Gospel Story Finder

Senior Classman Kevin Scott was assigned to preside over a dining table of ten freshmen midshipmen at the United States Naval Academy. Seniors at the Naval Academy at Annapolis assist in training new midshipmen not only in tactics, but also in courtesy and discipline.
During the dinner Senior Scott requested that each midshipman give his full name, his hometown, and his state.
One of the freshmen answered, “Midshipman Ernest Ward Sax, sir, from Salt Lake City, Utah.”
Senior Scott said, “Are you a Mormon?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Does that mean you do not smoke or drink liquor or coffee?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Do you have a copy of the Book of Mormon?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Have you read it?” was the next question.
“Yes, sir.”
“Will you loan it to me?” requested Scott.
“Yes, sir.”
An unusual but friendly relationship developed, with an exchange of books and pamphlets between young Midshipman Sax of Salt Lake City and Senior Classman Scott of North Carolina.
Annapolis graduate Kevin Scott is now a Marine lieutenant in flight training in Florida. Newly baptized Kevin Scott is the ward mission leader, the “spark plug” of the ward missionary effort. He is now testifying to others about the restoration of the gospel and enthusiastically encouraging our members to spread the message.
Midshipman Ward Sax, now in his second year at Annapolis, is the son of a caring Mormon family, a young man who honored his priesthood responsibility.

The wife of this General Authority invited me to see their rock wall—an attractive piece of work that bordered their backyard. She told me that as parents she and her husband believed in their children learning to work hard. This rock wall had been a family project, from which two merit badges were also earned.

Leah Truckenmiller and Bonnie South, both 13, talked about a service project at an elderly woman’s home.
“We cleaned windows and did laundry,” Leah said.
“It felt so good to be helping someone that we even had fun scrubbing bathrooms,” Bonnie added.

On the final day, the girls were busy packing the mules and saddling their horses. Heidi Hicks, of the Coltman Second Ward, settled into the saddle and said, “It doesn’t hurt as bad this morning.” Indeed, the girls were becoming toughened to riding, but it was time to head home.
The downward trail was rough. It was very steep, eroded in spots, and had plenty of rocks to trip up even the most surefooted horse. But things went well. When a horse slipped, its rider hung on or slipped a foot out of the downhill stirrup in case a hasty dismount was called for. Horses and girls came through like troopers. Heidi summed up the feelings of many when she said, “If we had done that the first day, we would have been in tears.”

Angela Vildor moved to the Bahamas from Haiti a few years ago with her family. With the move came many changes, including learning English—a real challenge since she had spent her entire life speaking Haitian Creole. One afternoon a friend of hers invited her to a free English class sponsored by The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Angela readily accepted the invitation.

“I met the missionaries in English class,” she says. “They gave me a Book of Mormon, and later they talked to me about it. I told them that when I read the Book of Mormon, I felt very strong; it was a very different feeling. They explained that what I was feeling was the Spirit.”

Soon after Angela told the missionaries about her feelings, she received the missionary discussions and was baptized. A few weeks later, Angela’s younger sister, Annette, was also baptized. Together, the two of them help each other learn more about the gospel and share it with the rest of their family and friends.

Maybe it will be difficult to understand this at your age, but our testimony is something that we will take with us to the next life. We will leave all our earthly possessions behind, but that knowledge, that inner conviction, will remain with us. Think of Joseph Smith: those who took his life could not take his chief possession—his testimony. The Prophet Joseph took that priceless possession with him through death’s veil into eternity, where the Lord had promised him “a throne for you in the kingdom of my Father” (D&C 132:49). But at the same time, that testimony, together with “a fame and name that cannot be slain” (D&C 135:3), remains here with us. We hear the resounding witness of God’s prophet testifying “that [Christ] lives! For we saw him, even on the right hand of God; and we heard the voice bearing record that he is the Only Begotten of the Father” (D&C 76:22–23).

Making thoughtful choices develops a personal integrity and helps you come to really know yourself. When I was in elementary school, I wanted a chemistry set for Christmas. How I appreciated my parents for respecting my choice, even though it wasn’t a typical one for girls my age.

