Gospel Story Finder

Many things have been said about missionaries and missionary work. That has been the first love of my life, and I have been reminded of several things that happened sixty-eight years ago when I went to England. One I should like to relate.
I had gone to a certain house several times and had been rejected and warned not to come back again, but I was prompted to go again and again. And then as I was attempting to walk past that house, I was prompted to go in and try again to make contact. I used the big brass knocker on the English door without any response. I could see a lady in the front room knitting, and I made considerable noise with that knocker. She did not come out, and I went around to the back door. There was no knocker on that door so I used my walking stick, and I knocked with considerable vigor; in fact, it echoed through all the house.
Very soon the lady came out, and her coming out reminded me of my early days on the farm when I teased a setting hen off the nest. (I see some of you have had farm experience.) You know that a setting hen when she is teased off the nest comes off with her feathers going in the wrong direction, with her beak in perpetual motion, and this woman reminded me of that.
I apologized and said, “I am sorry to have interrupted you and have insisted upon an interview, but, my dear sister, I have come over six thousand miles to bring you a message which the Lord wants you to have. He sent me here to give you that message. I am going back to Canada in a few days, and I must tell you what the Lord wants you to know.”
She said, “You mean the Lord sent a message to me!”
I said, “That is right; he did.”
I told her of the restoration of the gospel, the organization of the Church, and the message of the restoration. She was quite impressed by what I told her. And I said when I left, “I am sorry to have disturbed you, but I could not refuse to carry out the message and the mission that was given to me when I came here. When we meet again, and we will meet again, you are going to say, ‘Thank you for coming to my back door. Thank you for loving me enough to carry the message of the Lord to me. When you left I could hardly contain myself. I was worried, disturbed, and wondered what it was all about. I finally went to the mission home, got some literature, studied, and became a member of the Church with my family.’”
Ten years later I was in England again, this time as a soldier, and at the end of the meeting a lady came up with two grown daughters. She said, “I do thank God and thank you that you came to my door with that message many years ago. I and my daughters joined the Church and we are going to Utah in a short time, and we thank God that you had the courage, the fortitude, and the faith to come to me with that divine message and to leave it with me in the name of the Lord.”

Silverio was standing in the toy aisle when his Mom called him. “Sí, mamá?” He walked over to her.
“Could you please take this eye shadow to the cashier and ask how much it costs? And ask if it comes in green, please,” she said in Spanish.
“Oh, sure.” Silverio picked up the eye shadow, looked at it for a second, and then hid it in his hand. He didn’t want to be seen carrying makeup around the store.
Even though his family had been in the United States for most of Silverio’s life, Mom still had a hard time with English. She tried to learn, but sometimes the words wouldn’t come out. Sometimes Silverio wished he didn’t have to help her.
When Silverio reached the cashier, he held out the eye shadow. “Excuse me, ma’am, how much is this?” he mumbled.
The cashier stared down at him. “You want to buy eye shadow?”
Silverio pointed to his mom standing a few feet away and said quickly, “It’s for my mom.”
The cashier scanned the price. “Six dollars,” she said.
“Thanks. And … does it come in green?” Silverio felt his face turn red.
While the cashier typed into her computer, Silverio looked to check if anyone was watching him. The coast was clear. “Nope, only blue and purple.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
Silverio hurried back to Mom and dropped the eye shadow in the cart without looking at her. “Séis dólares, y no la tienen en verde.”
“Gracias, Silverio. Is everything OK?”
He shrugged. “Yeah. No pasa nada. I’m fine.”
When they got home, Silverio went right to his room and sat on his bed. Interpreting for Mom was so embarrassing! Maybe he should tell Mom he wouldn’t do it anymore. He slumped down on his bed and sighed. No, he couldn’t do that to her. She worked so hard, and he didn’t want to let her down.
“Silverio, ven aquí por favor,” Mom called.
“Coming,” he called back.
Mom was at the table looking at old pictures of her family. “I just wanted to tell you thank you,” she said in Spanish. “I’m really grateful you interpret for me. I know it’s not easy, and might be embarrassing, but it means a lot to me.”
Silverio stared at the pattern on the rug. “Well … you do a lot for me, and I’m grateful too. You’re my mom, and I love you.” He gave a small smile.
Mom smiled back. “I love you too,” she said. “Let me share with you a scripture I like to read when I’m worried about what other people are thinking of me.”
She pulled their Santa Biblia from the shelf, turned to Colossians 3:23–24, and read from it. “And whatsoever ye do, do it heartily, as to the Lord, and not unto men; knowing that of the Lord ye shall receive the reward of the inheritance: for ye serve the Lord Christ.”
Silverio looked at the Bible and reread the words. “So whenever I help people, I’m serving Christ?”
Mom smiled. “Exacto!”

