Tad said suspiciously.
“I lined you all up,” Brother Feagin announced, coming right to the point.
For a moment the three of us were silent. Maybe dumbfounded is a more accurate description.
“You did what?” Clay asked.
“You said you wanted a unique service project. You accused me of always making the suggestions to you, so I decided that I’d take one of your own suggestions. You said you’d be perfectly content to take a girl out for a service project. So I lined you up.”
“With who?” Tad demanded, fidgeting uneasily on the front steps.
“Does it matter with whom as long as you make her happy?”
“It sure does,” I answered, getting nervous. I glanced over at Sister Feagin, who had taken her husband’s arm and snuggled up next to him. She winked at the three of us.
“I think you’re setting us up,” Tad complained.
Brother Feagin rolled his tongue around his mouth like he does when he’s thinking. “Have I ever led you astray?” he asked.
We shook our heads. “But there’s always a first time,” Clay murmured.
“Have I ever done anything that would cause you not to trust me?” We shook our heads again. “Then trust me now,” he said solemnly.
“I trust you to give our priesthood lessons and stuff, but I’m not sure I want you choosing my dates.”
“Are you questioning his taste?” Sister Feagin asked, holding her chin up and looking down at us. Brother Feagin laughed, put his arm around his wife’s shoulders and pulled her close. “Personally,” she continued with a smile, “I think he has remarkable taste.” She started to giggle.
“When you do a service project, you help those in need,” I pointed out, obviously skeptical and disgruntled. “Any girl that’s in need of a date can’t be too—”
“Don’t judge,” Brother Feagin cut me short, raising a warning finger. “I just followed your suggestion. But I’ll throw in a guarantee if it will make you feel better.”
“Keep talking,” Tad said.
“If this service project isn’t the best you’ve ever had, if you don’t come off this date with absolutely no regrets, I’ll give you each a steak dinner.”
“He’ll probably fry them himself,” Clay grumbled. “And burn them to a crisp.”
“I’ll take you out for steaks then. Any place you want to go. But remember,” Brother Feagin cautioned, “you’ve got to be on your best behavior. You’ve got to do all you can to make it a good date. Fair enough?”
We nodded and Clay asked, “Where and when?”
“Tomorrow night, here. Bring a corsage and wear a suit. And I’ll tell you tomorrow who your dates are. We’ll take my van.”
“Are you and Sister Feagin going with us?” I asked hopefully.
“We wouldn’t miss it,” Sister Feagin laughed.
None of us had ever had a blind date, and though we weren’t expecting great things from this one, we couldn’t help feeling just a little anticipation as we congregated in Brother Feagin’s living room the next evening. Perhaps it was as much curiosity as anticipation, but it had a certain luring effect which made us all show up on time.
“Well, who are the lucky ladies?” Tad asked as he pulled at his shirt collar and cradled his corsage.
“They don’t go to Rolling Hills,” Sister Feagin spoke up, “but one was a beauty queen.”
“Keep going,” Tad said.
“In high school, none of them worried about getting a date. They were very popular. And pretty.”
I began to chuckle. “I’m dying to hear the catch. What happened after high school? Did they all get run over by a train?”
“No catch. You really couldn’t find better people.”
“I’ll take the beauty queen,” I spoke up. Clay and Tad glared at me.
“All right, Ross,” Brother Feagin said, “you’ll take Mandy Wilson.”
“Mandy Wilson.” I smiled. “Sounds nice.” I thought for a moment. “Is she any relation to Sister Wilson that lives over on Alpine Drive?” Brother Feagin nodded. “Granddaughter?” He shook his head. “Great-granddaughter?”
“Closer relation than that.”
“Daughter?” I gasped. Brother Feagin shook his head. “Well, how much closer can you get?” He didn’t answer. I stared at him and my eyes began to narrow. “Now wait a minute,” I said slowly in protest. “Just a minute.”
“What’s going on?” Clay asked, utterly confused. “I don’t get it.”
“Mandy Wilson isn’t Sister Wilson?” I rasped.
Tad and Clay both bolted to their feet. “What?” they asked in horror.
“You set me up with Sister Wilson?”
Brother Feagin remained calm. He had his arm around his wife’s shoulder and was looking steadily at the three of us.
“And who are we going with?” Clay demanded.
“Bette Douglas and Liz Arnold.”
“Not Sister Douglas, not that Bette Douglas?” Tad wheezed. “The one that lives over by the elementary school?”
“That’s the one. And Liz Arnold lives over in the 15th Ward.”
“But they’re old ladies,” I protested.
“Sister Wilson is 74, Sister Arnold is 77, and Sister Douglas is 75.”
The three of us stood gaping in shocked silence.
“They’re very nice women,” Sister Feagin said. “Fun ladies.”
“What do we have to do, pick them up in a wheelchair and hire a nurse to give them periodic heart massage?” Clay asked.
“They’re all in very good health. They don’t even carry canes. And if you’re not too terribly thrilling, they might not even have a heart attack.”
“They’re married,” Tad cried out.
“Widowed. That makes them eligible. There’s no law that says you can’t ask someone out who’s older than you.”
“They’ve probably got grandkids older than we are.”
“No probably about it. They all have grandkids older than you. Look, you’re not going to marry them. There’s an adult two-stake dance tonight. You’re going to take them out for an evening and show them a good time. Something they don’t get very often.”
“We’re just a bunch of kids. They’ll be wondering if they’re supposed to baby-sit us.”
“Prove to them that you don’t need a baby-sitter anymore.”
“Brother Feagin,” I groaned, “they’re not going to want to go with us.”
Brother Feagin took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I’ll admit,” he said, nodding his head, “that you’re probably not first on their list of eligible males, but you just happen to be all there is. Don’t flatter yourselves. They have some misgivings themselves.”
“But they won’t want to go,” Tad insisted.
Brother Feagin thought for a moment and then said, “Do you know how many years Sister Arnold has been a widow?” We shook our heads.