The great possibilities of the theater were recognized by farsighted men in the early days of our own church. In Joseph Smith’s time, the theater was not an acceptable institution. In fact, many cities had laws against theatrical performances, feeling that they were the work of the devil. Sometimes dramas, to gain a little respectability, were billed as “lectures.”

However, in direct contrast to this condition, Joseph Smith not only approved of but actually encouraged the theater. Along with all the other developments in his beautiful city of Nauvoo—the temple, a choir, schools—Joseph established a dramatic company. Brigham Young, Erastus Snow, and other of the leading brethren took part in many of the plays. Brigham Young himself played the part of the high priest in Pizarro, a popular drama of the day.

And then when the Saints moved to Utah, hardly had they begun planting crops when Brigham Young began the building of a theater in the wilderness. “If I were placed on a cannibal island,” he said, “and given the task of civilizing its people, I would straightway build a theatre for the purpose” (Harold I. Hansen, A History and Influence of the Mormon Theatre from 1839–1869, Brigham Young University, 1967, p. iii). Utah was not a cannibal island, and his people were already fairly educated. But build a theater straightway he did. The Bowery was built immediately, a large structure made of hewn logs and roofed with brush and willows. It was located on what is now Temple Square and was also used for worship and for general meetings.

The next home of the drama in Utah was the Social Hall, dedicated in 1853, the first actual theater west of the Missouri River. But Brigham’s dream of a theater for his people was not fully realized until the completion of the Salt Lake Theatre in 1862, a theater that would rank for years with the best theaters in the entire country.

It was dedicated by Daniel H. Wells, who prayed that order, virtue, cleanliness, and excellence would characterize the theater, and “‘Holiness to the Lord’ be forever inscribed therein” (Deseret News, 12 Mar. 1862, p. 291). High ideals, excellent musicals and plays, popular support by the community both in attending and acting in the plays, and guest artists from among the best professionals of the day—all made the Salt Lake Theatre thrive. To ensure his stamp of approval, Brigham Young insisted that his ten oldest daughters, known as the “Big Ten,” perform in the plays.

Sister Guagliarello met the full-time missionaries in 1962 in Mar del Plata, south of Buenos Aires, while working in a boarding house where they lived. When she recognized them knocking on doors 15 years later, after she had moved to Puerto Madryn, she took the discussions, was baptized, and began her life of service in the Church.

I suppose none of us can really comprehend the magnitude of the power that lies within this tremendous body. Wilford Woodruff on one occasion described his experience in April 1834, four years after the Church was organized. It occurred in Kirtland, Ohio. The Prophet Joseph called a priesthood meeting. All of the brethren who then held the priesthood gathered in a small cabin. There were only a few high priests, no Apostles or seventies, and only a few elders. The small number who assembled in one small room of a log cabin has now grown to a point where we have nearly one million holders of the Aaronic Priesthood and 900,000 holders of the Melchizedek Priesthood.

All of the priesthood holders can remember specific people and experiences in the hospital that strengthened their testimonies. Abe remembers a woman who was very ill. “She had a lot of trouble breathing,” he said. “She couldn’t talk at all and could barely move. Even though we couldn’t communicate verbally, we could see in her eyes that she was happy to receive the sacrament. We smiled at her, and she smiled back. We could feel the Spirit and knew she appreciated it. It’s hard to explain. You had to be there.”

