Gospel Story Finder

It had been several years since my husband, Jerold, passed away. The cancer had come quickly and aggressively, and in three months he was gone. Now I was thinking of him as I worked in my yard.
As I was repotting a plant, I had a thought. Before I intervened, the plant was doing OK. It was at home in the pot it was already in, but it was not flourishing. I knew if I didn’t repot it at some point, it most likely would stop flowering and maybe even stop growing. It certainly wouldn’t be able to do its best.
So, I decided to give the plant room to grow by transplanting it to a larger pot. Not a great big pot—one that was just two inches larger in diameter. If I gave it too much space, it could end up overwatered and die from root rot.
I expected the plant to struggle as it tried to adapt. It had been quite comfortable, all snug in the pot that it had become accustomed to. It wasn’t aware that change would help it to keep growing. I needed to nurture it along, giving it proper light, water, and the extra nutrients required during this time of adaptation. I knew it would, eventually, flourish and flower again.
As I thought about my life as a widow, I realized that I was like that plant. I had been comfortable. I had been doing fine. But when my husband passed away, I heard the Spirit whisper that I was entering a new phase of growth. I still had things I needed to learn and do in this life.
Over the next two years, seven other men in our ward also passed away. I started asking my newly widowed friends to get together, to talk, to visit, to serve others—so that each of us could feel just a little less lonely. None of us would have chosen to be “repotted.” But as I adapted to mortal life without my husband, I found that I could provide support to others who faced a similar challenge. I also found there were many opportunities to spend time with children and grandchildren and reassure them that through the Atonement of Jesus Christ, in the next life our family can be together again.
I never would have anticipated the growth that would come to me because of the loss of my spouse. But Heavenly Father stepped in and “repotted” me, giving me room to grow by placing me in a little bit larger pot—a new challenge that provided an opportunity for growth.
I still miss Jerold every day. Years later, I still struggle as I am trying to adapt to the change of being without him. But I know the Lord will nurture me along the way. With time, and with trust in Him, I will flourish and flower once again.

When the patriarch asked my son Blaine, his father, and me to come fasting to his home to receive a patriarchal blessing, he told Blaine that this preparation would help him to be able to give Blaine the blessing the Lord would have him receive.
We arrived at the patriarch’s home and the blessing began. It was a remarkable experience.
I felt I knew what the patriarch would say before he said it. The Lord seemed to be giving me some special insight about things I would need to know.
As Blaine grew a little older, it came time for him to go on a mission. He was interested in athletics, school, and many other things, and the thoughts of going on a mission did not fit into his plans.
One day, he said to his father: “Dad, do I have to go on a mission?”
His father replied, slowing his words thoughtfully: “No … Blaine … You don’t have to go on a mission. My sons are to make that decision and go because they want to go.”
He then came to me and told me that his father said he didn’t have to go on a mission, so he wasn’t going to go.
“But Blaine,” I said, “What about your patriarchal blessing? The blessing says you will have to bring the gospel to many.”
He didn’t reply but he was thoughtful. Later, he happened to meet a friend, crippled from poliomyelitis, who had just returned from his mission, excited and happy.
“Hey, David,” he said, “Why did you go on a mission?”
“Oh, Blaine, I went for the same reason every boy should go, to show the Lord how much I love him.”
The comment struck fertile ground. The words of his patriarchal blessing came back to him and Blaine committed himself to serve the Lord in the mission field.
My remarkable foreknowledge of Blaine’s blessing was a great aid to me in helping him make his decision to serve a mission. I think every mother in Zion is entitled to this kind of spiritual help in preparing her sons and daughters for the privilege and the responsibility of missionary service.

The story is told of Ali Hafed, a wealthy ancient Persian who owned much land and many productive fields, orchards, and gardens and had money out at interest. He had a lovely family and at first was contented because he was wealthy, and wealthy because he was contented.

An old priest came to Ali Hafed and told him that if he had a diamond the size of his thumb, he could purchase a dozen farms like his. Ali Hafed said, “Will you tell me where I can find diamonds?”

The priest told him, “If you will find a river that runs over white sands, between high mountains, in those white sands you will always find diamonds.”

