Gospel Story Finder

One of those little contributions was made by a student here on our campus. Parker Kuhn was a member of our family ward in Idaho Falls, and he is now a student living in Rexburg. When our son was a freshman, he was completing his Eagle Scout project. As part of the project, the young men of the ward were going to help Harrison by passing out flyers for a shoe drive. Harrison had planned out what he needed to do and bring to the activity but ended up forgetting the tape for the flyers. When I realized he left the tape behind, I drove around the neighborhood to all of the groups of boys who were handing out flyers to give them a roll of tape. I caught up to Parker and his friend and handed them the tape and thanked them for their willingness to help Harrison. Parker's two-word response to my gratitude has been forever seared in my brain. When I thanked Parker, he responded with, "My pleasure." How do we respond when we are given the opportunity to assist another? At that time, Parker was a senior in high school, and I'm sure he had a hundred other things he could have been doing, but he took one hour out of his day to help our son earn his Eagle.

After my mission, I came back to Ricks College as a sophomore and met a basketball player on the women’s team named Jean Lawrence. Our coaches introduced us to each other on the Hart Gymnasium Court. Playing together, serving together, and learning together on this campus shaped our marriage and our family. Did I have any idea how special my companion would be to me and our family and molding and teaching our children? There have been many marriages and relationships brought together from the blessing of Ricks College, BYU-Idaho, and the Rexburg community.

I am so glad I was ready for the invitations that came to me for the different opportunities I have had on this campus. Are you ready for any invitations that might come to you that will bless your life?

After graduating from high school and getting a job, I struggled to make time to do the simple things every day to keep my faith strong—things like reading the scriptures and going to institute. I felt like my faith was weakening and that I was losing my relationship with my Heavenly Father.
So one day I wrote down two goals on a piece of paper: “Read the scriptures every day” and “Go to institute every week.” I put that piece of paper up on my wall. I prayed to Heavenly Father and asked Him to help me, and that day I promised myself that I would really do these things.
And I did. I started reading two chapters in the Book of Mormon every day and going to institute every week. Some weeks I had to work so I couldn’t attend institute, and some days I was so busy that I would forget to read my scriptures. I was also working on other goals that required time and attention. But I kept trying.
I felt my Heavenly Father nearer to me than before and felt Him helping me more frequently because I chose to follow Him. Reading the Book of Mormon every day helped me understand the plan of salvation better, which made me very happy. It became easier for me to find answers to my faith-related questions. And going to institute every week helped me see God’s light everywhere I went. In general, I felt the Spirit more in my life.

I was sixteen when my six-year-old sister, Marcia, contracted polio during the epidemic of the early 1950s. Our family was devastated—she had an acute case, and it was feared that she would be severely paralyzed. When people came down with polio, they had a very high temperature. Until the temperature went down, the degree of paralysis increased. Doctors, family members, and the patient watched and waited by the hour for that temperature to drop.
When she became ill, Marcia was sent from Preston to Pocatello, Idaho, a larger city with better medical facilities. The rest of us decided to have a family fast, and we started it immediately. I was a junior in high school. That particular day, my school was playing a very important football game. I thought fasting might make me too weak to play well, but I chose to fast anyway. I played the best game I had ever played.
Marcia’s temperature went down that day, and the paralysis stopped progressing. She spent a lot of time at a rehabilitation center in Boise, Idaho, and was away from the family for several months. She received many priesthood administrations for her health, and a lot of prayers were offered in her behalf throughout her ordeal. She recovered from the polio and the paralysis. Medical authorities said that she would never have children, but she has three children and has lived a very normal life. We know that she has been blessed by the Lord.

We have all sorts of Christmas parties and functions where we load up on goodies and give each other ridiculous white elephant gifts. We participate in family traditions that we never do any other time of the year. For example, in our home, we have a crazy tradition we call “Elfville.”
We put on our elf hats and go to work building an entire elf village out of empty appliance boxes, duct tape, and Christmas lights. We then eat and sleep in our newly built elf homes. In case you were wondering, I am the little guy sitting down in the photo. And truth be told, I have actually been asked more than once in public, by children, if I was an elf (and that is without even wearing an elf hat). It is truly amazing how many ways Christmas changes our thoughts and behavior. There is a magic in the air, and hopefully we are all beginning to feel and enjoy it.