As I spread the threadbare but clean tablecloth over our table, I glanced out the window. My husband and I and our two children were living in the small, rural village of Hämeenkyrö, Finland, in the 1960s. I saw my four-year-old daughter, Marika, and three-year-old son, Petri, playing with our dog on our small patch of green grass. My husband was tending to some chores in the garden. I straightened the cloth, and when I looked up again I saw a stranger walking up the path to our front door. She was a gray-haired woman and seemed to limp a bit. She didn’t look poor by any means; she wore a beautiful flower-print dress and a long apron. In her hand was a bulging bag.
My children followed her as she came into our kitchen. “Excuse me for entering your home like this,” she said, “but I had to come.” She hefted her bag onto the table. It was full of food. As the butter, meat, sausage, and freshly baked bread made their way onto the table and then into my children’s hands, tears came to my eyes.
“Can you be our grandmother now?” Marika asked the woman.
“If I may!” our guest answered. “I’d be happy to, and you can call me Aunt Toini.”
In that moment I recalled my prayer to Heavenly Father: “Please send someone to help us!” Aunt Toini was an answer to my prayers, and not only did she bring us food, she also brought lessons of love.
Life was simple in Hämeenkyrö. We had bought a small house by a beautiful forest. I had recently joined the Church, but my husband was not interested in the gospel. We were trying to be self-reliant. We grew potatoes and other vegetables in our garden. I sewed the children’s outfits and patched our clothes. We needed and were thankful for surprise packages of clothing my mother sent from northern Finland.
But as time went on, things got worse. Our family had to strictly ration food. At times my husband and I would eat only potatoes so the children would have a bit more. This is when I started my pleading: “Dear Lord, please send someone to help us!”
I found a job, but it didn’t help enough. There wasn’t much of my salary left after meeting my expenses, including bus fare and the babysitter’s payment.
Though we struggled I always taught my children to be grateful for all we did have. Petri often blessed the food: “Thank You, Heavenly Father, for this porridge, but could You please give us a piece of sausage too, if You have some?”
At those times I pleaded even more, “Please send someone to help!”
As she carried water from the well, I offered a different prayer: “Thank You, Heavenly Father! Blessed be the full bag and 20 marks!”
Every Saturday Aunt Toini came at the same time, with the bag full of food and 20 marks. She never asked how she could help; she just went to work. Occasionally she would stay at our house for a day or two. At those times she would always be the first to get up in the morning to make the porridge. She bought us some new pots and pans when she noticed the need. Sometimes she would wash our laundry by hand.
The weeks went by quickly as we looked forward to Saturdays and Aunt Toini’s visits. I would sometimes tell her about the Church, and many times we prayed together. Marika and Petri were very happy every time she came, and Aunt Toini never forgot to bring some sausage for Petri. It seemed she enjoyed the time with our family, and I thought perhaps we were giving something back to her.
Aunt Toini visited us regularly for three years. Then one Saturday she didn’t come. Nor did she come the following day. Later we learned that Aunt Toini had just left a shop and was heading to our small cottage when she collapsed to the ground, never to recover.
My husband and I and our children attended Aunt Toini’s funeral. We didn’t know anyone when we arrived, and we didn’t know when it would be appropriate for us to lay our flowers on her grave. We decided to be the last to lay down our flowers, to express our gratitude, to say good-bye.
After the funeral a woman approached us and told us she was Aunt Toini’s daughter. “You could have laid your flowers down first. You were so dear to our mother,” she said. “What was the power that changed her? She used to be a stingy and selfish person. But during the last three years she changed into a new person. She was so tender and loving.”
I didn’t know what to say except, “It was love.”
Though it has been more than 40 years since I first met Aunt Toini, I am still learning from the lessons she brought along with her bag of food. She was my teacher. She taught me how to long for forgiveness and how to give service and help. And now I realize that though she came to feed us, she too had been fed.

I wanted to let you know how much we like the Liahona. My son, Elias (who was two years old at the time), loved the story “Honest Morgan” in the March 2007 issue. I read it to him often. He was even able to retell the story correctly. I would appreciate it if you would continue to offer such short stories.
As for myself, I read the Liahona from cover to cover and enjoy the news, the articles, and the ideas. Thank you for the opportunity to obtain spiritual food.
Sonja Görgen, Germany

When I reflect on the race of life, I remember another type of race, even from childhood days. When I was about ten, my boyfriends and I would take pocketknives in hand and, from the soft wood of a willow tree, fashion small toy boats. With a triangular-shaped cotton sail in place, each boy would launch his crude craft in the race down the relatively turbulent waters of the Provo River. We would run along the river’s bank and watch the tiny vessels sometimes bobbing violently in the swift current and at other times sailing serenely as the water deepened.

