Gospel Story Finder

Sometimes service can actually save the lives and the spirits of others. While I was in Sweden last summer, I had a sister tell me of a story of service she and others had performed for an orphanage in Russia. The story has been written in the book entitled To Rejoice as Women, written by Veronika Ekelund. I would like to tell a very short version.

When the Relief Society had its sesquicentennial anniversary not long ago, sisters from all over the world were challenged to do significant acts of service for their community. When they found how much the children were in need, the Handen Ward in Stockholm, Sweden, decided to direct their attention to the plight of the poor in a Russian orphanage in Syktyvkar. It was far from Stockholm. To get there from Moscow took 26 hours on a train. Bishop Rydgren approved the project just as long as all ward members participated. They found that the children in the orphanage had to take shifts going to school because they lacked the warm clothing necessary. When the Swedish ward learned this, everyone in the ward wanted to donate warm clothing and any other items that would benefit the children. The response of the Saints was overwhelming. They gave a refrigerator, two sewing machines, clothes, tools, dishes, shoes, skis, ice skates, toys, and more. There was so much that they wondered how they could transport all of the items. The estimated cost of $30,000 was too high for chartering a plane and the drive was too far (about as far as from Salt Lake City to Mexico City). It would also have been dangerous, due to off-limits military regions and bandits who would do anything to gain the goods. It looked as if the project would die after all.

After much prayer and searching, a friend, Svetlana, was found in Moscow, and the goods were shipped to her in 258 boxes. They needed to be guarded, and as is usually the case, the right forms releasing them to her were not there. After managing to obtain the signed forms, she finally persuaded the customs office to let her take the boxes. Then began the difficult work of transporting the goods by train to Syktyvkar.

What an ordeal! The Swedish Relief Society president and her husband, Ingrid and Mats, who went with Svetlana, were overjoyed when they saw the 65 children and 15 leaders at the orphanage receive the boxes. Many of the children had no parents, or their parents were ill, mentally disabled, or imprisoned or had abandoned them. The donated items brought great pleasure to all the recipients.

The children in turn presented a special program of dance, song, and drama. In Russia the arts are an established part of their culture, and this was their way of saying “Thank you.” That reunion had brought much happiness. The husband and wife returned to Sweden with loving stories to tell all of the ward. The joy did not stop there, however. The ward decided to bring all the children and leaders to Stockholm for Christmas. What an undertaking! They needed visas, transportation, and special care. All was worked out after much preparation, and the children arrived on December 26. The Saints were able to share their homes and testimonies with their newly found friends. The Spirit brought all closer together. A local hospital donated its services to help 10 of the children with eye exams. They found that two of the children who were wearing glasses didn’t need them, and others needed stronger lenses. Some had bleeding sores on the bridges of their noses because of the heavy glasses they had been wearing. What a difference the lightweight glasses made.

After the children left, there was a great deal of joy. The members knew that the children would be much better off for the experience. Jekaterina, one of the leaders at the orphanage, said upon their return:

When we have dark days here . . . and I can assure you, at times it feels like we cannot go on, I gather the children around me and we talk about our friends in Sweden. We talk about all you have done for us, and in particular, the joy that radiates when you smile. We believe that joy comes from your faith. Please, give us your smiles. And your faith. [Veronika Ekelund, “From Nauvoo to Russia: The Reach of Relief Society,” in To Rejoice as Women: Talks from the 1994 Women’s Conference [Salt Lake City: Deseret Book Company, 1994], p. 175]

This ward in Sweden did truly perform a miracle, one that will be remembered by many for years to come. Those members are an example to all of us when it comes to unselfish service and filling others’ spiritual and physical wells.

Our neighbor’s husband died several months ago, and my family and I have been helping her with yard work and just being friends with her. She is a very nice lady who believes in Jesus but doesn’t go to any church.
A few months ago the missionaries came to our Primary class and talked to us about missionary work. They encouraged us to share the gospel with someone. On the way home I told my parents I wanted to share the gospel with our neighbor.
As soon as we got home, I took a plate of cookies and my scriptures to her house. We read the Articles of Faith together, and then I visited with her and helped her do things in her house. I felt good inside when I shared the gospel of Jesus Christ. I know that we should all share the gospel when we can.

One interesting tape of an elderly person tells of the day when the electric streetcar came to his town. It was a completely spontaneous response to a question the interviewer had asked about the first automobiles.
“A lot of people had come in on horses and buggies and wagons for the big day. We kids had run about a mile on foot so as not to miss it.
“We got a bigger surprise than we ever thought when that electricity sparked on the connectors and the car started. Some dignitaries were in the streetcar. The horses saw that car going, and they were scared to death. They had always seen streetcars pulled by horses. So now with that car going without horses, it was too much for their minds. They ran away with the wagons, and they stood up on their hind legs and almost turned the buggies over.”

