Gospel Story Finder

An old Jewish legend tells of two brothers, Abram and Zimri, who owned a field and worked it together. They agreed to divide both the labor and the harvest equally. One night as the harvest came to a close, Zimri could not sleep, for it didn’t seem right that Abram, who had a wife and seven sons to feed, should receive only half of the harvest, while he, with only himself to support, had so much.
So Zimri dressed and quietly went into the field, where he took a third of his harvest and put it in his brother’s pile. He then returned to his bed, satisfied that he had done the right thing.
Meanwhile, Abram could not sleep either. He thought of his poor brother, Zimri, who was all alone and had no sons to help him with the work. It did not seem right that Zimri, who worked so hard by himself, should get only half of the harvest. Surely this was not pleasing to God. And so Abram quietly went to the fields, where he took a third of his harvest and placed it in the pile of his beloved brother.
The next morning, the brothers went to the field and were both astonished that the piles still looked to be the same size. That night both brothers slipped out of their houses to repeat their efforts of the previous night. But this time they discovered each other, and when they did, they wept and embraced. Neither could speak, for their hearts were overcome with love and gratitude.

After I joined the Church, my brother talked about missionary work almost every day. He always encouraged me to go on a mission. With his help, I filled out my mission application. I will never forget how happy my older brother and I were then.
One evening my brother called me to come and meet with him after work. He wanted to talk with me about some things relating to my mission. We set a time to meet at the central square.
Around this time parliamentary elections were happening in Mongolia. When we met at the central square, citizens were holding a demonstration because of the election. Police were there, but the demonstration was getting violent and scary, escalating into a riot. A big building and several cars were on fire, and people were screaming. It was frightening.
My brother and I had met far away from the demonstration, but he was worried. He gave me money for a taxi and told me to go straight home. He told me that I would see him the next day. He planned to go back to his home, which was close to where he worked. The taxi arrived, and we said a quick good-bye before I drove away.
I soon found out that the government had closed all the roads because of the rioting. Unable to get to my home, which was in the outskirts of the city, I spent the night at work instead. Armored cars and armed soldiers were everywhere. The fighting worsened, and that night a state of emergency was called. It lasted for four days.
When the state of emergency ended, my brother-in-law came to pick me up. We got to his home to find all our relatives waiting there. They were all crying. I learned that my older brother had been shot as he was walking home.
My heart felt like it was going to burst. My brother died when he was 24 because of that demonstration. The days following my brother’s death were among the most horrible of my life.
It was during this difficult time that I received my mission call. After having been through my conversion, baptism, and mission paper preparation with my brother, I was left to open my mission call alone. To my surprise, I was called to serve in my own country.
Since I was alone, I knelt down right there and thanked my Heavenly Father in prayer. And I prayed for my brother. I cried and cried while I prayed. At this time, when there was so much hurt and loneliness in my heart, I felt the Spirit witness of the plan of salvation more deeply to me, and my faith was strengthened.
Left to right: Amarsanaa and his brothers, Dorjsuren and Amarsaikhan
Even though my brother was not there to open my mission call with me, I will always be grateful to him. I am also very grateful that God has given us the plan of salvation through the Atonement of Jesus Christ. It is the most amazing plan. If we follow this plan, we will feel peace in our hearts.
The scriptures tell us: “O how great the plan of our God! For … the paradise of God must deliver up the spirits of the righteous, and the grave deliver up the body of the righteous; and the spirit and the body is restored to itself again, and all men become incorruptible, and immortal, and they are living souls” (2 Nephi 9:13).
I know that my brother is alive in the spirit world. This knowledge gives me the confidence I need to do well on my mission. I know he will be with me during the difficult times—and so will the Lord.

Sister Francine Bennion, former member of the Relief Society General Board, once spoke of the celestial kingdom with a group of BYU Honors students. Here are her words:
“‘Tell me,’ I said, ‘what you consider to be the best of all possible worlds.’
“[The students replied:]
“‘It would be like the celestial kingdom.’
“‘What is that like?’
“‘Well, there won’t be problems like we have here.’
“‘What kind of problems?’
“‘Well, for one thing, everyone will be—happy. There won’t be any unkindness. No one there will be rejected or abused, or laughed at, or ignored.’
“‘Oh,’ I said. ‘Are you suggesting that God experiences none of these things now?’
“And then there was silence, for a moment.”

