Gospel Story Finder

Even in rich nations little children and youth are impaired by neglect. Children growing up in poverty have inferior health care and inadequate educational opportunities. They are also exposed to dangerous environments in their physical and cultural surroundings and even from the neglect of their parents. Elder Jeffrey R. Holland recently shared the experience of an LDS police officer. In an investigation he found five young children huddled together and trying to sleep without bedding on a filthy floor in a dwelling where their mother and others were drinking and partying. The apartment had no food to relieve their hunger. After tucking the children into a makeshift bed, the officer knelt and prayed for their protection. As he walked toward the door, one of them, about six, pursued him, grabbed him by the hand, and pleaded, “Will you please adopt me?”

My family doesn’t go to church. I go alone. Because my street doesn’t have a bus to the Church building, I walk about 30 minutes to get there. My family worries what other people will think about them, but I say that it doesn’t matter because I know it’s true.
It’s hard to attend church without her family, but Nara knows that God loves and blesses her. He even protected her from a car accident once.

I was just a young child when my father died of pneumonia. My fourteen-year-old brother died just a few days later from an unrelated illness. It was the early 1930s, the middle of the Great Depression in the United States. Jobs were scarce and so was money. My mother, a nurse, struggled to provide a living for the five remaining children. It wasn’t an easy life for any of us, and I often wondered how it would all work out.
But one thing happened during those tough times that I remember as well as if it had happened yesterday, something that made me look forward with courage and hope.
About a year after my father’s passing, his cousin came to visit our home. Israel Bennion came, not just on a social call, but as the stake patriarch. Each of us children, scrubbed clean and dressed like we were going to church, waited in turn to have this dignified man place his hands on our heads and give us our patriarchal blessings.
I was only seven, not old enough to understand the significance of all that was going on. (Today, the Church advises you to wait until you’re older to get your patriarchal blessing.) But I felt a great reverence, the same sort of feeling I felt during fast and testimony meetings. I remembered his instructions, although they were brief, that my blessing should be a guide to me, something I could use to chart my course through life.
Although I was young, I was impressed by the statements Brother Bennion made as he gave me my blessing. He told me that the Spirit of the Lord would be with me as I was growing up, that the gospel would be in my heart, that I would love the work of the Lord, and that the Lord would bless me.
He spoke of the future, that I would someday be a judge in Israel, that I would have children, that I would have a strong body and a sound mind.
But most of all, he stirred something in me. He helped me to begin to realize how literally I was a son of God. The Lord knew who I was and what I was doing. If I lived the right way, the Lord would help me.

I do not know how eager President Oaks and the University would be to admit it, but I was also a student here at this University. That was a long time ago—before most of you were born—but I was a college student here, and I had anticipated and looked forward all my younger life to someday coming to BYU. It was back in 1917—figure it out for yourselves. I was just a country boy from southern Arizona who had returned from a mission and had done some college work at the University of Arizona before coming to BYU.

One day I arrived in Provo on the train (the interurban train—some of you will even remember that) and as I got off the train and looked up Center Street toward the east, I saw an impressive white building up on the foot of the mountain. I picked up my heavy bags and started out for what I was sure was BYU. But as I got nearer the building, which was a mile or so up Center Street, I noticed that there were some people out working on the grounds and as I came nearer them they did not change their position very much. I finally realized that this building that I had mistaken for BYU was another building well known in the state of Utah. You can imagine how I felt. Still I was not about to let my embarrassment show. I set my bags down outside, went inside the building with a brave face, and looked the place over as if I were going to inspect it or even buy it. Then I turned around, picked up my bags, and walked quickly back to town.

The First World War was going on then, and I had been in school just a week when I received a telegram from the Draft Board notifying me that I should appear for a preinduction physical examination. A week after that I was pronounced fit and ready for the Army. I may have set some kind of record for the shortness of my stay here. I have frequently admitted since then, that it took me only a week to get through BYU.

