Gospel Story Finder

During the last six months of his life, President Joseph F. Smith suffered from the effects of age and spent much time in his personal study in the Beehive House in Salt Lake City. He did, however, gather enough strength to attend general conference in October 1918. In the opening session, he arose to address the Saints, and with a voice filled with emotion said:
“I will not, I dare not, attempt to enter upon many things that are resting upon my mind this morning, and I shall postpone until some future time, the Lord be willing, my attempt to tell you some of the things that are in my mind, and that dwell in my heart. I have not lived alone these last five months. I have dwelt in the spirit of prayer, of supplication, of faith and of determination; and I have had my communication with the Spirit of the Lord continuously.”
According to his son, Joseph Fielding Smith, writing his father’s biography, The Life of Joseph F. Smith, the President was expressing in broad terms the fact that during the past six months he had been the recipient of numerous manifestations, some of which he shared with his son. He had received one of these manifestations, the Vision of the Redemption of the Dead, just the day before, on 3 October 1918, and recorded it immediately following the close of the conference.
Months later, on Thursday, 3 October 1918, President Smith, largely confined to his room because of illness, sat reading and meditating about the universal nature of the Atonement and about the Apostle Peter’s allusions to Christ’s post-mortal ministry. The stage was set: preparation of a lifetime and preparation of the moment were recompensed with a heavenly endowment—the Vision of the Redemption of the Dead.
“As I pondered over these things which are written,” the President writes, “the eyes of my understanding were opened, and the Spirit of the Lord rested upon me, and I saw the hosts of the dead, both small and great.” (D&C 138:11.)

Illustration by Ben Simonsen
I grew up in the Church. My family and I went to church every Sunday, and when I turned 12, I started going to Mutual every week. Even though I was active in the Church, I still relied mostly on my family’s testimonies. I liked going to the activities, but I mostly went out of habit. Sometimes I wondered why I went at all.
One Mutual activity very clearly answered that question. We went to a local food bank and started by sorting through giant bins of food that had been donated. After a little while we divided up into groups to deliver food to different families in need.
We all chatted as we drove from one place to another. The families had big smiles on their faces when we gave them the food. At one point we all got out of the car to deliver the food together. The air was crisp as we walked toward the building. We crowded into a small staircase of a rundown apartment building.
We knocked on the door and waited for a bit, shivering, until the door opened just a crack. I could see a woman’s eyes peeking out. Someone in our group said a few words but stopped when the woman almost closed the door. We stepped forward with a box of food. She told us to wait and closed the door. The other girls and I stared at each other, wondering what was happening.
We waited for what seemed like forever. Finally, a man came to the door, the little woman right behind him with a baby wrapped in a big blanket in her arms. Tears of gratitude were in her eyes as we gave the food to her husband. Warmth started in my heart and filled my entire body, and I started to cry. I looked at the little family, and I didn’t know what was happening. I’d never felt anything like it.
Walking away from that humble apartment, my heart still felt so full. The snow on the ground looked more beautiful than before. I was more grateful for my family. I felt like I was going to burst with love.
When we got back in the car, I was quiet, thinking about how I didn’t even know those people, but I was so happy and full of love. I sat there bewildered until it hit me like a stampede—it was the Spirit giving me that warmth and love. The words of King Benjamin came to my mind: “And behold, I tell you these things that ye may learn wisdom; that ye may learn that when ye are in the service of your fellow beings ye are only in the service of your God” (Mosiah 2:17).
My mouth nearly dropped open with the realization of how much God loves His children. He had just allowed me to feel a little bit of that love. He is aware of His children’s needs. He has a plan for us. It is a plan that I’d learned about since I was a little girl. It means that He loves me! In that moment the Spirit burned within me. I knew that I was supposed to be at Mutual that night so that I could learn that lesson of God’s love. And I didn’t have to rely on anyone else for that testimony.

