Gospel Story Finder

As the family spent time together, the children could see not just how their parents worked but how they lived. And when the opportunity arose, their parents made the gospel a topic of conversation while they worked.

As their children grew, Brother and Sister Ordoñez often wondered if their children would listen. Would they obey? Would they want to know, like Nephi? Would they pass the gospel on to their children?

It may be too early to tell. But Brother and Sister Ordoñez have reason to hope.

Their older children are starting to pass gospel truths on. And the younger children are recognizing the importance of passing the gospel on too. “It’s hard sometimes to take counsel from your parents,” Juan says. “But I’m grateful for their help.”

“They didn’t just teach me how to cook beans and make tortillas,” Mayra says. “They have taught me the right path—to follow God.”

Brother Williams brings in the garbage cans for 28 of his neighbors. “We need to follow the Savior’s example and do good to people,” he says.
Photographs by Richard M. Romney
Every Wednesday, 81-year-old Ken Williams wears the same shirt and hat. Both the shirt and hat depict a well-known character, Oscar, who lives in a garbage can. That Oscar is known as a lovable grouch. Ken is just known as lovable.
Ken waits inside his front door and listens. He’s waiting for the sound of the garbage truck. Sounds are important to Ken because he’s legally blind. Couple that with the fact that he has undergone 14 years of chemotherapy, and yet he’s still willing to get out and help his neighbors—28 of them, in fact.
Ken is affectionately known by all of his neighbors up and down the street. He’s the man who brings in the garbage cans.
“We see the garbage truck pass,” says a neighbor, Laura Willes, “and the next thing we see is Ken, walking down the sidewalk with his white cane, going from house to house and pulling in the cans.”
“It keeps our community looking good,” says Ken’s wife, De Ann. “But it also keeps the roads clear. I don’t know if a fire truck could get down the street without knocking all of the cans out of the way.”
Laura says Ken’s trash can patrol also provides reassurance to people who have to be away from their homes, “so that it’s not obvious when no one is home.”
So how does Ken manage to move the cans around while walking with a cane? “The cane is more for stability than anything else,” he says, “and when I lean on the garbage can, that gives me stability too.” With the help of a special contact lens, he can see well enough out of one eye to find his way around. When there’s snow on the ground, he won’t go where he might slip and fall.
“If there’s a day when he can’t bring in the cans,” De Ann says, “I alert the neighbors.”
Ken didn’t start out by doing all of the cans up and down the street. It’s a role he grew into. “After the garbage truck would go by, he would go out to the houses right around us and push the cans back off the street,” De Ann explains. “It evolved slowly. He did one more house and then one more, until it has reached what it is today.”
And the Oscar nickname? “That came from our daughter, Collette,” De Ann says. “And it stuck.”
Ken has made friends with longtime residents and new move-ins, with grandparents, children, and grandchildren. “It’s funny how many people know him as Oscar,” Laura says.
Why does Ken repeatedly perform this small act of service? His answer is profound. “We need to follow the Savior’s example and do good to people. That’s what I try to do. It lets them know they have the opportunity to do good to other people too.”
Ken has, in fact, spent a lifetime helping others. As a consultant in the automotive business, he worked with dealerships to improve their operations. As a Church member, he has accepted callings and shared the gospel, “not by preaching to my neighbors but by showing them the joy that comes from following the Savior.”
De Ann recalls, “When Ken was in chemo, the nurses and one of the doctors told me he helped a lot of other patients get through their chemo, mostly because of his personality. He didn’t even know he was doing anything special; he was just being Ken.”
Ken is still dealing with four types of cancer, but he stopped receiving chemo four years ago. “The oncologist says Ken is a walking miracle,” De Ann says.
Every Wednesday, you’ll see him in his Oscar outfit, waiting for the truck to pass so he can help his neighbors. “I didn’t just decide to go and bring in the garbage cans,” Ken says. “I decided it was one of the few things I could still do. And as long as I can serve my neighbors, I’ll keep serving.”
The author lives in Utah, USA.