In 1952 Ben Lewis, BYU administrative vice president, was intent on establishing a food services program on campus. The postwar boom had dramatically increased the size of the university community, and the need was great. To help find a manager of dining services, Brother Lewis decided to personally visit the restaurants in town to determine which had the best food.

In the end he concluded that the best food was in a restaurant belonging to Wells and Myrle Cloward. It was located inside the Regal Lanes Bowling Alley, where FatCats now stands. Brother Lewis approached the Clowards about coming to work for BYU, but they turned the offer down. It had taken years of hard work to build up their business, and it was starting to pay off.

Again Brother Lewis unsuccessfully approached the Clowards. Then late one evening a fire broke out in the bowling alley. By the time anyone could respond, the building was destroyed. When Brother Lewis heard the news, he exclaimed: “My prayers have been answered!” In later life Brother Lewis noted that he hadn’t prayed specifically for a fire, nor set the one that consumed the bowling alley, but he knew he needed help in getting the Clowards to come to BYU. Soon thereafter Wells and Myrle Cloward accepted Ben Lewis’ offer and came to work for BYU.

Beginning with a small cafeteria in the basement of the original Joseph Smith Building, the Cloward family worked together serving students. With humble beginnings and continual progress, they established what would become one of the largest and most successful university food service programs in the nation.

After graduating from Utah State University, I obtained my first teaching job. My first year was extremely difficult, but after a few years I was enjoying my job and my students. I began to feel impressions that I should return to school for a Master's degree. I resisted these impressions. I explained to Heavenly Father that graduate school wasn't really necessary since what I wanted was to get married. Why take the time and money to get another degree when I was perfectly happy to wrap up my career and get married? Like Tommy, all I could hear was "you aren't going to get your gumball."

Well, finally I stepped away from the gumball machine and returned to school and the moment classes began, I knew I was where I needed to be. Now I'm here at BYU-Idaho, something I could not have done without an advanced degree, and I'm working on my PhD at Idaho State University. This is not the life I planned for myself, but it is a deeply rewarding life that has brought me a lot of happiness. When God asks us to step away from the gumball machine it is often to give us other blessings...things that he knows will make us happy and help us to grow.

I was standing in the foyer waiting for church to begin when he walked in. He came right over to me, called me by name, and asked, “Do you know why I’m here?”
His pointed query took me off guard. Who is this guy? He looks familiar, but I sure don’t know him. And why should I know why he’s here? “No,” I answered, feeling a little awkward.
“I’m here because of you,” he said bluntly.
That got my attention. Though there was a vague familiarity, I couldn’t remember ever meeting him before. I had no idea who he was, yet he was standing there saying he was at church because of me.
My face must have revealed my incredulity. “We have the same P.E. class at college,” he explained. When I graduated from high school, I decided to go to a community college near my home just outside Los Angeles. He was in my gym class with about 100 other guys.
“I’ve been watching you,” he said.
Watching me? What does he mean by that?
“I noticed right off that you were different,” he continued. “You never swear. You don’t lose your temper. You don’t smoke. You never tell dirty jokes or even listen to them. You’re never involved in all the filthy talk that goes on. I really admire you. You’re exactly the kind of person I want to be,” he said. “So I started asking around about you. I found out your name, that you’re a Mormon, and that this is where you go to church. That’s why I’m here.”
There are probably a dozen words I could use to describe how I felt at that moment. I just tried to live the way I’d always been taught, and I probably hadn’t done that especially well. I was preparing to go on a mission, but I certainly wasn’t perfect. And he’d been watching me. That was the scary part. Had I done anything I should be ashamed of? I hoped not.
He stayed for church, and over the next few weeks he took the missionary lessons and was baptized. A year later, just before I left on my mission, he left on his. He served faithfully, returned, and was married in the temple. He is one of the happiest and most peaceful persons that I know.
I take no credit for his conversion. I was just a Mormon kid trying to live the standards I’d always been taught and believed were right. It wasn’t really me he was watching—it was those standards. But today, every time I read the Savior’s admonition to “Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father which is in heaven” (Matt. 5:16), I remember the day he walked up to me and said, “I’m here because of you.”