“Two sandwiches? I want three! Gimme three!”
“Man, I can really use this. Thanks.”
“Hey sweetie! You’re kinda cute.”
“Can I take one home to my kid? We haven’t eaten in a while.”
“Peanut butter? I can’t eat this stuff. Ain’tcha got no cheese?”
Mark looked around in the tray for something that he thought was a cheese sandwich and handed it to the hungry man standing at the open side door of the big white van. Mark and three other priests from the Arlington Ward, McLean Stake, were distributing food as fast as they could to the needy and homeless of Washington, D.C. This was a service project a little out of the ordinary for the priests, one they wouldn’t soon forget.
The plan had sounded simple enough. They’d go to a charity kitchen called “Martha’s Table,” where food had been donated and prepared. They’d load a van, which was driven by another volunteer, then head out to give away the food at three prearranged locations.
Mark Wolthuis, 16, was to hand out sandwiches, fruit, and pastries. Taylor Holsinger, 16, would do the same thing. Gonzalo Vargas, 17, would be at the back of the truck, wearing yellow rubber gloves and ladling up hot vegetable soup. And Keith Haraguchi, 16, would pour drinks from big plastic coolers he’d set up outside the van.
A line about 50 people strong had already formed by the time the van pulled up to the first stop, a busy downtown street corner bordering a small square. The young men were surprised to see a business suit or two and several bicycle couriers in line. They were also surprised the first time they saw what they later understood to be standard operating procedure: People would stand in line, get their food, then go straight to the end of the line. By the time they got to the front of the line again, they had finished their first helpings and were ready for seconds.
The second stop was Lafayette Park, right across the street from the White House. There were even more eaters there, their numbers swollen by those who had run over from the last stop. While some tenderly fed their last sandwich crumbs to the pigeons, others were trying to cut in the line, and a fight erupted. The boys just kept on dispensing food.
The last stop was in a more residential neighborhood. Old brick apartment buildings surrounded a small park where the food was handed out. There some of the people stopped to chat, explaining that with rent and food costs so high, they couldn’t afford both. “Prices here are some of the highest in the country,” agreed Taylor.
Gonzalo turned the big soup kettle on its side, trying to ladle out the last drops of broth, and Keith poured his last drink. They loaded their equipment back in the truck for the final time and pulled away from the curb. One or two lone, shabby figures remained to pick through the discarded wrappers, hoping to find a crumb or two worth eating. On the way back to Arlington, after the van had been returned and the empty trays, pots, and coolers unloaded, the boys talked about what they’d learned from the experience. They had done their part to help the needy, but the needy had also helped them.
Taylor said it made him realize how important it is to work hard in school and to take advantage of the educational opportunities he has right now to prepare for future employment. “I don’t ever want to end up in the streets,” he said.
Keith learned about gratitude. Although the food they gave out was simple, he noted that many people were grateful for any little thing they could get. “A lot of people said thank you, and really meant it,” he said.
Some questions were raised in the boys’ minds, too. “Could this whole thing be kind of futile?” Taylor asked. “I mean, we feed them for not working. Why work when you can survive on handouts? Do you think, by giving them food, we’re making them lazy?”
“But what about the old people, and the ones who are sick?” asked Gonzalo. “There are some guys who really can’t take care of themselves.”
“Those are the ones we need to have shelters for, I guess,” said Taylor.
“It would be best to help some of the others find good jobs,” offered Mark.
The boys realized that they were dealing firsthand with a social situation that has no easy answers. They’d never know what the people they’d been helping had been through. All they could see was that there seemed to be an awful lot of people in need.”
“There was no way you could judge them, and no reason to,” said Gonzalo. “You just gave something to everybody.”
What Gonzalo said brought to mind the great speech King Benjamin gave in the Book of Mormon about helping the needy. He said: “Ye yourselves will succor those that stand in need of your succor; ye will administer of your substance unto him that standeth in need; and ye will not suffer that the beggar putteth up his petition to you in vain, and turn him out to perish.
“Perhaps thou shalt say: The man has brought upon himself his misery; therefore I will stay my hand, and will not give unto him of my food, nor impart unto him of my substance that he may not suffer, for his punishments are just—
“But I say unto you, O man, whosoever doeth this the same hath great cause to repent. …
“For behold, are we not all beggars? Do we not all depend upon the same Being, even God, for all the substance which we have … ?
“And now, if God, who has created you, on whom you are dependent for your lives and for all that ye have and are, doth grant unto you whatsoever ye ask that is right, … O then, how ye ought to impart of the substance that ye have one to another” (Mosiah 4:16–19, 21).
Somehow, the strange things the priests had seen didn’t matter as much as the good things they’d done. They’d been able to ease some of the pain, if only temporarily, for some people who were suffering. They knew they’d be back to do it again, and they knew they couldn’t judge the people they were helping.
Because, deep down inside, the seed of understanding had been planted that would teach them what was really meant when King Benjamin asked, “Are we not all beggars?”