Raking leaves wasn’t as easy as Shannon had thought it would be. And it wasn’t as much fun as it looked. The rake was taller than she was and was hard to hold.
“Do you want me to help you?” her mother asked.
“No, thank you,” said Shannon. “I want to do it by myself to surprise Dad.”
The autumn air was crisp like the crunchy leaves crackling under her feet. But the sun shone brightly, and, feeling hot from the exercise, she took off her sweater.
“Would you like a glass of lemonade?” Mom asked.
This time Shannon said yes.
“Dad will be pleased with your surprise.”
“I know.” Shannon finished her drink and hurried back outside. She wanted to be done before Dad got home.
She raked and raked and raked. Finally there was only a giant pile of colored leaves in the middle of the yard. She could hardly wait to show her surprise to Dad.
Mom called to her from the kitchen window. “Guess whom I hear pulling up.”
Shannon ran around the house and down the sidewalk to greet her father. A sudden gust of wind almost swept her off her feet, but Dad caught her and gave her a bear squeeze. “I’d better hang on to you,” he said, laughing. “I don’t want my favorite daughter to blow away.”
“Come to the backyard, Dad,” she said, pulling him along. “I have a surprise for you.”
Just before they got there, Shannon said, “Now close your eyes and don’t open them until I say so.” She led him the rest of the way, going slowly so that he wouldn’t trip. “My pile of leaves!” she wailed. “It’s gone everywhere!”
Dad opened his eyes. “Don’t feel bad, honey,” he said after she’d choked out what had happened. “It was a wonderful surprise.”
“How could it be wonderful when it’s not even there anymore?”
“Well, a pile of leaves isn’t really the surprise—it’s knowing that a special little girl worked very hard to do something nice for her dad. The wind can’t blow that away, no matter how hard it tries.”
Shannon brightened up. “Really?”
“Really,” Dad said and kissed her forehead. “I bet the two of us could rake up these leaves again in no time if we did it together.”
Shannon smiled. “I’ll get the rake.”

Sister Workman and I were in the country of Ivory Coast on Church assignment when a rebellion broke out in the country. The rebels overran a significant part of the country to the North including the city of Bouake, where we had several branches of the Church and 10 young missionaries. We and the mission president were alarmed because these missionaries were at risk to be involuntarily impressed into the rebel army, if not shot as a combatant. After some anxious days, we learned that the French government was sending in an armed convoy to evacuate the numerous French citizens who lived in Bouake. We arranged with the French consulate to evacuate the missionaries at the same time. They were great about it and agreed to help us.
The missionaries were contacted through a local branch president and told to dress in their missionary attire and meet at the extraction point at the appointed time. The missionaries showed up and were recognized by the French soldiers-all except two of them. Two of these missionaries decided that they did not want to dress in missionary clothes. They wore their "mufti" or preparation day clothes. Maybe they were just stubborn, or maybe they thought they knew more than the mission president or maybe they just acted stupidly, but they knew the rules and they intentionally refused to follow them. "God will justify in committing a little sin," right? The French officer in charge saw them line up and demanded they leave or be shot, accusing them of being rebels and trying to infiltrate the South. He said he knew LDS missionaries by their dress and appearance and he could see these two young men were not missionaries.
Of course the two missionaries dashed to their apartment; changed as they should have in the first place and returned only to discover the French convoy had left. For many weeks they hid in their apartment, never coming out. Food was brought by faithful Church members to keep them alive. At long last, a faithful branch president came in the middle of the night, told them to grab only what they could carry in their backpacks and come with him. He walked them through the jungle for 72 hours without food or clean water until they could cross the battle lines into the South zone and safety.
Happily, the missionaries were safe from the rebels. But are they safe from evil? They had stepped onto that slippery path downward, risking both their physical and spiritual lives.