Let me share an experience with you of the faith and the appreciation of the Saints in the islands of the sea for the contributions you have made in strengthening and building their lives; for your prayers; for your sons and your daughters, and for the great missionary couples who have been sent to their lands to teach the message of the restoration. Tears of thanks and of faith and of love have been shed, expressions of gratitude given for your sending these missionaries to teach them of Jesus Christ and his ways.

As a result of your great contributions, a new chapel is being built far away from any civilization, the first one for the aborigine people. It is an exciting time for them, and for the area in the north territories of Australia. It is so exciting that even the Lord Mayor of Darwin is coming to attend the dedication, spending a whole day. Missionary couples have been busy preparing the people. One man who owns a sheep ranch in Australia equal to the size of Utah and who was firmly convinced that the average native could learn nothing, came recently to a special meeting and there he sat as the aborigines’ young children sang, “I Am a Child of God” (Sing with Me, B-76), tears streamed down his face, and he said as he walked out of the meeting, “If I hadn’t seen it, I never would have believed it.” Faith, strength, kindness from a people who made this possible. A great appreciation from a people who could not do what they did without you.

The next morning, the Columbia Ward did go on the welfare assignment and spent the whole morning canning green beans. “We had done 1,050 cans when I lost count,” said Tre Pennington.

It was a lot of work. It left you feeling like you never wanted to see anything green again. But it did give everyone a chance to work together. And while they worked, they answered questions about life as a Latter-day Saint, about life in the Church.

“When the missionaries were teaching me, I knew right away that it was true. I didn’t have any doubt. My dad got baptized; then I got baptized the next Saturday,” said Stephanie Rawlins. “I enjoy being in the church I know is true. Friends I have who aren’t members can’t talk the same way. They don’t understand. With my friends in the Church I can open up; I can talk about things that are really important.”

“I’ve thought many times about what it means to have the priesthood,” said David Dawson, 16. “It means I’m more than just somebody on the street. I know where I can be in the eternities. Holding the priesthood is like being with God every day. It’s a great feeling if you live right.”

“Most of my nonmember friends go to their own churches,” Jason Sawyer said. “If you talk about religion to them, they look at you funny. But when I tell them our religion says we have the right to hold an office in the priesthood, they think that’s quite an honor.”

Jason also talked a little bit about what it’s like to be the stepson of a bishop who makes doughnuts for a living. “He gets up early to start baking, then sleeps in the middle of the day. A lot of times he’s gone doing church work. But he loves us, and he tries to be there when we need him. Besides, we always have plenty of refreshments!”

“That does it!” Melissa said, setting the last can of beans in a cardboard box. “I’m tired, but I’m not so tired that I couldn’t eat breakfast. Where’s a McDonald’s?”

Then there is the remembered Christmas tale of O. Henry about a young husband and wife who lived in abject poverty yet who wanted to give one another a special gift. But they had nothing to give. Then the husband had a ray of inspiration: “I shall provide my dear wife a beautiful ornamental comb to adorn her magnificent long black hair.” The wife also received an idea: “I shall obtain a lovely chain for my husband’s prized watch which he values so highly.”

Christmas day came; the treasured gifts were exchanged. Then the surprise ending, so typical of O. Henry’s short stories: The wife had shorn her long hair and sold it to obtain funds to purchase the watch chain, only to discover that her husband had sold his watch, that he might purchase the comb to adorn her beautiful long hair, which now she did not have.

I’ve seen what “suffereth long” and “endureth all things” mean. A family moved into a house near us. The home was new, so I was part of the crew of Latter-day Saints who spent a number of nights putting in landscaping. I remember the last night, standing next to the husband of the family as we finished. He surveyed our work and said to us standing nearby, “This is the third yard you Mormons have put in for us, and I think this is the best.” And then he quietly but firmly told me of the great satisfaction he got from membership in his own church, a conversation we had often in the years he lived there.