During one such race we noted that one boat led all the rest toward the appointed finish line. Suddenly the current carried it too close to a large whirlpool, and the boat heaved to its side and capsized. Around and around it was carried, unable to make its way back into the main current. At last it came to an uneasy rest at the end of the pool, amid the flotsam and jetsam that surrounded it.

The toy boats of childhood had no keel for stability, no rudder to provide direction, and no source of power. Inevitably their destination was downstream—the path of least resistance.

“If I can make life a little easier for someone, I’ll do it in a heartbeat,” Amy Gardner says, with a big smile. And that’s exactly what she did for some homeless children in Salt Lake City, Utah.
Amy, who was 16 at the time, went with her Mutual group, from the Holladay Tenth Ward of the Salt Lake Holladay Stake, to feed homeless families at the local family shelter. “I heard there was a baby in by the main desk,” Amy says. “I love babies so I went to see. When baby Heather was placed in my arms, tears came to my eyes. She was the most beautiful baby I had ever seen.” Amy spent the rest of the evening feeding and cuddling Heather.
Amy later learned about Heather’s background: her mother was in the Salt Lake County jail, and her father, who was from out of state, was waiting for his wife to make parole. Most of the time Heather was dressed only in a diaper and was hungry, not only for food but for love, too.
“When I got home and told my mom (Lindy Gardner) about Heather, I broke down and cried,” Amy says. “We went that night to the store and purchased a few items and put together a diaper bag for the baby.”
Amy continues, “The next day I went back to the shelter hoping I would find Heather. When I did, she was crying. We couldn’t comfort her. Then one of the ladies that works at the shelter asked Heather’s father if she could be hungry. His response was, ‘She’s had two bottles of water today.’”
The workers at the shelter gave Heather’s father a box of formula and other items to help him take care of his baby daughter. But Amy left heartbroken. “I was a wreck,” Amy says. “I cried all the way home.” Through all the tears and anguish, however, Amy was working on a plan to put together diaper bags for other homeless babies. So, “in a heartbeat,” she launched her plan.
That Sunday, Amy talked in her ward Relief Society about her experience and asked for help. “The response was tremendous!” Amy exclaims. “I even got calls from other stakes.” Amy also contacted a local hospital that donated most of the diaper bags. She sent out fliers in her neighborhood. And she talked to her child development teacher at Skyline High School, who offered extra credit to any student who brought in items.
Donations began to flood the Gardner home. Amy turned her missionary brother’s temporarily empty bedroom into a warehouse. “I had a shelf or a section of the room for each item, like in a department store,” Amy says. There were new bottles, pacifiers, formula, bibs, shoes, clothing, baby food, lotion, shampoo, toys, and wipes. She also washed all used clothing and blankets and sanitized the toys that came in.
By the end of the week she had filled 16 diaper bags so full she had to sit on them to get them closed. Amy says, “Besides the diaper bags we had three large plastic bags of clothes, one bag of blankets, and two boxes of toys. I even had cash left over to purchase board games and toys for the older children.”
Susan Anderson, the manager of the Family Shelter in Salt Lake City, says, “I’ll always remember Amy. I saw in her an example of so many young people in the Church who have been taught to love one another. We’re not sure what kind of heart we have until it is tested. When Amy’s heart was tested, she responded with everything she has been taught by her family and the Church.”
Amy’s attitude about helping others is capsulized in this comment: “When you think about it, we all have a lot of time. It’s what we do with our time that counts. True, I did spend every free minute for two weeks on the diaper bag project, but if you think of all the time I have, this was only a tiny pinch of it. And it was more than worth it when you see that it made a difference in a little child’s life.”

A few years ago, the Campbells lived on Chestnut Street in town. Their home was spacious and it had a swimming pool. The Campbells had two sons, but were told by doctors that because of medical complications it was unlikely Sister Campbell would have any more children. So the parents decided to continue their family anyway—by adopting.