The traveler waved off most of the dinner trays during the long and tiring thirteen-hour flight from Miami, Florida, to Buenos Aires, Argentina, in October 1983. More interested in filling his mind than his stomach, he was reading a book his son had given to him on his birthday, In Search of Excellence.
Elder Charles Didier of the First Quorum of the Seventy was flying to South America as the Church’s Executive Administrator over Argentina, Uruguay, and Paraguay. Before his airplane arrived in Buenos Aires, he had read through much of the book, then taken time to rest and to consider the work awaiting him.
It was typical of the man. In every project he has undertaken for the Church since he was baptized at twenty-two in his native Belgium, Charles Didier has been thoroughly absorbed and enthusiastic—a man joyfully doing good things in life.
Born in Ixelles, Belgium, 5 October 1935, Charles Didier recalls that his father, Andre, a Belgian Army officer, was captured at the beginning of World War II. After escaping, he stayed hidden and saw his family only during occasional surprise visits. Elder Didier looks back on a time after his own ninth birthday:
“Because the secret police were looking for him [his father], we were searched—and barely escaped. We went to where he was hiding in Antwerp Province, and from there to live with my great-grandmother in Flanders.” Then Belgium was liberated. “I vividly remember the soldiers trying to get away on bicycles, the airplanes coming, the shooting, and the Allied troops coming into the village.”
Like those around him, young Charles was educated in Catholic doctrine as a boy. He attended mass regularly, the only one in his family to do so.
In 1950, while the family was living in Namur, Belgium, and Charles was finishing junior high school, two Latter-day Saint missionaries from the United States knocked on their door. His mother, Gabrielle, let them in and listened. During Easter vacation of the following year, she was baptized in a little font in Brussels, but Charles missed the baptism. He was in Rome to see the Pope on a trip organized by the Catholic church.
Although Charles resisted invitations to attend the local branch, he did attend an English club taught by the missionaries, leaving before the evening’s youth activities started because he “didn’t want to be trapped.” But he was asked to take part in a branch play, and then his mother persuaded him to attend church with her on a Sunday. Soon his sister, Jacqueline, was baptized. When Charles left home to go to the university in Liège, he says, “I attended youth activities from time to time. I did some little things all the time but did not want to participate. I was very shy. I really did not want to be in front of people.”
Then missionary Elder Dewitt Paul challenged him, asking why he would not be baptized, since he was “doing everything a member does,” Elder Didier recalls.
“I said I didn’t see the necessity. I had a good life. I could attend and not have responsibilities. He said, ‘Let’s pray about the Book of Mormon, about Joseph Smith. Then if you have a testimony, I think you’ll recognize that you need to be baptized.’
“And so we prayed about it. I got up from that prayer with a testimony—an answer to my prayers. It was nothing like a light, a voice—just a reassuring influence: ‘Go ahead and do it. There is wisdom. This is my commandment.’” In November 1957, Charles was baptized in a swimming pool in Brussels by Elder Paul.
Traveling between Liège and Namur, he continued his studies at the University of Liège, graduating in 1959 with a degree in economics. Then he entered the reserve officer training program of the Belgian Air Force, finishing his military service as a lieutenant and radar supervisor.
A short time later, stationed only a few kilometers from Liège, he had time to go out with a brown-eyed girl he had met in the Liège Branch, Lucie Lodomez. She had served as a missionary in France with his sister Jacqueline.
When his military service was completed, Lucie and Charles were married in Liège (they were sealed in the Swiss Temple in 1962) and moved into a tiny apartment there. Charles progressed through his job with a timber products importing company, and both he and Lucie grew through Church service. He received more and more responsibility in the Church, eventually becoming president of the 100-member branch in Liège.
But after five years of working in Liège, Charles was restless. He started investigating the possibilities of teaching or continuing his education. Then came “another answer to prayer.” He was asked to move to Frankfurt, Germany, to work as assistant to John E. Carr, director of temporal affairs for the Church in Europe.
The move lasted only nine months. He was asked to go back to Liège and take over the Church distribution center. Upon his return he was immediately called again as Liège Branch president.
Then in March 1970 came the surprise of Charles Didier’s life, through a telephone call from Salt Lake City:
“It was President N. Eldon Tanner on the telephone. ‘The Lord is calling you to be a mission president. Are you ready to leave in three months and go wherever the Lord will call you?’ I said, ‘Yes.’”
Those unexpected telephone calls continued to influence his life. Three years later, shortly before he was to be released as president of the France-Switzerland Mission, there was another telephone call, this time from President Marion G. Romney. Elder Didier was called as a regional representative and at the same time appointed area manager in translation and distribution of Church materials for all of Europe.
Then, in October 1975 while he was attending conference in Salt Lake City, Elder Didier received a telephone call that President Spencer W. Kimball wanted to see him. He was called to be a member of the First Quorum of the Seventy that was to be organized.
“There are some things you plan for the future, certain things you imagine will happen to you. But when that calling of General Authority comes, you close the door and say, ‘Now I am in the hands of the Lord 100 percent. I’ll do what he asks me to do.’”
Elder Didier became the Church’s Executive Administrator for Europe, presiding over fourteen missions, from Brussels. Later, he would be assigned to supervise the Church’s activities in Canada, then, in 1981, to supervise the missions and stakes in Argentina, Paraguay, and Uruguay. With the calling of thirteen new Area Presidencies in 1984, he assumed duties as president of the South America North Area which originally included Brazil, but is now comprised of Ecuador, Venezuela, Colombia, Peru, Bolivia, Surinam, Guyana, and French Guyana. Elder Didier resides in Quito, capital of Ecuador.
Though his duties as a General Authority take a lot of time and work, he still pursues a variety of interests—including gardening, fishing, watercolor painting, cooking, and reading—because he believes that you have to keep a good balance in life. His interest in linguistics is a valuable asset; in addition to his native French, he speaks English, German, Dutch, and Spanish.
A slim, agile man, Elder Didier keeps himself in good physical condition. He believes his efforts to stay in good health help him withstand the rigors of travel required of a General Authority. He and Elder Gene R. Cook of the First Quorum of the Seventy often play racketball. Observes Elder Cook:
“He’s really a good athlete. He swims a lot, can do thirty or forty laps easily. He exercises every day.”
Part of that exercise comes through physical labor. Reed Heywood, bishop of the Didiers’ home ward (Ensign Fourth, Salt Lake Ensign Stake) recalls that when Elder Didier and his sons built their home, they hauled in rocks and built a retaining wall, working to make the yard beautiful.
“I believe in the value of physical work. I need it,” Elder Didier comments. “I am secluded in an office or in meetings when I am in Salt Lake City or in South America—for eight to nine hours every day. I have a lot of energy, so I like to spend that energy in racketball, or swimming, or painting, or gardening in the summer. I believe what President Kimball said, that we need a vegetable garden. We planted twenty-three fruit trees. I love to be back close to nature and have my hands in the soil.”
His approach to trout fishing is indicative not only of a love of nature, but also of his approach to many activities in life. He goes fishing with those who know more than he, so he can improve. “I believe I have a lot to learn, that I can learn from any individual.”
One of those he learned much from was his mother. She was, he recalls, a “great cook.” His chocolate dessert is a family tradition.
In November of 1983 he flew to California to attend the Fair Oaks Stake conference. Arriving early at the stake president’s home, he was taken on a tour of the family’s vegetable garden.
“I saw that he had leeks, a very popular vegetable in Belgium. Not having grown them before, the president wasn’t sure how to prepare them. I said, ‘Let’s make soup.’ So that Saturday evening after our conference meetings, with the stake president in the kitchen, we prepared leek soup to serve twenty-two people the next day—the high council and other stake leaders. I think I’ll be remembered there as a soup maker rather than a General Authority!”
Another thing Elder Didier shares happily is himself, in service to others. Says his son Patrick: “He will dedicate his time to help someone in need as much as he can.”
Venice Rogers, a neighbor, adds, “He is very tender with children.”
Once while the Rogers were out of town on vacation, Charles and Lucie Didier wall-papered the room of teenager Elizabeth Rogers—as a surprise. Elizabeth was overwhelmed.
Elder Didier plays his own version of “elevator” with the children of another neighbor. When they push the top button on his suit coat, he lifts them up. When they push the bottom button, he puts them back down.
One of the ways Elder Didier serves is through doing “missionary work” for his ancestors. During the past few years, he has spent many hours in the genealogical library researching his parents’ and wife’s family lines, sometimes spending two to three hours at night. “I’m still working on this, but I have had some real success. We have all the information to finish our four-generation sheets. The next step is to present it to the temple.”
Despite his accomplishments, Elder Didier sees much in which he could improve.
Being a General Authority, he concedes, is “a daily examination for you and your family members.”
“You are an official representative of the Church. Usually members think you know everything, which is not the case. You always have to try to keep up with the sacred calling and live up to the expectations of the people, as well as the expectations of the Lord, which are much more important. That is quite a challenge.”
With that challenge in mind, what are his goals?
First, to be able to give his family the best of himself.
Second, “to represent the Lord the way he would like me to represent him, to establish his kingdom the way he would establish it.”