After high school, like many freshmen, I was overwhelmed by my college courses and the challenges of simultaneously living away from home but also with five roommates.

This was when I learned to understand the strengthening and enabling power of Christ’s grace. I spent my days working and studying, but I depended on daily prayers in which I pled to Heavenly Father for the ability to complete the necessary tasks. As the school year continued, I discovered to my joy that with the strengthening and enabling power of Christ’s Atonement, I could function not only well but without difficulty.

Illustrations by Bradley Clark
An overnight campout with all kinds of outdoor activities had been planned for Friday and Saturday, and I was eager to accompany my son. Carl had a part-time job and had to work Friday, so I proposed picking him up Friday evening after work. We planned to park at a bridge above the campsite and then hike down.
When we arrived at the bridge, it was dark, with only a sliver of the moon and a few stars shining in the sky. The trail to the campsite was carved out of the face of a cliff that ran alongside the river. We were about 300 yards (275 m) above the river when we began our hike.
Not far down the trail our flashlight began to dim, and the trail seemed to disappear at times in the faulty light. Suddenly something told me to stop. I halted abruptly but then took two more steps forward. The feeling or voice then repeated, “Stop!”
I stopped again. Carl, close behind, almost ran into me.
“What’s going on, Dad?” he asked.
I told him about the prompting, adding that we needed to go home and that we would return in the morning.
“Dad, I can see the campfire,” he responded. “It can’t be more than a mile (1.6 km) away.”
Recognizing that the prompting had come from the Holy Ghost, I insisted that we not take another step. The flashlight had gone dead, so we cautiously hiked back up the trail. Carl was disappointed and didn’t talk much on our way home.
Early the next morning we returned to the bridge and began hiking again. At least Carl would be able to participate in Saturday’s activities. We hurried along until, all of a sudden, the trail disappeared! Then it hit us. We had arrived at the exact spot where we had stopped the night before.
“Dad, it’s at least 100 yards (91 m) straight down to the river,” Carl said. “We would have been killed!”
The cliff stretched steeply below us down to the river. In front of us there was a gap in the trail about 12 feet (3.6 m) wide, the aftermath of a recent storm.
Carl and I hugged each other as our tears flowed. Then we climbed to another trail and made our way to the campsite. We arrived just in time for breakfast.
A warning sign was supposed to have been placed on the first trail but wasn’t. Thankfully, a warning sign came to us from the Holy Ghost.