“Thirty-five years. Her husband was killed when she was 42. She had eight kids under 18. She went back to college, got a degree, and then taught for the next 19 years. She didn’t have much time for a social life. Have you ever wondered what it would be like to go 35 years without a date? That’s twice as long as you’ve been alive. People never outgrow their need for doing things with other people. Oh, she’s gone to a church dance occasionally, but always with a couple, always feeling like a fifth wheel. Now she has a chance to go out and be the main wheel. Going with someone young enough to be her grandkid won’t be ideal, but it beats staying home for 35 years.”
“But why us?” I mumbled.
“I know you can play football and basketball. I know you can push weights. I know you can get good grades. I know you can charm the girls at school. Now I want to see if you can be gentlemen.”
We were silent, staring at the floor, knowing that whatever this service project wasn’t, it was certainly unique. No one else would have dared ask us to do something so utterly crazy. No one else could have asked and had us accept. Brother Feagin was probably the only person in the whole world we knew we couldn’t turn down. There was just no way we would have disappointed him.
“All right,” I muttered without enthusiasm, “we’ll go for you.”
“I don’t want you to go for me,” he said, his voice soft but charged with emotion. “I want you to go for those three sisters. I’m happy. I have a wife and three kids at home. I don’t need to go to that stake dance tonight to be happy. I can stay home and be happy. But those three sisters are alone.”
No one spoke for a couple of minutes. We just stood around avoiding each other’s eyes and waiting for someone else to be the one to break the stifling silence. Clay ended up being the bold one. He took a deep breath and cried out, “Well, let’s get going before the flowers wilt. I’m not giving Bette a crumby wilted flower.” Turning to Tad and me, he ordered, “And get those glum looks off your faces. We’re not going to a funeral.”
Never in my life had I been so nervous to pick up a date. When we drove up to Sister Wilson’s place, my mouth was dry and my cheeks burned with an annoying blush. I’m sure I was sweating, but I was so uptight that I couldn’t think about anything so trivial as wet underarms, bad breath, or messed up hair, the usual considerations I had before picking a girl up.
“Why don’t all three of you go,” Sister Feagin suggested as the van stopped.
“Yeah, let’s all three of us go,” I joined in. Tad and Clay looked dubiously at me. “To all three of them,” I quickly added.
So all three of us marched up to Sister Wilson’s front door. Amanda Wilson came to the door in a navy blue dress. She had a narrow face, creased with smile wrinkles about her thin lips and her piercing blue eyes. She smiled. “Well, hello, boys,” she greeted us warmly. I’d never paid much attention to her in the past. There had never been a need. She was just one of the older women that I’d seen wandering about the church on Sunday. I wasn’t even positive what ward she was in. But on this particular evening, standing on her front steps, I took a good look. I could still detect those faint features that had made her a beauty queen in her youth.
“Are you ready?” I stammered.
She laughed. “I guess I’ve been ready for half an hour.”
“We’re not late, are we?”
She shook her head and smiled. “No, I’m just early.” Her voice broke slightly, and her cheeks colored some. I was taken back as I realized that she was just a little nervous. We were the ones who were supposed to be nervous. We were the kids. She was the adult. But we were making Sister Wilson nervous. Or was it a rare kind of excitement?
“This is for you,” I said, holding out the corsage.
Her eyes widened and she clasped her hands together in front of her. “A flower? For me?” she gasped, happily surprised. “You shouldn’t have,” she whispered. “I had no idea.”
I just smiled and shrugged.
“I really wasn’t expecting a flower.”
“Well, there is one catch,” I said, grinning. “I’m not an expert when it comes to pinning them on.”
While Tad and Clay watched, I fumbled about to pin the corsage onto Sister Wilson’s dress. My hands were shaking badly and I almost took two of my fingers off trying to get the pin through everything it was supposed to go through. “You sure your mom isn’t here to do this for you?” I muttered in jest.
Sister Wilson laughed. “Will my grandson do? He lives across the street.”
I shook my head. “I’m afraid he’d be as clumsy as me. I don’t know why they don’t just tape these things on instead of using these pins.”
Tad and Clay had to pin their corsages on their dates too, and they weren’t any better than I was. When we all got in the van, I noticed for the first time how excited these three older ladies were. Here they were going out with a gang of boys and they were excited. I had been so worried about me that I hadn’t noticed them until I heard and saw them talking and laughing with each other. It made me feel warm inside to think that I could make someone feel that good.
“I feel privileged to be going with such handsome young men,” Sister Douglas laughed.
“There are going to be a lot of unhappy young girls at home tonight, wondering why you young men aren’t taking them out instead of old ladies.”
Clay sighed and answered, “These young girls just don’t have what it takes. We like our dates to be—” He groped for the word.
“We like them to be mature,” I helped out with a smile. “And we take only the best,” I added as the women laughed.
“Actually,” Tad injected, loosening up and getting into the jovial spirit of the occasion, “we’ve been wanting to take you out for a long time.”
“And what kept you?” Sister Wilson asked.
“Well, we were just waiting until you were—well, until you were old enough!” Everyone laughed. “We wanted to make sure you were old enough to date.”
“I’m glad you didn’t wait much longer,” Sister Arnold joked back, “or we might not have been available.”
I had never imagined that a date with a 74-year-old woman could be fun. But it was. I suppose what made it so fun is that they were so appreciative of everything we did. When we opened a door, offered them our arm or any of the other little common courtesies, they were so quick to thank and praise us. I soon felt so proudly chivalrous that I was about to burst.
When we entered the stake center for the dance, we heard the soft music, which wasn’t exactly our style, and I leaned over and announced to the three women, “You’ll have to be a little patient with our dancing skills—or lack of them. We play a pretty mean game of football, but we’re not too great on the dance floor.”
Sister Wilson smiled and patted my arm. “We’ll show you,” she said. “Our football days are behind us, but with a little support we can still dance a pretty wild waltz. At least for girls our age.”
“Don’t expect to be danced breathless, though,” Sister Arnold chuckled.
We felt awkward at first, being in there with all the adults of the two stakes, but the awkward feeling soon left as we saw how pleased the women were to be there, not just to sit on the periphery of the action with another couple but to be escorted by someone of their own, even if that someone was as young as we were. I could tell they were proud of us. Every time they saw someone they knew, they would introduce us and brag how they had “the cream of the crop tonight.”