“Well,” said Ali Hafed, “I will go.”

So he sold his farm, collected his money that was at interest, and left his family in charge of a neighbor, and away he went in search of diamonds, traveling through many lands in Asia and Europe. After years of searching his money was all spent, and he passed away in rags and wretchedness.

Meanwhile, the man who purchased Ali Hafed’s farm one day led his camel out into the garden to drink, and as the animal put his nose into the shallow waters, the farmer noticed a curious flash of light in the white sands of the stream. Reaching in, he pulled out a black stone containing a strange eye of light. Not long after, the same old priest came to visit Ali Hafed’s successor and found that in the black stone was a diamond. As they rushed out into the garden and stirred up the white sands with their fingers, they came up with many more beautiful, valuable gems. According to the story, this marked the discovery of the diamond mines of Golconda, the most valuable diamond mines in the history of the ancient world.

Had Ali Hafed remained at home and dug in his own cellar, or anywhere in his own fields, rather than traveling in strange lands where he eventually faced starvation and ruin, he would have had “acres of diamonds.” (Story paraphrased from Russell H. Conwell, Acres of Diamonds [Westwood, New Jersey: Fleming H. Revell Company, 1960], 10–14.)

When I moved to London, England, in my early twenties, I began working at an international bank. Everyone lived off tea and coffee to get them through the workday on our fast-moving trade floor. On my second day of work, my manager made me a cup of tea. I thanked her but explained that I don’t drink tea—she quickly offered me coffee instead.
I knew she was just being kind, but I was determined to keep my standards. Although I felt a little awkward, I explained in greater detail why I don’t drink tea or coffee, and I was able to share some of my beliefs with her, including the Word of Wisdom.
That was a great experience, but similar situations didn’t always go as well.
As time went on, being surrounded by the normalcy of others drinking alcohol made it difficult for me to keep my standards. Going to pubs with clients and coworkers was a regular circumstance I would find myself in. I grew tired of having to explain myself when I turned down a drink, and sometimes I just wanted to fit in.
But beyond wanting to fit in, I wanted to be an example of a disciple of Jesus Christ, so I learned a few ways to help me resist temptation:
I prayed for strength each morning to make good decisions.
I often listened to conference talks or hymns on my way to work.
I kept my favorite scripture taped to my bathroom mirror to read each day: “Yea, I know that I am nothing; as to my strength I am weak; therefore I will not boast of myself, but I will boast of my God, for in his strength I can do all things” (Alma 26:12).
I enlisted the help of my closest coworkers, asking them to support me when others would offer me “just one drink.” They could tell when I was feeling uncomfortable and would kindly jump in and order me a “sparkling water on the rocks” to help me avoid feeling awkward during these gatherings.
I worked with many other religious individuals who had similar morals. There were a few practicing Muslims whom I bonded with, and we often sat together during work functions so we could have strength in numbers. Surrounding myself with like-minded people who respected my standards helped me immensely (see Ecclesiastes 4:9–10).
I strove to focus on my baptismal covenant to “always remember Him” (see Doctrine and Covenants 20:77, 79), which helped me feel the Spirit more abundantly. I had promised to follow God and be a disciple of Christ, and seeking to always remember the Savior helped me keep an eternal and infinite perspective in the most finite moments of temptation.
But what has helped me most in resisting temptation is knowing that the Lord has a higher purpose for keeping all of His commandments, including the Word of Wisdom. And I know that remaining true to the commandments has always blessed my life in so many ways. (See Doctrine and Covenants 82:10.)
I’ve realized that the Word of Wisdom is more than just going without alcohol and other strong substances. Heavenly Father gave us this commandment to help us maintain good health and practice self-mastery, to protect us from potentially crippling addictions and other consequences, and to allow us to find greater wisdom and knowledge (see Doctrine and Covenants 89).
I’ve seen that when we demonstrate obedience to the simple things the Lord asks of us, our capacity and desire to keep all of His commandments grows, and we can learn to overcome even greater temptations and challenges (see 2 Nephi 28:30).
I know that Heavenly Father loves me and that through His strength and the Savior’s, I can overcome peer pressure and temptation. I always remember Alma 7:11–12, which explains how the Savior understands all we face—pains, afflictions, and even temptations. He knows how “to succor his people according to their infirmities.”
As I have relied on Jesus Christ to help me in my weaknesses, I have felt His strength enter my life, and I more fully see that He truly does understand us. And when we are faced with temptation, He is ready to help us see the bigger picture and choose well. All we need to do is turn to Him.