I have two very close friends, and I love them both for different reasons, because they represent two different parts of myself. I have found myself trying to get them together, but you can’t force two people to like each other. So I have made the decision and chose not to choose between them. Finally, one of them took the step and broke the ice. Now they are on better terms, and things are a lot easier because the tension is gone.
Hang in there, and don’t be two-faced about it. Be honest with both of them.
Mindy Smith, 15Soda Springs, Idaho

Bitter consequences are seen in the lives of children who need but do not have a father who loves them, teaches them, protects them, and leads them along the path of life by example and precept. Let me recount for you something I heard about two years ago in this tabernacle. The occasion was a great gathering of single men and women. Elder Marion D. Hanks conducted a panel discussion. Included in that panel was an attractive and able young woman, divorced, the mother of seven children then ranging in ages from five to sixteen. She said that one evening she went across the street to deliver something to a neighbor. Listen to her words as I recall them:
“As I turned around to walk back home, I could see my house lighted up. I could hear echoes of my children as I had walked out of the door a few minutes earlier: ‘Mom, what are we going to have for dinner?’ ‘Can you take me to the library?’ ‘I have to get some poster paper tonight.’ Tired and weary, I looked at that house and saw the light on in each of the rooms. I thought of all of those children who were home waiting for me to come and meet their needs. My burdens felt very heavy on my shoulders.
“I remember looking through tears toward the sky, and I said, ‘Oh, my Father, I just can’t do it tonight. I’m too tired. I can’t face it. I can’t go home and take care of all those children alone. Could I just come to You and stay with You for just one night? I’ll come back in the morning.’
“I didn’t really hear the words of reply, but I heard them in my mind. The answer was, ‘No, little one, you can’t come to me now. You would never wish to come back. But I can come to you.’”

Christina sat down in the chapel with her parents as the organist began playing prelude music. Today she and her family were quiet and sad. That morning Dad told the family that his engineering company might close. Christina knew that his business was struggling, but she hadn’t known how bad things were.

After the sacrament, Sister Stevens, a recently returned missionary, gave the first talk.

Christina thought about her own family’s hard times in the last year. Her father’s business had to cut salaries twice, so he now got paid only part of his original salary. During the summer, her family’s basement had flooded twice, damaging the carpet and furniture in her room. Now not only could she not buy the things her friends could, but she had lost some of her belongings because of water damage.

Christina listened in amazement to the small things on Sister Stevens’s list. She had never thought to be grateful for things like peanut butter, beds, or letters.

When Christina got home, she made her own gratitude list. She wrote down clean sheets, ice-cream cones, books, and many other things. It wasn’t hard at all to find things to be grateful for.

At dinner that evening, Christina looked across the table at her parents and realized she’d forgotten to list two of her most important blessings.

“I know I don’t say it enough, but I love you,” she said. “And I’m glad you’re my parents.”

Dad smiled. “Thank you, Christina.”

Mom looked like she was about to cry. “That’s the nicest thing you could have said to me.”

Months later, Dad’s business improved, and he was once again paid his full salary. But Christina never forgot the lesson she had learned about gratitude.

Several years ago I traveled to Declo, Idaho, to speak at a Young Women camp. While I was there, the young women participated in an iron rod experience. When it got dark the young women were taken in groups and told to hold fast to the iron rod, which was a PVC pipe. They were led along a dark, narrow, steep trail. I joined a group of young women and held to the rod. A little girl who was there for the evening with her father and mother held on behind me. I could hear her little voice making comments to her mother as we stumbled through the dark holding fast to the rod. We stopped now and then to witness a spotlighted scene. One was a group of young people partying. There were definite signs of alcohol. The young people in the scene pointed at us and laughed and called us "goody goodies." They urged us to let go of the silly rod and come and join them in their fun. We held on tighter. We continued to move along the trail and viewed several other scenes until we came to a grandmotherly lady who was holding a plate of cookies. She said, "I have some delicious warm chocolate chip cookies. They are for you. All you have to do is to let go of the iron rod for only a minute and come and have one. They are so good." The little girl behind me said, "I bet she's lying. I bet those cookies have raisins in them instead of chocolate chips."

Later that night as I drove down the canyon with the little girl and her parents she suddenly blurted out, "I'm not safe anymore." I asked her why she wasn't safe. She answered, "I'm not holding onto the iron rod any more." I put her parents on the spot as I asked, "Do you have family scripture study?" She told me they had it every morning. "Good," I responded, "that means you're safe. Having scripture study is holding on to the iron rod." She gave a relieved sigh and sat back in her seat.

I was interested to read recently of a young British girl who learned in school about the characteristics of water along a shoreline that signal the approach of a tsunami. Two weeks later, on vacation with her family in Thailand, she observed those phenomena and insistently warned her parents and the people around her. They escaped to higher ground just in time when the December 26, 2004, tsunami hit south Asia. More than a hundred people owe their lives to that girl’s knowledge of certain truths of the natural world.