In all that time, the acts of kindness extended to him and his family never ceased because the neighbors really came to love them. One evening I came home to see a truck in his driveway. I had been told they were moving to another state. I approached to see if I could help. I didn’t recognize the man I saw loading household things into the truck. He said quietly as I drew near, “Hello, Brother Eyring.” I hadn’t recognized him because he was the son, now grown older, who had lived there, married, and moved away. And because of the love of many for him, he was now a baptized member of the Church. I don’t know the end of that story because it will have no end. But I know that it begins with love.

In His love for us, God has decreed that any worthy man, regardless of wealth, education, color, cultural background, or language, may hold His priesthood. Thus, any properly ordained man who is clean in hand, heart, and mind can connect with the unlimited power of the priesthood. I learned this lesson well as a young missionary years ago in the South Pacific.

My first assignment was to a small island hundreds of miles from headquarters, where no one spoke English, and I was the only white man. I was given a local companion named Feki who was then serving a building mission and was a priest in the Aaronic Priesthood.

After eight seasick days and nights on a small, smelly boat, we arrived at Niuatoputapu. I struggled with the heat, the mosquitoes, the strange food, culture, and language, as well as homesickness. One afternoon we heard cries of anguish and saw a family bringing the limp, seemingly lifeless body of their eight-year-old son to us. They wailed out that he had fallen from a mango tree and would not respond to anything. The faithful father and mother put him in my arms and said, “You have the Melchizedek Priesthood; bring him back to us whole and well.”

Though my knowledge of the language was still limited, I understood what they wanted, and I was scared. I wanted to run away, but the expressions of love and faith that shone from the eyes of the parents and brothers and sisters kept me glued to the spot.

I looked expectantly at my companion. He shrugged and said, “I don’t have the proper authority. You and the branch president hold the Melchizedek Priesthood.” Grasping at that straw, I said, “Then this is the duty of the branch president.”

No sooner had I said this than the branch president walked up. He had heard the commotion and returned from his garden. He was sweaty and covered with dirt and mud. I turned and explained what had happened and tried to give the young boy to him. He stepped back and said, “I will go and wash and put on clean clothes; then we will bless him and see what God has to say.”

In near panic, I cried, “Can’t you see? He needs help now!”

He calmly replied: “I know he needs a blessing. When I have washed myself and put on clean clothes, I will bring consecrated oil, and we will approach God and see what His will is. I cannot—I will not—approach God with dirty hands and muddy clothes.” He turned and left me holding the boy. I was speechless.

Finally he returned, clean in body and dress and, I sensed, in heart as well. “Now,” he said, “I am clean, so we will approach the throne of God.”

That marvelous Tongan branch president, with clean hands and a pure heart, gave a beautiful and powerful priesthood blessing. I felt more like a witness than a participant. The words of the Psalmist came to my mind: “Who shall ascend into the hill of the Lord? …

“He that hath clean hands, and a pure heart.” On that tiny island a worthy priesthood holder ascended into the hill of the Lord, and the power of the priesthood came down from heaven and authorized a young boy’s life to continue.

With the fire of faith glowing from his eyes, the branch president told me what to do. Much additional faith and effort was required, but on the third day that little eight-year-old boy, full of life, was reunited with his family.

I hope you understand and feel these truths. This was a tiny island in the midst of a huge ocean—with no electricity, no hospital, no doctors—but none of that mattered. For in addition to great love and faith, there was a branch president who held the Melchizedek Priesthood, who understood the importance of cleanliness of hand and heart and its outward expression in cleanliness of body and dress, who exercised the priesthood in righteousness and purity according to the will of God. That day his individual power in the priesthood was sufficient to connect with the unlimited power of the priesthood over earthly life.

When I look into the heavens at night and contemplate the endless galaxies therein, I am amazed at what a tiny dot our little earth is and how infinitesimally small I am. Yet I do not feel afraid, alone, insignificant, or distant from God. For I have witnessed His priesthood power connecting with clean hands and pure hearts on a tiny island in a vast ocean.