Sister Bennion then offered, “In wanting to get to the celestial kingdom, these students had more awareness of traditional struggle-free utopias than of our own God and our own world. The celestial kingdom was a place to get away from suffering, not a place to understand it and address it in ways consistent with joy and love and agency.” [14]

As you move from one priesthood service to another, you will see the Lord is in the work with you. I learned this from meeting an elders quorum president in a stake conference years ago. In the conference there were more than 40 names presented of men who were to receive the Melchizedek Priesthood.

The stake president leaned over to me and whispered, “Those men were all less-active prospective elders.” In amazement, I asked the president what his program was to rescue these men.

He pointed to a young man in the back of the chapel. He said, “There he is. Most of these men have been brought back because of that elders quorum president.” He was on the back row, dressed casually, his legs stretched out with his battered boots crossed in front of him.

I asked the stake president to introduce me to him after the meeting. When we met, I told the young man I was surprised by what he had done and asked him how he did it. He shrugged his shoulders. He obviously didn’t think he deserved any credit.

Then he said softly, “I know every inactive guy in this town. Most of them have pickup trucks. I have a truck too. I wash my pickup where they wash theirs. In time, they become my friends.

“Then I wait until something goes wrong in their lives. It always does. They tell me about it. I listen and I don’t find fault. Then, when they say, ‘There is something wrong in my life. There just has to be something better than this,’ I tell them what is missing and where they can find it. Sometimes they believe me, and when they do, I take them with me.”

You can see why he was modest. It was because he knew he had done his small part and the Lord was doing the rest. It was the Lord who had touched the hearts of those men in their troubles. It was the Lord who had given them the feeling that there must be something better for them and a hope that they could find it.

The young man, who—like you—was a servant of the Lord, simply believed that if he did his small part, the Lord would help those men along the path to home and to the happiness only He could give them. This man also knew the Lord had called him as elders quorum president because he would do his part.

Several years ago I spoke at a meeting for members and investigators in the Peru Lima South Mission. I don’t know why I started talking about revelation and the importance of having a prophet. But as I did, I noticed two young men on the first row listening attentively and taking notes. After the meeting, those two young men came to me and said, “You talk about prophets and about revelation. We thought that there weren’t any prophets after John the Baptist.” The young men had been sent by the local priest to find out what I said. I had to leave on an airplane soon and didn’t have time to explain more about prophets and revelation. However, I did tell them that if they wanted to have personal revelation, they should read the Book of Mormon and follow the counsel in Moroni 10. I gave them each a Book of Mormon and marked Moroni 10:4–5 [Moro. 10:4–5]. Three months later, I received a letter from those young men telling me that they had been baptized. One year later, I received another letter saying that they were both preparing to go on missions. The Book of Mormon was what converted them.

They chat on the school bus, during breaks and lunch hour, between classes, and walking home. Sharline Niblett first heard the gospel this way. “I was invited to another Grice sister’s (Wendy’s) 21st birthday at their home, stayed the weekend, went to church meetings Sunday, and have been attending nearly every Sunday since,” she laughs.
So she kept in touch with the Grice girls. “I attended church with them on and off for three years,” she admits. Then came Sharline’s baptism. “I had such a good feeling inside,” she recalls. “During the testimony time, I sat next to Rachael and could clearly hear the Spirit whispering to me, ‘Go on up there.’ I tried to explain to Rachael, asking her to come with me. Rachael hesitated, so I told Sarah I had to go up. She was really surprised. Eventually we walked up to the stand together, and I was just able to say, ‘I know this church is true,’ before bursting into tears.”