He obtained a position in the government of Venezuela and was sent to London. While there he urged people with influence to force Spain to withdraw from his country, but had little success.
Disappointed, he went back to San Mateo where reports of his revolutionary talk had reached Venezuela ahead of him. So before he was thirty he was banished from his beloved country, his estate was taken from him, and he was left without money or friends. Somehow he managed to get passage on a small boat that took him to the little hot and sandy island of Curacao in the Caribbean Sea.
The island belonged to England at that time and English merchants provided him with food and a bed. Although Simón talked of a revolution against Spanish rule in Venezuela, they were surprised when he and his young cousin Ribas left the island and set sail for Colombia.
Arriving there, the two young men recruited an army of two hundred untrained men who had no uniforms except ragged civilian clothing. Their powder and bullet pouches were made of roughly sewn cowhide, and their worn-out muskets and bayonets were almost useless. Few of them had hats to cover their heads, and most of them had tattered leather sandals on their feet. But Simón was able to inspire and persuade them to follow him. After only a little training, this army captured a Spanish riverside fort in a surprise attack. There the men found ammunition, clothing, and food.
Simón was soon joined by other revolutionaries. Some battles were lost, but more were won. With odds almost beyond belief, Simón was able to rally his forces and add to them after every defeat. They followed him over the nearly insurmountable Andes Mountains, half frozen, hungry, and exhausted. Several women, wives of the soldiers, took part in this march across the mountains and one of them gave birth to a baby on the slopes of Mt. Pisba. At last they reached the plains of Venezuela where the small band of ragged revolutionaries fought a well-equipped army more than twice its size—and won!
Still poorly equipped and outnumbered, Bolívar then led his troops into other countries and also helped them to obtain their freedom.
However, Simón Bolívar, who was so successful in encouraging, training, and leading armies under the most adverse conditions, was unable to unite the various governments of the countries as he wanted so much to do. Disillusioned by the politicians’ jealousies, littleness, and bickering, he once wrote, “It is a terrible truth that it costs more strength to maintain freedom than to endure the weight of tyranny.”
Another time he saluted all men who fight for freedom with these words:
“I drink to the heroic endurance of the soldiers of both armies, to their loyalty, patience and courage. I drink to the men who, defying all terrors, take up the cause of liberty . … But perish all who desire bloodshed and who shed blood in an unjust cause.”
In November of 1830 Simón Bolívar, who had resigned from active government leadership, despaired of uniting South America and, hurt by the political intrigue of men in governments, became ill. Escaping a planned assassination against his life while in Bogota, Colombia, he fled to Santa Marta, the oldest permanent settlement in South America. Alone, misunderstood, and almost penniless he died there December 17, 1830. His farewell message to his countrymen urged them to continue fighting for freedom.
Statues of Simón Bolívar have been erected in the countries where he was once president, and the standard silver coin of Venezuela is named the bolivar after him—El Libertador, the liberator of South America!

My name is Mili, and I’m eleven years old. My sister, Eli, is ten. We have always lived with our abuelita (beloved grandmother). Our city is surrounded by green hills, and its streets are straight and clean. In the city are many beautiful churches, such as Santo Domingo, where we rest in the quiet coolness after our shopping on Saturdays.
Abuelita doesn’t go to church or anywhere else because of the pain of her arthritis and because she is almost deaf.
Maybe the deafness is the reason she couldn’t listen to the two missionary sisters who came to the gate of our courtyard one day last summer. Abuelita has told us not to open the gate for strangers, but she unlocked it and let them in. Abuelita is always kind, and they looked very hot and tired—and sweet and harmless.
Eli and I stood back quietly when they came in and sat down in our cool sala (living room). We brought them cold lemonade and pan dulce (pastry), as Abuelita has taught us to do for guests in our house. When we sat down and listened to them, they told us wonderful things about Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ appearing to a boy named Joseph Smith in the woods, and about the gold plates and the Book of Mormon. And they gave us the book!
Eli and I read to each other every night that week. We liked the stories and the way we felt when we read them. Abuelita doesn’t read.
When the missionaries came back, we were happy to see Abuelita quietly unlock the gate for them. Later they took us with them on the bus to their church. Eli and I liked the way we felt in that church, even though it was a very plain chapel and not so beautiful as Santo Domingo with its colored windows and gold statues. When we asked Abuelita if we could be baptized, she kissed us, said yes, and told us that we were good girls and that she knew that we would follow a good path.
So Eli and I became Latter-day Saints. We went to church every Sunday, and the missionaries didn’t have to come for us, because we knew how to go to the zócalo (town square) and take the bus to the church. We learned to pray to Heavenly Father morning and night and to pay our tithing on the few pesos Abuelita gives us each week for our school supplies and lunches. And we don’t let her put coffee in our milk anymore.
We also learned that we should fast on the first Sunday of the month and give the money to el obispo (the bishop) so he can give it to the poor.
We have many poor people in our city, and Eli and I wouldn’t have minded missing our breakfast and lunch on that one day. But Abuelita doesn’t understand about fasting. She says that we must eat before leaving for church, and she won’t give us money instead of food.
We talked to el obispo about it. He is a very nice man and is very wise. He read to us in the Book of Mormon where Nephi said that if God gives a commandment, He will provide a way to obey it. We had read that before, but when we went home that day, we underlined it in our Book of Mormon. El obispo said that we would find a way to keep the commandment.
One Sunday morning as we walked to the zócalo to catch the bus, we saw a man sitting underneath a big tule tree. He was old and very thin and raggedy. When he held up a dish for money, we saw that the joints of his hands were swollen and knobby like Abuelita’s. He looked sad and tired.
He probably had been there many times when we passed, but this time we really saw him. I told Eli how thankful I was that Abuelita didn’t have to sit on the street and beg, that she had her warm bed and good food. We didn’t have any money to give him, so we walked on, but Eli and I couldn’t stop thinking about him. We talked about him, and when we said our prayers, we prayed for him.
The next Sunday was fast Sunday. Eli and I said our morning prayers and began to get ready for church. Then I had an idea. I told Eli, and she liked it.
Abuelita had our breakfast ready for us, but instead of sitting down to eat, we began to put the tangerines, bananas, a beautiful mango, our empanadas, and our boiled eggs into a small bag. When Abuelita asked us what we were doing, we smiled and asked, “Please, may we take our food with us?” and she let us.
As always, before unlocking the gate of the courtyard to let us out, she kissed us both on each cheek. It’s one way she shows her love for us.
We hurried to the zócalo and looked for the sad beggar. He was there under the tule tree. When we handed him the bag of food, he looked puzzled but opened the bag. Then he saw the beautiful food, and his eyes lit up with happiness. “Gracias, muchachitas, gracias” (“Thank you, young ladies, thank you”), he said. We smiled back, then ran for the bus.
Someday we’ll pay our fast offering to el obispo as others do. Someday Abuelita will truly understand the gospel. God provides a way.