Actually, the musical tradition started with Sally’s mother. As a little girl her mother lived in a rural area in Idaho, and she sold milk to earn money for piano lessons. She also managed to earn enough money to buy her first piano. Knowing that her mother had made sacrifices in her life to play the piano, Sally grew to love music as well, and she has passed this love of music on to her own children.
This is why Lindsey can claim a standing ovation not only from a New York audience in Carnegie Hall but also from the Young Women and Young Men in her ward after she performed for an etiquette night activity. To the Brintons, it doesn’t matter how big or small the venue is as long as they can share their talents with others—another tradition passed down from Sally’s mother, who was ward organist for 30 years and never turned down an invitation to perform, including for the ward Christmas party.

My husband, Gary, a marriage and family therapist, shares valuable insights about parent-child communication. “Asking simple questions and then listening is a great way to get children thinking,” he often tells parents. I’ve watched him do it in our home, and I’m gaining some skill in putting it into practice myself.

For example, our son came home from school one day and seemed discouraged. I said, “What’s up? You seem sad.” He replied, “Jim [not his real name] is such a jerk.” And I said, “Oh, how’s that?” I was surprised at what followed. “He’s been inviting his girlfriend over to his house every day after school since his mom started working.” Resisting the temptation to begin a magnificent sermon on morality, I said, “Hmmmmm.” And he said, “It’s so stupid. He’s just asking for trouble.” That was definitely similar to what I would have said, only more concise. I asked, “What do you mean?” Then a flood of information poured forth regarding all the dangers of being alone in a house with a girlfriend. But it didn’t stop there. He discussed all sides of the issue, including the terrible effects of venereal disease and abortion. All I did was listen and agree. I’m convinced he would have heard very little of the sermon had it been preached by me.

I really like science and math. I also play the organ and piano and I like to draw with charcoal. I’m a Nordic ski jumper. I’ve been doing it since I was nine—so about seven years now. I used to train for freestyle skiing right next to a Nordic jump. I thought that the jump looked really fun. So, I asked my mom if I could try it. I really liked it from the day I started. Now I’m on the USA Nordic Women’s Junior National Team. As soon as you jump, it’s like flying!

As I pray for the Lord to open my eyes to see things I might not normally see, I often ask myself two questions and pay attention to the impressions that come: “What am I doing that I should stop doing?” and “What am I not doing that I should start doing?”
Months ago, during the sacrament, I asked myself these questions and was surprised by the impression that came. “Stop looking at your phone when you are waiting in lines.” Looking at my phone in lines had become almost automatic; I found it a good time to multitask, catch up on email, look at headlines, or scroll through a social media feed.
The next morning, I found myself waiting in a long line at the store. I pulled out my phone and then remembered the impression I had received. I put my phone away and looked around. I saw an elderly gentleman in line ahead of me. His cart was empty except for a few cans of cat food. I felt a little awkward but said something really clever like, “I can see you have a cat.” He said that a storm was coming, and he did not want to be caught without cat food. We visited briefly, and then he turned to me and said, “You know, I haven’t told anyone this, but today is my birthday.” My heart melted. I wished him a happy birthday and offered a silent prayer of thanks that I had not been on my phone and missed an opportunity to truly see and connect with another person who needed it.