“Why not just a little?” That was the question David asked after his early-morning seminary teacher finished an entire lesson about protecting yourself from sin by keeping your covenants.
“I’m not talking about doing anything big,” David continued. “I just want to know why I can’t have a sip of beer—just to taste it and know what it is like. Why not just one cigarette or one night with a girl so my friends will stop bugging me?”
Before the teacher could even start giving the usual answers, David outguessed him and blurted, “And don’t tell me that alcohol kills your brain cells and that cigarettes cause cancer. Don’t tell me about AIDS.” He didn’t want to hear the “scare” stories. David continued, “I know men who used to drink and smoke, and they’re bishops now.”
It was true. David knew many people who had repented and been forgiven of their sins. “So,” he looked directly at his teacher and repeated his original question, “why not just a little?”
By now nearly every young person in the room was nodding and saying, “Yeah, why not?” The seminary teacher knew he had to say something—quickly. He swallowed hard, said a silent prayer, and offered, “None of us is perfect. We all sin and have need to repent—we know that. But try looking at it like this: Isn’t the Holy Ghost a member of the Godhead?”
“Yes,” David answered, “but what does that have to do with anything?”
The teacher explained, “In the scriptures we are told the Spirit won’t always strive with us” (see Gen. 6:3; Ether 15:19; D&C 1:33).
The room was quiet. Despite already sitting through one lesson that day, David and his friends were listening to their teacher: “The immediate consequence of sin is withdrawal of the Spirit. So one cigarette may not be enough to give you cancer, but it is enough to alienate you from the Spirit. One can of beer may not make you an alcoholic and leave you homeless, but it is enough to leave you without the Spirit. The same would be true for a premarital sexual experience.”
Most of the class was agreeing with their teacher now, but David still wasn’t completely convinced. He said, “So the Spirit leaves. So what?”
Class was over. The students needed to go to school. “Let’s pick this discussion up tomorrow,” the teacher said, and they did. Over the next few days the class studied the fruits of the Spirit. What David had not considered was that when we lose the Spirit we automatically lose some other things as well.
The seminary class was glad David had asked, “Why not just a little?” In the course of their discussions, David and his friends came to some important conclusions. One student summed it up: “Why not just a little sin? Well, why not just a little touch on the burner of a hot stove? Sure, you may heal in the long run, but not without going through a lot of unnecessary pain and suffering.”

Well, brothers and sisters, I have tried to become observant and learn all that I could from any situation I have found myself in. One activity that I have had an opportunity to participate in on several occasions with my Ward is a pie pie. I find it interesting that the best time for this activity is in the dark of night.
During this event the experienced fishermen, takes a net, that is actually made up of two nets suspended with floats, hanging next to each other. The net closest to where the fish are has larger holes approximately 6 inches; the other net is smaller with holes that are only 3 inches across. The master fisherman then strings the net off the beach surrounding an area where fish are potentially feeding on the reef. Once the net is in place all the other participants, go into the water making all kinds of noise to drive the fish into the two nets. Very small fish will swim through, but medium and large fish swim into the net going through the 6 inch net but being caught in the 3 inch net with their gills catching on the 6 inch net keeping them entangled until they can be drawn to shore.
Once the net is collected and brought to shore everybody helps fold the net and extracts the fish. The first time I participated, I was surprised by both the number and size of the fish that were captured. As you can see over 60 pounds were caught just enough to feed a few deacons at Scout camp.
Some of the participants became so involved that they start to look like a fish, my daughter Katie was one of them.
So what did I learn? Some from our Ward would suggest you want to be a good friend to the master fisherman in case we have hard times and need to rely on our food storage. I would suggest another lesson. A verse from the doctrine and covenants explains this lesson:
Abide ye in the liberty wherewith ye are made free; entangle not yourselves in sin, but let your hands be clean, until the Lord comes. (Doctrine and Covenants 88:86)
As I participated in catching the fish with that net I remembered this verse. I guess I can admit that I even felt a little sorry for the fish that had entangled themselves in the net. The reason perhaps is that I recognize how easy it is to become entangled. Just like the fish that was going along unaware of the dangers around it, we also find ourselves in a world where nets are strung to catch us. And just like the trapped fish, many times we feel hopeless and lost.

Each year our players work as camp coaches for young players who love the sport and often have dreams of someday attending and playing soccer at BYU. Most of our players attended camps when they were younger, so they know how exciting it is for young campers to come and hang out with them for a week. In fact, I first met several of the current players on our team at camp when they were only ten or eleven years old.

One summer several years ago we had a young girl attend who was shy but also uncooperative, and she didn’t want to participate in the drills or games with her group. A couple of my players who were coaching her weren’t sure what to do with her. I mentioned that maybe they should just spend a little more time with her, get to know her, and sit with her at lunch or dinner. I told them that maybe she just needed a little extra love and attention.

The girls did a great job, and toward the end of the week she was much more engaged in the training and seemed to be having a lot of fun with her team.