I peered diligently at the microfilm of church records and read name after name of my ancestors from northern Spain, written generations ago in elegant Spanish penmanship. These families had lived in peace in their little fishing village for centuries. They loved the Lord and one another. Their village was nestled on a little coastal inlet and surrounded by rolling hills of eucalyptus trees, a setting that provided a serene and quiet sanctuary for their families. Few were ever drawn away from its simple beauty and warmth of spirit. Most were related to one another by blood or marriage.
These records had special meaning to me—my grandfather Andres Sanchez had saved them from destruction during the Spanish Civil War in the 1930s. I grew up knowing his story, but my connection with it became evident only as I began my search for the records. Although I never knew my grandfather, I felt his spirit as I read these names and dates. Together we had become a team that made it possible to provide temple ordinances for more than 10,000 of our ancestors.
This day, however, like most days of the last few years, was also filled with pain and sorrow over my daughter and the direction her life was going. I cried out in the depths of despair to my Heavenly Father, pleading for His help in my daughter’s behalf against odds that seemed impossible. My heart was filled with emotion—though I was working faithfully to provide saving temple ordinances for my ancestors, I could do little to save my own child. Then I felt the strength of past generations joining with me in an effort to save my daughter, and I found a measure of peace at the microfilm reader as I lost myself in extracting the precious names and dates from church records.
Now I sat in a large dim room in the Family History Library in Salt Lake City, Utah, reading a copy of that microfilm. As I proceeded with the tedious task of searching through names so foreign to me, I was drawn to these people. A feeling of family unity grew in my mind and heart.
My husband and I drew inspiration, courage, and hope from the example of my grandfather, who willingly sacrificed for future generations. In turn, we felt the strength of past generations joining with us in our efforts to help our daughter.
It was in March 1999, the same week President Gordon B. Hinckley dedicated the Madrid Spain Temple, that I submitted my first 6,000 family names to the temple file in the Bountiful Utah Temple, as complete as possible and within their proper families. Now my next 4,000 names were ready. The names of an entire community of people were available at the temple for their temple ordinances to be performed. The work of salvation for a faithful little Spanish village had begun.
As temple ordinances were performed for my ancestors, it seemed to my husband and me that the heavens were weeping and praying with us in our daughter’s behalf. In time our daughter realized that she needed to change her life and rediscover the peace that had been missing for so long. She began the arduous process of repentance, and gradually we saw the light enter her countenance again. At long last, our heartfelt, pleading prayers were being answered. She enjoyed the healing intervention of a loving Heavenly Father, who is mindful of all of His children.
On a beautiful evening, I sat in the Bountiful temple, my eyes wet with tears of joy. Beside me was my daughter, there to receive her own endowment and to be sealed to a worthy young man.
But the story does not end there. As family and friends gathered to participate in this glorious event, the sister at the desk handed out the proxy names to those attending the session. By coincidence, the names she gave us were some of the same names I had submitted to the temple file. Indeed, it was a double celebration—we rejoiced as we served as proxies for our Spanish ancestors, and in turn they must have rejoiced with us as our daughter was sealed to her husband for time and all eternity in the house of the Lord. In that moment, we could feel the circle of eternal family uniting the past and the present. We were one.