Carlos Aguero, of Mendoza, Argentina, was called to go to Paris, France, for his mission. He had seldom been out of his own city. He knew no French. But he, like Nephi, did not murmur and he went. When he arrived in France, he found that his mission president did not speak Spanish. In fact, none of the other missionaries spoke Spanish; they only spoke English and French. Elder Aguero could not speak English. All the zone conferences and instructions were given in English. All other speaking was in French. Carlos studied, he prayed, he cried, he pleaded with the Lord and asked for help from his mission president and his companions. It took months, but he learned French and English. He served an honorable mission. Now living in Mendoza, Argentina, he often uses his English in Church service and in his profession. In April 1986 he translated for President Hinckley at a six-stake regional conference in Buenos Aires, Argentina.

A little more than a year ago, my father passed away. The day after his passing, my mother, brothers, sister, and I made the necessary visit to the mortuary to make the funeral arrangements and choose a casket and a vault into which the casket would be placed. You may know that our practice today is not to place the casket directly into the bare ground but to put it first in a vault made of concrete or fiberglass. As we considered the options, I noticed a sales pamphlet promoting a certain vault. Among other things, it claimed the vault was self-sealing and that the seal was guaranteed for 75 years. That guarantee amused me. I wondered who would check on the seal 75 years later. And if someone did check on the seal, and it had failed, who would have the right to collect on the guarantee? Later on I continued to wonder, “What are the chances the seal would really hold?”

In a thoughtful moment, my mind was directed to a vault described in Matthew chapter 27, beginning with verse 62. This vault, a sepulchre in a distant time and place, had an opening that was covered by a great stone:
"Now the next day, that followed the day of the preparation, the chief priests and Pharisees came together unto Pilate,"
"Saying, Sir, we remember that that deceiver said, while he was yet alive, After three days I will rise again."
"Command therefore that the sepulchre be made sure until the third day, lest his disciples come by night, and steal him away, and say unto the people, He is risen from the dead: so the last error shall be worse than the first."
"Pilate said unto them, Ye have a watch: go your way, make it as sure as ye can."
"So they went, and made the sepulchre sure, sealing the stone, and setting a watch."[38]
Of all the commands ever given in the history of mankind, Pilate’s command to keep the sepulchre sure must have been the very most futile. Ask yourself, “What chance did that sepulchre have of remaining sealed?” There was absolutely no way for the soldiers to carry out that order, because there was absolutely no way that the sepulchre would not open. And it did open: “And, behold, there was a great earthquake: for the angel of the Lord descended from heaven, and came and rolled back the stone from the door.”[39] And all the vaults and tombs and sepulchres that have ever been sealed will surely open, guaranteed, because the Rock of our salvation is our deliverer from death and from hell. He is “the resurrection, and the life.”[40] Because of Him “hell must deliver up its captive spirits, and the grave must deliver up its captive bodies, and the bodies and the spirits of men will be restored one to the other; and it is by the power of the resurrection of the Holy One of Israel.”[41]

Photograph courtesy of Katie B.
One day my family visited a barn to play with some baby goats. When we arrived, we found out there was a newborn goat whose mother could not take care of it. The owner of the goats needed someone to nurse the baby goat back to health. I jumped at the opportunity, and we decided it would be my Knowledge value project for Personal Progress (see PersonalProgress.lds.org).
When we picked up the goat the next day, we learned that triplets had been born the night before and were very weak. I volunteered to care for one of them. So there I was with a Personal Progress booklet, two baby goats, goat-milk formula, and little experience.
First I did my research. I found out that baby goats love to climb, run, and snuggle in dark corners. They need to be fed every four to six hours, and you have to teach them how to drink from a bottle. Next, I laid down blankets and bedding in a pen and set up a box for the goats to sleep in. I also set up a ramp and stand for them to play on. Throughout the project, every night I woke up in the middle of the night to feed them, I cleaned a lot, and I struggled to feed the animals with a bottle, but overall I had lots of fun.
This Personal Progress project increased my knowledge and helped me grow. I learned many new skills, such as being patient, keeping a schedule, caring for an animal, converting measurements, and keeping a journal. I love Personal Progress.

About a year later, Heber’s only living son became sick with a hip disease. One night Heber dreamed that the boy’s mother was waiting to take him to heaven. Heber’s brother woke him from the dream.
Brother: Come quickly, Heber. Your son is dying.
Heber: Was my dream real?
When Heber went into his son’s bedroom, he could feel that his wife’s spirit was there.
Heber: I feel such peace in this room that I can watch my son pass away without shedding a tear.
As President of the Church, he told the Saints of the Holy Ghost’s power to comfort us.
Heber: As I saw my little boy die, I experienced a sweet, peaceful, heavenly feeling greater than I had ever felt. The joy of the gospel robs the grave of its sting.