Nami Chan, Taoyuan, Taiwan
My family and a lot of my extended family in Taiwan are Buddhist. When I was young, I remember helping prepare sacrifices for ancestors and multiple gods on Chinese New Year and other holidays. It was a family tradition for us, as well as a way to commemorate our ancestors and bring peace and prosperity to my family.
When some of my relatives joined a nondenominational Christian church, it had no impact on my family at first. But during the Ching Ming Festival, when you worship ancestors and burn incense at their graves, my Christian relatives refused to participate. They said that they were committed to following the Ten Commandments, particularly “Thou shalt have no other gods before me” (Exodus 20:3). My family had not discussed any other beliefs before, but from that day on, Christianity represented the destruction of traditions in my family’s eye and was seen in a negative light.
When I was attending a university, I met LDS missionaries on the street. Normally, I wouldn’t have been interested in what they had to say, but some experiences had readied my heart to receive their message. While meeting with them, I agreed to pray and read the Book of Mormon, and I began developing a personal testimony of what I was being taught. But, because of my parent’s feelings against Christianity, I didn’t want to tell them I wanted to be baptized. Many months after my first meeting with the missionaries, I finally told my parents that I wanted to get baptized and that I wanted to serve a mission. They were upset, but I knew I was making the right choice.
I don’t have any pioneer ancestry, but I do feel like I understand their sacrifice. It is difficult to give up some traditions and face opposition from family members. Even now, five years after I joined the Church, in which time I have served a mission, my family doesn’t completely support my decision, but they’ve come to accept it. Joining the Church has allowed me to honor my family in new ways, by doing family history and researching my ancestors. My testimony of Jesus Christ and His Atonement help me in resolving any conflict I may have with my family.

“L?ook!” Sasha whispered. “Another squirrel.” He was having fun exploring the Sochi Arboretum. The giant park had all kinds of beautiful flowers and trees. Back home, in central Russia, it was still snowy and freezing cold. But here in Sochi, the sun was shining, and the air smelled like spring.
Sasha watched the squirrel nibble on a nut. It still had its thick winter coat, but Sasha guessed it was as excited for spring as he was. He grinned as the squirrel scurried up a tree.
Just then Mama’s phone rang. “Hello?” Mama said. She paused. “But I thought our tickets were for tomorrow! It’s today?” Soon she hung up the phone.
“Sasha! We have to go now. Our tour of the Skypark is this morning, and the bus is leaving in 15 minutes!”
“Can we get to the bus stop that soon?” Sasha asked.
“I hope so. Let’s pray in our hearts and do our best.” Mama took his hand, and they started to run.
The Sochi Arboretum was big. Sasha wasn’t sure they could find the way out! But he said a prayer in his heart. Please help us get to the bus stop in time. We’d really like to go to the Skypark.
The Skypark was an adventure park high up in the mountains. It had giant swings, climbing walls, ziplines, and a ropes course. It also had the Skybridge—a super-long bridge hanging high up in the sky. Sasha hoped they would get there in time.
Finally they found the main road and looked for a taxi. They saw one right away! They hopped in and Mama told the driver the name of the bus stop.
“You’re lucky!” the driver said. “I know a shortcut.”
Sasha stared out the window as they sped past the trees.
“Do you think we’ll make it?” Sasha asked Mama.
Mama looked at her watch. “I don’t know. But we prayed. And even if we don’t make it, that’s OK. We’re on an adventure!”
Soon they were at the bus stop. The bus wasn’t even there yet! It was late.
Mama and Sasha were still breathing hard, but Sasha smiled. “That driver was right! We are lucky.”
“I don’t think it was just luck, dear,” Mama said. “Sometimes we have little miracles that remind us how much Heavenly Father loves us.”
Just then, the bus pulled up. Mama and Sasha climbed on and headed off to the Skypark. Sasha was grateful tor this little miracle!
This story took place in Russia.

After he became president, Abraham Lincoln was asked about his childhood. “What happy memories do you have of your early years?” asked one newspaper reporter.
President Lincoln sat back in his chair. “We had little money in our home,” he answered, “but there was much joy and love. My kind and loving sister Sarah and I shared many wonderful adventures. Her years upon this earth were few. Yet my happiest memories are of the little time we had together. She was truly a loving sister and a very special friend.”

The arrival of the Hamilton New Zealand Temple in 1958 stirred a realisation amongst the Saints in Australia that this may be their only chance to make sacred covenants with the Lord. When my father announced that we as a family needed to go to the temple, my mother asked how that was even possible—they had no money and, in his spare time, he was still building the house they were living in. I was two years old then and my brother was recently born.
With unwavering faith, my father set about planning the trip by boat. He did not know how, and had no detailed plans, but he felt an assurance and a hope that the Lord would provide. My father cashed in a life insurance policy, and though we still didn’t have enough money to return, we sailed.
After my family entered the holy temple and were sealed to each other for time and all eternity, my father, once again, set about exercising his faith. He managed to get a job to earn money to live and to return to Australia. Some may say he was delusional, but years later my father and mother declared that this act of faith brought power and direction to their lives.