“We feel as though we’ve always been a family,” Phil said. “Some of us just took a little longer to get here. First came Mike (who is 19 and currently serving in the Washington Seattle Mission), then myself. Then we adopted Lynn. Then we decided Lynn needed a sister, and Julie was adopted. Then the agency called and asked if we would like another girl, and Christine joined us. Then we wanted Jabez (“J.J.”) to even up the boy-girl ratio.

“Dad and mom prayed and prayed about having another child of their own but had nearly abandoned hope, even though they felt the Lord would bless them. Then miraculously Sam was born without any problems. It surprised everyone, since we had figured J. J. was the caboose! Then when Joe (“Little Bear”) was adopted, he filled in the space between Christine and Lynn. Then we wanted another girl, but Monty Jr. (“June Bug”) needed a home, and we all fell in love with him.

“We thought that was it, but then the agency called and asked mom and dad if they wanted two more!” So Nicholas and Doug joined the family. Now the roll call at the dinner table reads like this: Mike (he’s always remembered, and sometimes his letters are read aloud), Phillip, Christine, Joe, Lynn, Julie, Jabez, Nicholas, Sammy (5), Doug (4), and Monty Jr. (2). “That makes 11,” Sister Campbell said, smiling. “And now we figure one more would be perfect.”

Sister Campbell explained that she and her husband are the only Indians listed with the adoption agency, and that because they have such a positive record, the local magistrate (himself one of 11 children) is eager to help. “It’s our experience in family court that we don’t find too many happy occasions such as this,” Judge Victor E. Manz said. “At a time when people say the family is falling apart, this family is a true inspiration.” Although the children come from various tribes, they are all adopted into the Cayuga tribe when they join the family.

As a group, the Beehives teach neighborhood hygiene classes that have resulted in requests for discussions from the missionaries and eventually baptism. One Beehive was the only member in her family until her parents came to one of her health presentations. One thing led to another, and eventually the rest of her family joined the Church.

I would like to recount a story told by Kenneth J. Brown, who was serving as a U.S. Marine in Japan following the dropping of the bomb. His moving story about a Japanese Christian he met at Christmastime in Nagasaki is as follows.
“I watched him turn from the street and climb the path leading to our shelter. He was groping, hesitating. As he came near he folded his umbrella and stood quietly a long moment. His thin coat soon dampened from the cold rain that was falling from the same sky that had brought death to nearly half his townspeople three short months before. I concluded that it must take some special courage to confront one’s conquerors without invitation. It was little wonder that he hesitated.
“His polite bow to me was no bow of submission. Rather his squared shoulders and lifted head let me feel as if I were looking up at him even … though I towered over him a foot or more. I recall being disturbed that I hadn’t yet become used to the near sightless eyes of those who had looked heavenward that morning when the bomb dropped. …
“… I respectfully asked if I could be of service. [In his clear English] he introduced himself as Professor Iida. …
“‘I am Christian,’ he said. ‘I am told this is the head minister’s office. Are you a Christian? It is good to talk with a follower of Christ; there are so few Christian Japanese.’
“I took him to the inner office of the division chaplain and waited while the two men conversed. Professor Iida stated his request briefly. He was a teacher of music in a Christian girls’ college until it was closed by imperial command. … He had been imprisoned because of his professed Christianity. After being released he had returned to Nagasaki and continued his music instruction in his home even though it was forbidden. He had been able to continue a small chorus and would be pleased if … they [could] sing a concert for the American Marines.
“‘We know something of your American Christmases,’ he said. ‘We should like to do something to make your Christmas in Japan more enjoyable.’
“I felt sure the chaplain would give a negative reply. Our unit was one of hardened fighters, four years away from home, who had fought the enemy from Saipan to Iwo Jima. … Yet there was something about the man that bespoke sincere desire to do a good deed so that … permission was granted. The concert would be Christmas Eve.
“The rains had stopped and a calm settled over the atomic bowl reminiscent of the calm that night long ago. The concert was well attended; there was nothing else to do. The theater … had been cleared of its fallen roof and men were sitting on the jagged walls. The usual momentary hush fell over the audience as the performers filed on stage. …
“The first thing we noticed was that they were singing in English and we became aware that they didn’t understand the words but had memorized them for our benefit. Professor Iida had taught his students well; they sang beautifully. We sat enthralled as if a choir from heaven were singing for us. … It was as if Christ were being born anew that night.
“The closing number was a solo, an aria from ‘The Messiah.’ The girl sang with all the conviction of one who knew that Jesus was indeed the Savior of mankind and it brought tears. After that there was a full minute of silence followed by sustained applause as the small group took bow after bow.
“Later that night I helped Professor Iida take down the trimmings. I could not resist asking some questions that propriety forbade but curiosity demanded. I just had to know.
“‘How did your group manage to survive the bomb?’ I asked.
“‘This is only half my group,’ he said softly, but seemed unoffended at my recalling his grief so that I felt I could ask more.
“‘And what of the families of these?’
“‘They nearly all lost one or more members. Some are orphans.’
“‘What about the soloist? She must have the soul of an angel the way she sang.’
“‘Her mother, two of her brothers were taken. Yes, she did sing well; I am so proud of her. She is my daughter.’ …
“The next day was Christmas, the one I remember best. For that day I knew that Christianity had not failed in spite of people’s unwillingness to live His teachings. I had seen hatred give way to service, pain to rejoicing, sorrow to forgiveness. This was possible because a babe had been born in a manger [and] later taught love of God and fellowmen. We had caused them the greatest grief and yet we were their Christian brothers and as such they were willing to forget their grief and unite with us in singing ‘Peace on earth, goodwill to all men.’
“The words of Miss Iida’s song testimony would not be stilled, ‘Surely he hath borne our griefs, and carried our sorrows.’ They seemed to echo and re-echo over the half-dead city that day.
“That day also I knew that there was a greater power on earth than the atomic bomb.”