Paper collage of Sister Gregory by David Green
Blanca Gregory had worked in banking for 27 years, including 12 years as an assistant manager—which is why getting laid off came as a shock. Her surprise, however, was quickly replaced by worry and stress.
Thankfully, Blanca’s husband, Eric, was employed, and the family had savings to tide them over. After recovering from an illness and being out of work more than a year, Sister Gregory began looking for a new job.
She updated her resume, enrolled in computer classes, attended job fairs, and began filling out job applications. As a result, she got several job interviews. With her work experience, she thought that finding a new job would be easy.
“I grew worried when I didn’t hear back from anyone,” Sister Gregory says. “I was like, ‘What is going on?’”
Months passed without a single job offer. Finally, her husband, who was then serving as bishop of their ward in Newport Beach, California, USA, suggested that Blanca check out the Church’s self-reliance initiative and then join a Find a Better Job group.
As part of a Find a Better Job group, Sister Gregory began a 12-week course that helped her learn to network, recognize opportunities, update her resume, present herself professionally, and prepare for job interviews. She also set daily goals related to identifying resources, making contacts, and holding face-to-face meetings.
“A self-reliance class is not like any other class. It’s an inspiration. You feel the Spirit there,” she says. “Our class taught us to exercise faith, be diligent, work hard, and plead with the Lord—relying not just on our own skills and ability to find a job but also on Heavenly Father’s help.”
Thanks to her Find a Better Job group, Sister Gregory gained extensive practice sharing her qualifications and contacting people and businesses using a networking tool called “Me in 30 Seconds.” A Me in 30 Seconds statement helps employers understand the kind of job a potential employee is seeking, the person’s experience, and how the person could help the business succeed.
About eight weeks into her course, Sister Gregory felt impressed one day to kneel and pray continually throughout the day for help.
“I humbled myself,” she says. “I really needed Heavenly Father to help me find something. I wasn’t saying I want to be a manager or I want to make so much money. I just needed a job. I poured out my heart to the Lord.”
As part of her “homework” that day, she applied electronically for five positions. The very next day, a prospective employer called to interview her for a position as a bank branch officer. She was excited her prayers had been answered so quickly.
“I wasn’t nervous about the interview, because I had practiced in the class for so long,” says Sister Gregory. Nevertheless, she prayed fervently before the interview. “Heavenly Father,” she pleaded, “please put words into my mouth so I can answer correctly and so that those interviewing me can see the value of what I have to offer.”
In March 2018, a few days after Sister Gregory’s interview, Mickey and Margaret Foster pulled into a Newport Beach Stake chapel parking lot to visit that evening’s Find a Better Job group. The Fosters, then serving as full-time Self-Reliance Services senior missionaries, arrived early and were surprised to see Blanca already parked there.
“She was so excited that she jumped into our car to tell us she had just gotten a job,” Elder Foster says. “She described how much she loved her Heavenly Father and what the self-reliance initiative and her self-reliance group had meant to her in her quest to find employment.”
Sister Gregory also testified to the Fosters that she had never felt closer to the Savior or felt His personal involvement more in her life. Overcome with gratitude and emotion, all three wept. A year later, Sister Gregory remains grateful for her self-reliance group, for heavenly help, and for her job as a bank officer.
“The pay is good. The schedule is good. The benefits are good,” she says. She is using her skills, developing new talents, and “growing in the company.”
“Joining a 12-week Find a Better Job group is the best investment you could make,” she says to anyone looking for a job or looking to change jobs. “It won’t just help you update your resume and share your skills, but it will also help you learn to exercise your faith and grow your testimony. That’s what makes the difference. The class is only a couple of hours each week, but it will really help. It will change your life.”

History provides us a vivid example of the importance of the Lord’s servants being in tune with the Spirit. The young Prophet Joseph Smith could not translate when he was angry or upset.
David Whitmer recalled: “One morning when he was getting ready to continue the translation, something went wrong about the house and he was put out about it. Something that Emma, his wife, had done. Oliver and I went up stairs, and Joseph came up soon after to continue the translation, but he could not do anything. He could not translate a single syllable. He went down stairs, out into the orchard and made supplication to the Lord; was gone about an hour—came back to the house, asked Emma’s forgiveness and then came up stairs where we were and the translation went on all right. He could do nothing save he was humble and faithful.”1

