Gospel Story Finder

The Prophet’s role as a judge and as mayor of Nauvoo and the head of the Nauvoo Legion required him to discipline the legionnaires and render judgment as the mayor. Anthony, a black, had been selling liquor in violation of the law—to make it worse, on the Sabbath. He pleaded that he needed money urgently to buy the freedom of his child held as a slave in a southern state. Said Joseph: “I am sorry, Anthony, but the law must be observed, and we will have to impose a fine.” The next day Joseph gave him a fine horse to purchase the freedom of the child.

Some years ago I created a stake on one of the islands in Japan. As usual, we held many interviews with the leaders to become acquainted with them. One of the men had moved to that area from Tokyo to take care of his aged and ailing father and his father’s business, which was in difficulty because of the father’s ill health. After the father died, the son went to his father’s creditors and acknowledged his father’s debts. He requested time from those creditors so that he could assume and pay all of his father’s outstanding obligations. In our interview I asked him how he was managing to meet this responsibility. He answered that he was getting along quite well and that he would be able to handle his father’s debts. The Lord saw fit to honor him with a call to be one of the leaders of that stake.

I had just gone through some dating heartache and was spending a lot of time at my sister’s. Inevitably we ended up eating junk food, watching TV, and taking naps. Waking from one of these naps, I remarked, “I don’t think we’re very good for each other.” We laughed, but that night I thanked Heavenly Father for the realization that I was using my sister as a security blanket and prayed for greater understanding of what I might do to move forward with my life. Over the next few months, that prayer was answered as I gained understanding one concept at a time.
The next day, while attending a Relief Society meeting, I noticed a particular scripture: “Others will he pacify, and lull them away into carnal security, that they will say: All is well in Zion; yea, Zion prospereth, all is well. … Therefore, wo be unto him that is at ease in Zion!” (2 Nephi 28:21, 24). I had always read these verses as describing the proud who went through the motions of worship. I had not considered myself as being at ease in Zion by spending so much time with my sister. But I began to realize that instead of seeking healing, I’d sought comfort. I resolved then to try harder to get out of my comfort zone.
The resolution helped, but stepping out of my comfort zone made me more aware of my inadequacies, which led me to feel more critical of myself. When I mentioned these feelings to a friend, he commented, “Isn’t forgiving ourselves great?” His comment helped me desire to better forgive myself of my shortcomings—without becoming complacent like those who are “at ease in Zion.”
One day I was struck by Mormon 2:13–14: “Their sorrowing was not unto repentance, because of the goodness of God; but it was rather the sorrowing of the damned, because the Lord would not always suffer them to take happiness in sin. And they did not come unto Jesus with broken hearts and contrite spirits.” I came to understand that my feelings of failure were stunting my personal growth, and I began to ponder what appropriate sorrow would entail. It was in Sunday School that I found my answer.
Our teacher drew a line on the chalkboard, labeling one end, “Being too hard on ourselves” and the other end, “Eat, drink, and be merry.” We talked about avoiding either extreme. I wondered what words would be in the center of the line, and the Spirit guided my thoughts to the phrase “a broken heart and a contrite spirit.” It seemed to me that the solution to a tendency to be too hard on oneself might be described as a contrite spirit—one that is repentant, accepting of the Lord’s help, and grateful for His mercy. The remedy for being at ease in Zion might be called a broken heart—one that is justly motivated to change and to heal.
The Savior taught, “Ye shall offer for a sacrifice unto me a broken heart and a contrite spirit” (3 Nephi 9:20). I am grateful to know that as I seek the Lord’s help to avoid being at ease in Zion and to avoid harshly judging myself, I am offering an acceptable sacrifice to Him—a sacrifice that helps me move forward with my life.

Clara S., 15, Colorado, USA
Multiple times this year, I have had questions or doubts, so before I went to bed I would pray for answers. Often, the next morning my seminary teacher addressed my question without me even having to ask it. Going to seminary can be seen as a sacrifice, but I believe that it can help answer prayers. Heavenly Father knows what we need to hear, and he can provide us with that through seminary.