“I’ve got an idea,” Clay announced around 11:00 as we sat at a table for a rest and drank punch. “Let’s drop over to the youth dance.”
“What?” Sister Douglas asked, almost choking on her punch.
“Sure,” Tad joined in, “we’ll show you how the—other side lives.”
“I don’t know if we could do anything but stand around and watch,” Sister Arnold said.
“We’d love to go,” Sister Wilson spoke up. “And we’ll even dance.”
We loaded up in Brother Feagin’s van and headed over to the South Stake Center to the youth dance there. By then we had all grown accustomed to the idea of being with three older sisters and we walked right in and started to dance. It was a fast one and the ladies were a little reluctant to get started, but with a little encouragement from us, they were soon swaying and shaking their arms and laughing and having a good time. The kids at the dance were shocked at first, but soon they got a real kick out of it.
Halfway into the third dance, someone tapped me on the shoulder and growled in my ear, “Do you think you can keep her to yourself all night?” I turned around to see Tye Brown grinning at me. “Don’t be so greedy.”
“Huh?”
“I’m cutting in,” he said, slapping me on the back and pushing me away. “You don’t get all the fun. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of her.”
As I walked off the floor and went over to sit by Brother and Sister Feagin, I noticed that two other guys were cutting in on Tad and Clay. I laughed and dropped into the chair next to Connie Feagin.
“I’m proud of you, Ross,” she whispered over at me while her husband visited with Clay and Tad.
“I’m having a good time,” I laughed. “I wouldn’t have missed it for anything. I’m just glad we were able to talk you and Brother Feagin into coming with us.”
She smiled. “I’ve never seen them so happy.”
“Yeah, I think they’re having a good time.”
“No one else could have brought them here tonight.”
“What do you mean?”
“All the young people respect you and Clay and Tad. Everyone else would have been afraid to be so bold. But now that they see you doing it, they all want to be part of it too.”
I was quiet, listening to the powerful pulse of the music and watching Sister Wilson joke and dance with Tye. Soon Tracy Hall walked up and stepped in for Tye. “Maybe we shouldn’t have come here. It looks like we’re going to lose our dates,” I observed.
“Remember last year when you were chosen to the All-State team?” Sister Feagin said, leaning over so I could hear above the music. I nodded. “Sam and I were so proud of you. I’d never seen Sam so excited about anything. Until tonight. He’ll probably never tell you, but he’s so proud of the three of you that he’s almost ready to bawl.”
When we took the sisters home, we walked each one to the door and said goodnight. Sister Wilson was the last to be escorted to her front steps. When she reached the front door and opened it, she turned and faced the three of us. Then she reached out, took my face in her hands, pulled me down and kissed me on the cheek. “Thank you,” she said softly. There were tears shimmering in her eyes.
When we returned to the van, we were all quiet for several minutes, deep in thought. Brother Feagin was the one to break the silence. “Where do you want to go for your steak dinner?” he asked.
Clay chuckled, “Oh, you’re too late, Brother Feagin. I’ve got another date with Sister Arnold.”
We all laughed. “No, seriously,” Clay went on, “I think we’d like to take you out.”
“No,” Brother Feagin objected, “I promised to take you out for a steak dinner if you’d go tonight.”
“You promised to take us if this wasn’t the best service project of our life. It was the best.”
Tad and I nodded our agreement.
“And,” I added, “we’ll be by in the morning at 5:30 to pick you up.”
“Tomorrow at 5:30?” he asked puzzled.
“Yeah, there’s a ward work project over at Sister Call’s place. We’re painting her house.”
Brother Feagin laughed. “I think you guys have put in your service hours for the month.”
“Don’t try to weasel out of it,” Clay spoke up. “We don’t want to chase after you and drag you over there. But we will. Don’t you know that a guy can never get all his service hours in? That’s what the Church is all about, Brother Feagin. Didn’t you know that? And if you go over to Sister Call’s and don’t come away with a warm feeling, we’ll pitch in and buy you and Sister Feagin a steak dinner tomorrow night.”
“You’ve got a deal,” he laughed.
“We’ll throw in the steak dinner anyway,” I added. “Just to tell you thanks. For everything.”

“We won’t have any openings for months, and if you work here, you would have to work on Sundays.” The manager of the first store to which I applied for a job sent me on my way.
It was the summer before my senior year in high school, and I had been driving all over town filling out applications. My plan was to save up enough money to be able to attend college when I graduated. On each application, I indicated I could not work on Sundays. I was firm in my commitment to keep the Sabbath day holy.
A few days later, I handed a completed application to the manager of another store. He quickly scanned the paper and in disbelief asked, “You can’t work on Sundays?”
Without hesitation, I answered, “No.”
He laughed derisively and replied, “You’ll never get a job in this town!”
Feeling deflated, I left the store and climbed into my car. I said a quick prayer out loud, “Heavenly Father, what am I going to do?”
The unmistakable feeling from the Spirit came, and I knew everything would be all right. The prompting was so strong that I responded out loud, “OK.”
About one week later, I received a telephone call. It was the manager from the first store. He said that some of their young cashiers had been stealing money from the registers and that he had fired them. He asked me if I would like to come work for him, adding that I would only have to work on Sundays if there was an emergency. I worked at that store for about one year and only worked one Sunday.
When I began my job search, I decided I would simply have to find a position that did not require Sunday work. I know now that the Lord had a hand in helping me find that job. I have a sure testimony, just as Nephi, that “the Lord giveth no commandments unto the children of men, save he shall prepare a way for them that they may accomplish the thing which he commandeth them” (1 Nephi 3:7).

But getting to Palmyra took more money and effort than Lucy had planned. When there were only two cents left she began trading material and household goods and clothing to pay for food and lodging along the way.
“I wish we’d never decided to move to Palmyra!” Sophronia cried. “We’ve had nothing but trouble all the way.”
Young Joseph thought about what his big sister had said. It was true about the trouble. It had been dogging their heels ever since they left Sharon, Vermont. But this was the last day of their journey. Palmyra was almost at hand.