Two or three weeks later, as we walked to school, I decided to be bold and ask Jarom something that had been bothering me. “Could I ask you something?” He glanced at me. “Promise you won’t get mad?”
He chuckled. “You’re the one who wants to ask the question. I don’t have to promise anything. But I doubt I’ll get mad,” he added cheerfully.
“Why do you always sleep in seminary?”
Looking away, he took a deep breath, exhaled slowly and pushed his hands into his back pockets. “What makes you think I always sleep?”
“The snoring’s a dead giveaway,” I teased him. “At least you don’t drool.”
“Actually I listen. Sometimes.” He grinned. I mean, I’m not hanging on every word or anything like that. Half the time I don’t have a clue what she’s talking about.”
“Then why do you come?” I burst out, exasperated. I caught myself. “I didn’t mean it that way. I like you to come.”
He seemed genuinely surprised. “I thought you were interested in Rhett Torbett, not some guy who stumbles in off the street.”
I laughed. “He’s only interested in really gorgeous girls. I don’t qualify.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” he mused playfully, nudging me with his elbow.
I could feel a pink shade of embarrassment warm my cheeks. I looked away. “Why do you come to seminary? Seriously.”
He thought for a long time. “It’s the last thing I promised my mom,” he said softly. “She was dying, and I didn’t even know what I was promising her.” Without looking at me, he asked, “Does that sound dumb?” Before I could respond, he added, “She wasn’t Mormon but had wanted to be. That was right after she married my dad. He didn’t want her to. She regretted that.”
“And she named you after one of the missionaries?”
He nodded. “Mom and Dad got divorced when I was seven. I don’t know where he is. He just took off.” He shrugged. “Mom used to talk about the Mormons. She said she felt something with the missionaries. She probably figured I’d feel something in seminary.” He shook his head. “I haven’t. I can’t even get a good sleep.”
“Don’t judge the Church on our seminary class. What Sister Batson is teaching is true. Listen instead of sleeping. It’ll make a difference.”
Even before class started the next day, Rhett was cracking jokes and cutting other students down. Jarom leaned over, smiled wryly, and whispered, “This isn’t the day that’s going to make a difference.” He put his head down.
“It’d make a difference if you did something too. That’s why your mom made you promise,” I retorted warmly.
That day the class was a disaster. Rhett and Randy both sang loudly off key during the devotional hymn. Rhett muttered wisecracks through Cindy Mason’s spiritual thought while Randy snickered his approval. They even laughed in the prayer. It didn’t matter how Sister Batson pleaded and reasoned with them; they wouldn’t cooperate. Halfway through the lesson the two of them started laughing out loud after making a rude comment. I wanted to walk over and slap them both.
“Torbett,” a voice barked, “shut up or get out.” Startled, I turned to see Jarom glowering at Rhett.
Rhett’s laughter faded. “What’s it to you, Wade?” he sneered. “Did we wake you up from your morning nap?”
Slowly Jarom pushed up from his desk and strolled stiffly to where Rhett sat. Rhett stood up, prepared for the challenge while Sister Batson and the rest of us held our breath. “If you don’t want to listen,” Jarom said in a low, cold, cutting voice, “get out so somebody else can.”
“All you do is sleep, Wade. Isn’t that rude? Have you been listening?”
Jarom considered the accusation. “All right, I won’t sleep and you shut up.” They glared at each other. Jarom returned to his desk, sitting up in his chair. The rest of the period was quiet.
“Thanks for what you did back there,” I ventured as we left the church. I bit down on my lower lip. “I’m sorry what I said about your promise.”
He shrugged. “It was true. Rhett was right too.” He grinned. “Now I’ve promised Rhett I’ll stay awake.” He looked at me. “Why do you Mormons have to do this seminary thing so early in the morning?”
“You Mormons?” I asked. “You’re Mormon but don’t know it yet.”
“Fat chance.”
Seminary changed after that. A few days later Rhett started to get out of hand. Jarom grumbled from the back, “I’m still awake, Torbett.”
I don’t know when I started liking Jarom as more than just a friend. Maybe the first day. But the more I was around Jarom, the more I liked him. I didn’t date much, so it was nice to have someone to hang around with. One lunch hour he asked me to the Iron Man’s Ball, a dance sponsored by the school’s weight lifting club.
After I accepted, I began to wonder how I’d explain Jarom to Mom and Dad. They’d always taught me to date LDS guys. I decided on a subtle strategy.
“Do you ever go to church?” I asked him one day.
“Not that I remember. Why?”
“Why don’t you?” I quickly added. “You’d like it.”
He grinned. “I don’t think I’d fit in.”
“Come to a fireside. There’s one Sunday.”
“Fireside? What the heck’s a fireside?”
I laughed and explained it to him. “My dad’s our bishop, and he’s giving the talk. He’d be impressed if you showed up.”
Sunday evening I was nervous, not sure how Jarom would come dressed. He showed up in a pair of white Levi’s, a pale blue dress shirt, and a tie. And he had shaved.
“Mom and Dad, this is Jarom Wade.”
Dad shook his hand warmly. “Jarom’s a good Book of Mormon name.”
Before Dad could ask him anything else, I explained, “Jarom’s the one I’ve told you about, the one who settled our seminary class down.”
Before Mom and Dad could ask any personal questions, I hurried Jarom out of the house. But things started unraveling at the fireside. Dad spoke about the last thing I wanted Jarom to hear—dating! And he managed to say all the wrong things, talking hard about not dating before you’re 16, not dating nonmembers, no steady dating, and on and on. It’s not that I disagreed with Dad. I just didn’t know if Jarom would understand.
After the fireside Jarom drove me home. As he helped me out of the car, he asked, “Do you want to go for a walk?”
We were both quiet for the first half block. Jarom was the first to speak. “Your dad made sense tonight.” He chuckled. “I finally understood something that a Mormon was teaching.”
“He says what he thinks,” I said, blushing in the darkness.
Jarom didn’t answer right away. “He doesn’t know I’m not Mormon, does he? I guess my name and my going to seminary threw him off.” I stared ahead, suddenly nervous. “But you knew it would, didn’t you?”
“I haven’t lied about you, Jarom,” I came back defensively.
“But he’s thinking one thing, and I’m thinking something else.” He hunched his shoulders. “I shouldn’t take you to the Iron Man’s Ball.”
“Jarom, Dad didn’t say that,” I spoke out, feeling hurt.
“I want to go,” Jarom said softly. “You’re probably the first girl I’ve really wanted to go with. But I have to be fair to your dad too.” He pondered a moment. “I don’t have much, Brookley. Mom’s gone. I don’t know where Dad is. I don’t have any brothers or sisters. I don’t have much money. But I can still say I’m honest. I can still make a promise and have it mean something. Mom taught me that. That’s why I get up every morning and sit through your Mormon seminary. Because of a promise.”
When we walked back to the house, Dad was just pulling into the driveway. He jumped out of the car, spotted us, and invited us into the house so we could get out of the heat. We sat in the living room and talked with Mom and Dad while some of the younger kids hung around a bit. I could tell Jarom felt awkward and wanted to speak but wasn’t sure what to say.”
“Mr. Reeves,” Jarom finally said, rubbing the palms of his hands on his thighs, “I liked your speech tonight.” He shifted uneasily on the sofa.
“Bishop Haroldson probably gives you the same speech in your ward.”
Jarom glanced at me, then at Dad. “I don’t know Bishop Haroldson. I’m not Mormon.” I could tell Mom and Dad were surprised. “With a name like Jarom, you probably figured I was. And I go to seminary.” He looked at his hands and explained briefly how he’d ended up in seminary and how he’d agreed with Rhett to stay awake and listen. “I know how you feel about Brookley going out with guys like me.”
The room was quiet while Dad thought. “A promise means a lot to you, doesn’t it?” Jarom nodded. “Do you believe what you hear in seminary?”
“I haven’t had a chance to really process all of it. It’s still pretty new. I don’t disbelieve it.”
“Will you make another promise?”
“Depends on the promise.”
“Keep listening to Sister Batson. With your heart and your ears.”
Jarom considered the request. “I don’t know that I’ve ever listened with my heart. I’m not sure I know how.”
Dad smiled. “I don’t think somebody makes promises like you’ve made without listening to his heart.”
Jarom considered that a moment and then nodded once. “You have my word then.” He took a deep breath and stood up. He held his hand out to Dad, a wry smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Now I guess I better head home and get to bed or I’m going to have a hard time staying awake in seminary tomorrow.”