As the bishop read the names of the ward members being released from their callings that Sunday, I sighed, looking down at my idle hands. I was being released as first counselor in the Relief Society presidency. It was hard to think of leaving this calling that I had really enjoyed and of losing the close relationship with the other sisters in the presidency.
When I heard the names of the new presidency read, I felt a confirmation of the Spirit, letting me know all was as it should be. These new sisters had been chosen by the Lord to do this work. As I raised my hand to sustain them, I knew they would do a wonderful job and there would be other ways for me to serve. Gratefully, I was at peace.
Then it was time to sing the sacrament hymn. The bishop announced an alternate version of an old favorite, “While of These Emblems We Partake” (Hymns, nos. 173 and 174). Listening to the organist play the introduction, I felt my peace wane. “Why can’t we just sing the familiar version?” I wondered silently. “I like it so much better.” But as I began to sing, the beauty of the unfamiliar melody touched my soul, and I realized that this tune was a wonderful setting for these lyrics. The music caused me to consider the hymn’s meaning in a new way.
Suddenly this hymn and being released came together in my mind through a powerful impression of the Spirit. The new presidency would be doing the same work I had done but with different hands and a fresh perspective—just as the hymn had the same message but different music. And I would be given a new calling to fit with my melody. This change would help me grow in ways I could not have imagined if I had stayed in the same old place.
I had always known that the gospel and the organization of the Church bless every member in many, many ways. We learn how to lead as well as to support, and the process of this learning repeats throughout our lives. But I realized in that sacrament meeting that as long as we listen to the Spirit, we will recognize in each change the miraculous constancy of our Heavenly Father’s plan for us.

Years ago I attended a stake conference in California at which the wife of the stake president shared this story: She had been born considerably after the other children in the family, and her father was unusually protective of her. When a suitor would stop by to pick her up for a date, the father would look him over very carefully and then say: “Do you want to date my princess? Go home and wash your car and shine your shoes. Then I will give my permission.” I sometimes wonder if our Heavenly Father whispers the same when we date His precious daughters. The Book of Mormon speaks of a people who “did not wear costly apparel, yet they were neat and comely.”25