As a young child, Kavira V. couldn’t communicate with anyone. But now she’s found ways to connect with others, including her Heavenly Father.
Sixteen-year-old Kavira V. from Florida, USA, knows the value of communication. Whether with family, with friends, or with God, Kavira is glad to be able to talk to them.
Part of the reason she values that connection so much is that she knows what it’s like not to have it.
Before moving to Florida, Kavira’s family originally lived in Uganda. Kavira is deaf and didn’t have access to sign language as a child, so she couldn’t really communicate with people around her.
That communication barrier affected many aspects of her life. Regarding school, she says, “Math was hard for me. I didn’t learn English, and I was bullied. There was a lot of discrimination.”
Church was hard too. At that time her family belonged to a different faith. “I didn’t have language access, so I didn’t understand what was going on,” Kavira says. She would sit through the services and go through the rituals without knowing what they meant. “There weren’t many opportunities for Deaf people,” she says.
The barrier also affected her connection to her family. “I’m the only Deaf person in my family, so sometimes I would feel unequal to them.”
When Kavira was around eight or nine years old, her family moved to Florida. Since she was young and couldn’t communicate with them, she didn’t know exactly why they chose to move. But it could have been to find better opportunities for her and the whole family.
When Kavira’s family moved to Florida, they found a deaf school she could attend. “Being able to have that education is amazing,” she says. “I’ve been able to learn things like math, communication, life skills like finding a job, and study skills.” She now uses American Sign Language (ASL).
She also enjoys extracurricular activities. “I like any kind of sports,” she says. “Growing up, I always played soccer, and I found out they have it here [in the U.S.] too.” She’s also learned volleyball, flag football, basketball, and swimming. “It’s been fun learning these new sports.”
And since Kavira was little she’s always loved art. She hopes to improve and maybe even continue studying art in college. “I want to keep studying to learn more,” she says. “I really enjoy school and learning.”
Kavira’s parents encourage her in her education. “They say to do what you can to learn everything,” she says. She’s very grateful that her family found a deaf school for her.
After learning more, Kavira doesn’t feel unequal in her family anymore, because she has realized she’s the same as them. She talks to her parents and siblings a lot. “I know sometimes as youth, we don’t really value our family—maybe sometimes we value our friends more than our family,” says Kavira. “But my family is what has made me strong. My parents have taught me the things I should value. They’ve helped me to be a good and kind person.”
“My family is what has made me strong,” says Kavira.

As a young single woman in my late twenties, I had been reviewing the direction of my life and considering some major changes. An unwelcome birthday had left me feeling older than I wanted to be; and, like many single members of the Church, I felt I had failed to reach some important personal goals. It seemed that I needed some specific direction from the Lord. So, for the first time in my life, I asked my priesthood leader to give me a blessing. This good man prepared himself by fasting, and suggested that I do the same. We met early one radiant Sunday morning.
As he spoke the words of the blessing, I listened intently for answers and solutions. But in that I was disappointed; the Lord had wisely left me to find my own way. Instead, he blessed me with what I really needed: an undeniable personal witness of his love for me. The blessing spoke of God’s specific awareness of my life and my problems. As examples of his constant influence were called to my mind, the Spirit confirmed the truthfulness of each. My heart overflowed with love and gratitude, springing from some untouched place deep within me. For the first time I had really experienced God’s love, and I could respond to him not only with my loyalty, but with my own love in return.
I have often pondered the effects of that experience. How could a knowledge of God’s love for me endow my life with such permanent strength? To me, the wonder of it was that God was so near, that he was completely aware of my most secret sorrows and fears—even my troubled midnight thoughts. I was not alone! His was a love that enabled me to “let go,” and to realize that even though my goals had not been achieved exactly as I felt they should be, God’s plan, whatever it was, would be better than my own.

More than a hundred years ago President Brigham Young sent a family to a small, remote place in Arizona to make peace with the Indians.
The father of the family was away on Church business when an impression came to him that something was wrong at home. He headed there at once, arriving about four o’clock in the morning. He found his wife gently cradling their little baby daughter in her arms. The baby had fallen into an open fireplace and was severely burned.
The father took their infant in his arms and gave her a blessing. He promised her that she would live, that she would not be disfigured, and that she would sing before the prominent people of the world.
The baby girl did live. She was not disfigured, and she grew up, raised a family, and sang in the Tabernacle Choir. The powers of heaven gave life back to that tiny child. And that sweet baby girl, who owed her life to the power of prayer, grew up and gave me life. She was my mother.