I have also had the opportunity to directly ask for forgiveness from one whom I had wronged. Not until I asked this person directly for forgiveness did my feelings of anguish, of letting my Heavenly Father down, of not holding fast to my covenants and being a worthy representative of Christ, finally resolved into gratefulness for a Savior who continually calls to us to live a higher, holier way. Indeed, I felt as Alma described in Alma 36:20-21: And oh, what joy, and what marvelous light I did behold; yea, my soul was filled with joy as exceeding as was my pain!
Yea, I say unto you, my son, that there could be nothing so exquisite and so bitter as were my pains. Yea, and again I say unto you, my son, that on the other hand, there can be nothing so exquisite and sweet as was my joy. [55]

I know that my life has been filled with more gladness because I have chosen to forgive and to ask for forgiveness.

A few days ago—6 June to be precise—many free men celebrated the anniversary of D day, 6 June 1944, on the beaches of Normandy. This was the beginning of deliverance for those who didn’t enjoy freedom for many years and who could not be agents unto themselves. You are heirs. Your fathers or grandfathers fought for you. I was on the other side of the ocean in occupied Belgium, and I am an heir also of the sacrifice of their lives. I was waiting for that freedom to come closer and closer every day, until 3 September 1944, in the city of Audenaerde, when we saw our liberators for the first time. My purpose today is to testify to the importance for you, the future generation, to prepare and continue to be agents unto yourselves and to act with the Spirit of the Lord to defend your liberties.