I was amazed as a mission president to find out how few of our missionaries had truly experienced love, warmth, and understanding in their homes. It seemed to be the exception rather than the rule that a missionary could give and accept love freely. It had not been taught or experienced in their homes. I had grown up in a home where I loved, hugged, and kissed my dad freely. It had meant so much to me that I decided when I had my first interview with each of our elders I would give them a hug and after every interview we would end with a hug and expression of love. I couldn’t believe the reactions I got. Some just melted in my arms while others didn’t know how to react or what to do. Some stood as rigid as boards. They had never had their dad’s arms around them in their whole life.

I remember one elder that came to us with the sourest look on his face that I had ever seen. He would come in for each interview and sit down with this same unhappy expression. I would say, “What’s the matter, Elder? Why don’t you ever smile?” About all I would ever get out of him was a grunt or two and never an answer. We would have a poor interview, and at the end we would stand and I would put my arms around him. I could almost feel him shudder with disgust. This went on for several months with no change. He was a most unhappy young man. He had no success in his areas. He had companionship problems. Nothing went well.

Finally he came in for another interview and I said, “What’s the matter, Elder? Can’t you tell me?”
He looked at me for a moment and then he said, “You want to know what’s the matter? I’ll tell you.” I thought, great, we’re finally going to get to the bottom of this thing.
He said, “I can’t stand you.”
Well, I could have wished for a lot of other answers besides that one. He said, “I can’t stand to have you put your arms around me. I’ve never had a man’s arm around me, not even my dad’s. And besides that, I can’t stand to have you tell me you love me. No one has ever told me that, not even my mother and dad, and I have never told anyone I loved them.” He was really rolling now. The floodgate was wide open. I was wondering why I had ever asked him the question.
He said, “I had a seminary teacher that was just like you. All the kids just loved him and I hated him.”

Well, I didn’t know what to say. I was dumb-founded. To be told you’re hated isn’t necessarily the greatest thing to hear. Finally I said, “Well, Elder, I’m really sorry I offend you, and I’m sorry it bothers you so to have me put my arms around you. I promise I will never put my arms around you again. And I won’t tell you I love you, but I want you to know that I truly do.” Well, we got up, shook hands, and out the door he went. No more hugs, no more I love yous.

Finally it came time for Sister Harbertson and me to return home. I felt I had totally failed this elder. He came in for his final interview with about the same response. We got up, shook hands, and he walked to the door and then turned around and said, “President Harbertson, will you do something for me?”
I said, “Certainly, what is it?”
He said, “Will you give me a hug?” I grabbed that elder and almost squeezed him to death.
He said, “President, I want you to know that I love you!” He even got up in our zone conference and for the first time in his whole life verbally expressed love for his companion and then turned around and expressed his love for Sister Harbertson and me.

We went home; he still had some months to serve. When he got home he came to the first mission reunion he could. There he sat in the middle of that large group of missionaries with the biggest smile you have ever seen. After the meeting he came up to me and gave me a big hug and told me he loved me. I asked him how the rest of his mission went, and he said, “After you went home it went great!” Well, I think I know what he meant.

Now, why did that young man have to go through twenty years of not being loved or giving love? It isn’t fair or right. Good homes are so important.