Jeff wanted to be a missionary just like his older brother who was on a mission in Colombia. But how can I be a missionary when I’m afraid to talk to people? Jeff wondered.
Just last week the Primary president asked all the children to be missionaries and bring somebody new to Primary.
“We have a wonderful Primary,” she told the children, “but think how much better it would be if we had more children to share our Primary with.” Then she asked the boys and girls to raise their hands if they thought they could bring a friend the next week. Jeff raised his hand. Now he wondered why he had done it. How was he ever going to get the courage to talk to anyone at school about the Church?
Jeff and Jimmy were the only two LDS boys in the fifth grade. They were also the only Blazer boys in the Primary. They had a good teacher and Jeff knew that one of the reasons why he had raised his hand to be a missionary was to please her. He knew that if other boys came, they would like Sister Fillmore and the good lessons she gave.
Jeff remembered two full-time missionaries in their sacrament meeting one time telling them about the good feeling they had when they shared the gospel with others. Jeff wanted that good feeling too. But how was he ever going to have it when he was so timid?
Jeff walked into the kitchen and slumped down in a chair by the table where his mother was decorating some dish towels with her textile paints. Jeff asked, “Won’t that paint wash out of the cloth, Mom?”
“No, Jeff, the paints are made to stay right in the fabric.”
“Hey, that’s neat. Can you paint anything on the towels you want to?” asked Jeff.
“Sure, son. You sound excited about something,” replied Mother.
Jeff was excited. He had an idea. “Mom, can I paint something on my yellow T-shirt?” he asked.
Mother laughed. “I don’t know what you have in mind, but go ahead.”
Jeff was back in a few minutes, grinning and waving his shirt. He laid it on the table and smoothed out all the wrinkles. Then, with Mother’s black painting pen, he drew on the front of the shirt a great big face with two round eyes and a large smile. Underneath the face he wrote, HAPPINESS IS GOING TO PRIMARY.
When the paint was dry, Jeff turned the shirt over and on the back he printed in large letters, WHAT DO YOU KNOW ABOUT PRIMARY - WOULD YOU LIKE TO KNOW MORE? He could hardly wait to wear his shirt to school.
The next day when he walked into the coat hall there were several boys there already. As Jeff took off his jacket and hung it on the hook, one of the boys was quick to notice the bright yellow T-shirt with the big face painted on the front and the letters on the back. “What does your shirt say, Jeff? Let me read it.” said Andy.
Jeff stood still, his heart pounding. All of a sudden he thought, What if they make fun of me?
Andy read the words on the shirt out loud. “Primary?” he questioned. “What’s Primary?”
Here was Jeff’s big chance. He prayed inside that he would say the right thing. “Well, in Primary we learn to—” Jeff’s voice tightened up on him and the words got stuck in his mouth.
All of a sudden, Greg, one of the other boys, interrupted. “Hey, Jeff, isn’t Primary where you learn about Scouting and other neat things you were telling me about the other day?”
“Scouting?” questioned Andy. “My dad was an Eagle Scout and he wants me to be one too. Can I go to Primary with you Jeff? Can just anyone go?”
Before Jeff could answer, Greg said, “Me too! I never have anything to do after school. My parents both work and nobody’s ever home.”
Jeff could hardly believe what he was hearing. His voice came back and he felt relaxed and happy. “Sure,” said Jeff, “anybody can come—the more the better. It’s on Tuesday and we learn lots of neat things besides Scouting. You’ll really like our teacher. She’s just great.”
The bell rang and the boys filed into the classroom. Jeff’s seat was by his Primary friend Jimmy. As Jeff sat down, Jimmy looked at Jeff’s shirt and said, “Do you think that’s going to work?”
Jeff’s smile got bigger and bigger as he whispered, “It already has!”
At recess Jeff told Jimmy about Andy and Greg. He could hardly believe what had happened. Jimmy became excited about painting a missionary T-shirt too.
“Wow!” he exclaimed. “If we can get the whole Primary wearing these shirts to school, a lot of kids will soon be interested. Our Primary will grow bigger and bigger.”
Even shy boys can be missionaries. It just takes some doing, Jeff concluded.
Already Jeff was beginning to have that good feeling that the missionaries had talked about. Wouldn’t they be surprised when they heard about the first T-shirt missionary!

Zula Tenges is one young woman whom the missionary outreach touched. She came to Germany from Mongolia. She wanted to learn English and found a course offered at the institute. “The class was free,” says Zula. “I was liking that. I met some elders, and they taught me about the Church. I wasn’t really interested in religion, but I wanted to understand more about Christianity.”
Zula, 21, from the Tiergarten Ward, was drawn into the activities and the friendship she found at the Berlin institute. “It was so cool at institute. I have so many friends. Many of them are now on missions. That was a great place to get to know the Church.” Zula was baptized a little more than a year ago.