Outside, the sky was overcast. The woods were breathing deeply in the wintry wind. Joseph shivered as a blast whipped his coat and trousers against his body.
When the wagon was reloaded, Joseph noticed his brothers, Alvin and Hyrum, talking to Mr. Gates whose family had been traveling in sleighs along with the Smiths.
Alvin called to Joseph, “I’ll lead out with our wagon. Mother and Sophronia and the littlest children will ride with me. Mr. Gates and his boys will follow with their sleighs. He says you can ride in the last sleigh, Joseph.”
After Joseph climbed into the sleigh, the Gates boy clucked to the team and they pulled off down the road. Joseph was too excited about seeing his father in Palmyra that night to notice the frown on the boy’s face.
Joseph was aware of how much this boy and Mr. Howard had enjoyed tormenting him throughout the trip. However, with Mr. Howard gone, Joseph had hoped the meanness would stop.
“I’m glad to be able to ride. I had an operation on my leg and it’s still a little weak,” Joseph explained.
“I heard about that,” the boy answered, scornfully. “I think you use it for an excuse.”
Joseph gazed steadily at the boy. “It’s the truth.”
The boy threw a long, hard look at his companion, then with a quick glance ahead to make sure no one could see, he knocked Joseph off the moving sleigh into the road.
When Joseph regained consciousness, he raised up on one elbow, and tried to get up, but a sharp pain knifed through his side. He eased back into the snow, red-stained with his blood. What will I do? Joseph wondered, looking up into the branches of a tall maple tree, dried and frayed as a brush broom. It swept the sky and sent a dusting of snowflakes down upon his face. He gulped back the fullness that pained his throat. No tears would drown his hopes of their promised land.
Joseph wasn’t sure how long he lay in the rutted road before help came. But when he opened his eyes again he was looking into a bearded face.
“What happened to you, boy?”
“I fell off a sleigh. Can you take me to Palmyra?”
“That’s just where I’m heading.”
“My father is there … Joseph Smith … and my family.”
“Say, I know him. I can take you right there!”
After checking Joseph over, the man carefully lifted the boy into his wagon and covered him with a quilt.
“After your ma fixes that cut and you have a chance to warm up a bit, you’ll feel good as new.”
He was right. They met Joseph’s mother and father on the road, anxiously looking for him. Then it didn’t matter that the journey had been long and painful or that they had arrived with only two cents in cash. All was forgotten in the joy of reunion with his father.

Soon after I graduated from Primary, the bishop called on me to bear my testimony during ward conference. In my talk, I mentioned that I liked the Book of Mormon stories that I knew. I also said that I wanted to read the Book of Mormon all the way through someday.
Someday came sooner than I expected. The day after ward conference, I didn’t feel well and was diagnosed with German measles. I had to lie in bed, so I decided to read the Book of Mormon. I read it from beginning to end in four days. That was a wonderful way to read the Book of Mormon because I gained a feeling for the entire book.

When I was in high school, I thought I wasn’t as valuable a disciple of Jesus Christ because I struggled with talking to people. I wasn’t just introverted—I was severely shy! I was so shy I had a difficult time making friends and being my true self around my classmates at school and at church.
Because of that, I shied away from callings in Young Women and felt like I couldn’t be as spiritual as my peers who were a lot more talkative and social than I was.
So when I graduated from high school and decided to serve a mission, I was terrified!
I felt like God wanted me to serve, but my first thought was, “Why does God want someone like me to serve? I can’t talk to people!”
But as scared as I was, I decided to trust God and serve a mission anyway.
As I served, things were difficult at first, but as I continued to try (and to let myself fail), I found that the Lord strengthened me to do the work He asked me to do.
In the Book of Mormon the Lord says: “If men come unto me I will show unto them their weakness. I give unto men weakness that they may be humble; and my grace is sufficient for all men that humble themselves before me; for if they humble themselves before me, and have faith in me, then will I make weak things become strong unto them” (Ether 12:27).
On my mission I realized that Jesus Christ could do wonderful things with me not because of my strength but because of His. And I also realized that His strength didn’t come to me just because I was a missionary, but it was also something that I could have relied on in high school.
The wonderful thing about Jesus Christ is that we don’t need degrees or extensive résumés to serve in His kingdom and be strong disciples! If we are humble and sincere in our desires to serve, Jesus Christ will take us exactly as we are, where we are, and give us the necessary help and strength to serve Him.

For example, a sister and brother from Colorado, USA, have each been baptized for more than 50 of their ancestors this past year and have experienced the purity of the temple. The brother said, “I get a good, spiritual feeling when I’m in the temple. Later, when I face temptations, I remember that feeling and it helps me.” In an effort to live worthy of attending the temple, the sister wrote a list in her journal of what she will and will not do when faced with temptation. She took a stand, and she even shared the list with her parents and friends so they could help her. These two young people have created a powerful moral armor for their hearts, minds, and bodies.

The Church is gradually starting to expand in Australia, although still very slowly. I love the missionary work, and it is slowly gathering momentum. My parents were baptized in May 1966 by Elder Jay Sorensen and Elder Michael Leigh. Shortly after my parents’ baptism in Sydney, we moved to a country town in New South Wales named Dubbo, and for three years we either met at home as a family every Sunday or else traveled 200 miles to the nearest chapel. We were the only Mormons in a town of 19,000. We stayed in Dubbo six years and pioneered a branch there. My dad became the branch president, but though missionaries labored there all the time, only four members were baptized in six years. Finally, our family and the other two families left, and the branch closed down. I can never be grateful enough for the strength and faith of my parents during the Dubbo years. I marvel at it now, because they themselves had only been members less than a year when we moved. I wasn’t a bit surprised when my dad was called as a bishop after being in Adelaide only a year. I love talking about my family because I’m just so proud of them and owe them everything I am in this life.

“Please give these dish towels to Suzi,” Grandma said. She handed Nika a stack of towels. “She can put them in the box with the other kitchen things.”
“Great-grandmother sure had a lot of nice things,” Nika said, fingering the dish towels with the embroidered edges before handing them to Suzi. “The whole house is like a treasure chest.”