The last year of World War II was the very worst for Holland. The Nazis took everything. There was no coal to heat their house. Grace couldn’t go to school. She and her family had to eat tulip bulbs to keep from starving. They tasted horrible! Worst of all, Dad was still a prisoner of war.

But people were hopeful. Some said the Nazis were losing the war. And in May of 1945, the Nazis finally surrendered. Holland was free again! People celebrated in the streets. Now Grace could go back to school. There were no soldiers to be afraid of.

Best of all, one day when Grace and her brothers were walking back from school, they saw that the flag of Holland was flying in front of their home. Could it mean … ?

“Dad’s home!” shouted Heber.

Grace and her brothers ran inside. Grace threw her arms around Dad and gave him a big hug. He hugged her back tightly. It was so wonderful to have him home.

Soon after that, packages of food, clothes, and medicine began arriving in Holland. The Church leaders in Salt Lake City sent a lot of supplies to help people after the war. Grace even got a new dress! She had worn the same dress for five years, so she was very happy to have a new one.

For the first time in years, Grace had enough to eat. The mission presidency and the government in Holland decided to start a potato project to grow more food. Church members planted lots of potatoes in nearby fields. By fall they would have thousands of potatoes to eat.

“Look!” Grace told Dad, pointing to a sprouting potato plant. “We’ll never go hungry again!”

Dad nodded but didn’t smile. He said, “President Zappey told me that the Latter-day Saints in Germany are still starving, just like we were. They are not getting help from the government like we are.” Dad put his arm around Grace’s shoulders. “President Zappey has asked if we would give our potatoes to the German Saints.”

“Give up our potatoes!” Grace cried. But the Nazis were from Germany!

“I know it’s not easy,” Dad said. “But the people from Germany are also children of God. He loves them too. I forgave the Nazis for making me a prisoner. The Lord can help us all forgive.”

Grace looked up at Dad. He was the bravest person she knew, but she didn’t know if she had the courage to forgive like him. Then she remembered one of her teachers in school during the war. Her teacher had said that not all Germans were Nazis, and not all Nazi soldiers were bad. And now the girls and boys in Germany were starving, just like Grace had been.

Grace took a deep breath. “I understand,” she said. “Let’s give them our potatoes.”

Dad hugged her and smiled. “You are such a brave girl. This is a hard thing to do. But we are disciples of Jesus Christ, and so are our German brothers and sisters.”

Grace smiled. The angry feelings in her heart melted, and she felt calm and warm. She could forgive the Germans. And Jesus could help her love them too.

Latter-day Saints in Holland gave 140,000 pounds (70 tons) of potatoes and 180,000 pounds (90 tons) of fish to the German Latter-day Saints. Later, in 1953, the German Saints sent supplies to Church members in Holland after a huge flood.

On March 18, 1833, God the Father and the Son also made a brief personal appearance to members of the School of the Prophets. Zebedee Coltrin left this testimony:

"At one of these meetings after the organization of the school, ... when we were all together, Joseph having given instructions, and while engaged in silent prayer, kneeling, with our hands uplifted each one praying in silence, no one whispered above his breath, a personage walked through the room from East to west, and Joseph asked if we saw him. I saw him and suppose the others did, and Joseph answered that is Jesus, the Son of God, our elder brother. Afterward Joseph told us to resume our former position in prayer, which we did. Another person came through; He was surrounded as with a flame of fire."

In the presence of this personage, Coltrin “experienced a sensation that it might destroy the tabernacle as it was of consuming fire of great brightness.” Joseph Smith identified this personage as “the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ.” On another occasion, Coltrin stated that as the Father passed through the room, the “glory and brightness was so great . . . that had it continued much longer, I believe it would have consumed us.”

Elder Gordon B. Hinckley told a story after going into Vietnam that to me was a great lesson. There was a young man, as I remember it, who was in the military service in Vietnam and who joined the Church and was now about to go back to his home country in Southeast Asia.
Brother Hinckley said to him, “What is it going to do to you when you get back home now that you have joined the Church?”
“Oh,” said the youth, “I will be cast out. My family will disown me. I will have difficulty in school. I will have no military rank.”
Elder Hinckley then asked, “Isn’t that a pretty big price to pay?”
And this young man looked at Elder Hinckley and said, “Well, the gospel is true, isn’t it?”
That was a soul-searching question for Brother Hinckley, who replied: “Yes, my boy, with all my soul, the gospel is true.”
And then this young man said, “Well, what else matters then?”