Several years ago we had a young paperboy who didn’t always deliver the paper in the manner intended. Instead of getting the paper on the porch, he sometimes accidentally threw it into the bushes or even close to the street. Some on his paper route decided to start a petition of complaint. One day a delegation came to our home and asked my wife, Frances, to sign the petition. She declined, saying, “Why, he’s just a little boy, and the papers are so heavy for him. I would never be critical of him, for he tries his best.” The petition, however, was signed by many of the others on the paper route and sent to the boy’s supervisors.
Not many days afterward, I came home from work and found Frances in tears. When she was finally able to talk, she told me that she had just learned that the body of the little paperboy had been found in his garage, where he had taken his own life. Apparently the criticism heaped upon him had been too much for him to bear. How grateful we were that we had not joined in that criticism. What a vivid lesson this has always been regarding the importance of being nonjudgmental and treating everyone with kindness.

The experience of a couple whom I shall identify as Brother and Sister Brown (fictitious names) is instructive. Sister Brown was only twenty-one years old at the time, a beautiful woman and a devoted wife. In her first trimester, she contracted the dreaded German measles.

Abortion was advised because the developing baby would almost surely be damaged. Some members of her family, out of loving concern, applied additional pressure for an abortion. “Don’t burden yourself financially with a handicapped child,” they argued. “You are too young and too poor.”

Devotedly Brother and Sister Brown consulted their bishop. He referred them to their stake president, who listened to their serious concern and counseled them not to terminate the life of this baby, even though the child might have a problem. He quoted this scripture:
“Trust in the Lord with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding. In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy paths.” (Prov. 3:5–6.)

They chose to follow that counsel and permit their child to be born—a beautiful little girl, normal in every respect, except for a hearing loss, that became evident later. After an evaluation at a school for the deaf, Brother and Sister Brown were advised that this child had the intellect of a genius. Now, some twenty years later, she attends a major university on a scholarship.

When recently asked how they felt about their once-weighty decision, the mother quickly responded, “She is one of the great joys of my life! She is such a choice spirit! Though she lost the sense of hearing, she has compensated with augmented ability otherwise. Her eyes are alive with constant attention. She excels in dancing, even though she perceives the sounds of music from vibrations. She has served as an officer in school. But most significant is her guileless spirit, her unconditional love. She has taught us to serve and to share. Her spiritual insights have helped us to know God and his purposes. My husband and I are so grateful that she is one of our children.”

Ms. Ward stood at the front of the room. She held a big jar full of small folded papers. “It’s time to pick our homework winner,” she said.
Sam, Miles, and Jake sat up in their chairs. Every day they spent part of school in a speech class together. And every time they did their class homework, they got to put their name in a jar. At the end of the week, Ms. Ward drew a name out of the jar, and that person won a prize.
Ms. Ward put her hand in the big jar to pull out a name. As they watched, each boy was thinking about what he wanted to win.
“I hope it’s a race car,” Miles said.
“I want a coloring book,” Jake said. “What do you want, Sam?”
Sam looked at the big jar. He hoped the prize was candy. He could almost taste it.
Ms. Ward took a name out of the jar and held it up. “Sam is our winner this week,” she said.
Sam grinned when she handed him the prize bag. And when he saw what was inside, he grinned even more. There were five pieces of yummy-looking candy! He didn’t know if he could wait till the end of class to eat them.
Then Sam looked at Miles. He looked kind of sad. And Jake was just staring at his workbook.
Sam thought about it. He won the candy for himself. But there was plenty to share. He knew Jesus said to treat others the way we want them to treat us. And when he looked at Miles and Jake, Sam knew what he should do.
When the bell rang at the end of class, Ms. Ward said, “You may eat your candy now, Sam.”
Sam smiled. “Thanks, Ms. Ward. But I don’t think I should eat it all.” Then he handed two pieces of candy to Miles and two pieces to Jake.
“Wow, thanks!” they both said as they opened their candy.
Sam looked down at the one piece of candy left in his hand. He slowly took the wrapper off and popped the candy in his mouth. It was just as good as he had hoped. Sam smiled as he looked at his friends eating their candy. Sharing the candy seemed to make it taste even better.