“Yes, it is,” Grandma said. She reached into a cupboard and brought out some beautiful dishes.
“What will you do with all of these wonderful treasures now that Great-grandmother has died?” Nika asked. “Can we keep them?”
“We’ll divide them among family members and give the rest to charity,” Grandma said. She began wiping dust off the dishes.
“Look what I found,” Uncle Mike said, laying a large book on the table. “It’s an old photo album. And look at this, Nika,” he said. He carefully turned the brown pages. “Here’s a photo of your great-great-grandmother when she was about your age.”
Nika looked closely at the black-and-white photo of the smiling little girl. She was wearing button-up boots, her hair was in long ringlets, and she was holding a china doll in her arms.
“Look at that!” Nika said, pointing excitedly. “She’s missing a tooth, just like me!” Nika stuck her tongue through the gap in her teeth.
“So she is,” Uncle Mike said. “And you both have the same freckly nose.” He smiled and carefully closed the album.
“Grandma,” Nika said, folding some cloth napkins, “are family pictures the treasure you want to keep?”
Grandma looked up from dusting. “I’m grateful to get the photos and family records. I want to organize them and make copies to share. They are important to me because they strengthen the thing I treasure even more.”
“What’s that?” Nika asked.
“This.” Grandma waved her hand to indicate the whole room.
“The house?” Nika was puzzled.
“No. Look again,” Grandma said. “What do you see in this room?”
Nika looked around. She saw her relatives everywhere, all working together.
“Family,” Nika said at last. “That’s what you treasure most, isn’t it?”
“Exactly,” Grandma said. “That’s the only thing that can last forever.”
“Were Great-grandma and Great-grandpa married in the temple?” Nika asked.
“Yes. They did their part to make sure our family is sealed together,” Grandma said.
“Do you know what treasure I’d like?” Nika asked.
“What?”
“I’d like you to tell me more stories about that girl with the missing tooth in the photo.”
“Oh, I have lots of stories to tell you,” Grandma said. “The question is, will you have time to hear them all?”
“I will,” Nika declared. “Even if it takes forever!”

“Breathe deeply and exhale slowly,” his mother had said on their way to church. That’s what he did now. Then he breathed in again and tried letting the air out in short spurts.
“Why am I so scared? I’m not. I can’t be. I’ve got to control myself.”
He fingered his Book of Mormon and then pulled out the worn paper. He unfolded it carefully because the creases looked ready to tear.
“Brothers and sisters, I’m happy to have this opportunity to speak” wasn’t a very original way to begin. He folded the talk, stuck it in his pocket, then took it out of his pocket and put it back into the front of his Book of Mormon.
He took out his handkerchief and wiped his hands. Why wouldn’t they stop trembling? He just had to stop his body from shaking or his voice would shake too.
“Brothers and Sisters, I’m happy to be here today. I’m happy to have this opportunity. When the bishop, my dad, asked me to speak, I …” That sounded Dumb! Why hadn’t he thought of a better introduction?
It had been three years since he had spoken in front of people. Three whole years! Since that time he had always avoided it somehow. But the memory of his last experience had dimmed with time, and he wanted to learn to get up in front of people, so he had said yes. Now the memory of that former talk seemed painfully fresh again. There he was, struggling and stuttering. He could remember that talk even now. But back then, when he’d seen all those faces, the talk he’d memorized had vanished. It had simply evaporated. “But I didn’t have my notes with me that day,” he thought. “That was my downfall. I hadn’t taken my notes because I wanted to look super-intelligent. Besides, Dad never uses any. But now I’ve got notes, so there won’t be any problem.” If there would be no problem, he wondered, why was he so scared?
The announcements were over, his dad sat down a few seats from Jack and cleared his throat. Jack looked at his dad’s profile so much like his own. “But that’s where the similarity ends,” Jack thought. “Dad’s such a powerful speaker.” “His father’s talks were always rich with experiences and stories. “I don’t have one story in this talk,” Jack thought. “Everyone will fall asleep. Well, better if they do.”
His father, sensing Jack’s gaze looked over, smiled and nodded. Jack smiled back, tried to swallow the lump in his throat, and took out his notes again. “If I were more like my father, I wouldn’t be worrying like this.” But then he made a tight fist. “I don’t need to be just like Dad. I don’t need to be outgoing and dynamic. I can be just as good as myself.”
He lowered his head and wiped the perspiration from his forehead. It wouldn’t do to have the wetness fog up his glasses. Then a thought came to Jack that made him shudder. He pushed his toes hard against the soles of his shoes. “What if I cry? What if I break down and cry or something? Cry, out of pure fright. No, I wouldn’t do that. I know I wouldn’t. Brothers and Sisters, I’m happy …” It would just take eight and a half minutes. For eight and a half minutes he could surely control himself. “Maybe my voice will crack a time or two in those eight and a half minutes, but I don’t think I’ll really cry at least I hope. …”
Sister Carlson was leading the sacrament hymn now, and Jack opened the hymn book and thumbed through it for the hymn. He hadn’t heard the page number. When he had finally looked in the index and found “Come, Follow Me,”he joined in on the last verses. But something was wrong with his voice. It wasn’t clear and deep. It was hoarse and timid. “I don’t have a voice. How can I give a talk without a voice?” He cleared his throat, coughed, and then tried to sing again. This time he was relieved to hear his voice clearing up a little.
“The Word of Wisdom is important for us to follow because …” The words to his talk were flowing through his mind now, but not in order. They were all jumbled. He sang a few more words and then breathed deeply in and out again.
After the sacrament Jack saw his father shuffle a few papers, smile over at him, and walk to the podium. “It is time now,” Jack thought. “Dad’s going to introduce the speakers now and I’m first. At least it will be over within eight and a half minutes from now.”
His father’s rich, bass voice echoed through the chapel. Dynamic, a powerful speaker. The congregation was staring up at the podium. In a moment he, Jack Miller, would be up there with everyone staring at him, expecting so much. There was a thickness in his chest and a slight pain. A heart attack. Maybe he would have a heart attack.