“Families can be together forever through Heavenly Father’s plan,” Jessica and her cousins sang at their grandmother’s funeral. It was a sad day for Jessica because she would miss Grandma Tolley. She enjoyed the time they had spent together working in the garden, going for walks, and having weekend sleepovers. But it was also a joyous day because Jessica knew that Grandma had longed to be reunited with Grandpa, who had passed away 17 years before.
Later that day, Jessica and her mother drove to the cemetery to visit the grave site. “The roses and carnations look so beautiful,” Mom said.
“They smell terrific.” Jessica sniffed a pink rose.
“I’m sure Grandma was pleased with all the family and friends who came today. She enjoyed helping others and loved all people. The beautiful flowers show they loved her, too,” Mom said.
Jessica thought for a moment. Then she said, “At the funeral, Aunt Diane said that ‘Families Can Be Together Forever’ was Grandma’s favorite song. Why was a Primary song her favorite?”
Mom smiled. “I’m going to let Grandma answer that question for you.”
“How can Grandma answer my question when she isn’t here anymore?” Jessica asked.
“We’ll stop by her house on the way home, and I’ll show you,” Mom answered.
As Jessica walked into Grandma’s house, it was dark and quiet. Quickly she turned on a light. Everything was still in its usual place. There were pictures of Jessica and her cousins hanging on the walls. A cherished afghan was folded neatly over the back of the couch.
Mom opened a small closet door. After a bit of searching, she pulled out a pile of worn notebooks.
“What are those?” Jessica asked.
“Grandma wrote in these notebooks throughout her life. They were her journals. There is one here that will answer your question.” Mom glanced through a few of the notebooks before she located the one she wanted. She handed it to Jessica. “As you read what Grandma wrote, you’ll find out why ‘Families Can Be Together Forever’ was her favorite song.”
The next day was Saturday, and Jessica got right to work doing her chores and practicing her piano lessons. She even skipped watching cartoons so she could have more time for Grandma’s journal. Opening to the first page, she began to read.
Jessica was surprised. She had always thought her grandma and grandpa had been married in the temple. For as long as Jessica could remember, Grandma Tolley had done temple work each week with her friends. Temple work had been very important to her, and she had talked about it often.
All afternoon, Jessica continued to read. She was amazed at how hard Grandma had worked each day. She hung the laundry out on the line to dry. She carried buckets of coal down to the basement to burn in the furnace. She sewed clothes, planted and cared for a large garden, made her own bread, spent time with her daughters, and still did things to help other people. Jessica also enjoyed learning about what her mother was like as a little girl.
Jessica was so absorbed in the journal that she didn’t hear her mother come into the room. “Looks like you’ve been doing some reading.”
“Yes, I have,” Jessica said. “I didn’t know that Grandma wasn’t married in the temple. I think it would be hard to know that after this life you would no longer be together as a family.”
“It was hard for Grandma,” Mom said.
“But that doesn’t explain why ‘Families Can Be Together Forever’ was her favorite song,” Jessica said.
“Keep reading.” Mom smiled as she left the room.
Jessica read until late in the afternoon. As she neared the end of the notebook, she was a little discouraged at not finding the answer she had been looking for. When she was about to stop for the day, Jessica decided to read one more entry.
“Have you discovered the answer?” Mom asked that evening at dinner.
“I think so,” Jessica replied. “Grandma loved her family very much. But because she was not married in the temple, her family wouldn’t always be together. Grandma prayed and worked toward the day they could go to the temple. The song must have reminded her of the day she was sealed to her family.”
“That’s right.”
“Did you sing that song when you were in Primary?” Jessica asked.
“No, ‘Families Can Be Together Forever’ hadn’t been written yet when I was in Primary. Several years after Grandpa passed away, Grandma heard the Primary children sing it in sacrament meeting. She felt the Spirit so strongly that she was sure Heavenly Father was speaking right to her. Grandma loved the words because they gave her comfort in knowing that her family could be together forever.”
That night as Jessica knelt in prayer, she thanked Heavenly Father for a wonderful grandma. She also promised to live worthily to go to the temple. She wanted the blessing of an eternal family and the opportunity to be with Grandma Tolley again someday.