Calmly the bishop turned his head toward the sacrament table and gave the dreaded “no” sign. The young priest had missed a word while blessing the sacrament.
Give the kid a break, I thought to myself, trying in vain to transmit my brainwaves to the bishopric. After all, this was Billy we were talking about. This was a kid who had a tough enough time talking in complete sentences, let alone reading prayers in front of a congregation of people, speaking words verbatim from a card.
Just a week before, Billy’s dad had ordained him a priest. With that prayer came a promise that the Lord would help him overcome his handicaps. The following Sunday, that promise was put to the test. Billy was kneeling behind the sacrament table, confronted with a task that demanded nothing less than perfection.
Billy prayed again, and with loving composure, the bishop once again signaled for him to say the prayer over. Billy’s face filled with disappointment as he dropped to his knees, cleared his throat, and prayed. An anxious reverence filled the chapel.
As Billy began again, I prayed along with him, mouthing each word as if I could somehow control his speech. Amazingly, the technique seemed to be working. With only a few phrases to go, Billy’s prayer was perfect. And then the unthinkable happened as the words that I mouthed and Billy spoke went suddenly out of sync.
There would be no need for Billy to look at the bishop. Billy knew he had to start over. For one awkward and eternal moment he remained on his knees as all eyes focused on the bishopric. And then Andy arose from the congregation, walked quietly to the sacrament table, and knelt down next to his younger brother.
Bowing our heads in gratitude, we waited for Andy to offer the prayer and put an end to Billy’s suffering. But it was Billy’s voice—not Andy’s—that broke the silence. I held my breath as Billy tiptoed through the phrases with his brother at his side.
Then at last came “amen,” and the bishop smiled and nodded.
Billy emerged from behind the sacrament table wearing the same big grin he seemed to always have. For one sweet moment he had tasted perfection, and he knew it. We all knew it, and I more fully understood the wisdom of our bishop.
He was well aware of Billy’s weaknesses. But he loved Billy. He loved him enough to allow him the chance to magnify his priesthood and to let him try and fail until he found perfection.
In that perfect prayer that Billy uttered, we were all lifted and edified. We all saw a priest of great courage who knelt with his older brother and preached a powerful sermon from the sacrament table.

“Going to church isn’t always a picnic,” I thought to myself as I studied the congregation. There must have been 200 people in the room, but I felt painfully alone.
All around me families sat snuggled cozily together on the benches, and Bishop Campbell was up at the pulpit talking about the joys of eternal families. “Right,” I thought sadly. “Sometimes that seems like a fairy tale.” My parents were divorced; my sister, the only other member in my family, was away at school; and I had no one to sit with in sacrament meeting. I felt warm tears forming in the corners of my eyes. Once again, the depression inside me began to swell and completely overwhelm the messages that were being taught from the stand.
There are probably a lot of you who feel the same way at times. More teens than ever are joining the Church on their own, without having other family members join them in the waters of baptism. Or maybe your parents stop coming and you continue to attend. You wish your family were with you—you wish they were feeling the same spirit, learning the same things, receiving the same blessings. You wish you had someone to lean on, to talk to, to discuss the talks with after the meeting. I know. I’ve sat through countless meetings alone because I didn’t think my friends and their families wanted an intruder to squish in with them on their bench.
Now, for those of you who have always had loving, supportive families to sit with and can’t understand the loneliness your friends are experiencing, you might take a look around and see just how many of them there are. They come in all shapes, sizes, colors, and ages. Consider going out of your way to invite them to sit with you, even if it means your family will have to sit on two rows. You have no idea how grateful your friends will be.
But for those of you who are going it on your own, here are a few suggestions:
1. Avoid sitting by yourself. Find someone else who is sitting alone, and ask if you can join them. They’ll probably be just as grateful to have a friend by them as you are.
2. Try not to let self-pity get the best of you. It’s easy to think, “I put a lot of effort into coming to church—no one’s dragging me here. I’m here because I want to be. Yet sitting alone reminds me that these people are way ahead of me in the blessing department. They’ve got celestial families, and I’m by myself.” When these thoughts come into your head, concentrate extra hard on the speaker. Pull out the hymnbook and start singing something to yourself (maybe not “Love at Home”). Say a quiet prayer. Read your favorite scripture. Think about the blessings you do have. Do anything to get your mind off the loneliness.
3. Realize that you, and only you, are responsible for your attitudes about church. Don’t try to blame your negative feelings on the actions of others. It’s how you react to those other people that counts. And try not to expect ward members or the Church in general to solve all your problems. That responsibility lies with you.
4. Whatever you do, don’t start resenting those who do have families, and are happily seated with them. They’re not purposely trying to hurt or ignore you, and they’re probably not aware that you’re in so much pain. Be happy for them, and use them as good examples. Vow that one day your children will be able to sit cozily with their family and will never have to suffer the same ordeal that you’re going through.
5. Make a commitment that you’ll always come back. Don’t even consider neglecting church because of the loneliness you sometimes feel there. As you sit in church alone, you might feel bad about your family situation, but at least you can feel good about yourself because you’re doing what you know the Lord wants you to do. If you stay home, you won’t feel good about anyone. Besides, many times the Lord reaches out to you and answers prayers through speakers and through your fellow ward members. Why deprive yourself by missing out on important learning, inspiration, and fellowship?
6. Know that you’re not completely alone. The Lord is with you and is very mindful of you. He’ll bless you for your diligence. He knows that it’s not easy for you to sit there by yourself, and he shares your sorrow. But he also knows that in the long run, the experience can prove useful to you.
7. Realize that you can benefit from the experience. You have to stand on your own two feet when you don’t have anyone to lean on, and this can help you develop inner strength and endurance. You’ll build your own testimony, and not be dependent on anyone else for your devotion. If your mind is open and your heart is pure, the Lord will supply you with the understanding you miss by not having someone there to discuss the meeting with. You’ll develop a strong relationship with Heavenly Father, because there aren’t a lot of other places to turn. And you’ll develop compassion for others in similar circumstances.
Maybe these pointers sound a little idealistic, but I can tell you they work. Every now and then, I still have to sit alone in Church, and it’s still not fun. But these days, I try to relax and count the blessings I’ve received from the experience. I’ve become more aware of other’s needs. While serving a mission, I was able to successfully battle the loneliness a missionary feels when there is no one familiar around. I gained a bit of spiritual self-confidence, because I knew I could do something difficult that the Lord asked of me. But best of all, I developed a very strong relationship with Heavenly Father.