“I can’t get up there! I can’t do it! I don’t even think my legs will hold me when I stand up. I think I’m going to be very sick any minute. I’ve got to tell Dad I can’t. I … no, I’ve got to do it. I’ve just got to.” It didn’t make any sense. Where was his great self image? This morning in front of the mirror, he’d read his talk without a single error. He’d even used his hands, and he’d been in perfect control.
“We have a little problem tonight, Brothers and Sisters,” his father was saying. “It seems we were unwise in calling as our main speakers Brother and Sister Emery. We hope our asking them to speak didn’t start Sister Emery’s labor, but whatever the cause, a little spirit seems very anxious to join our ward family. I just received a note that the Emerys are at the hospital right now.” Everyone chuckled. Everyone except Jack. “Therefore,” his father turned and smiled at him. “We’ll tell our youth speaker, my son Jack, that he can have all the time he wants. I’m sure he’s happy about that.” The congregation chuckled again as Jack felt the heat rushing to his head. He had been so concerned about his own talk that he hadn’t even noticed that the Emerys were missing. “There goes the eight and an half minutes,” he thought.
“Then maybe we’ll ask a few members of the ward here tonight to say a few words,” his dad continued. “But before my son speaks, I’d like to say a few words about something I’ve been thinking about quite a bit lately—the priesthood.” His father confidently placed the one hand on the pulpit and put the other in his pocket.
Jack put his head in his hands. Oh no, this couldn’t be. He’d have to follow his dad. This was even worse than he’d thought. “Now I know I can’t do it,” he cried to himself. But what was his father saying?
“In our family we have someone who has used his power of the priesthood and magnified it. But that is not remarkable because even when he was small he believed in the power of the priesthood.” The warmth rushed to Jack’s head again as he realized his father was talking about him. “I have a special story about Jack that’s important to our family, and I’d like to share it with you. It’s special because …”
Jack looked up to see why his dad was pausing so long. He saw that his dad had taken his hand out of his pocket and was grasping the podium.
“It’s special because …”
“Not that story, Dad. Please. You can’t ever get through it.” Jack was writhing in his seat now, but not for himself. He knew the story well. His dad had blessed him after the automobile accident, and it had saved his life. But his dad had never tried telling it in public. Why now?
“My boy was only three, but he asked for a blessing …” Bishop Miller’s voice was coming out in spurts and his fingers were turning white. This time the pause was longer. “You’ll … you’ll have to excuse me. I shouldn’t try to tell this story. I …” Two more times he began the story, but emotion overcame him. Two more times he stopped, each time pausing longer than before. “I’m sorry … I … The doctors had said …” His father stood at the podium silently now, unable to control his voice. Jack sat behind him on the edge of his seat, grasping the arm rests. He had only one thought: “I’ve got to help Dad.”
As if all emotion had transferred itself, Jack felt curiously calm as he stood up straight and walked the few steps to the pulpit. There he put his arm around his father. “Bishop, I mean, Dad, let me finish the story for you.” His father turned to him in surprise, the tears still trickling from underneath his glasses. Then he nodded with relief and sat down.
It was strange how courageous he felt as he told the story that was so important to their family. Some of the members of the congregation wiped at their eyes at its finish. But, now, it was Jack’s turn to pause. What would he say now? Speaking on the Word of Wisdom just didn’t seem appropriate anymore. He opened his Book of Mormon to his notes and stared at them. Then he looked above them to a scripture he’d underlined on that page of his Book of Mormon. “I, Nephi, having been born of goodly parents.” (1 Ne. 1:1.) Immediately he read the scripture aloud for he knew now what he would talk about. He looked down into their faces. There was Sister Jackson, the Wade family, and good old Brother Price, their home teacher. There were the Smiths and the Jacksons, and there was his own family, with his mother smiling at him. He became excited to tell them all. He wanted to tell them his feelings.
“Sometimes, to tell you the truth, I’ve been a bit rebellious about having a father who is bishop,” Jack said. “Everyone expects so much. But now I, Jack Miller, having been born of goodly parents, would like to tell you what it means to have a dad like mine who honors his priesthood and loves others.” He looked back at his father who was smiling widely. “This is my chance to get revenge for all the stories he’s told about me and others in his talks.” The congregation laughed, and Jack heard his father’s deep chuckle behind him.
He confidently placed one hand on the podium and the other in his pocket as he continued. His voice echoed through the microphone with a mellow, subtle power. The Spirit warmed within him and he, Jack Miller, became a speaker.

I have seen that faith and courage many times when believing Latter-day Saints have faced fearsome trials. For one example, I was in Idaho when the Teton Dam broke on June 5, 1976. A wall of water came down. Thousands fled from their homes. Thousands of homes and businesses were destroyed. Miraculously, fewer than 15 people were killed.
What I saw there, I have seen whenever Latter-day Saints stand firmly on the rock of a testimony of Jesus Christ. Because they have no doubt He watches over them, they become fearless. They ignore their own trials to go to the relief of others. And they do so out of love for the Lord, asking no recompense.
For example, when the Teton Dam broke, a Latter-day Saint couple was traveling, miles away from their home. As soon as they heard the news on the radio, they hurried back to Rexburg. Rather than going to their own home to see if it was destroyed, they went looking for their bishop. He was in a building that was being used as the recovery center. He was helping to direct the thousands of volunteers who were arriving in yellow school buses.
The couple walked up to the bishop and said, “We just got back. Bishop, where can we go to help?” He gave them the names of a family. That couple stayed mucking out mud and water in one home after another. They worked from dawn to dark for days. They finally took a break to go see about their own home. It was gone in the flood, leaving nothing to clean up. So they turned around quickly to go back to their bishop. They asked, “Bishop, do you have someone for us to help?”
That miracle of quiet courage and charity—the pure love of Christ—has been repeated over the years and across the world. It happened in the terrible days of the persecutions and trials at the time of the Prophet Joseph Smith in Missouri. It happened as Brigham Young led the exodus from Nauvoo and then called Saints to desert places all over the western United States, to help each other create Zion for the Lord.
If you read the journal entries of those pioneers, you see the miracle of faith driving out doubt and fear. And you read of Saints leaving their own interests to help someone else for the Lord, before getting back to their own sheep or to their own unplowed fields.