Sometimes important choices are quite simple. As young missionaries serving in England, my companion and I had the opportunity to go to the temple. As we crossed the temple grounds, the temple president, Selvoy J. Boyer, walked toward us. Seeing our missionary badges, he pointed at us and asked: “Matthew 5:48—do you know that scripture?” My companion stated, “Be ye therefore perfect, even as your father which is in heaven is perfect.” President Boyer said, “That is correct. Elders, are you living that commandment?”

We started to stammer; we knew we were not perfect! He helped us. He asked questions about what we had done for the past three days. He asked about when we went to bed, when we got up, whether we had individual and companion scripture study, and whether we went proselytizing on time. He then said, “I am sure you are not perfect, but you have made perfect choices for the past three days, and that means you are moving in the right direction.” He left us thinking about the importance of what he had asked.

Back home, he attended George Washington University, studying mechanical engineering and playing clarinet and saxophone in a jazz band. As he neared university graduation, all of his career plans seemed to be on schedule. But then “the Lord placed a bombshell in my little world: Jeanene Watkins.” A vivacious young woman, Jeanene was the daughter of Utah’s Senator Arthur V. Watkins.
Their developing relationship presented a problem for Richard’s carefully laid career plans. One night Jeanene said to him, “When I marry, it will be in the temple to a returned missionary.” He had not thought much about a mission, but with that motivation, he prayed harder than ever before and ended up talking to the bishop about it. Soon after graduation, he left for a mission to Uruguay. Jeanene graduated the following June in sociology and left the next day for a mission to the northwestern states. Soon after they returned home, they were married in the Manti Temple.

After my childhood challenges, I am confident that Heavenly Father knew exactly what I needed to enable me to trust my eternal companion. He placed many steadfast examples of fatherhood in my life. These included my righteous grandfather, who loved the Lord, and a diligent home teacher who—understanding my family’s financial limitations—took me on as a student at his art studio and inspired me to follow in his footsteps professionally. In my young adult life, heavenly healing was also delivered through the unexpected blessing of gaining a righteous stepfather, who was patient with my hesitancy to trust a father figure and who continually showed me kindness.

Service has been a part of gospel teachings from the very beginning. From Adam to the present, we have been encouraged to serve our fellowmen. I had the privilege of witnessing a real fulfillment of Paul’s counsel to the Galatians when he instructed them, “by love serve one another.”
When our family was living in Massachusetts, we had our home in the little country town of Weston, about 13 miles west of Boston. It was a very quaint, sophisticated community with a population then of about 11,000 people. Weston had many picturesque, winding country roads lined with hand-fashioned rock walls. The small business section was completely deserted by 9:00 P.M. each evening. Yet for all its quaintness, Weston had its problems, especially with many of the high school and junior high students who used drugs and brought liquor into the dry town.
However, I would like to tell you about one Weston High School student who was too busily engaged in other pursuits to become involved with drugs or alcohol. This young man spent a lot of time on the ski slopes. Being an avid skier in New England is not unusual, but what this boy did with his talent is unusual. He was an expert skier and loved the sport. In fact, he was an instructor and spent even his spare time teaching others to ski. You could regularly see him coming down the mountainside very close to one of his pupils, who was oftentimes years older than he. They would start slowly but gather speed as they made graceful turns down the slope, all the time carrying on a conversation, laughing, enjoying the invigorating air and the sparkling sunshine. Observers would take note and follow the pair with their eyes until they reached the bottom, regarding them as just two more skiers having a great time.
What the onlookers did not realize was that one of the skiers was blind. This young Weston High School student was teaching the blind to ski. He did it free of charge. When he first had the idea, he discussed it with others and was advised by all to forget it. He was told over and over that it would simply be impossible.
But this young man had witnessed the hopelessness of some of the blind people and wanted to share with them one of the pleasures of his life. He wanted them to have a feeling of accomplishment and success. He wished to give them a new dimension to their lives. He wanted them to feel that they were real, whole individuals. He really cared. He cared enough to devote the time necessary to develop a rapport of love, encouragement, and understanding with these people to help them build faith in themselves and in their own abilities. Gradually mutual friendships blossomed.
These blind people placed their trust in this young man. He was their friend. He was the only one they would permit to put on their boots and snap them into their bindings. In their training, he said that helping them develop an attitude of trust and faith in themselves was the important thing. After that, the technique would come easily.
The last I heard, he had been successful in teaching 13 blind people to ski and was in the process of teaching more. He had even been requested to write a manual on teaching the blind to ski. He possessed then, and I am sure he still does, the confidence which comes with success. But more importantly, he has developed lasting friendships and has learned how to love and share through worthwhile service.
It is an eternal truth that the greatest satisfaction we find in this life is not that which is done for self but that which is given for the benefit of another. As this young man from Weston found fulfillment in his service to the blind, so each of us can find the rewarding satisfaction which comes when we “by love serve one another.”