“Emma goes to our church?” I asked Sister Taylor. I was surprised that she had called Emma’s name while taking roll.
“Do you know Emma?” Sister Taylor asked me.
“She’s in my class at school, but I’ve never seen her at church,” I said.
“Maybe you should invite her to come with you sometime, Maddie,” Sister Taylor said with an encouraging smile.
I nodded my head slowly. I didn’t know Emma very well. We played with different friends at recess. I was afraid to invite Emma to church. What if she said no? But as I thought about it, the Holy Ghost helped me feel calm inside. I knew I needed to try.
The next day at recess I saw Emma jumping rope. I grabbed a jump rope and joined her. We jumped faster and faster, laughing when our feet got tangled in the rope.
“Emma,” I said, untangling my feet, “I didn’t know we were members of the same church.”
“Mormon?” Emma asked.
“Yes. The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints,” I said.
She started jumping again. “I was baptized when I was younger, but my family stopped going to church.”
I knew I should ask her to go to church with me, but my stomach felt like it was a tangled jump rope. I remembered I had promised myself I would try, so I swallowed the lump in my throat.
“Would you like to go to church with me?” I asked.
Emma stopped jumping. “Sure. If my mom says it’s OK.”
After school I told my mom what had happened at recess.
“Let’s call her mom and ask,” Mom said, picking up the phone. She talked to Emma’s mom for a few minutes and then hung up. “She said that would be fine,” Mom said. “We can pick up Emma before church and take her home when we’re done.”
I was excited when Sunday came. We drove up to Emma’s apartment. She looked nervous in her pink dress. In sacrament meeting she whispered to me, “I don’t remember what to do.”
I whispered back to Emma reminding her what to do with the sacrament bread and water. During Primary I sat next to Emma, and when we got to class I introduced her to the rest of the children.
“We are so happy to have you here,” Sister Taylor said.
By the time class was over, Emma wasn’t nervous anymore. She had a big smile on her face.
I invited Emma to church and Primary activities whenever I could. She came more and more often. The children in our Primary got to know her, and soon Emma had many new friends.
One Sunday, Emma stopped me after sacrament meeting. She was with a woman who had brown hair that matched hers.
“Maddie, I want you to meet someone,” Emma said. “This is my mom.”
“Thank you for being a good friend to my daughter,” Emma’s mom said to me with a smile.
I smiled back. I was glad Emma was my friend too.

After my freshman year I returned home to Kentucky to continue my education. My Latter-day Saint friends soon left to serve missions, and I felt a profound loneliness at their absence. I wanted to have some of the conviction that had inspired them to offer two years of their lives. At the same time, I was continually bothered that I still had no answer to Matt’s question. I wanted to know truths for myself. At last, after many letters from my friends encouraging me to meet with the missionaries, I overcame my trepidation and accepted.
Nevertheless, I had reservations regarding the idea that the various principles of the gospel were interconnected into one unified whole. The missionaries believed that since their message, in its entirety, was either all true or all false, once I gained a testimony of one principle, I could naturally accept all their teachings.
I did not believe them. I thought it was acceptable to pick and choose what I wanted to believe from a sort of spiritual and doctrinal smorgasbord. At the same time, my logic demanded empirical evidence as proof, not faith-based conversion.
Unfortunately, my logic also left me unhappy and dissatisfied. All philosophical arguments I considered were competing postulates of pessimism that provided no real answers. I desired something more, something that would commune with my heart the way my friends and the missionaries described communing with the Holy Ghost. I participated in the missionary discussions in hopes that I might come to know what they said was true or, at the very least, gain some satisfaction in learning it was false.
The missionaries were patient yet bold. Over the course of several months, they taught me many discussions and invited me to be baptized a number of times, but I always said no. I was waiting for some obvious and miraculous event that would provide me with a witness before I was willing to accept their invitation. I didn’t receive that kind of witness, so I kept stonewalling their invitations.
One day the elders read a passage from the Book of Mormon: “Dispute not because ye see not, for ye receive no witness until after the trial of your faith” (Ether 12:6). Then they said, “Josh, every time we invite you to be baptized, you say no. What you have to do is say yes, and then the Spirit will confirm it to you.”
In other words, I had not yet received a witness because I had not yet tried my faith. I had taken no thought but to ask, believing I would receive without trying (see D&C 9:7). I had effectively blocked the Spirit from being able to witness to me because I was unwilling to take the next step. What I needed to do was to take a leap of faith into the darkness before the light would shine. The confirming witness would come after I tried my faith, not before.
My first thought was that the missionaries were manipulating me to get me baptized. Then it occurred to me that at the precise moment when I answered no to the baptismal invitation, something faint left my heart. It was a still, soft, and subtle feeling of peace urging me to follow the missionaries’ counsel, but I had not recognized its presence until it was gone, leaving me confused, unhappy, and sorrowful.
I wondered if this faint feeling could be the Spirit leaving me and if the cause of my confusion was my own hard heart pushing Him away. With no other recourse, I decided to try the missionaries’ challenge. I would say yes to the inevitable invitation, and then if I felt the Spirit as they promised me, I would go through with the baptism. On the other hand, if I did not feel the Spirit, I was perfectly prepared to tell the missionaries I was just joking.
The evening of our next appointment we watched a new Church video, The Prodigal Son. There was a special feeling in the room; the missionaries were visibly touched, tears welling in their eyes.
After the movie ended, we read several passages in the scriptures. At last Elder Critchfield turned to me and asked, “Josh, will you be baptized on Saturday, November 10, at 4:00 in the afternoon?”
I hesitated and then answered, “Yes.”
The Spirit hit me with such an electrifying presence that the hairs on my arms rose, and I nearly cried. There could be no doubt that light had shone into the darkness. I had tested my faith, and I knew unequivocally that I had to be baptized.