I became aware that I was attracted to men as a teenager. I didn’t know what to do with my feelings or how to talk about them, so I just buried them for a long time.
I was too afraid to acknowledge that this was a part of my life. I felt that if I just continued to keep the commandments, pray, read my scriptures, and go to the temple and if I served a mission, God would somehow miraculously take these feelings away from me.
While all those practices did help establish my testimony of the restored gospel and of God and Jesus Christ, my attractions didn’t change. Eventually, through a lot of deep soul-searching, praying, and skilled therapy, I became closer to Them, learned to truly understand and feel Their love and mercy, and learned to work through my attractions while keeping my covenants.

I was organizing a stake in Samoa. There appeared before us in the interviews these wonderful Samoan brethren. One of them, a branch president, stood there—white shirt and tie, lava-lava tied around his waist, barefooted. I told him we were organizing a stake and seeking a stake president and asking his suggestions on men. He said, “Yes, I know. I’ve prayed about this.” And he said, “I’ve come to know, by the voice of the Spirit, that Bishop Iona will be our new stake president.”

He was right. But I wasn’t anxious to have him make the announcement and so pressed him for another name.

He said, “No, just one name.”

And I said, “Suppose he were not available, or not eligible. Won’t you suggest another name?” He stood there for a few minutes, and then, looking at me, he said, “Elder Packer, are you asking me to go against the witness of the Spirit?” This wonderful man was possessed of that Spirit, as all of us can be, each of us answering the calls that come.