Walking through town one June afternoon on my way to a business meeting, I was prompted to stop and look inside a tavern’s open door. All I could see was a long bar and a row of stools. I turned and left. I had no interest in being in such a place; in fact, I did not want to be in such a place. But as I continued walking up the street, I had the strongest feeling that I should return and investigate further.
Curious, I turned around, walked back to the tavern, and looked through the doorway. “This is rather a foolish thing to do,” I thought, especially when I saw only the bartender behind the bar. So I continued in my walk. But as I waited at the corner for the traffic light to change, I felt an even stronger prompting to go back to the tavern. I went back.
The tavern appeared empty. Even the bartender wasn’t in the room. I walked toward the rear of the room. Then I noticed the figure of a man in the corner, seated on a stool and hunched over the glass in front of him. Something seemed familiar about the ragged, unshaven face.
I moved closer, and the memory of someone from my past came to me. The man was about the right size, small and rather frail. Could it be Deuce? (His real name was Dwayne.) I hadn’t seen Deuce for almost eighteen years. But how could he be in this condition? “Deuce, Deuce is that you?” I asked. The man look around vaguely but didn’t respond. “Deuce, what are you doing here? I can’t believe it’s you!”
But it was him. We had been close friends in our teenage years.
Deuce and his twin brother, Ace, had had a good relationship with their parents but had received little guidance from them. Their father had been a hard-working barber who had cared for his lovable but alcoholic wife.
Deuce had had polio as a child, which left him with a bad limp and impaired use of one arm. A couple of serious accidents as a teenager left him having to use a cane. But these handicaps only seemed to concentrate his ability to paint. He was a talented oil painter and took his work very seriously. His paintings were vivid and life-like; I still remember his painting of a tiger that seemed to leap from the canvas.
I lost contact with Deuce when I went into the navy for several years. I had heard that Ace had also joined the navy and was subsequently reported missing.
“Huh! Who’s that?” Deuce responded sluggishly.
“It’s Richard, your old friend!”
His eyes lit with vague recognition. He looked as if he might cry. He was obviously in bad shape physically, and it appeared that he hadn’t been eating regularly. I finally convinced him that I was real and coaxed him off the bar stool. He could barely walk, even with the walker he now used. I took him to a nearby restaurant, where I got him to eat a little food. As he began to talk more sensibly, I discovered that he had no money and was sharing a room in a cheap hotel.
“Look, Deuce, I’m really late for an important appointment, but I want to spend some time with you,” I said, before taking him to his hotel with instructions to bathe and shave. Later, I picked up a change of clothes for him at a men’s store and returned to help him dress. We drove home, and I introduced him to my wife, Verna.
I related the story of our reunion during dinner, and then told Verna of my earlier friendship and boyhood experiences with Deuce and his family.
By then, he was quite clear in his thinking and was able to tell the harrowing story of how he had been driven to his present condition.
He described the shock of losing his twin brother. Several years later, his mother had died of alcoholism, and then his father had been killed in an automobile accident. Working as a commercial artist, he had tried to forget his problems by drinking. He eventually lost his job and lived on a small disability pension. This downward trend in his life had continued for many years. He had given up all hope and had been in total despair when I found him.
After I took him back to his hotel, Verna and I talked long into the night about his situation and possible solutions. He was obviously incapable of helping himself. “We can’t leave him where he is!” Verna said.
“But what can we do?” I asked.
“If nothing else, we’ll just have to bring him here,” she replied.
The next day at work, I couldn’t get Deuce off of my mind. In the afternoon I went searching for him. He was confused by my invitation, but agreed to come and live with my family. We gathered up his few possessions and went home.
It was a big decision for my family—not because we didn’t have room, but because having a strange man around the house was awkward at first, even if he was harmless. He was, in fact, quite pathetic. He had to use his walker to get around, and because his bedroom was in the basement, getting up and down the stairs several times a day was a tremendous challenge.
My family soon accepted Deuce. Good food, rest, companionship, and love helped him recover. The children loved him because he was so gentle and understanding. But the effects of the years of alcoholism were hard to overcome. His physical impairments and extreme loss of normal movement made recovery difficult and total recovery impossible. For the first month, he was content to just recuperate. At times, he tried to help the children with chores or Verna with household tasks, but he was too shaky and unstable.
Deuce often wanted alcohol, but Verna and I firmly refused him any, and there was no way he could get it himself. Frequently, he would break out in a cold sweat and shake. But with no additional alcohol to reinforce what was already in his system, he eventually gained control of himself.
With his recovery came restlessness, and Deuce decided that he should try to again develop his former talent. I built him a special heavy-duty easel that would not only hold the canvas but also help steady him, since he was still very shaky.
It had been years since he had painted, and he was disappointed and frustrated with his first attempts. But eventually he was able to paint a sea scene for Verna to show his gratitude. Many paintings followed, and I helped him sell a few of them. His former talent, however, never fully returned.
He soon became very much a part of our family. And although he had never been religious, he started coming to church with us. Verna and I had joined the Church after we were married, and Deuce was impressed with the obvious changes he had seen in me. He met with the missionaries and was baptized. The doctrines of the Church excited him, especially the idea of being resurrected to a whole and fit body, and the promise of being with his family again.
Although he found his new faith stimulating and enjoyed his new experiences, he felt concerned about being a burden on our family. He knew, however, that his limited capabilities restricted him from ever being independent again.
About this time, a second miraculous reunion occurred. On one of my monthly business trips to Portland, Oregon, approximately four hundred kilometers from our home in Seattle, Washington, I checked into a hotel I had never used before. To my amazement, the luggage attendant that assisted me with my bags was Deuce’s long-lost twin brother, whom we had believed to be dead.
Ace was overjoyed to see an old friend and to learn the whereabouts of his twin brother. A reunion was quickly arranged, and Ace, divorced and living alone, welcomed the opportunity to provide a home for Deuce.
My family kept close contact with “Uncle Deuce” until his death, prematurely brought on by his frailties and years of drinking. But he had found the gospel and had made many wholesome and eternal friendships.