A week or so after the camp, I received a thank-you note from her mom, explaining that this young girl had not wanted to come to camp. Her mom basically had made her attend. Obviously, this is one reason why she had gotten off to a rough start. Her mom went on to explain that her daughter loved soccer but was from an area where there weren’t any members who played, and she was slowly losing interest in attending her Young Women group, seminary, and even church on Sunday. It was becoming a battle for her parents to keep her moving in the right direction.

Her parents thought maybe it would be good for her to be around some members of the Church who also loved soccer. Her mom was quick to point out that her daughter’s experience at camp that week had been life changing. Her daughter had found new motivation, inspiration, and direction. She wanted to be like the campers and players on the team and go to BYU someday.

She continued to attend camp for several summers after that. Although she was never quite at a level to play college soccer, she was inspired at a young age to make good choices during her high school experience, and she ended up attending BYU.

“We have some great progenitors on the Paramore side of my family,” Elder Paramore continued. “My grandmother left Denmark alone at the age of eight. Her mother put her on a boat with a tag around her neck addressed to a place in Utah. When she arrived in New York, some Mormon missionaries who had arranged to meet her there helped put her aboard the train that would take her to Ephraim, Utah. What an experience for an eight-year-old child! It makes me weep to think about it. I’m sure her mother thought that this was a wonderful chance for her daughter to be where the Church was strong.”

Sometimes our burdens even increase to give us needed experience. I remember an occasion when I was a bishop. There were several members in the ward going through some dire problems; I felt a heavy responsibility on my shoulders. One night I poured out my soul to the Lord, supplicating Him to take from my shoulders the burden that weighed so heavily on me.
It was a special prayer. He heard and answered it. A few weeks later I was released as bishop and called to preside over a large stake.

I was really lost before I found the gospel. In Brazil the legal drinking age is 18. My host family offered me membership to their country club and a nightclub. It sure was exciting. But the excitement wore off. I got tired of the meaningless social scene and started craving spiritual things.
The only churches I knew of were Catholic, and so I started attending Mass regularly. About two months later a couple of elders showed up at my host home. My host sisters were wild with excitement and dragged me to the front gates so I could talk to another American.
On the day I was supposed to have the first discussion, I got cold feet. I was with a friend and told her I didn’t want to go home because some missionaries were coming to see me. She invited me to go to her house to avoid them, but we needed to go to the post office first. We got our mail and were leaving when the missionaries walked in. That was the day they taught me about the plan of salvation.
In telling Marcia about my conversion, I saw clearly that Heavenly Father had gone to great lengths to give me the gift of His gospel. God really wants us to return to Him. And Heavenly Father had provided opportunities through the missionaries for me to receive the gospel. He really wants us to find our way home to Him.

“As the plane came in for its landing I could see again all the old familiar sights that had been so far away for the last two years. As I walked down the stairs from the plane, I could see a whole montage of family faces looking out the terminal window at me. Mom, Dad, both grandmas, and good old Grandpa George. Wow, that tall blond guy must be Allen; he’s grown a foot! The arrival and reunion was teary and joyous and all that I had hoped it would be, but on the way home the two youngest were fighting in the car, and Dad called the guy in front of us a blockhead for changing lanes too quickly, and Grandpa George told that same old elk hunting story again.
“I had been gone for a long time and had experienced some deeply moving spiritual and emotional moments, and the family just didn’t seem to understand. They hadn’t changed much; I really couldn’t see much of a change in them at all except that Lindsey and Allen were bigger and louder. Somehow I wanted to tell them that I was different. I really knew the gospel was true now, and I wanted them to know how very important it was.”
This is one young missionary’s return-home story, a story not necessarily typical of all missionaries, but a story that does point out some of the problems that a young returning missionary will face as he or she tries to adjust once again to family, home, and friends.

I started studying the gospel very carefully. After four months of intense investigation, I decided to be baptized.
My life soon turned upside down. I lost my job and had to end my medical residency. As my interests and values started to change, my old friends started to disappear. But hardest of all for me to accept was that my parents were against my baptism.
I loved my parents dearly. They had given everything they had to provide me with the best education and environment. They were proud of my accomplishments. But when they heard my decision, they were shocked. It was the first time I had wanted to do something they did not agree with, and it was very difficult for all of us. But I knew that God wanted me to be baptized. So even if my family would deny me, I couldn’t deny my Heavenly Father.
My family did not accept the invitation to my baptism, so on my baptism day I went alone to the church. There were many people at the baptism, but I felt my only “family members” were the two missionaries. Then as I turned to go to the baptismal font, I saw my mother and brother. It was the happiest day of my life. The presence of my family was like a beam of sunshine that brought me the hope of a brighter tomorrow.