When Scott woke up in his grandfather’s den, he recognized the creaking noise even before he opened his eyes: Grandpa Max was hoisting his flag up the wooden flagpole in the front yard.
Today was the Fourth of July, but that wasn’t the reason that Grandpa Max was putting up the flag. He had hoisted “the old Stars and Stripes,” as he called it, to the top of that pole 365 days a year for as long as Scott could remember.
Two minutes later Grandpa was standing at the bottom of the stairs, hollering the familiar words, “Hey, buddy boy, get yourself down here. You’re on spud-peeling detail in five minutes.”
Scott groaned and rolled over. In a few hours about thirty-five relatives would spill onto the front yard for the big picnic that Grandpa Max hosted every year. This was Scott’s year to be cohost. His older cousin Jeff, who had held that title the year before, had told Scott that “cohost” translated into “free help,” and Scott believed it. His body ached from hours of washing windows, mowing the lawn, and carrying tables yesterday. And Grandpa evidently had much more in store for this morning.
“Well, it’s about time!” Grandpa Max grinned at Scott while sliding three slices of golden french toast onto a plate and passing the maple syrup to his grandson.
“I heard you out there with the flag, Grandpa,” Scott said between bites. “I guess it’s just another day for you.”
“Ooooh no, no, buddy boy. I wouldn’t say that. I wouldn’t ever say that.”
“Well, you do put the flag up every day. Why is that, Grandpa?”
Grandpa Max didn’t answer immediately. Instead he stood up and grabbed a ten-pound bag of potatoes off the counter. “Tell you what, Scott. You peel these; I’ll quarter ’em. You listen; I’ll explain.”
Scott shoveled in the rest of his breakfast and silently picked up the vegetable peeler. He knew that tone of voice, and it meant “Listen up.”
“First,” Grandpa began, “you have to imagine the place that I call ‘the old country,’ the place where I was born. My village wasn’t a town as you know it, but a small cluster of cottages and shops built along seldom-traveled dirt roads. Everywhere there were poor, shabbily dressed people. Why, they would’ve thought that I was a king if they could have seen me dressed like this.” And he snapped the strap of his bib overalls for emphasis.
“And speaking of kings, the leader of the old country taxed and imprisoned the people unfairly, sometimes forcing them to join his private army. Because of this, many people began to talk against him. They gathered at secret meetings where they talked of ways to overthrow him. The ruler knew that they hated him, so periodically he sent his soldiers throughout the country to show his strength and to question the people, hoping to discover his enemies.
“In my village every family, no matter how poor, had a flag because a flag was considered protection against the soldiers. If a house had a flag hanging from it, it was not as likely to be searched.
“I have a picture in my mind,” Grandpa Max continued, “of my last day in the old country. I was only four years old, but it was a day that I will never forget. My parents had been packing all night, loading our wagon with all our possessions. We were going to make our escape early in the morning.
“The next morning, of all days, the king’s soldiers rode into town to make one of their searches. Our closest neighbor came to warn us.
“Mother had us take off our traveling clothes and put on our everyday work clothes so that we wouldn’t look suspicious. Father pulled the wagon around to the back of the house and hid it in the trees. “Suddenly Mother remembered the flag. Nearly everything inside our small home had been packed into the wagon, and though we searched frantically, we couldn’t find the flag.
“I remember that that’s when I began to cry. Far down the road I could see all our neighbors’ houses draped with the hated flags. Hurriedly my father dumped a bundle of linens on the ground. Rummaging through it, he found the flag. He raced around to the front of the house and hung it up. That picture of my father hanging the flag is my last memory of the old country.”