I saw that same miracle a few short days ago in the aftermath of Hurricane Irma in Puerto Rico, Saint Thomas, and Florida, where Latter-day Saints partnered with other churches, local community groups, and national organizations to begin cleanup efforts.
Like my friends in Rexburg, one nonmember couple in Florida focused on helping the community rather than laboring on their own property. When some Latter-day Saint neighbors offered help with the two large trees blocking their driveway, the couple explained that they had been overwhelmed and so had turned to helping others, having faith that the Lord would provide the aid they needed at their own home. The husband then shared that before our Church members arrived with offers of assistance, the couple had been praying. They had received an answer that help would come. It came within hours of that assurance.
I have heard a report that some have started calling the Latter-day Saints who are wearing yellow Helping Hands T-shirts “The Yellow Angels.” One Latter-day Saint took her car in for service, and the man helping her described the “spiritual experience” he had when people in yellow shirts removed trees from his yard and then, he said, they “sang some song to me about being a child of God.”
Another Florida resident—also not of our faith—related that Latter-day Saints came to her home when she was working in her devastated yard and feeling overwhelmed, overheated, and close to tears. The volunteers created, in her words, “a pure miracle.” They served not only with diligence but also with laughter and smiles, accepting nothing in return.
I saw that diligence and heard that laughter when, late on a Saturday, I visited with a group of Latter-day Saints in Florida. The volunteers stopped their cleanup labor long enough to let me shake some hands. They said that 90 members of their stake in Georgia had created a plan to join in the rescue in Florida just the night before.
They left Georgia at 4:00 in the morning, drove for hours, worked through the day and into the night, and planned to labor again the next day.
They described it to me all with smiles and good humor. The only stress I sensed was that they wanted to stop being thanked so they could get back to work. The stake president had restarted his chain saw and was working on a downed tree and a bishop was moving tree limbs as we got into our vehicle to go to the next rescue team.
Earlier that day, as we pulled away from another site, a man had walked up to the car, taken off his hat, and thanked us for the volunteers. He said, “I’m not a member of your church. I can’t believe what you have done for us. God bless you.” The LDS volunteer standing next to him in his yellow shirt smiled and shrugged his shoulders as if he deserved no praise.
While the volunteers from Georgia had come to help this man who couldn’t believe it, hundreds of Latter-day Saints from that very devastated part of Florida had gone hundreds of miles south to another place in Florida where they had heard the people were harder hit.
That day I remembered and understood better the prophetic words of the Prophet Joseph Smith: “A man filled with the love of God, is not content with blessing his family alone, but ranges through the whole world, anxious to bless the whole human race” (Teachings of Presidents of the Church: Joseph Smith [2007], 426).
We see such love in the lives of Latter-day Saints everywhere. Each time there is a tragic event anywhere in the world, Latter-day Saints donate and volunteer to the Church’s humanitarian efforts. An appeal is seldom needed. In fact, on some occasions, we have had to ask would-be volunteers to wait to travel to the recovery site until those directing the work are prepared to receive them.
That desire to bless is the fruit of people gaining a testimony of Jesus Christ, His gospel, His restored Church, and His prophet. That is why the Lord’s people doubt not and fear not. That is why missionaries volunteer for service in every corner of the world. That is why parents pray with their children for others. That is why leaders challenge their youth to take President Monson’s request to immerse themselves in the Book of Mormon to heart. The fruit comes not by being urged by leaders but by the youth and members acting on faith. That faith, put into action, which requires selfless sacrifice, brings the change of heart that allows them to feel the love of God.
Our hearts, however, remain changed only as long as we continue to follow the prophet’s counsel. If we stop trying after one burst of effort, the change will fade.
Faithful Latter-day Saints have increased their faith in the Lord Jesus Christ, in the Book of Mormon as the word of God, and in the restoration of priesthood keys in His true Church. That increased testimony has given us greater courage and concern for others of God’s children. But the challenges and the opportunities ahead will require even more.
We cannot foresee the details, but we know the larger picture. We know that in the last days, the world will be in commotion. We know that in the midst of whatever trouble comes, the Lord will lead faithful Latter-day Saints to take the gospel of Jesus Christ to every nation, kindred, tongue, and people. And we know that the Lord’s true disciples will be worthy and prepared to receive Him when He comes again. We need not fear.
So, as much as we have already built faith and courage in our hearts, the Lord expects more from us—and from the generations after us. They will need to be stronger and braver because they will do even greater and harder things than we have done. And they will face increasing opposition from the enemy of our souls.
The way to optimism as we go forward was given by the Lord: “Look unto me in every thought; doubt not, fear not” (D&C 6:36). President Monson told us how to do that. We are to ponder and apply the Book of Mormon and the words of prophets. Pray always. Be believing. Serve the Lord with all our heart, might, mind, and strength. We are to pray with all the energy of our hearts for the gift of charity, the pure love of Christ (see Moroni 7:47–48). And above all, we are to be consistent and persistent in following prophetic counsel.
When the way is difficult, we can rely on the Lord’s promise—the promise President Monson has reminded us of when he has often quoted these words of the Savior: “Whoso receiveth you, there I will be also, for I will go before your face. I will be on your right hand and on your left, and my Spirit shall be in your hearts, and mine angels round about you, to bear you up” (D&C 84:88).
I testify that the Lord goes before your face whenever you are on His errand. Sometimes you will be the angel the Lord sends to bear others up. Sometimes you will be the one surrounded by angels who bear you up. But always you will have His Spirit to be in your heart, as you have been promised in every sacrament service. You have only to keep His commandments.
The best days are ahead for the kingdom of God on the earth. Opposition will strengthen our faith in Jesus Christ, as it has since the days of the Prophet Joseph Smith. Faith always defeats fear. Standing together produces unity. And your prayers for those in need are heard and answered by a loving God. He neither slumbers nor does He sleep.
I bear my witness that God the Father lives and wants you to come home to Him. This is the true Church of the Lord Jesus Christ. He knows you; He loves you; He watches over you. He atoned for your sins and mine and the sins of all of Heavenly Father’s children. Following Him in your life and in your service to others is the only way to eternal life.