When I was president of the mission in Holland, a man passing our office one night saw my light burning. He was just going home from doing his home teaching, and he rang my doorbell and said, “I saw your light burning, President Richards, and I thought you might be interested in what I was thinking as I was on my way home. I was thinking of who I was and what I was when the missionaries came to my home and who I am today and what I am. I just can’t believe I am the same man. I don’t have the same habits. I don’t have the same thoughts. I have changed so much that I just can’t believe that I am the same man.”

A few summers ago our family visited Catalina Island just off the coast near Los Angeles. While there we visited the excellent aviary, which has the most interesting collection of birds I have ever seen. But even though the birds were fascinating, the most important part of the visit for me was the acquaintance I made with a man whom I shall never forget. He told me something that still lingers vividly in my memory, even though this must have been ten years ago.

He worked at the aviary. I first noticed him as he was feeding the birds in the cages. He seemed to know each bird individually, calling them by name and chatting with them as though they were children gathered around him. It was easily apparent that he loved every bird in the place, and the birds seemed to feel the same way about him. After he had finished his feeding chores, I felt compelled to talk to him for a moment.

“It was interesting to watch you feed the birds,” I said. “It’s easy to see that you enjoy your work here.”

“Yes sir, I enjoy it here more than I can tell you. In fact, I can’t think of a single person I would trade places with—none of the movie stars, none of the bankers or lawyers, none of the merchants, none of the presidents, premiers, or kings. I like it right here, and I like what I’m doing.” We chatted a few minutes longer. Then he said, “You know, mister, there is one important thing I’ve discovered in life—at least as far as I personally am concerned. It’s this: If you like what you do, and if you’re doing something that is really worthwhile, and if you do the best job you can do, then, brother, you’ve got it made!”

On one occasion I accompanied a stake president and bishop to visit a less-active member. We taught him, in a very simple way, about the blessings of the Sabbath. We expressed to him our sincere love. He responded, “All I needed was to have someone come and give me an abrazo,” or hug. I immediately stood up and embraced him. The next day was Sunday. This same brother came to sacrament meeting with his entire family.

I can say, as Nephi said, that I was “born of goodly parents” (1 Ne. 1:1). During World War II my father was captured by the Germans when they invaded Belgium. He escaped and disappeared into the underground (an opposition group). As a young child, I remember seeing my father only once or twice. He made very short visits, then disappeared again into the underground, where he was a radio operator.
Even when the war was over, he didn’t come home right away but went to Germany with the Belgian army. Then he was assigned to another city in Belgium. Fortunately, my mother was a very strong and faithful person. When my father was away, she was the head and the strength of the family.
We were not Latter-day Saints, but I have always had faith in the Lord Jesus Christ. That has never been in doubt for me. I don’t know where my faith came from. I grew up in a typical European home. We did not go to church, and we never prayed in our home. Yet as a child, I knew. I had faith. It was a spiritual gift I could never deny.
As a teenager, I lived with my family on a hill in Namur, Belgium. We often noticed missionaries pushing their bicycles slowly uphill or riding swiftly back down. One day they came to our house. Knowing they were Americans, we were curious and invited them in. It was 1951, and I was about 16 years old.
When the missionaries started talking about religion, we four children were not too interested, but my mother listened and kept inviting them back. As they taught her, she gained a testimony of the Church. Then came the question of baptism. My mother’s parents didn’t want her to be baptized, and my father was in Germany in the army. He came back only once a month for a two- or three-day visit. My mother got his permission, however, and was baptized. But he insisted that we children wait and make our own decisions when we were older.
In the meantime, we attended church with our mother. I went mostly because I wanted to perfect my English. I participated in the youth activities. It was a very good experience because I learned how to sing, dance, and act in the theater. I became acquainted not only with the Church but with the missionaries. I was getting closer to them in age, and we became good friends. They were in our home at least two or three times a week.
When I turned 21, I attended college in Liège, a city about 65 kilometers from home. The missionaries challenged me to be baptized, and I had to make a choice. It was a matter of testimony. I had questions about the Book of Mormon. I was 95 percent converted, but I needed a spiritual confirmation. The missionaries helped me find it by teaching me to pray, praying with me, and helping me recognize the answers I received. I was soon baptized. Since that time in that small branch, I have continued to grow in the gospel.
My faith helped me when I experienced peer pressure. I was the only member of the Church in college and later in Belgium’s air force. To resist temptations, I had to turn somewhere. I could not just turn to a magazine or a book. I had to have the internal strength that comes from a testimony of Jesus Christ. Once you have faith and rely on it, you will be strengthened even more. Faith becomes your determining factor in making decisions and moving forward.
My father never did join the Church, but he was a fervent supporter of it because he could see its blessings in the lives of his wife and four children. (My sister and two brothers were also baptized.) Prior to his death, he asked me to give him a priesthood blessing, and I did. We had a very special conversation, and he confided in me for the first time that he had faith. Coming from him, this was a major step.
With age, physical challenges are starting. At the end of last year I suddenly had a serious back problem. I was unable to move or to function normally. Through a priesthood blessing and my faith in the Lord, my back got better.
I think faith is our “homework” as Latter-day Saints. When you go to school, you have a textbook, but unless you do the homework each night, you don’t progress. The scriptures are our gospel “textbook,” but we have to do our homework. Our faith needs to be practiced. Faith without works is dead (see James 2:17).
My message to you children is to listen to your parents and follow their teachings. I had a foundation in my life from the teachings of my mother and my father, who were great examples. They were not perfect and your parents may not be perfect either. But if you can separate their problems from the true principles they teach and follow by faith, you will be blessed for it. If you will turn to your parents and to the Lord, it will make a big difference.