Grandpa Max smiled at Scott. “A few months later I was living a very different life. My family had come to America, to New York City. We lived in an apartment building with more apartment buildings on both sides of us. On the bottom floor of most of the buildings were shops of all kinds. The street outside was always a busy place, filled with peddlers selling their wares, children playing noisily, and people doing their marketing. Women leaned out their windows and carried on loud conversations with each other.
“One hot, sticky morning I woke up to an unusual quiet. I knew that it was not the weekend, but the street was nearly empty. I heard no peddlers’ cries, no shouting or bargaining as on every other morning. The only sounds were those of a few children playing.
“As usual, I hurried through breakfast, anxious to go downstairs and join my friends. But when I bolted out the front door of our apartment building, I immediately stiffened, and my heart started to pound violently. I wanted to scream, but I couldn’t open my mouth. I wanted to run back inside, but my feet wouldn’t move.
“Attached to every shop front, hanging from dozens of windows, stuck into window boxes, and tacked onto mailboxes were hundreds of flags. I stood trembling with fear, waiting for the soldiers to appear and search our homes.
“Laughing and chattering, several children asked me to join in a game, and I numbly followed along. Soon men and women joined the children outside. They sat on the steps of their apartment buildings, talking and joking. Aren’t any of the men going to work? I kept asking myself. Why is everyone so happy? I thought that perhaps they were all just pretending, trying to keep each other cheerful.
“All day long I felt as if I were in a nightmare. By afternoon I was too miserable to even join my friends in their games. I just sat on the curb and watched and waited. At suppertime the men set up long tables on the sidewalk, and the women covered them with tablecloths and began bringing platters and bowls of food to be shared by everyone. I couldn’t eat anything at all.
“Just before dark, Mother took me up to bed. While she was tucking me in, she told me that she was going back outside and that I could call her if I needed anything. I started to cry.
“‘No,’ I yelled, ‘you can’t leave me here alone!’ All day I had tried to be brave, but finally I just broke down and sobbed.
“My father raced up the stairs. ‘I heard you crying clear downstairs. Why are you sad after this wonderful day?’ he asked.
“‘How can you say it’s a wonderful day,’ I cried. ‘How can you pretend, when the soldiers will be here any minute?’
“‘Soldiers?’ he asked. ‘What soldiers?’
“‘The soldiers everybody put their flags up for,’ I sobbed. ‘They’ll be here soon, and we don’t even have a flag!’
“‘Oh, my poor frightened boy,’ my father said softly. He sat me on his lap. ‘First of all,’ he explained, ‘there are no soldiers coming to search our home today or any other day.’
“I stopped crying and looked up at him. Then he told me the story of America’s birthday and explained that all the flags were for the celebration.
“I went back outside with my parents and watched the fireworks to end the big birthday party and thought and thought about what my father had told me, trying to understand it all.
“I did understand one thing, though. My father said, ‘Someday we will be able to buy a flag, and I will be very proud to fly that flag. In fact, I will be so proud that when I am an American citizen, I will want to fly it every single day. And I hope you will, too, Max.’”
The potatoes were all peeled, quartered, and ready to boil, and Scott was still listening intently to his grandfather. “How come you never told me that story before, Grandpa?”
“Well, buddy boy, you never asked me before.”
“I think you should tell everyone today at the picnic, Grandpa,” I told him.
“Maybe I will, buddy boy. Maybe I will.”