I have another story that is not unlike that one. A man had moved from Ohio to Brigham City and was working for Morton Thiokol, the company that manufactures so much of what goes into space. He had dated several young women and had noticed a beautiful young lady working there. He asked her for a date and she consented. They went out, and he began to do things that she did not want to do. There was a tussle, but she succeeded and arrived home almost as safe as she had left.

The following Monday the man was telling of the conquest he had attempted but failed and was making fun of her. A fine young man stood nearby, a returned missionary—he hadn’t been home long. After the people had dispersed, he walked over and asked for the name of that young woman. He was told and they dated for about three months before I had the privilege of performing their marriage in the Salt Lake Temple. They had decided what they wanted, and their righteous actions were rewarded.

Now, while some of these decisions loom large, others may seem microscopic; yet what happens is exciting. Elder Thomas S. Monson reported an experience he had at a stake conference with a projectionist, a man with the surname of Hales. He was showing a movie that was the featured part of a training meeting when suddenly film started spewing everywhere. Elder Monson stood up and asked what was wrong. The young man said, “Elder Monson, I did something really stupid.” He didn’t blame the machine. He didn’t blame the projectionist who had shown the film on an earlier occasion. He didn’t blame the film itself. He blamed himself, and Elder Monson reported how he appreciated that type of courage. That young man was not in a blaming posture. He had decided to take responsibility. Just a little teeny experience, but it affected the thinking of an apostle.

Two other powerful ideas were given voice by a noble young woman who survived a terrible experience. Virginia Reed was a survivor of the tragic Donner-Reed party, which made one of the earliest wagon treks into California. If this wagon train had followed the established Oregon Trail from Fort Bridger (Wyoming) northwest to Fort Hall (Idaho) and then southwest toward California, they would have reached their destination in safety. Instead, they were misled by a promoter. Lansford W. Hastings persuaded them they could save significant distance and time by following his so-called Hastings Cutoff. The Donner-Reed party left the proven trail at Fort Bridger and struggled southwest. They blazed a trail through the rugged Wasatch Mountains and then south of the Great Salt Lake and westward over the soggy surface of the salt flats in furnace heat.
The delays and incredible energies expended on this unproven route cost the Donner-Reed party an extra month in reaching the Sierra Nevada Mountains. As they hastened up the eastern slope trying to beat the first snows, they were caught in a tragic winter storm only one day short of the summit and a downhill passage into California. Marooned for the winter, half their group perished from starvation and cold.
After months in the mountains and incredible hardships of hunger and terror, thirteen-year-old Virginia Reed reached California and sent a letter to her cousin in the Midwest. After recounting her experiences and the terrible sufferings of their party, she concluded with this wise advice: “Never take no cutofs and hury along as fast as you can” (Virginia E. B. Reed letter to her cousin Mary Gillespie, 16 May 1847, quoted in J. Roderic Korns and Dale L. Morgan, eds., West from Fort Bridger [Logan, Utah: Utah State University Press, 1994], p. 238).

An example of a narrow window of vision being replaced by vision unlimited took place at the Monroe, Louisiana, airport several years ago. I was on my way home from a regional meeting and met a lovely African-American sister who approached me and said joyfully, “President Monson, before I joined the Church and became a member of the Relief Society, I could not read. I could not write. None of my family could. You see, we were all poor sharecroppers. President, my white Relief Society sisters—they taught me to read. They taught me to write. Now I help teach other white sisters how to read and how to write.” I reflected on the supreme happiness she must have felt when she opened her Bible and read for the first time the words of the Lord: “Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn of me; for I am meek and lowly in heart: and ye shall find rest unto your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.”

That day in Monroe, Louisiana, I received a confirmation by the Spirit of your exalted objective of improving literacy among your sisters.

As my wife and I talked about her feeling of inadequacy and her feeling that she couldn’t make it, I recalled something that had happened in our family just a couple of months earlier. We call it the parable of the bicycle.

After I had come home one day, I was sitting in a chair reading the newspaper. My daughter Sarah, who was seven years old, came in and said, “Dad, can I have a bike? I’m the only kid on the block who doesn’t have a bike.”