Great! I thought sarcastically. I had to come up with a devotional for seminary on service, and I didn’t know any good stories to tell.
“What should I do?” I asked my mom when I got home from school and explained the situation.
“Well, your dad is going over to Grandma’s right now,” she answered. “Why don’t you go with him and ask Grandma for an idea.”
When we arrived at Grandma’s house, she greeted us with her usual smile.
“Do you have any good stories about service?” I asked. “I have to give the devotional in seminary tomorrow.”
“Stories?” Grandma said. “I have a bunch of them. Let me go get my binder.”
She returned, flipped the binder open and said, “Now, here’s one you could use. In fact, I feel like this one would be perfect.” She proceeded to recall the details of an experience she had had many years earlier.
“This happened during the Vietnam War, when we lived in Colorado Springs. Your grandpa, who was flying in Vietnam, was gone, and I was staying busy just trying to keep up with all the kids.
“I was singing in a chorus made up of officers’ wives at the Air Force Academy. During a break at one of the rehearsals, a friend told me about a service project she was doing for wounded servicemen who were recovering at the Fort Carson Army Hospital.”
Grandma explained how her friend would go regularly to read magazines and books to the servicemen. Some of them had birthdays coming up and she wanted to take cakes to them, but she was discouraged because she couldn’t find anyone to help her, and she couldn’t bake them all herself. Grandma volunteered immediately to help her bake some cakes.
The very next day her friend called and asked if she was really serious about helping and could she have one ready to go that afternoon.
Grandma told me, “I was pretty busy myself that day with family and Church responsibilities, but I felt like I should help. I made a chocolate cake from scratch and topped it with white frosting and chocolate swirls.” I knew exactly which cake she was talking about. She had made it before for family gatherings, and it was one of my favorites.
That afternoon Grandma’s friend came by to pick up the cake and take it to the hospital. Two hours later, she called and said, “I thought you would be interested in what happened with your cake. I took it to a 36-year-old sergeant, a veteran of many years in the army. He was recovering from wounds received in Vietnam. He looked like a typical, tough drill sergeant without a kind word in his vocabulary. When I took the cake into his room, handed it to him, and wished him a happy birthday, he looked up at me with a stunned expression on his face. Then the tears started rolling down his cheeks.”
The sergeant told Grandma’s friend that this was the first birthday cake he had ever had. Nobody had ever cared enough to bake him one.
As Grandma listened to her friend, she was amazed that one small act of service could have such an effect. Grandma closed the binder and said, “Tell your seminary class that I’m glad I took time to bake that cake.”
Seminary began as it usually did: we sang a hymn, recited the scripture-of-the-week, and said the prayer. Then I began telling Grandma’s story about service. As I spoke, I kept noticing my seminary teacher, Brother Olsen, in one of the desks on the back row. He looked really serious.
Great! I thought. I hope he’s not mad at me. Maybe this wasn’t what he had in mind when he asked me to do the devotional. I finished the story by saying, “I hope we can all take time to serve others like my grandma did, because we never know how much good one small act of service can do.” Then I quickly sat down in my desk.
My seminary teacher didn’t say anything. He just sat there in the back row. Everyone started looking at him.
“Man, I must have really blown it,” I thought.
Finally Brother Olsen spoke. “Lindsay, what is your grandma’s name?”
“Mary Lois Gunnell,” I answered. What was he going to do—call her and make sure I hadn’t made up the story?
Brother Olsen continued, “Do you know who that sergeant was? That was my sergeant while I was in the service myself, and I was very close to him.” Everyone in the class started whispering.
“No way!” said one of the boys. He thought we had planned this all out before.
“Really,” Brother Olsen said sincerely. “I knew him before he was wounded and after he recovered. He told me that same story himself and said how much that meant to him to have a stranger care enough to bake a birthday cake for him. He wanted to thank the woman, but never knew her name.” Brother Olsen looked right at me. “Lindsay, that cake wasn’t just a birthday cake. It was the beginning of a whole new life for my sergeant.”
I couldn’t believe it, and I couldn’t wait to tell Grandma.
“Class,” Brother Olsen continued, “I want you to know that Lindsay’s Grandma’s act of service literally changed that sergeant’s life. Before he was wounded, he was pretty mean. Every other word out of his mouth was a swear word. After he received that cake in the hospital in Colorado, he decided to change. He told me he was going to try harder to be a better person, and that’s just what he did.”
Until hearing about Brother Olsen’s sergeant, I never realized how much just one kind deed could affect another. My grandma sweetened a bitter man’s life with as simple a thing as a cake. Her story gives me hope that my small acts of service—a smile or a kind word—may also add richness to other people’s lives.