At school we were given an assignment to find different words in magazines. My friend and I were looking through a magazine and came across an advertisement that showed a woman dressed immodestly. I knew I should tell our teacher, but my friend wanted to leave it in the magazine and ignore it. I decided to tell our teacher that the magazine she had given us had a bad picture in it. She said thank you, and put the advertisement in the trash. I’m glad I did the right thing, and that no one else had to see the bad picture.

I have visited with a woman who received the miracle of sufficient strength to endure unimaginable losses with just the simple capacity to repeat endlessly the words “I know that my Redeemer lives.” That faith and those words of testimony were still there in the mist that obscured but did not erase memories of her childhood.
I was stunned to learn that another woman had forgiven a person who had wronged her for years. I was surprised and asked her why she had chosen to forgive and forget so many years of spiteful abuse.
She said quietly, “It was the hardest thing I have ever done, but I just knew I had to do it. So I did.” Her faith that the Savior would forgive her if she forgave others prepared her with a feeling of peace and hope as she faced death just months after she had forgiven her unrepentant adversary.
She asked me, “When I get there, how will it be in heaven?”
And I said, “I know just from what I have seen of your capacity to exercise faith and to forgive that it will be a wonderful homecoming for you.”

Once I went to a family reunion in another state. It was a lot of fun. When Sunday came, I was nervous to go to a different ward. The only people I knew at church were my family. I wanted to stay home, but I knew going to church was important.
When we got to Primary, my nervous feeling went away a little. I started to feel comfortable with the other kids. They shared their scriptures with me, they talked to me, and they helped me answer questions. We became friends.
I was glad I went to church and thankful that everyone was so nice to me. I hope I get to go to that ward and see my friends sometime again.

An example of this would be Dick Hammer, who came to Utah with the Civilian Conservation Corps during the Depression. He met and married a Latter-day Saint young woman. He opened Dick’s Café in St. George, Utah, which became a popular meeting spot.
Assigned as home teacher to the Hammer family was Willard Milne, a friend of mine. Since I knew Dick Hammer as well, having printed the menus for his café, I would ask my friend Brother Milne when I visited St. George, “How is our friend Dick Hammer coming?”
The reply would generally be, “He’s coming, but slowly.”
When Willard Milne and his companion visited the Hammer home each month, they always managed to present a gospel message and to share their testimonies with Dick and the family.
The years passed by, and then one day Willard phoned me with good news. “Brother Monson,” he began, “Dick Hammer is converted and is going to be baptized. He is in his 90th year, and we have been friends all our adult lives. His decision warms my heart. I’ve been his home teacher for many years.” There was a catch in Willard’s voice as he conveyed his welcome message.
Brother Hammer was indeed baptized and a year later entered that beautiful St. George Temple and there received his endowment and sealing blessings.
I asked Willard, “Did you ever become discouraged as his home teacher for such a long time?”
He replied, “No, it was worth every effort. As I witness the joy which has come to the members of the Hammer family, my heart fills with gratitude for the blessings the gospel has brought into their lives and for the privilege I have had to help in some way. I am a happy man.”

“There were several very nice young men in our company, especially one. He used to say such lovely things to me, told me that I was beautiful and intelligent, and even went so far as to say that I was amiable, something I had never been accused of before, said I was the only woman that he ever loved, and that we were just suited to each other.
“I began to believe him and when he proposed what could I say but yes? Well, the course of true love did run smooth, at least until we got into the Valley. And then we had the usual lovers’ quarrel but not the usual making up. In a short time, he let me know that another girl appreciated him, if I did not. He married one of the girls of our company, whose ignorance he had ridiculed to me many times while on our journey. Such is the constancy of man! I understood she made him a good wife, but stood in great awe of him, the man had honored her so highly. The fates sometimes seem to interfere with our plans, all for our best good.”

In 1931, Vashni [H.P.] Young wrote a popular best-seller entitled A Fortune to Share (Bobbs-Merrill). Vashni Young had worked as a salesman during the lush, easy, prosperous years of the late 1920s, and then the market crash of October 1929 had plunged Vashni Young, with a few million other people, into the bottomless economic pit of the early 1930s. But he did not like the depression and he had become pretty sour on this world generally. And so he bought a gun and decided to have a look at the next world by committing suicide. But before he pulled the trigger, he spent a little time thinking about his wife and children and he decided that suicide was not a very manly way to solve a problem. And so instead of shooting himself, he did a little analyzing and he discovered that his mind had been operating like a giant junk factory, turning out all kinds of mental, emotional, and spiritual junk.

Then he remembered William James, the great Harvard psychologist who said, “The greatest discovery of my generation is that you can change your circumstances by changing your attitudes of mind.” And while everybody wants to change his circumstances, Vash Young decided to change himself. He said: “I got tired of being a fool.” He wanted to get out of the junk business and so he dumped overboard a lot of his bad habits of liquor, tobacco, and irresponsibility. He decided to adopt some good attitudes, think like a man, be responsible, and go to work.

It wasn’t long before Vash Young discovered that life was much more pleasant and that his prosperity level was going up by leaps and bounds. And then he made a great discovery that he had personal possession of a vast fortune which he could share with every other person in the world without lessening his own supply.