Even though Mom is a stay-at-home mom, it seemed like all of her time and energy was swallowed up by other things—church, Dad, and my two brothers, who always had games to attend and who needed extra help with their homework. It seemed like Mom never had time for me.
Usually that was OK, but then a big thing happened. We moved from a small southern town to this huge northern city. The weather is cold here, and my classmates seemed cold, too. I had a hard time making new friends. Everyone else already knew each other and invited each other over to their homes after school. No one invited me. They dressed differently than I did, too. I had the clothes I’d worn in the south; they dressed in blue jeans and sweaters. Whenever I said, “Yes, ma’am,” to the teacher, like everyone did in the south, the other students snickered. They usually just said, “Yeah” or “OK,” when the teacher talked to them.
No one invited me to play after school, or to eat lunch with them, or to be on their team at recess. I felt left out and lonesome.
One day I decided to do something about it. I thought I might make some friends by having a party. A party would be much more exciting than just inviting one person over after school. I tried to explain all this to Mom. I asked her first if I couldn’t please have a party. Then I begged. I even cried, though not on purpose.
“I can’t do it right now, Ann Kathryn,” Mom said. “Because of the move, I have too many other things that need to be taken care of first. Give it time. I’m sure you’ll make some new friends real soon.” Mom didn’t understand how important this was to me.
I gave it time and tried to be friendly at school, but nothing changed. One day seven girls from my class were sitting at my lunch table. Almost before I knew what was happening, I found myself saying, “I’m having a party Saturday afternoon … at … at two, and you’re all invited.”
I scared myself so much that I thought I’d fall through the floor. I didn’t have my mother’s permission, and yet I’d invited seven girls to my house for a Saturday afternoon party. How dare I? What was Mom going to say?
The girls looked at me like they saw me for the first time. “Is it a birthday party?” one of them asked.
“No,” I answered, “so you don’t need to bring presents or anything. It’s just a party.” I crossed my fingers and hoped it would all work out somehow.
The girls all got permission from their parents and told me the next day that they’d be coming.
Saturday came, and I still hadn’t told Mom. I spent the morning as usual, helping her clean the house. My job was dusting, and I dusted like my life depended on it.
Lunchtime came and went. How could I tell my mother? What would she say? I wasn’t excited anymore, only scared. I prayed in my heart that the girls would all call and say that they couldn’t come, but there were no phone calls. Next I prayed that they would come, but dressed in their regular clothes, like they just happened to drop by. I knew I was dreaming.
The hall clock ticked louder than it ever had, almost as loud as my heart. I almost passed out when the doorbell rang. I ran to open the door before Mom got there, but she was right behind me. Four of the girls, more dressed up than they would be for school, stood smiling at the door. “Hi,” they said. “Are we too early for the party?”
Mom, in her house-cleaning slacks, looked at them, then looked at me, and faded quietly into the kitchen.
The door bell rang again. The three other girls stood there smiling. This time my mother did not appear at the door. I could hear her bustling around in the kitchen. I guessed that she had decided to let me handle this mess on my own.
It was a strange party, but I did my best. We watched a new video my family had bought. Then we played games. I even gave away my new charcoal pencils to the winners. I began to have fun, and the girls laughed a lot and seemed to be having a great time, too.
After we’d played a few games, Mom called from the dining room, “Girls, it’s time for refreshments.”
Astonished, I led my new friends to the table. Our best dishes were out, and there were flowered napkins, a plate of Mom’s yummy cookies, and ice cream with chocolate sauce and nuts! Mom had changed into her best skirt and sweater. She was smiling! I couldn’t believe she was going to help me through this!
“It’s good to have you girls come over,” Mom said. “Ann Kathryn’s birthday is during the summer when we’re on vacation, so she doesn’t always get to have a party with her friends.” She smiled at me.
Everyone enjoyed the refreshments. The girls left soon after that, and I was alone with Mom. She didn’t say a single word. Not one. She just began clearing the table. I rushed to help.
My father and brothers came home from a ball game, saw the party stuff, and asked, “What’s going on?”
“Oh,” Mom answered, real calm, “Ann Kathryn and I had a little surprise party.”
That’s all she said. She knew that I knew that I’d done an awful thing. I didn’t need a scolding. I felt terrible inside, even though the party had been wonderful.
That night Mom came to my bedroom to say good night, as she often did. She sat on the bed and gently brushed the hair from my eyes. She looked at me real deep and said, “I’m sorry, Annie Kate. I didn’t know how much you needed a party.”
“Oh, Mom, I’m so sorry I didn’t get permission first. The invitation just kind of slipped out, and then I didn’t know what to do. You were so great! Will you ever forgive me?”
She kissed me on the forehead, “Of course, I do, darling. And do you forgive me for not understanding?” I nodded. “I think we both need to spend more time talking to each other,” she added. I smiled and she kissed me on the forehead, then left. I had done a dreadful thing to my mother, but she had understood and had forgiven me. Everything felt right again.
I sometimes just say the words when I pray, but that night I knelt and prayed with all my heart. I asked Heavenly Father to forgive me for not being honest with my mother, and I thanked Him that she was so understanding and forgiving. I went to bed that night knowing that all was forgiven, and that was the best feeling I’d had all day.

That night Sabrina found a pass-along card with a picture of Jesus on the front. She tucked it in her backpack.
The next day when it was time for recess, Sabrina remembered the card. She pulled it out and went to find her friend Carla. “Here, Carla, this is for you,” Sabrina said.
Carla held the card close. “Thank you! I love pictures of Jesus.”
Sabrina showed Carla the website on the back. “You can learn more about Jesus’s Church here.”
“What church is that?” Carla asked.
“The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints,” Sabrina said. “Going to church and learning about Jesus makes me happy.”
Carla put the card in her pocket. “I’ll show this card to my mom.”
A few weeks later, Carla ran up to Sabrina before class. “I have something to tell you!” she said. She had a big smile on her face.
Sabrina was excited. What could it be? Carla smiled. “My family went to your church! And it was like you said—I felt happy there.”
“I knew you would feel the Holy Ghost!” Sabrina said.
“And I think we’re going to get baptized soon!”
Sabrina jumped up and hugged Carla. Now they could share their testimony treasures together!