Many years back as a young husband and father, I worked for a grocery chain. My shift was from about 5:30 A.M. to 2:00 P.M., without a lunch hour. I preferred it that way. One time during the week I had a day off. The stake president had announced a need for brethren to go out to Cedar Fort, where our stake farm was located, to get the bales of hay out of the fields before it rained.

I volunteered to go out on my day off. A member of the stake presidency, Francis Bromley, took me out to the farm. Much of the hay had been baled the preceding Saturday. I suggested to President Bromley that he drive the tractor. I would load the hay on the skids, transfer it to the flatbed truck, then haul it to a location where it was to be stacked. It was a hot summer day. There seemed to be no breeze at all, and no shade or cloud cover. I was accustomed to hard work but not in the sun. For hours we worked together retrieving the baled hay from the fields.

I can recall to this day how tired I was. Hay dust and dirt filled my nostrils and was caked on my arms and face. Sweat poured off me. My hands grew numb and my arms and legs were fatigued, but we worked on until the work was done. I remember the feelings I had at the end of the day. President Bromley somehow knew that I had worked with all my energy to save him as much work as possible. He was not a young man, and the work was heavy. He was very kind in his appraisal of the work we had done.

The greater reward came to me on the way home. I realized that I had worked for the Lord about as hard as I knew how to work. My sinuses burned from the dust and dirt, my eyes were filled with hay dust, and perspiration and alfalfa clung to my skin and clothes. I was exhausted and I think dehydrated. My head throbbed and my muscles ached, but way down deep inside of me there was a feeling of pride. For a few moments at the end of that day I drank from the living waters of Christ. I felt the cooling breeze of service, and I felt the shade of contentment to my soul.

I have never forgotten how I felt about President Bromley. Serving him and trying to do an extra measure of work to protect him filled my soul with a deep love for him. I knew that he could see into my heart and that he knew what I was trying to do for him. I think he loved me also. I believe, however, the greater love will come to those who serve someone else. If you want to love someone, serve that person. Service is work. It takes effort.