He wrote his great book, A Fortune to Share, and gave it as wide a circulation as possible, telling people about his discovery. Then he set aside one day each week which he called “trouble day” during which he worked with other troubled people trying to persuade them to get out of the junk business and share in this great fortune which was so readily available.

In October 1997, Sister Bednar and I hosted Elder and Sister Maxwell at Brigham Young University–Idaho (then Ricks College). Elder Maxwell was to speak to the students, staff, and faculty in a devotional assembly.

Earlier in that same year, Elder Maxwell underwent 46 days and nights of debilitating chemotherapy for leukemia. His rehabilitation and continued therapy progressed positively through the spring and summer months, but Elder Maxwell’s physical strength and stamina were nonetheless limited when he traveled to Rexburg. After greeting Elder and Sister Maxwell at the airport, Susan and I drove them to our home for rest and a light lunch before the devotional.

I asked Elder Maxwell what lessons he had learned through his illness. I will remember always the precise and penetrating answer he gave. “Dave,” he said, “I have learned that not shrinking is more important than surviving.”

His response to my inquiry was a principle with which he had gained extensive personal experience during his chemotherapy. In January 1997, on the day he was scheduled to begin his first round of treatment, Elder Maxwell looked at his wife, reached for her hand, breathed a deep sigh, and said, “I just don’t want to shrink.”

In his October 1997 general conference message, Elder Maxwell taught with great authenticity: “As we confront our own … trials and tribulations, we too can plead with the Father, just as Jesus did, that we ‘might not … shrink’—meaning to retreat or to recoil (D&C 19:18). Not shrinking is much more important than surviving! Moreover, partaking of a bitter cup without becoming bitter is likewise part of the emulation of Jesus.”1

Elder Maxwell also did not shrink. This mighty Apostle pressed forward steadfastly and was blessed with additional time in mortality to love, to serve, to teach, and to testify. Those concluding years of his life were an emphatic exclamation point to his example of devoted discipleship—through both his words and his deeds.