Well, I didn’t think I could afford to buy her a bike, so I tried to stall her by saying, “Sure, Sarah.”

She asked, “How? When?”

I said, “You save all your pennies, and pretty soon you’ll have enough for a bike.” And she went away.

A couple of weeks later as I was sitting in the same chair, I was aware that Sarah was doing something for her mother and getting paid. She went into the other room, and I heard “Clink, clink.” I asked, “Sarah, what are you doing?”

She came out and showed me a little jar all cleaned up with a slit cut in the lid and a bunch of pennies in the bottom. She looked at me and said, “You promised me that if I saved all my pennies, pretty soon I’d have enough for a bike. And, Daddy, I’ve saved every single one of them.”

My heart was filled with love for her. She was doing everything in her power to follow my instructions. I hadn’t actually lied to her. If she saved all of her pennies, she eventually would have enough for a bike, but by then she would want a car! Her needs weren’t being met. So I said, “Let’s go downtown and look at bikes.”

We went to every store in Williamsport, Pennsylvania. Finally we found it—the perfect bicycle. She got up on that bike, and she was thrilled. But when she saw how much the bicycle cost, her face fell, and she started to cry. She said, “Oh, Dad, I’ll never have enough for a bicycle.”

So I said, “Sarah, how much do you have?”

She answered, “Sixty-one cents.”

“I’ll tell you what,” I said. “You give me everything you’ve got and a hug and a kiss, and the bike is yours.” She gave me a hug, a kiss—and the sixty-one cents. I paid for the bicycle. Then I had to drive home very slowly because she wouldn’t get off the bike; she rode home on the sidewalk. And as I drove along slowly beside her, it occurred to me that this was a parable for the Atonement of Christ.

Recounting this history brings to my mind the experience of John E. Page as the Prophet Joseph Smith called him to serve a mission in Canada. “But I can’t go on a mission to Canada, Brother Joseph,” protested John E. Page. “I don’t even have a coat to wear.”

“Here,” said Joseph Smith, removing his own coat, “take this, and the Lord will bless you.”

John E. Page left Kirtland, Ohio, May 31, 1836, on his first mission as an elder of the Church. He labored in Canada for two years. During that time, he traveled over five thousand miles, mostly on foot, and baptized some six hundred people.