[One young man] and another Aaronic Priesthood holder were assigned to administer the sacrament to a man who was homebound and very sick. They arrived at his home not realizing that recent medical treatments prevented him from eating any food—even a piece of the sacrament bread. After blessing the bread, the young man presented the sacrament to the frail man. He took a piece of the blessed bread, waited a moment, and then held it against his lips. The young man said when he saw this faithful brother express his reverence for the sacrament, he felt as though he were watching him kiss the feet of the Savior. He could tell that he loved Him.
The significance of the sacrament was impressed upon that young man in an unforgettable way that day. You will have sacred experiences, just as this young man did.

When I asked about the bright blue table in the middle of Adriana’s kitchen, I learned that there was a time she had no table at all. Struggling to make ends meet, she took one of the Church’s self-reliance courses and decided that she could bake and sell bread—if only she had a table. She prayed for help and built a table from scrap wood.
One of the things I needed most in that moment was a table. The table I had, had fallen apart. Someone had given me some pieces of wood because they knew I didn’t have money, but I had some little chickens and could possibly use the wood to build a chicken coop. I prayed to know what to do. I felt I should call a carpenter friend to see what we could do with it. He said, “Let’s build you a table.” That’s what I needed.
Everything I have asked from my heart, He has heard me. He has heard me because He knew it was good for me. Now we have two tables. This table is central to our family. We sit here to share. We work here. We teach what we have learned to others here. Through self-reliance, I learned to value myself. I discovered talents that God has given to me to help me and my family. I try to pass on what I have learned to my sisters in Relief Society, to help them to value themselves as daughters of God. I am grateful I am able to bless those around me.
You feel good when you realize all that God has given you and you can turn around and use it to help others. We need to develop every talent we have so that we can share with others.
The day begins early for Adriana as she prepares dough for the bread she will bake and sell. All day long the kitchen table serves as a gathering place for the González family.
Feeding the chickens is part of running Adriana’s small business. Their eggs provide an essential ingredient in her bread.
The loaves Adriana sells help her family become more self-reliant by increasing the family income. She sets a few loaves aside to share with her family.
Adriana delivers fresh bread to her neighbors.

It is not easy to give up our personal priorities and desires. Many years ago a new missionary in England was frustrated and discouraged. He wrote home saying he felt he was wasting his time. His wise father replied, “Forget yourself and go to work.”1 Young Elder Gordon B. Hinckley went to his knees and covenanted with the Lord that he would try to forget himself and lose himself in the Lord’s service.2 Years later, as a mature servant of the Lord, Elder Hinckley would say, “He who lives only unto himself withers and dies, while he who forgets himself in the service of others grows and blossoms in this life and in eternity.”3

George Gilman, 16, Joe Vance, 16, and Kirk Moses, 16, all attend the Vancouver Eighth Ward, Vancouver Washington West Stake. They each served alongside the full-time missionaries for one week.

“We were out tracting and had been turned down five times in a row,” Kirk said. “Then a woman answered the door and invited us in. She said she’d been looking at a lot of different churches and she listened to everything we said. Then she asked if we could come back again the next day. The full-time missionaries have been teaching her ever since!”

Eli tried to be a good friend. But Will wouldn’t play with him.
“If you play with Eli, you can’t play with me,” Will told Jake and Danny.
Eli asked Will nicely, but Will said, “No. Go away.”
Eli tried to join in when the other boys played chase. But no one would chase Eli.
One day Eli brought some toys to school. A new girl named Emma watched him playing.
“Do you want to play with me?” Eli asked.
“Yes,” Emma said. “That looks like fun.”
Jake and Danny asked, “Can we play too?”
“Yes,” Eli said.
Will looked lonely.
“Come on, Will,” Eli said. “You can play too.”

Brother Christensen: I have seen the growth of individuals, wards, stakes, and missionaries as students have followed the seminary and institute program. When President Augusto Lim of the Manila Philippines Stake was sustained as stake president, he said he was fearful for the continued existence of his stake, because of the lack of experienced leadership. In talking to him later, he said, “Now I find we have so many who have been through the seminary and institute program who know and can teach the gospel. The seminary and institute program has built leadership in our area.”