And, we do not have to do this alone. He will help us all the way. He knows each of us. He loves us. I had a special witness of this just the other day. It was a moment of deep spirituality for me. I was vacuuming, mulling over in my mother's mind all of the challenges members of my family are facing right now. Okay, I was worrying a little as mothers will. And I happened to look up at a picture on the wall of my son. Whenever I look at this picture I have particularly sweet, tender feelings because he is the son that we lost in an accident just three years ago at the age of 34. But this day, as I looked up and saw him, words came instantly into my mind so clearly, I could almost hear his voice saying to me, "Mom, everything is going to be all right, because He loves us more than you can even know." And I knew that he knew this because he has felt the arms of the Savior around him. He has looked into his face. He has gone ahead of us and has experienced things that we all long to experience. He understands, better than we do, life in the eternal perspective.

Take a 16-year-old we’ll call Joe, for example. One day, before he joined the Church, Joe was convinced by a friend to watch him sell crack. What Joe saw changed his life.
“I saw young men come up to us who didn’t even have a shirt on their backs in the middle of winter—they had sold everything to get drugs. They should have been at a point in their lives when they see the world is opened to them, but the only look in their eyes was hunger and hopelessness. You could tell just by looking that no one cared about them and they didn’t care either.”
That was all Joe needed to know. Soon after, he decided to join the church his family had been investigating. Now he has different friends and a different life.

Anyone who has had the experience of opening a mission call knows what a thrilling and spiritual experience it can be. When Joel Hiller of Taylorsville, Utah, saw the white call packet his mother had placed on the kitchen table, his heart jumped, and he could hardly wait until his family and two close friends were able to join him at his home a few hours later to open it.

After what seemed like the longest three hours of Joel’s life, major excitement erupted as everyone gathered together, talking, laughing, and speculating. But a spiritual calm suddenly filled the room as Joel opened the envelope and began to read aloud the words of the prophet: “Dear Elder Hiller, you are hereby called to serve as a missionary of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.”

Joel describes what he experienced as he continued reading the letter, “I felt honored to be called, and the Spirit bore an immediate witness that this was the right thing and the right mission for me. It was a once-in-a-lifetime experience.”

Perhaps an oft-repeated scene will bring closer to home your personal opportunity to reach out to rescue. Let us look in on a family with a lad named Jack. Throughout Jack’s early life, he and his father had many serious arguments. One day, when Jack was seventeen, they had a particularly violent quarrel. Jack said to his father, “This is the straw that breaks the camel’s back. I’m leaving home, and I will never return!” So declaring, he went to his room and packed a bag. His mother begged him to stay, but he was too angry to listen. He left her crying at the doorway.

Leaving the yard, Jack was about to pass through the gate when he heard his father call to him: “Jack, I know that a large share of the blame for your leaving rests with me. For this I am truly sorry. I want you to know that if you should ever wish to return home, you’ll always be welcome. And I’ll try to be a better father to you. I want you to know that I’ll always love you.” Jack said nothing, but went to the bus station and bought a ticket to a distant point. As he sat in the bus watching the miles go by, he thought about the words of his father. He realized how much love it had required for his father to do what he had done. Dad had apologized. He had invited him back and had left the words ringing in the summer air, “I love you.”

It was then that Jack understood that the next move was up to him. He knew that the only way he could ever find peace with himself was to demonstrate to his father the same kind of maturity, goodness, and love that Dad had shown toward him. Jack got off the bus, bought a return ticket to home, and went back.