We sat in her living room—she in her nineties, I in my thirties. Her health and the snowy weather wouldn’t allow her to come to the bishop’s office for tithing settlement, so I had stopped by her home instead.
She handed me two pieces of paper. One was her own handwritten record of the contributions she had made to the Church during the year; the other was a computer printout listing the same information.
“As you can see,” she said, “my records perfectly match the ward clerk’s.” I couldn’t help thinking that if there had been a discrepancy, the error wouldn’t have been hers.
Then I asked the question bishops are supposed to ask in these situations: “Sister, is this a full tithing for the year?”
She looked at me with incredulity in her eyes. There was a brief pause. And then, with mock indignation, she chastised:
“Bishop, that’s the most ridiculous question I have ever heard!”
In her case, I couldn’t help but agree. We laughed together as I gave her a hug. I had known the answer before asking the question. But I also knew she was glad for the opportunity to give a verbal accounting of her faithfulness.
Last December was my first Christmas as bishop and the first time I had conducted tithing settlement. Never before had I seen so clearly the beautiful correlation between those two events—tithing settlement and Christmas. And I discovered how appropriate it is that Christmas is the season when members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints are asked to meet with their bishop and give an accounting of their year’s worth of offerings to the Lord.
I was overwhelmed by the spirit of giving as faithful ward members came into my office—as individuals, as couples, and as families—and declared privately that they had paid a full ten percent of their income to the Lord that year. I was filled with a spirit of gratitude as most of them also reviewed with me the additional contributions they had made to the missionary and fast-offering funds—funds set up to help others in need.
Some of these offerings were large, some small. But all had been generously and willingly given.
I thanked the members for their generosity. I thanked the widow for her mite, the child for his pennies. I thanked teenagers for paying a full tithe on money they had earned bagging groceries, mowing lawns, or harvesting pumpkins. I thanked college students, single adults, young parents with small children and small incomes, and middle-aged couples with larger children and larger incomes. I thanked unemployed or retired members who had given much less than in earlier years—but still a full ten percent.
Never before had the Christmas spirit of giving been so present for me.
Then an older, graying couple came in. They had paid a full tithe and had given generously to the fast offering and missionary funds. As we visited, the husband said, “We would also like to contribute another check to the ward missionary fund. We’ll leave it up to you to credit this money to whichever missionary needs it most.” (At that time, fifteen missionaries were serving from our ward.)
When he handed me the check, I was astonished at how much additional money they were contributing. “But you gave that same amount a couple of weeks ago, with the same instructions,” I said. “Are you sure you can give that much again—and so soon?”
He and his wife assured me they could. And they reminded me that their gifts were to remain anonymous.
Then a young couple with several young children came into my office. Earlier that day in sacrament meeting, we had read a letter from the First Presidency, announcing that an additional category of voluntary contributions was now available to Church members—a “humanitarian fund.” Money donated to this category would be sent to Church headquarters and used for projects benefiting people worldwide, regardless of religious affiliation. This couple had lived in a developing nation and had witnessed the great needs there. Now they were donating a substantial sum to that fund, trusting that it would be put to the best possible use. I looked at their little children and then back at the parents. And I thought, “How can you do without this money at Christmastime?” But I had an idea that perhaps their Christmas would be even more fulfilling as a result.
Then there were the people who had contributed freely to the ward missionary fund, even though they had no missionary sons or daughters. There were those who had given to the general missionary fund and to the general Book of Mormon fund. And there were those who had contributed toward the yet-to-be-built Bountiful Utah Temple—even though they knew that the Church now pays for building projects through tithing, rather than through a separate building fund.
Later, another couple came in. They, too, had contributed liberally throughout the year. As we were about to conclude our visit, the husband said, “Bishop, is there anyone in the ward who has special needs this Christmas? We don’t have a lot of extra money, but we would like to give what we do have to someone who needs it.”
Immediately I thought of a single mother in our ward. She was doing her best to be self-reliant and certainly wasn’t looking for a handout. But money was tight. She was going back to school, and there were medical bills to pay. Surely she would be a worthy recipient of this couple’s generosity.
I accepted their offer in her behalf. They told me they weren’t interested in knowing the name of the receiver. And they, too, wanted to remain anonymous.
The husband pulled his wallet out of his back pocket and stacked several twenty-dollar bills on my desk. As he was doing so, his wife said, somewhat apologetically, “It’s not much. But now that our children are grown, we don’t feel that we’re doing as much in the ward as we used to. This is the least we can do.”
I protested at her apology, knowing they were doing much in their Church callings and in their quiet service to neighbors and to an elderly parent. And I thanked them for being so generous.
The next day, while taking the money to the recipient, I became a little uneasy. How would she receive this gift? Would she be offended? Would she hesitate to accept it?
When I handed the money to her, I described the spirit in which the gift had been given and encouraged her to receive it in that same spirit.
She accepted the money gratefully.
“I can accept this,” she said, “because when times were better for me, I often gave anonymously, just like this.” Then she told me about the secret projects her family had done over the years. She told me about times when she had purchased a frozen turkey and left it, with all the trimmings, on someone’s doorstep. She told me about anonymously mailing money to people who needed it, and about purchasing a coat and boots for the child of a needy friend. Now, in her time of need, she was a gracious receiver.
As I reviewed the monetary contributions so many ward members had made during the year, I couldn’t help remembering, too, their year’s worth of donated labor: The people who, week after week, had provided lessons and leadership—wherever they had been called to serve. The young men and young women who had cleaned the yards of elderly members, both in spring and in autumn. The sisters who had helped a member with wall-papering and painting. The elders and high priests who had done heavy yard work and repairs for those who were unable to do it alone. The young women and Relief Society sisters who had visited a homeless shelter several times—taking food, supplies, and encouragement. The young men who, without needing to be reminded, had gone out in teams and shoveled elderly members’ walks and driveways each time it snowed. The Scouts who had collected toys and books for the Primary Children’s Medical Center. The sisters who had taken meals and reassurance to the sick, the grieving, and the homebound. The priesthood brethren who had given countless blessings of health and comfort. The members who had donated time at the Church cannery to fill the shelves at the bishops’ storehouse. The many people who had quietly listened—and cared—and lifted. And the ones who had served in many ways without anyone else knowing anything about it.
And I thought of the many thank-yous from gracious receivers.
One was from a nine-year-old boy. Following is the letter he sent our Relief Society president and me after his family had received a load of food from the bishops’ storehouse (I have changed his brother’s name in order to preserve anonymity):
“Dear Bishop Gardner and Sister Thomas,
“I just got home from school. Ricky walked in first and said, ‘What in the … ?!’ Then I saw what he just saw. Food … Food! Food all over the place! Boxes, bags, cans, and even cartons of milk and eggs! Ricky said, ‘Look! There must be a million oranges!’
“We wanted to thank you, Sister Thomas, and the whole Church (especially our ward) for all the help you’re giving us right now, especially all this nice food donated from the bishops’ storehouse. It’s such a wonderful feeling to feel so loved, so cared for, and thought about.
“Gratefully.” (And he signed his full name.)

There are so many reasons why my wife Ann is not only the person I love, but also the person I most admire. Just before the Olympics in Salt Lake City in 2002, she was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis. She documented her battle with that disease in a book which has inspired others facing debilitating illnesses. She also founded a center for neurological research that has led to treatments for Alzheimer’s as well as multiple sclerosis. But there is something else that stands out about my Ann.

One day some years ago, I overheard her talking at great length with someone on the phone. She was on that call for over an hour. When it was finally over, I asked her who she was talking with. She said it was an elderly widow who she had met during one of our vacations—not a family member, not a close friend, just an acquaintance. A little puzzled, I asked Ann why she had spent a whole hour talking to an acquaintance. She explained simply that the widow was lonely and needed someone to talk to. And then she added this: “wherever I go in life, I want to leave flowers in my wake.”

My wife’s example of Christ-like kindness inspires me.