The Lord is constantly dealing with his children in terms of their needs, not their wants. This is pretty hard doctrine for any of us, and it was especially hard for our teenage daughter. Being elected to a leadership position at her high school seemed to be the most important need of her life. She had worked and prepared for several months. “Oh, Mother, I’m praying so hard to win. The Lord says you can ask for any righteous desire of your heart and this is mine.” It seemed a reasonable request to us too. She had a testimony of the gospel and was socially popular in a large high school. We thought she would be a good influence for the Church.
When the voting time finally arrived, it seemed certain that she would be one of the winners. She was absolutely crushed when she lost! It was only by a few votes—but she lost!
The very next month she was asked to be one of the high school seminary officers. All of the seminary council had made personal sacrifices to serve. The seminary president had been asked to give up running for student body president; this was a hard decision for him. They said they really needed our daughter’s creativity and missionary talents to attract people, and this year was a very important one for the growth and development of the seminary program.
That year she had many spiritual experiences. She developed deep, meaningful friendships and was helpful in bringing several people into Church activity.
Later she told me that she gradually came to an understanding of herself through prayer and study of the scriptures. “I wanted to win that election more than anything else, but the Lord knew I needed this other experience more. I needed more spiritual growth. It was a hard experience, but I know in my heart it was right.”

A member of our ward had to be on bed rest for the rest of her pregnancy. I had an idea that our family could take care of her son a couple of days a week. My brothers and sister and I helped watch him and make sure he was having fun when he wasn’t with his mom. It was so fun to have him come over and to know that we were helping his family.
Mason, Cooper, Weston, and Ellie T., ages 10, 8, 5, and 3, Georgia