He arrived shortly after midnight, entered the house, and turned on the light. There in the rocking chair sat his father, his head bowed. As the father looked up and saw Jack, he rose from the chair, and they rushed into each other’s arms. Jack often said, “Those last years that I was home were among the happiest of my life.”

Here was a boy who overnight became a man. Here was a father who, suppressing passion and bridling pride, reached out to rescue his son before he became one of that vast “lost battalion” resulting from fractured families and shattered homes. Love was the binding band, the healing balm. Love—so often felt, so seldom expressed.

In 1986, I was contemplating two great gifts in my life. I had a wife and I had hair. Now while I was grateful for both, I knew that the Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away[1] and sure enough, I was blessed to be the oldest grandson of Stanford Alma Burnham, a man of great wisdom and no hair--none--we are talking billiard ball smooth. Once he caught me bemoaning my genetically predicted future (I had just learned of the male pattern baldness gene and its bestowal through your mother's father side of the family). He said in all seriousness, "Jeffery, don't think of it as less hair; think of it as more face." And thus I have ever thought. I am grateful today, in fullness of face, to address you.

Being introduced to the responsibility of home teaching at such an early age made me feel like I was special, and it helped me to feel the Spirit. One of the people we home taught was a widow who lived alone. She struggled with various medical problems and always appreciated our visits and our company. Knowing that we were there to bring her happiness and to bring the priesthood into her home was a witness to me of how important our responsibility is.

I will start out with a little experience that I encountered just a few years ago while I was supervising the missions along the West Coast. I was up in the Alaskan-Canadian Mission when I heard this story.
While attending high school, the daughter of the mission president was successful in bringing one of her friends into the Church. When the summer vacation came along, she said, “Daddy, I want to spend my summer months in the mission field.” So he called her as a summer missionary and sent her up to Anchorage. He and I were there when the elders held a baptismal service. Eleven people were baptized, and nine of them were the converts of this girl and her companion. One was a man who looked as if he could grace any position in the Church. After the baptism the daughter of the mission president came up to me and, with the tears rolling down her cheeks, said, “Oh, President Richards, I have never been so happy in all my life.” Wasn’t it a wonderful ambition for that girl to want to spend her summer months in missionary work? And what a compensation if you want to lay away treasures in heaven!

When Elder D. Todd Christofferson was about 12 years old, his dad decided to run for city council. He asked Todd to help. Todd and his brothers walked around the community handing out flyers and knocking on doors. When someone opened the door, Todd and his brothers gave them a flyer and asked them to vote for their dad, Paul Christofferson.
When Todd handed people flyers, sometimes they would say, “Paul is a good and honest man. I would have no problem voting for him.”
People knew his dad was a good person, and Todd felt proud of his dad.
Todd also knew that his dad wasn’t perfect. No one is perfect. But because of his dad’s example, Todd wanted to be a good man and a good father too when he grew up.

In early November 2020, it came to light that a project in the Burnley area of the Chorley England Stake needed some help putting together hygiene packs for vulnerable women. Stake and ward leaders banded together to find a solution and quickly got approval to make a large donation from LDS Charities.
The project organisers were very grateful for the donation to help purchase items to go into the bags but had a cost issue when buying the bags themselves. Carol Cryer, Relief Society president in the Burnley Ward, put her sewing skills to good use and created a video tutorial on making a drawstring hygiene pack. Along with her daughter, Emily, they got materials out to the sisters in the stake to share the load. The sisters worked tirelessly sewing 5,000 bags in just a few weeks, hoping the packs would be ready for Christmas.
In all, 5,000 bags were sewn and filled with hygiene products to be given to women in need. It was a wonderful experience for each sister who served and truly brought the light of Christ into their lives during a difficult time.

I think of Levi Savage, a member of the Willie handcart company. After expressing his concern that the handcart company was leaving too late in the season, Levi nonetheless supported the decision of the captain and the other Saints. He assumed leadership for 100 persons in the company, and worked tirelessly to aid them. In the difficult river crossings, he was often the first in the water and the last one out. A fellow traveler said of him: "No man worked harder than he to alleviate the suffering which he had foreseen."[4]

Some years ago, I was called to serve as the bishop of a large ward. One evening, my telephone rang. I heard a voice say, “Bishop Monson, this is the hospital calling. Kathleen McKee, a member of your congregation, has just passed away. Your name is listed as the one to be notified of her death. Could you come to the hospital right away?”
Upon arriving there, I was presented with a key to the apartment in which Kathleen had lived. I entered her apartment, turned the light switch, and discovered a letter. It read:
“Bishop Monson,
“I think I shall not return from the hospital. In the kitchen are my three precious canaries. Two of them are beautiful, yellow-gold in color and perfectly marked. On their cages I have noted the names of friends to whom they are to be given. In the third cage is ‘Billie.’ He is my favorite. Billie looks a bit scrubby, and his yellow hue [color] is marred by gray on his wings. Will you and your family make a home for him? He isn’t the prettiest, but his song is the best.”
Kathleen McKee had befriended many neighbors in need. She had brightened each life she touched. Kathleen was much like “Billie,” her prized yellow canary with gray on its wings. She was not blessed with beauty. Yet her song helped others to more willingly bear their burdens.