I so testify and leave you my blessing and my love. In the sacred name of Jesus Christ, amen.

In spite of Talica’s happy smile and cheerful attitude, she has known sadness. When she was ten months old, unusual circumstances made it necessary for her parents to send her to live with her grandmother, who lived on a small island with only one village. Talica loved village life, and she grew up thinking of her grandmother as her mother. Then, when she was four years old, her parents reclaimed her. It was a difficult adjustment for both Talica and her brothers and sisters, and there were some painful times for the homesick newcomer. But she has a large heart and has learned to understand the feelings of others.

The Young Women of Eight Mile Plains Ward, Brisbane, Queensland, Australia, decided to share their love for Valentine’s Day. After spending a Saturday preparing paper hearts with messages of love and friendship, the girls sneaked into the yards of their “victims,” leaving their messages behind, attached to sticks in the ground, and taped to doorknobs and doorbells.
The girls did the entire project in secret but were found out by some people who loved the idea so much that they did the same thing to their neighbors the following day. The Eight Mile Plains girls have decided to make it a yearly tradition.

Honesty begins when we are young. When I was 11 years old, I looked forward eagerly to my magical 12th birthday when I could become a deacon and a Scout. My mother helped me learn the Articles of Faith, the Scout Law and Motto, and other requirements so that I would have a good start when that special birthday arrived.
Since I had no sisters, my brothers and I were given some of the inside chores as well as outside ones, such as milking and taking care of the animals. One day Mother left me to wash the dishes and clean the kitchen while she attended to a sick neighbor. I agreed to do these duties but put off doing the dishes. Time ran out and they didn’t get done. In fact, they didn’t even get started. When Mother came home and saw the kitchen, she put on her apron and went to the sink. She spoke only three words, which stung worse than the sting of a dozen hornets. They were the first three words of the Scout Oath: “On my honor.” That day I resolved that I would never give my mother cause to repeat those words to me again.

The Aaronic Priesthood is a very real power. One young man wrote this of his experience in exercising this power:
“At one time I attended a ward which had almost no Melchizedek Priesthood holders in it. But it was not in any way dulled in spirituality. On the contrary, many of its members witnessed the greatest display of priesthood power they had ever known.
“The power was centered in the priests. For the first time in their lives they were called upon to perform all the duties of the priests and administer to the needs of their fellow ward members. They were seriously called to home teach—not just to be a yawning appendage to an elder making a social call but to bless their brothers and sisters.
“Previous to this time I had been with four of these priests in a different situation. … They drove away every seminary teacher after two or three months. They spread havoc over the countryside on Scouting trips. But when they were needed—when they were trusted with a vital mission—they were among those who shone the most brilliantly in priesthood service.
“The secret was that the bishop called upon his Aaronic Priesthood to rise to the stature of men to whom angels might well appear; and they rose to that stature, administering relief to those who might be in want and strengthening those who needed strengthening. Not only were the other ward members built up but so were the members of the quorum themselves. A great unity spread throughout the ward and every member began to have a taste of what it is for a people to be of one mind and one heart. There was nothing inexplicable in all of this; it was just the proper exercise of the Aaronic Priesthood.”

Around the age of 12, I developed into a “klutz.” I’m not sure what brought it on, but the symptoms were horrible. I fell, I stubbed my toes, and I stumbled over things. Boy, was I in trouble when my mom moved the furniture. We’re talking serious bruises here!
People who didn’t know me would say, “You’re so tall. You’ll be great at basketball.” Well, I tried. I really tried. But I missed so many balls and flubbed up so many games that I began to wonder if my P.E. grade could keep me out of college.
The beginning of my junior year in high school, we started another semester of basketball. I was not looking forward to another semester of failure.
Just as we were choosing teams, the teacher asked, “Would anyone here be willing to teach a freshman boy how to swim? Of course, you won’t be able to play basketball.” Oh, what a sacrifice. I volunteered immediately.
Tuesday I met Henry. This is going to be easy, I thought. I’m not even going to have to get wet. I’ll just sit on the side and tell Henry what to do.
Wednesday I was in the water with Henry.
Thursday I was ready to drown Henry.
By Friday, basketball was looking good.
Henry was short, plump, and although I didn’t know it at the time, mentally handicapped. At first he just thought it was a game, and he wouldn’t even try. I got so frustrated. I was very standoffish with him, very upperclassman. The more he goofed off, the less friendly I became. I started feeling kind of desperate about it. Weeks had gone by. He was still messing around, and I was yelling.
One night I asked Heavenly Father if he would soften Henry’s heart. “Make him teachable,” I prayed. “Please help him to listen to me and cooperate.”
Henry was no different the next day or the next. However, when I saw Henry, I noticed what a sweet smile he had. Then I laughed at something silly he did. I stopped yelling. I didn’t feel like it anymore. And, finally, we began talking. I actually liked Henry. I sat on the edge of the pool with him and told him how dangerous it was not to know how to swim. I told him he had to learn how because I wanted him to be safe. I told him, “I care what happens to you,” and I meant it.
Henry started trying. He put his face in the water. He kicked. He practiced his arms. He floated when I held him. Swimming did not come easily to Henry. But by the last day, he made it across the short end of the pool. He looked really rough, but he was afloat, and he passed it off for his coach.
When Henry came out of the water, you could see his smile clear across the pool. I’ve never seen anyone look so proud.
The next semester, whenever I passed him in the halls, he gave me his big smile. He often came and talked to me at lunch and after school.
I did such a small thing for Henry, and yet I reaped great benefits. His learning how to swim even got me an A in P.E. that semester. And I learned a very important lesson from Henry. I thought Heavenly Father had ignored my prayer because Henry didn’t change. Yet he didn’t have to. I was the one who needed a softened heart, and I got it. I began to see Henry as a person with value. He was more than just another aggravation in my life. As soon as I changed my attitude, Henry responded eagerly.
I also learned that Heavenly Father cares about each of us. And he wants us to care about each other—a lesson that has stayed with me, helping me to grow in the gospel. All because Henry needed to learn to swim.