Pastel-colored tissue paper cluttered tabletops as young women from a ward in Utah, USA, working with their leaders, cut circle after circle, then threaded the circles together to form flowers, and then attached them to head bands. As they fashioned flower after paper flower, laughter and conversation filled the air—as well as anticipation. The flowers were to be worn at a dinner where, after months of anonymous service, the young women would finally meet their “secret grandmothers.”
From February to September, the young women had worked both alone and in groups—delivering treats, washing windows, plastering paper hearts all over doors—anything they could think of to brighten the day of the senior sisters in their ward.
And now it was finally time for the grandmothers to find out which young women had been serving them.
The evening for the dinner soon arrived. It didn’t take long before young women and “secret grandmothers,” all of them with paper flowers in their hair, were laughing and joking, saying, “So, you’re the one!” and “Thank you so much!”
Once everyone was a little better acquainted, and after sharing a delicious meal, the real fun of the evening began. The “grandmothers” had responded to questionnaires. As their answers were read aloud, the young women had to guess who was being introduced.
Answers revealed information such as favorite childhood activities, best advice received from parents, life-changing moments, family rules and chores when they were teens, favorite foods, embarrassing experiences, awkward dates, nicknames, their mother’s recipes, family heirlooms and traditions, favorite teachers, and much more.
There were some tender moments. One young woman, Charlotte R., 18, who lost her mother when she was eight, found out that two of the senior sisters had been through the same experience.
“That strengthened me a lot,” Charlotte said. “Here are women I admire, who do so much and help so many, and I never knew that they lost their mothers, too.”
Sister Shields, for example, was 16 when her mother died. Charlotte said, “When she said her mother’s faith stayed strong and that she heard her mother’s testimony many times, that really touched me, because that’s how my mother was.”
Sister Shields showed two prized possessions to the young women—a baptismal dress her mother sewed, and a coat her mother made for her just before she passed away.
Serenity M., 15, said that “seeing what Sister Shields’s mother did for her made me think about what my mother has given to me.” It also made her glad that she had made something nice for Sister Shields: “a hot chocolate mug with a smiley face inside, so that when she’s done drinking cocoa she has an extra reason to smile.”
Another young woman, Michaela M., 15, said she had often seen Sister Heyward at church before the months of service began. “I never actually knew her personally,” Michaela said, “but doing service for her made me feel closer to her, even though until tonight she didn’t know who was doing it.”
At the dinner, however, Michaela gained additional perspective. “Tonight, when the ‘grandmothers’ answered questions about growing up, going on dates, what they learned in seminary, and all of that, I thought, those are the same things I’m going through. I got the feeling that we’re all sisters, even though we’re different ages.”
Emma F., 13, agreed. “Sometimes it’s fun to be with people who are a little older because you get to see how much alike we are.”
Emily M., 15, said that an added benefit of the service and the dinner was that it made her feel eager to attend Relief Society. “If they’re all nice like these ladies,” she said, “then I’m excited.”
“It brought us together as sisters in Zion,” said Chloe F., 17. “It wasn’t scary or intimidating to be with these ladies; it was easy and natural because we all had things in common. It strengthened my testimony of how we truly are sisters, and I was impressed with their faith and how it has guided them.” It was, she said, “perfect preparation for when I go into Relief Society this fall.”
And Amanda L., 17, said, “The day after the dinner, Sister Coke left me some flowers and a note that said she was happy to get to know me. I’ve made a friend and it won’t taper off. I’m going to keep visiting her every once in a while to see how she’s doing, to let her know we still care.”
That is, after all, the sort of thing that sisters do.

María Coj was a 17-year-old member of the Church in Guatemala, the oldest of eight children. She was sick with cysticercosis, a parasitic infection that comes from eating contaminated food; with time it spread to her brain, causing terrible headaches and then blindness. To give her relief from the pain, it was necessary to move her from her home in Sololá to Guatemala City. Because of convulsions caused by the advance of the illness, her condition worsened, and it was only with life-support systems that she was kept alive. It was evident that she could not live long under those conditions.
At this same time, Erika Alonzo, age 12, a partially blind member of the Church, traveled 22 hours by bus from Honduras to Guatemala City to receive an eye operation. For two weeks she waited for a cornea from the United States to be transplanted to her eye, but none was available.
In the meantime, María died. Because her blindness was caused by pressure on her brain, her corneas were healthy. María’s father and mother authorized the cornea donation. The operation was a success.
On 12 July 1993, Erika traveled to Sololá to meet the Coj family for the first time. The surprised family asked her, “Can you see?” She answered, “I see everything clearly.” It was a spiritual meeting. Sister Coj, who did not understand much Spanish because her native language is Cakchiquel, felt the love and the spirit of the conversation. Because of the donation of María’s corneas, Erika can now see and enjoy everything around her. The death of one person and the love of her parents blessed the life of another. The medical miracle of one person being able to look through eyes of another is a surprising reality.