For years, I have wanted to create a large poppy display and in November of last year, I voiced this to our Relief Society president, Yvonne Kerr, who expressed a similar desire. Because we were coming to the close of a horrible year of lockdowns, we felt that setting this up as a project for 2021 would be an ideal time to do it as it would give us something to focus on while we were restricted to our homes and by giving us a common purpose, we would not feel so isolated. Little did we know at that point that we were heading into further lockdowns and this project became a lifeline for many women. The culmination of this work was to be a display at the chapel where we would hold a special commemorative meeting, to which we would invite community leaders as well as our members and friends.
Yvonne asked me to pull a small committee together to make this happen and I knew exactly who to ask.
Esther Wilford became our internal communications director, whose job it was to keep the sisters and ward members updated with our progress. When she relocated out of our ward, we enlisted Julie Beveridge who also did a wonderful job.
Yvonne Kerr acted as our external communications director. She sent out all the external invitations to official delegates, war veterans and medal holders to attend our event.
Mandy Watson acted as the technical and structural engineer (to ensure the large display was stable). The fact that the structure is so sound is very much down to Mandy’s skills and hard work. Part of the display was the silhouette of a soldier. Mandy built all the framework and did all the sealing to make it waterproof before spending many hours as doing several coats of undercoat and paint. She really needs to be acknowledged more for her role in it all. I had the idea and vision, but she engineered the whole thing. Mandy has lots of experience with making sure structures and frameworks are safe and secure and we would need her skills when it came to putting the display together. Mandy is in the middle of restoring a very large, old house and so many of the materials that went into the framework and structure of the display came from her home—from the netting holding the poppies to the cobblestones that weigh the stands down, to the scaffolding outriggers used to stabilize the frame.
I had the easy task of chairing the committee and acting as a wool merchant and distributor. Because we commenced the project during a four-tier lockdown in Scotland, no one could get out to buy wool so I bought in bulk then coordinated with individuals, finding safe ways to deliver and distribute.
Thirty women made and contributed poppies. Because we wouldn’t physically collect poppies from sisters, every four weeks, Esther, and then Julie, would send a request on various messaging platforms to ask how many poppies had been made since the last count. Sisters would relay this to me, and I would keep a tally in a small notebook. We were hoping to reach a total of 1,500 poppies, feeling we could do a nice, decent display with that amount. However, I soon had to keep a record using a spreadsheet because within no time at all we had by far exceeded our initial goal. By the week before the display went up, we had received a staggering 5,589 poppies!
3,592 were made by sisters from the Alloa Ward. Another 262 by sisters from other wards around the country.
There were 967 poppies made by a friend of one of our members and a further 692 made by others not of our faith based up and down the country who belong to a Facebook crafting group. There were also 76 that came from a nonmember relative of mine in Holland.
We were grateful to all 30 women who made and added to the total, but recognition should go to a committee member, Julie Beveridge, who made a very impressive 1,373 poppies herself.
A brother who gave plenty of help throughout the project, Eammon Brereton, made a ‘Lest We Forget’ sign as part of the display.
We estimate that thousands of hours were spent by so many in the preparations for this event but they all felt that this truly has been a labour of love.
Other neighbour and local companies contributed the steel and used their equipment to cut out the soldier’s gun, others donated tenting fabric, and super heavy-duty guy pegs from rebar. A kind and generous benefactor donated £200 for the making of the soldier. A self-employed contractor came to the building on the final day of construction, and when he saw that we were rapidly running out of time, took the afternoon off to help us with some of the wire tethering and knocking in ground spikes.
On 22 October we held an outside lighting up ceremony, conducted by Sister Yvonne Kerr. Besides members of the ward, we had in attendance invited guests who included the lord lieutenant of Clackmannanshire, Lt Col (Retd) Johnny Stewart, and the most senior member of the Alloa Ward, Sister Dorothy Kendall, who pushed a button that lit up the monumental display. Esther Wilford beautifully sang Vera Lynn’s “When The Lights Go on Again, All over The World” and “I Vow to Thee My Country”. One of our Primary children, Emma Black, read the much-quoted lines from ‘For the Fallen’ by Laurence Binyon. People passing stopped to join the crowd, inside and outside of the fencing surrounding the grounds.
We tried to give each poppy its own space to clearly represent an individual. There are varying shades of red and a myriad of patterns, symbolizing the differences in those individuals who, all together have made a huge difference for each of us.
Just before the button was pressed to illuminate the display, we acknowledged to the assembled crowd, many who were not members of our Church, that as members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, we try to put Christ at the centre of all we do and it was in His name that on that night and during the season of remembrance, we honour those from World War I and World War II who fought and fell to give us our freedom, but the display also honours and gives reverence to those in the past and those who currently protect our land, shores, and skies from unseen enemies. They are the real heroes, and that really is what the display is about.
Yvonne Kerr, president of the Relief Society, said: “We really felt that there was a need for people who weren’t able to get together to be able to do something in unity. “It was a good way for the women of the Church to stay in contact with one another and to be able to serve and help other people.” She added: “As COVID started to progress, we really wanted to run with the idea, to be able to acknowledge that there were other people who had sacrificed a lot more than we got to sacrifice. We were very privileged to be able to acknowledge them by creating the poppies.”
Yvonne Kerr told the Advertiser: “It was very well attended. We were surprised by how many people came. It was really wonderful—a lovely event and a great tribute to those who served in our military services and a great way to thank them for what they’ve done for us.”