Today was Lillian’s last day in Primary. Lillian would miss the other Primary kids. There were just three of them—two younger girls and her little brother, Michael.
“How are you feeling about moving up to Young Women?” her Primary teacher asked.
“I can’t wait to go to class with the older girls!” Lillian said.
“I’m glad you’re excited,” her teacher said. “Who else will be in Young Women with you?”
Lillian thought of the older girls in the ward. Summer and Cova had just finished high school. And Melvina’s family had moved away. Wait. That left . . . just Lillian.
What would her Young Women class be like? Just the teachers and her? That sounded awkward—and lonely. Thinking about it made Lillian nervous. She frowned. She didn’t want to be the only one in Young Women.
For the rest of the day, Lillian thought about being the only young woman. At dinner, she moved the food around on her plate without eating it. She mumbled when it was her turn to read at family scripture study.
Mum set her scriptures down. “What’s wrong?” she asked.
Lillian sighed. “I’m going to be all alone in Young Women!”
Mum moved to sit by Lillian. She gave her a hug. “That won’t be easy,” she said. “What can we do to help you?”
Lillian thought for a moment. “Maybe we could pray that another girl will move into the ward. And maybe Dad could give me a blessing.”
Dad smiled. “Those are great ideas.”
The family knelt to pray. “Heavenly Father,” Lillian began, “I’m glad I get to move to Young Women. I don’t want to be alone, but if that is Thy will, that’s all right. Please help me know what I can do to feel better. And if You want to inspire a family with a girl my age to move into our ward, that would be great too.”
After the prayer, Dad put his hands on her head. “I bless you to feel peaceful about moving to Young Women,” he said. “Heavenly Father will bless you as you ask for His help.”
Lillian did feel peaceful. She wasn’t sure yet what she could do to make moving to Young Women easier. But she also knew Heavenly Father would help her.
On Sunday, Lillian was still a little nervous. But she remembered the peace she felt after Dad’s blessing. She knew she would be OK.
In sacrament meeting, the bishop announced that Sister Barns would be the new Young Women president. Sister Barns stood up when her name was called. Lillian didn’t really know her, but she looked friendly.
Mum had said that when she was Lillian’s age, her Young Women leader became one of her best friends. Maybe Lillian and Sister Barns could be friends! That was an answer to her prayer.
After sacrament meeting, Lillian went to her new classroom. An older girl was standing in the hall.
“Hi,” Lillian said. “Are you visiting our ward?”
The girl shook her head. “No. Our family just moved here.”
Lillian smiled. “Welcome to our ward. This is my first day in Young Women.” She and the girl sat down in the classroom. “By the way, my name is Lillian.”
“No way!” the new girl said. “My name is Lillian too!”
Lillian laughed. Heavenly Father had answered her prayer again! Maybe being in Young Women wouldn’t be so lonely after all.
This story took place in Australia.
Illustrations by Sue Teodoro