One night early in Paxton’s life, we were in the neonatal intensive care unit of the wonderful Primary Children’s Medical Center in Salt Lake City, Utah, marveling at the dedicated, undivided attention given by the doctors, nurses, and caregivers. I asked my daughter how we would ever pay for this and ventured a guess at what the cost would be. A doctor standing nearby suggested that I was “way low” and that little Paxton’s care would cost substantially more than I had estimated. We learned that much of the expense for care given in this hospital is covered by the generous gifts of time and monetary contributions of others. His words humbled me as I thought of the worth of this tiny little soul to those who were so carefully watching over him.
I was reminded of a familiar missionary scripture that took on new meaning: “Remember the worth of souls is great in the sight of God.”
I wept as I pondered the limitless love our Heavenly Father and His Beloved Son, Jesus Christ, have for each one of us, while learning in a powerful way what the worth of a soul is, both physically and spiritually, to God.

But if Alissa Barton, 16, of Elmo, had been told the service project would go on longer than one morning before she arrived at the park, it probably would have made her head hurt. She didn’t even want to come for the one morning, but her mother insisted. “Now I’m glad I came,” she said. “Now I understand better why service brings you closer to your Heavenly Father. Service helps me take on a more Christlike attitude, and it feels good.”

The time had come. I was finally in college! I thought I’d be able to handle anything that life had to offer.
I had just moved into my college dorm, and the excitement of the first few days had died down. I sat on my bed, contemplating my future. I wasn’t excited or happy, like I thought I should be. I was scared and homesick, even though my family wasn’t very far away.
Just then my roommate, Liz, called over to me.
“Tam,” she said, “can we talk?”
“Sure,” I replied.
“Have you ever felt like no one is there for you? Like you know God is there and everything, but you don’t feel him comforting you?”
I couldn’t believe it. Liz was feeling the exact same way I was. We discussed it for a few minutes and then decided to look in our scriptures for some comforting passages. Liz read from the Doctrine and Covenants:
“But behold, verily, verily, I say unto you that mine eyes are upon you. I am in your midst and ye cannot see me; But the day soon cometh that ye shall see me, and know that I am; for the veil of darkness shall soon be rent” (D&C 38:7–8).
Never before had I felt the Spirit so strongly. I knew at that moment that I was not alone. I knew that the Lord was aware of me, and that he was there for me. I knew that, although I was still unsure of my future, I wouldn’t have to face it alone.

Long, long ago in the land of Israel, there lived two brothers who loved each other very much. They were poor wheat farmers, and they shared but one field, which yielded very little harvest during the year. The younger brother lived on one side of the field in a two-room house with his wife and children, and the older brother lived alone in a one-room house on the opposite side of the field.
One night during harvest-time, the older brother awoke suddenly. He sat up in his bed, thinking, It’s not fair that I should receive an equal share of the wheat with my brother. He should have a greater share because he has a wife and children to feed besides himself. It must be very difficult for him, yet he never complains.
So the older brother got up from his bed, dressed, and went out to where he kept his wheat. It took him several trips across the dark field to carry a goodly portion of his wheat to his brother’s wheat pile. When he returned home, he slept peacefully the rest of the night.
Later that same night the younger brother awoke suddenly. He sat up in his bed, thinking, It’s not fair that I should receive an equal share of the wheat with mybrother. I have a wife and children. When I grow old, I will have someone to care for me, to provide food for me. My brother has no children. When he grows old, he will be alone. He should have the greater share of the wheat so that he can sell some of it to provide for his old age.
So the younger brother got up from his bed, dressed, and went out to where he kept his wheat. It took him several trips across the dark field to carry a goodly portion of his wheat to his brother’s wheat pile. When he returned home, he slept peacefully the rest of the night.
The next day each brother looked in amazement at his own pile of wheat, only to discover that it had not diminished!
The brothers again worked in the field, divided the wheat, and added wheat to each other’s pile during the night. And so it continued for many nights during the harvest.
One night as the older brother was carrying his wheat across the field, he saw his younger brother carrying his wheat across the field. They stopped and looked at each other and at what the other one was carrying. Then they understood why the wheat piles never grew smaller. They both realized how much they loved and cared for each other.
The brothers dropped their bundles of wheat to the ground, ran to each other, and embraced.
God saw the love that these brothers had for each other. He blessed their field, and the field became more and more fertile. The brothers grew much wheat together, enough for both to live on when they grew older.