An example of the light of the Lord touching someone who needed it desperately came when I called upon a very close friend shortly after the death of his eternal companion. I asked him, “What can I now do to help?” He answered, “Help my son to understand.” You see, this son loved his mother very much. When he saw her suffer month after month, he began to feel that the prayers and the priesthood blessings went unanswered. This caused his faith in our Heavenly Father to waver, and he lost the light of the Lord in his life.
The words rang in my ears: “Help my son to understand.” I asked myself, “How? What can I do?” Finally, I invited him to come to Church headquarters to talk with me. When he arrived and we went to the lunchroom, a most unusual circumstance unfolded while we were eating. During our visit, many General Authorities came by our table and greeted us. He shook hands with eight of the Twelve Apostles. Never before or since have I seen that many members of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles in the lunchroom at one time.
As we were leaving the Church offices, another unusual thing happened. We caught a glimpse of President Spencer W. Kimball (1895–1985), and my young friend asked, “Does President Kimball ever talk to someone like me?” Circumstances that would rarely happen again placed us with President Kimball for a few minutes. The short time with him was unforgettably impressive. His instructions were eternal, and his love for this young man was unquestionable. My friend’s heart and mine were touched deeply during those few minutes.
President Kimball’s final statement to this young man, after he gave him a loving embrace, impressed my friend very much. He said, “My boy, when you come home from your mission, you will understand more fully the things we have been talking about.” That day a prophet of God reached out as I suppose only a prophet can. Through him, the Savior touched the life of my friend and turned him toward the light of the Lord.
As we returned to the parking area, I put my arm around him and said, “I know that your mother knows you are here today. Because of her love and devotion to the Lord and her great love for you, I am sure our Heavenly Father has allowed her influence to be felt here today.” Tears flowed, attitudes changed, directions became clear, and commitments were made.
What a thrill it was to report a few months later to President Kimball that this fine young man was serving faithfully and diligently as a full-time missionary!

It was late November, and I was in the Sierra Nevada Mountains in a place called Desolation Valley. After a five-mile hike, my three friends, my dad and brother, and I arrived in camp around 4:00 P.M. The sun was slowly beginning to fall. The air was bitter cold to all of us, so we immediately went to bed.
I’m still not sure why, but at 1:00 A.M. we all woke up. Not long after, we heard a worried yell in the distance. The yell came repeatedly, moving closer until a panicked-looking man appeared. Two women in his party were lost when they became separated on their descent down Pyramid Peak, about three miles from our camp.
We had seen a few people that day, but none matched the women’s description. We all knew how cold it was and that dehydration, hypothermia, hunger, and fear probably prevented the women from making it back.
I had earned my orienteering merit badge, and I was also a lifeguard, so my first aid was up to date. Despite the time of night, we were willing and able to look for these women.
We put together a search plan, and the man said he thought we should go southwest to get around a huge ridge that would allow us to go up the south side of the ridge. The Spirit whispered to me at that point that we needed to go over the ridge. But I decided to just go along with the man’s plan.
As we moved along this ridge, I again felt impressed that we should go over the ridge. This time I told our group that we needed to go up. The man knew he couldn’t make it, so we told him to stay behind as we continued. I wasn’t tired as we reached the ridge’s summit, which I found odd considering what time it was and that we were at around 8,000 feet.
During a short rest, I again felt the Spirit whisper to me to pray for guidance. My brother and my friend Brent readily agreed, and I offered a prayer. I felt sure Heavenly Father would respond.
As soon as the prayer concluded, we looked at each other and confidently began our search. But it wasn’t that simple. Perhaps we were relying too much on our own abilities rather than on the Lord. So we prayed again. This time Brent pleaded on behalf of these women that we might be tools in Heavenly Father’s hands to find and bring them back safely.
Again we stood, knowing exactly where we needed to go. Before long, we heard whistles blowing. We knew we were close.
I still remember the look of pure joy on the women’s faces when we found them three hours after our search began. They held each other and shed a few tears. I can’t put into words the joy I felt when I realized the experience I had been blessed with. My testimony of prayer has increased tremendously, and I have come to know that I have a Father in Heaven who loves us beyond comprehension.