A good example of compassion and service making a difference is the example of Don and Marian Summers. While serving in England, they were asked to serve the last six months of their mission in the Swindon Branch to teach and assist in activating members. For 80 years Swindon had been a branch with a faithful few and with many good members becoming less active.
Don and Marian wrote: “Our first visit to Swindon Branch was a bit disheartening as we met with the Saints in a cold, rented hall. The congregation numbered 17, including President and Sister Hales and 4 missionaries. Still wearing our winter coats, we all huddled around a small, inadequate heater while we listened to a Sunday School lesson.”
The letter continued: “A branch member approached me one day: ‘Elder Summers, can I give you a bit of advice? Never mention the word tithing to the Swindon members; they really don’t believe in it, and all you will do is upset them.’”
Brother Summers said: “We did teach tithing and all the other gospel principles. With example and the encouragement of a branch president, there was a change of heart, and faith and activity started to increase. The membership records were completely updated as we visited every member’s home. When the leaders started caring, the members began to respond, and a whole new spirit pervaded the branch. The members became excited again about the gospel and helping one another. …
“One young couple had a difficult adjustment to make as their customs, manners, and dress were different. They became offended at suggestions for changes. The couple twice wrote to the bishop [since by then it was a ward] and asked to have their names removed from the Church records. In the last letter they forbade any of the members to visit them, so [we] went to the florist and purchased a beautiful plant of chrysanthemums and had it delivered to the young couple. It was a simple note: ‘We love you; we miss you; we need you. Please come back.’ Signed, Swindon Ward.
“The next Sunday was fast and testimony meeting and our last Sunday in Swindon. There were 103 members in attendance, compared to 17 six months before. The young couple was there, and in bearing his testimony, the husband thanked the Swindon Ward for not giving up on them.”

A faithful Japanese sister and her husband visited our mission in Korea. She didn’t speak Korean and was limited in her ability to speak English, but she had a willing heart to use her unique gifts and helping hands to do the Lord’s work. That’s what disciples do! She taught our missionaries how to do a simple piece of origami—a mouth that could open and shut. She then used the few English words she knew to teach the missionaries to “open their mouths” to share the gospel—a lesson they will never forget, nor will I.

A few years back I had a very bright former student who was struggling with her testimony. She somehow felt that she had never received an overwhelming answer to her prayers about the Church. As I talked with her, trying to help her, she said something that has struck me over and over since then with its simplicity and truth. She said something like, “Yes, there are many logical reasons to think that the Church is good, but eventually everyone who believes it is true does it on faith; he or she has to choose to believe.”

What she said is true; sooner or later everyone has to choose to believe or not. We have to choose to recognize the sweetness of the Spirit that comes when we think about the Church being true. We have to acknowledge, when we pray and ask the Lord if the Church and the Book of Mormon are true, that the thought that we already know that they are comes from the Being who knows our thoughts. We have to admit that, indeed, we do know they are true.