May I now paint a picture of such a situation. In faraway Bucharest, Romania, Dr. Lynn Oborn, volunteering at an orphanage, was attempting to teach little Raymond, who had never walked, how to use his legs. Raymond had been born with severe clubfeet and was completely blind. Recent orthopedic surgery performed by Dr. Oborn had corrected the clubfeet, but Raymond was still unable to use his legs. Dr. Oborn knew that a child-size walker would enable Raymond to get on his feet, but such a walker was not available anywhere in Romania. I’m sure fervent prayers were offered by this doctor who had done all he could without a walking aid for the boy. Blindness can hamper a child, but inability to walk, to run, to play can injure his precious spirit.
Let us turn now to Provo, Utah. The Richard Headlee family, learning of the suffering in Romania, joined with others to help fill a 40-foot (12-m) container with 40,000 pounds (18,000 kg) of needed supplies, including food, clothing, medicine, blankets, and toys. The project deadline arrived, and the container had to be shipped that day. No one involved with the project knew of the particular need for a child-size walker. However, at the last possible moment, a family brought forth a child’s walker and placed it in the container.
When the anxiously awaited container arrived at the orphanage in Bucharest, Dr. Oborn was present as it was opened. Every item it contained would be put to immediate use at the orphanage. As the Headlee family introduced themselves to Dr. Oborn, he said, “Oh, I hope you brought me a child’s walker for Raymond!”
One of the Headlee family members responded, “I can vaguely remember something like a walker, but I don’t know its size.” Another family member was dispatched back into the container, crawling among all the bales of clothes and boxes of food, searching for the walker. When he found it, he lifted it up and cried out, “It’s a little one!” Cheers erupted—which quickly turned to tears—for they all knew they had been part of a modern-day miracle.
There may be some who say, “We don’t have miracles today.” But the doctor whose prayers were answered would respond, “Oh, yes we do, and Raymond is walking!” She who was inspired to give the walker was a willing vessel and surely would agree.
Who was the angel of mercy touched by the Lord to play a vital role in this human drama? Her name is Kristin, and she was born with spina bifida, as was her younger sister, Erika. The two as children spent long days and worrisome nights in the hospital. Modern medicine, lovingly practiced, along with help from our Heavenly Father brought a measure of mobility to each. Neither is downhearted. Both inspire others to carry on. Kristin is now a college student living on her own, and Erika is an active high school student.
It was once my opportunity to tell Kristin, who had sent her walker to Romania, “Thank you for listening to the Spirit of the Lord. You have been the instrument in the Lord’s hands to answer a doctor’s prayer, a child’s wish.”
Later, I offered my own “Thank You” to God for children, for families, for miracles in our time.