Don was born with a withered and almost useless right arm. It would have been easy for him to feel sorry for himself and shy away from physical activities requiring the use of two arms. But he has never let it be a problem. If you were to say something to him about his handicap, he would probably answer in all sincerity, “What handicap?” Don plays golf, baseball, and basketball, and is able to compete very well. The withered arm is usually a problem for him only upon first acquaintance. Once you know him you forget all about it. He is a student officer in his high school and has many friends. Don’s parents have never dwelt upon his “handicap.” They expect him to perform well in the things he does, and his ability to meet their expectations gives him a feeling of capability and self-esteem.

My theory comes from thinking about many gifts and many holidays, but one day and one gift can illustrate it. The day was not Christmas nor even close to it. It was a summer day. My mother had died in the early afternoon. My father, my brother, and I had been at the hospital. As we walked out, my brother and I went to the car together, smiled, and looked up at the mountains. We remembered how Mother had always said she loved the mountains so much. He and I laughed and guessed that if the celestial worlds are really flat, like a sea of glass, she would be eager to get away to build her own worlds, and the first thing she’d build would be mountains. With that we smiled and got into the car and drove home. We went to the family home, and Dad met us there. There were just the three of us.

Friends and family came and went. In a lull, we fixed ourselves a snack. Then we visited with more callers. It grew late and dusk fell; I remember we still had not turned on the lights.

Then Dad answered the doorbell again. It was Aunt Catherine and Uncle Bill. When they’d walked just a few feet past the vestibule, Uncle Bill extended his hand, and I could see that he was holding a bottle of cherries. I can still see the deep red, almost purple, cherries and the shining gold cap on the mason jar. He said, “You might enjoy these. You probably haven’t had dessert.”

We hadn’t. The three of us sat around the kitchen table and put some cherries in bowls and ate them as Uncle Bill and Aunt Catherine cleared some dishes. Uncle Bill then asked, “Are there people you haven’t had time to call? Just give me some names, and I’ll do it.” We mentioned a few relatives who would want to know of Mother’s death. And then Aunt Catherine and Uncle Bill were gone. They could not have been with us more than twenty minutes.

Now, you can understand my theory best if you focus on one gift: the bottle of cherries. And let me explain this theory from the point of view of one person who received the gift: me. As we’ll see, that is crucial. What matters in what the giver does is what the receiver feels. You may not believe that yet, but trust me for the moment. So let’s start from inside me and with the gift of the bottle of cherries.

As near as I can tell, the giving and receiving of a great gift always has three parts. Here they are, illustrated by that gift on a summer evening.

First, I knew that Uncle Bill and Aunt Catherine had felt what I was feeling and had been touched. I’m not over the thrill of that yet. They must have felt we’d be too tired to fix much food. They must have felt that a bowl of home-canned cherries would make us, for a moment, feel like a family again. And not only did they feel what I felt, they were touched by it. Just knowing that someone had understood meant far more to me than the cherries themselves. I can’t remember the taste of the cherries, but I remember that someone knew my heart and cared.

Second, I felt the gift was free. I knew Uncle Bill and Aunt Catherine had chosen freely to bring a gift. I knew they weren’t doing so to compel a response from us. The gift seemed, at least to me, to provide them with joy just by their giving it.

And third, there was sacrifice. Now you might say, “Wait. How could they give for the joy of it and yet make a sacrifice?” Well, I could see the sacrifice because the cherries were home bottled. That meant Aunt Catherine had prepared them for her family. They must have liked cherries. But she took that possible pleasure from them and gave it to us. That’s sacrifice. However, I have realized since then this marvelous fact: It must have seemed to Uncle Bill and Aunt Catherine that they would have more pleasure if we had the cherries than if they did. There was sacrifice, but they made it for a greater return: our happiness. Most people feel deprived as they sacrifice to give another person a gift, and then they let that person know it. But only expert givers let the receiver sense that their sacrifice brings them joy.