About a year later, just before I was to take the long-awaited entrance test to medical school, the Lord called me again. This time I resolved to pray about it. I told the Lord that the result of the test would be the answer to my doubts. If I passed, I would understand that my mission would be medical school; if I failed, a proselyting mission would be what he wanted from me.
I passed the entrance exam. Blessings were poured upon me in an avalanche. My father changed to a better-paying job, which he needed to pay for my expensive studies. The lessons in medical school entered my mind with incredible ease, and I became an outstanding student. I became engaged to a wonderful LDS girl, even though she lived 360 miles away and we met just a few times a year. Good health, so seldom enjoyed before, became steady in my family. I was called to be a counselor in the Campinas Stake Sunday School presidency. Through the efforts of the home teachers, my younger sister became active again in seminary. The Lord was blessing us abundantly.

Today I would like to share a story with you. Kieth Merrill, a filmmaker and Academy Award winner, tells this story about his youth.

When I was a young man I lived in a small community close to the mountains. I was a lifeguard and did lots of swimming. . . . We went swimming at a place called East Canyon, a beautiful man-made reservoir. The dam is in a narrow neck of the canyon between sheer rock walls.

None of us had boats, so we couldn’t water ski, but we would do what we called cliff diving. We’d climb up those rocks and dive into the reservoir. We’d always wear tennis shoes because the rocks were so sharp. . . .

After we’d been there several times and pretty well knew the rocks, cliffs, and the water depth, two or three of us hard-core East Canyon divers got into the inevitable teenage contest of raw courage. One guy climbed up to where we always dove from and yelled down, “Hey! I’ll bet I dare dive higher than anybody here!”

“Ah, go on!”

So he climbed up to the top of the dam. The dam was about 50 feet off the water. Diving into the air he arched into the water, and like a bunch of sheep we crawled up the rocks, out onto the dam, and all of us dove off. . . .

Well, that didn’t satisfy my friend, and so he said, “All right, I’ll do one better!” He climbed 60 feet up the side of the cliff. And not wanting to be outdone, I climbed up by him. After all, everyone was looking at me. I had a great suntan, and I was sure everyone expected me to do what he was doing. He swallowed hard, buried his fear, and from trembling knees arched his back, and floated through 60 feet of air into the water.

I was grateful nobody was watching me as I prepared for my dive. When he’d cleared and seemed to be all right, I took courage, and made my dive. By now the other members of our diving contest had backed down, figuring it was a little high. But not my friend. He climbed on up to about 70 feet and once more prepared to dive. From below I could barely see him. Seventy feet is a very long way up on the rocks. I said to myself, “I hope he doesn’t do it because if he does it, then obviously I’ve got to do it, and I really don’t want to.“ About then I saw a pink body float through the air and splash into the water not far from me. He came up laughing, rubbing his shoulders and his eyes, and said, “Well, Merrill, are you going to do it?”

“Of course, I’m going to do it!” Everybody on the shore said, “Yeah, of course he’s going to do it!”

And so I swam back to the shore and climbed up the rocks. I knew I only had the courage for one more jump. . . .

I scrambled up 80 feet to the very top of the cliff. As I turned around and looked down, I saw that the cliffs were back away from the water at that height. I had two challenges: to fall 80 feet and to get enough clearance to avoid hitting the rocks at the bottom. Everybody was egging me on in a negative way. “You’re chicken, you’re chicken!”

I stood there all alone, everybody waiting down below. The water was so far away it looked like crinkled tinfoil in the sun. I was just terrified, I was committed, but I had not even based my decision on what I wanted to do or what I felt was right. I had based it on about a half dozen guys whose names I don’t even remember who were yelling, “Hey, chicken, are you going to do it?”