But the decision to believe does not have to be done without plenty of evidence either. After my former student said what she did, I examined my life to see why I believed. I found numberless occasions of real joy and happiness associated with following the teachings of the Church. I realized that, even if I had not had a great confirmation of peace from the Spirit about the truthfulness of the Church, I would still choose to believe and follow simply because it makes me happy. I also recognized that I had never met anyone who had derived real happiness and peace out of wrong choices. I had known several who had tried, many of whom had claimed to be happy. Several of them had later confessed in tears—as they dealt with the consequences of their choices—that they had lied in their claims, that they had been fooled by the father of lies himself. I know that the decision to believe in the Church and the gospel is a small thing out of which great things proceed and that the choice or choices not to believe bring sorrow.

Aron C., age 10, Colombia
I help my father clean our house, and I receive money every month for helping. Instead of spending all my money, I set aside 10 percent for tithing and give it to the bishop. I feel good after I pay my tithing because I know the money goes to take care of the chapel and to buy books and many other things. I know that Jesus Christ gave us everything, and when we pay tithing, we give back to Him. I feel happy when I pay my tithing.

Many years ago I attended a stake conference in Star Valley, Wyoming, where the stake presidency was reorganized. The stake president who was being released, E. Francis Winters, had served faithfully for the lengthy term of 23 years. Though modest by nature and circumstance, he had been a perpetual pillar of strength to everyone in the valley. On the day of the stake conference, the building was filled to overflowing. Each heart seemed to be saying a silent thank-you to this noble leader who had given so unselfishly of his life for the benefit of others.

As I stood to speak, I was prompted to do something I had not done before, nor have I done so since. I stated how long Francis Winters had presided in the stake; then I asked all whom he had blessed or confirmed as children to stand and remain standing. Then I asked all those persons whom President Winters had ordained, set apart, personally counseled, or blessed to please stand. The outcome was electrifying. Every person in the audience rose to his or her feet. Tears flowed freely—tears which communicated better than could words the gratitude of tender hearts. I turned to President and Sister Winters and said, “We are witnesses today of the prompting of the Spirit. This vast throng reflects not only individual feelings but also the gratitude of God for a life well lived.” No person who was in the congregation that day will forget how he or she felt when we witnessed the language of the Spirit of the Lord.

Extending care and aid is a vast range of dedicated relief workers, many of them volunteers. I saw in action a member of the Church who, for many months, worked through the night, providing for the most immediate needs of those arriving from Turkey into Greece. Among countless other endeavors, she administered first aid to those in most critical medical need; she saw that the women and children traveling alone were cared for; she held those who had been bereaved along the way and did her best to allocate limited resources to limitless need. She, as so many like her, has been a literal ministering angel, whose deeds are not forgotten by those she cared for, nor by the Lord, on whose errand she was.

Like many of you, we have been the recipients of the Eyrings’ kindness. On that Tuesday, our daughter Caroline, who was awaiting her mission call, chose to join us here in Rexburg. She attended a mission preparation class with a friend from Tennessee. She described the class as amazing! During that very class, her mission assignment landed in her inbox! After class, she calmly walked from the Taylor Building to this building to join us and the Eyrings prior to the devotional. She excitedly shared the news about that special email awaiting her. For 15 minutes, President and Sister Eyring asked her questions about her life and college experience, her excitement to serve the Lord full-time, and the anticipation of her assignment. Despite all that they had going on, they were genuinely interested in her and were perfect examples of ministering to “the one.”

Following the devotional, we headed back to Utah for Caroline to open her call with family and friends. Sister Eyring requested to be her “friend” on Instagram so they could watch her open her mission call that evening. When we saw the Eyrings at general conference last month, it will not surprise you that Sister Eyring’s first comment to me was, “I’m following Caroline on Instagram! How is she?” Just as Sister Eyring requested to follow Caroline as an Instagram “friend,” the Eyrings have truly been a “friend” to all associated with BYU-Idaho. They have served you with love and have modeled Christlike leadership, and we hope to do the same.