The two months that I spent in the Missionary Training Center had prepared me well for the mission experience; I had a reasonable command of the language and felt comfortable teaching the memorized discussions. Culture classes had been sufficient to prepare me for the cultural conditions that abounded in Central America, and with daily vitamins I seemed to be staying healthy in spite of food that I was unaccustomed to and never seemed to get enough of. Sure, there were a lot of things about living in Honduras that took awhile to adjust to, but the actual missionary work didn’t seem to be a big adjustment.
I truly believed in and thought that I really understood most of the truths that I was sharing. I had grown up in an LDS home and was confident that my background had provided me with just about as much as there was to know about basic concepts like faith, baptism, and service. I’d probably heard Sunday School lessons on service a hundred times. I’d always participated in Church service projects and had even done a big community service project to earn an Eagle Scout Award. And now I was giving up two years of my life to share the gospel with people I didn’t even know. When I left on my mission, I was sure that if I hadn’t understood the meaning of service before, I certainly did now. However, in this foreign land, I was finding out that there were quite a few things that I didn’t fully comprehend—and service was one of them.
The rough and dusty trails that led from hut to hut among the palm and papaya trees had become familiar to me in the short time that I had been in the village of Santa Barbara. I had also grown accustomed to cold showers at 6:00 A.M. and was actually developing a taste for bananas at every meal. Our area was small enough that my companion and I knew the location of the homes of every member, and we were able to pass by at least once a week to encourage them to attend Sunday meetings.
The Sortos were a humble family with great faith, and I knew them as the family whose dog always came with them to the small rented building that we used as a chapel. He would sit patiently and wait for the meetings to end and then disappear along with the rest of the family up into the hills. Brother Sorto made adobe bricks for a living and would pick up an odd job here and there cleaning the brush from someone’s field. This he did with a machete, inch by inch, as he literally crawled along the ground.
One day as we approached the one-room, thatched-roof home of the Sorto family, the little dog with near perfect church attendance ran down the trail barking and wagging his tail to greet us. Looking into the open doorway we could see that Brother Sorto was lying on the floor, and the other family members were gathered around. As my companion and I got closer we could see that one of Brother Sorto’s thin brown legs was covered with a mixture of dirt and blood. A moment of explanation from Sister Sorto painted a sickening picture. While cleaning a field that morning Brother Sorto had been swinging his sharpened machete from side to side, cutting away the weeds and brush. The machete had slipped and, instead of swinging along the ground, had dug into his shin. He had made his way home and was now lying quietly waiting for the bleeding to stop.
It quickly became evident that no one quite knew what to do, so my companion and I went right to work. He took the oldest son with him and went down into the pueblo to round up some gauze and perhaps a little rubbing alcohol. I remained with Brother Sorto to clean the dirt and blood from his leg. Sister Sorto brought me a large towel and a basin filled with water that she had been warming over the fire. I tied the towel around my waist and knelt down on the dirt floor next to Brother Sorto. The floor was smooth and hard from being constantly swept with large, dried palm branches. As I began to bathe his feet with the clean water, Brother Sorto looked up, smiled, and took my hand. With the other I continued to clean away the dirt and blood.
“Esta bien, hermano.”
“Te quiero, elder,” he replied.
My heart filled with love for this man, and suddenly my mind was flooded with images from the scriptures:
“He riseth from supper, and laid aside his garments; and took a towel, and girded himself.
“After that he poureth water into a bason, and began to wash the disciples’ feet, and to wipe them with the towel wherewith he was girded” (John 13:4–5).
So many times I had read the account of Christ performing that sacred ordinance. So often I had sat through lessons on service and humility, and now, suddenly, kneeling on the floor in a little adobe hut in the hills of Honduras, it all made sense. Jesus, throughout his ministry, showed us the perfect example through the love and service he gave. Service should be given because there is love, not because there is an obligation.
“Every man according as he purposeth in his heart, so let him give; not grudgingly, or of necessity: for God loveth a cheerful giver” (2 Cor. 9:7).
As the dirt and blood were washed away I could see that the wound was not as deep as I had first anticipated, but the lesson I had learned affected me more deeply than I could have imagined.
Maybe the true meaning of service isn’t found in all of those big projects but rather in the simple everyday kindnesses that we can show one another.

I’ve shared with you previously an example of this philosophy. I believe it bears repeating. Many years ago, Arthur Gordon wrote in a national magazine, and I quote:
“When I was around thirteen and my brother ten, Father had promised to take us to the circus. But at lunchtime there was a phone call; some urgent business required his attention downtown. We braced ourselves for disappointment. Then we heard him say [into the phone], ‘No, I won’t be down. It’ll have to wait.’
“When he came back to the table, Mother smiled. ‘The circus keeps coming back, you know,’ [she said.]
“‘I know,’ said Father. ‘But childhood doesn’t.’”