I realized that in order to make the jump I would have to run a distance to get enough momentum to carry me over the rocks below. So I backed up and ran as hard as I could toward the edge. I found the mark I had carefully laid at the edge of the rock and sprang out into space. I don’t know how long it takes to fall 80 feet, but for me it took about a week. On the way down I remembered distinctly how my parents and teachers had taught me to be careful when making decisions because I could kill myself with a wrong one. I said to myself, “You have done it; you have killed yourself, because when you hit the water you’ll be going so fast that it might as well be concrete.“ And when I hit the water, I was sure it was concrete. I don’t know how far down you go when you jump from 80 feet, but I’ll tell you, I was a grateful lad when my head finally popped above water. I took a quick inventory to make sure that the throbbing pain in my right thigh didn’t designate the loss of anything important.

Well, why did I jump? Did I prove myself to the guys? You think they cared? You think they’re sitting at home tonight saying, “Remember old Merrill, brave old Merrill, jumping off the. . . .” They don’t even remember! They don’t care! But for me that moment was as important as my life. I made what could have easily been a fatal decision. Through the grace of a very patient Heavenly Father I wasn’t killed. I didn’t land on the rocks; I missed by only a few feet. I didn’t drown, and I didn’t have a concussion or a number of other things that could easily have happened because of such a stupid decision.

I was subjected to pressure that was hard to withstand, the pressure of friends expecting things of me that I didn’t want to do because I knew better. But I yielded to the pressure. I was living in the world, and at that moment I was of the world because I was not in control of myself. I was not making decisions about my own life. [Kieth Merrill, “Deciding About Decisions,” New Era, June 1976, pp. 12–13]

I’m not sure when my love of change commenced, but I still remember the thrill that accompanied one of the ?rst big changes in my life: the change of advancing from riding a tricycle to riding a bicycle. The brief sinking feeling that accompanied my awareness that my dad had let go of the back of my bike and was no longer running alongside and holding me up was quickly replaced by exhilaration. I was riding a two-wheeler—all by myself! A few wobbles on the heavily graveled road and I was off! I could go further, faster. My world suddenly got bigger.

I loved this change. And I loved the exhilaration that accompanied this change. A change in the number of wheels on my vehicle changed my speed, changed what I could explore, changed even my view of myself. I was all grown up now—or so I thought. And I loved those changes.

My progression to a bicycle was a change that involved much more than a decrease in wheels. It involved moving forward in my life—and realizing that my dad believed I could move forward even faster than I thought I could. I was ­embracing something new I’d never tried before. Riding a bicycle didn’t feel anything like riding a tricycle. It felt more like flying!

Because Jessica is surrounded with words, both those she can see and those she hears, she has become a very good reader. She says, “My brother, Jonathan, taught me to read when I was starting kindergarten. It’s interesting that television actually helped me and my brother learn a lot of words and how to pronounce them correctly. It really helped us when we started school.”
Jessica also learned to read well from watching the words that appear at the bottom of the television. It’s called closed captioning. The words that people say on television are typed and scrolled across the bottom of the screen. Jessica became a very good reader by reading the captions as she listened.

Brother Desmurs ended his portion of the tape recording by saying that he wished there were some way to tell all missionaries how important their work is, and not to get discouraged. He said they had found a member who had a picture of me, hung it in their living room, and asked every new missionary who came to Versailles if they knew me.
Brother Desmurs assured me that I would always be dear to their family because I had helped to plant the gospel seed, even though his own “soil” had not been very fertile at the time and the nurturing and harvesting had come much later. The family members each spoke in turn, thanking me and praying for the Lord’s blessings upon me.
As I finished listening to the recording, deeply affected by the words I had heard, I opened the French Book of Mormon they had mailed along with the tape. Inside was a picture of the Desmurs family along with their written testimony—a witness they had shared in this way with many of their countrymen.
I smiled through my tears. My missionary labors had gone full cycle. It had all begun with my own testimony of the Book of Mormon; no one knows where it will end. Indeed, how little any of us realize the effect our actions can have on the lives of others.

I counsel you to honor your father and your mother. May I share with you an example of honoring one’s mother. Some years ago Ruth Fawson, mother of six, underwent life-threatening surgery. Her devoted husband and her three sons and three daughters were all at the hospital. The physicians and nurses explained to the family that they could return to their homes and that the staff was prepared to care adequately for Sister Fawson. The family expressed their thanks to the hospital staff but indicated a determination for at least one of its number to be present at all times. A daughter expressed the feelings of all: “We wanted to be there when Mother awakened and stretched forth her hand, so that it would be our hands she would grasp, it would be our smiles she would see, it would be our words she would hear, it would be our love she would feel.” “Honour thy father and thy mother.”