In France, it isn’t unusual to see sleek sports cars whizzing around the streets. But it is unusual to see a large family van driving down the road—with a father, a mother, and seven children squeezed into it.
Many families in France have only one or two children. People are often surprised to learn that Bishop Michel Küsseling and his wife, Pascale, have seven.
The Küsselings live near Paris, in Gournay, a beautiful town of about six thousand people. They are members of the Torcy Ward, Paris France East Stake. There’s a row of child-sized bicycles in their driveway. In the backyard are trees to climb and a slide to play on.
There are four boys and three girls in the family. Julien (13) is a deacon who likes to swim. Jérome (12) is also a deacon; he likes to swim and to play the piano. Next come twin girls (10): Claire plays the flute and likes ballet; Laurence also plays the flute but prefers swimming to dancing. Marie (9) likes to dance and to play the piano. Christophe (6) is learning judo, and Nicolas (4) likes to play ball.
“I always wanted to have a large family, even before I was a member of the Church,” Sister Küsseling said. “I love children.”
“The most difficult time,” Bishop Küsseling laughed, “was when Marie was born, and the twins were only a year old. We suddenly had three girls nearly the same age. They became a little jealous of each other because I had three girls to hold and only two knees to hold them on!”
Large families can have lots of challenges but also lots of blessings. On the challenging side, sometimes the children need to have patience when Mom and Dad are busy with the others. And sometimes brothers and sisters tease one another.
On the positive side, there’s always somebody to play with or to work alongside. “I’ve always had lots of brothers and sisters,” says Laurence. “For me, it seems normal. It’s nice to have older children and younger children in the family. That way, we all learn from each other and help each other.”
And there are plenty of family members to share assignments for family home evening. “We try to give each child a responsibility every Monday evening,” Sister Küsseling said. “Someone leads the music; someone tries to find something for the lesson; somebody makes a treat for refreshments. They all try to participate.” Family home evening is also a time to share things the children have learned or made at church.
The twins love to go to Primary. “I learn about Jesus, about His life and what He did,” Laurence said. “And we learn about Joseph Smith. He translated the Book of Mormon and organized the Church when it was restored. I believe he was a prophet.”
The children enjoy stories from L’Étoile (now the Liahona), the Church magazine in French. They also read the scriptures together and have family prayer. And they love to sing. Laurence’s favorite song is “Love One Another.”* Claire’s favorite is “Silent Night.”† “I love Christmas,” she says, “because we remember the birth of Jesus and can all be together. That’s important to me.”
Bishop Küsseling has been a member of the Church all his life. As a young man, he served a mission in New Caledonia, an island in the South Pacific. Sister Küsseling, a counselor in the ward Primary presidency, was baptized sixteen years ago and is the only member of the Church in her family. Brother and Sister Küsseling were married in the Bern Switzerland Temple. Claire said that it’s a wonderful feeling to know that their family can be together forever.
Claire is also thankful for many other blessings that come with being a member of the Church. When she was three years old, she became extremely ill and began having seizures. “We were very frightened,” says Sister Küsseling. “Her dad gave her a blessing, and then we took her to the hospital. The next day she was well. She hasn’t had any seizures since.”
Claire can’t remember that incident, but she knows that she was healed through the power of the priesthood. She does remember another time when the priesthood was especially important in her life—when her father baptized her. “It made me happier than before,” she said. “I knew that my sins could be forgiven.
“I have seen my father bless and baptize the children in our family, and bless other people in the ward who are sick or need a blessing. He also gives us blessings when we start a new year at school. When he does, I know I will have a good year at school.”
Laurence said, “I believe that Heavenly Father hears me when I pray. He has answered my prayers. We prayed when our father lost his job a month and a half ago. We all prayed for him to get a new job, and he got a new job in two weeks!”
Both Claire and Laurence like to study math, and both are good students. Although they are the only Latter-day Saints in their school, they have learned to choose friends who have similar standards and values, and they have talked with some of them about the Church. “Since my parents and relatives are not members of the Church,” says Sister Küsseling, “the children often bear their testimonies to their uncles, aunts, cousins, and grandparents.”
And they try to show by their actions that they are followers of Jesus Christ. For example, they often help their neighbor, an elderly man who lives alone. They help carry his groceries into his house because they worry that he might fall. And they help feed his dog. In return, he lets them eat cherries from his tree.
“I’ve learned in church to be polite,” Laurence said. “The gospel teaches me to be kinder to people around me, including my family.”
Most of all, Claire and Laurence each want to be the kind of mother their own mother is. They are glad to be part of a family that people notice. Some may notice the Küsselings because of the size of their family or because of the car they drive. But more importantly, people notice them for their love for one another and for their efforts to live the gospel.

I had always wanted a dog, a big dog that could be my friend and help me out when I needed it. Sometimes a kid like me needs some help because the other kids don’t always understand me. You see, they think I’m a little different because of my leg. I have one leg that’s shorter than the other one, and right now I have to wear a brace.
It’s real hard dragging a stiff old brace around with you all the time. Sometimes the kids call me Peg Leg or Hopalong. They think it sounds funny, but it sure doesn’t make me feel very good. And when we play at school, I’m always the last one chosen on a team—if I’m chosen at all. Sometimes I “get to be” the referee or the umpire, but that just means I’m supposed to stand around and watch the others play.
Dr. Monroe says I’ll get my brace off in a year or so after an operation and some therapy, but that doesn’t help me much right now.
Brother Lewis has a dog named Lady. Lady’s an Alaskan malamute, and she has five pups. Brother Lewis said that for fifteen dollars I could choose the pup I wanted.
Now, fifteen dollars might sound like a lot of money for a dog, but Lady’s pups aren’t just ordinary dogs. They all have pedigree papers, and Brother Lewis is going to sell the rest of them for a whole lot more than fifteen dollars.
When I first saw Lady’s pups, I knew which one I wanted. He was white and gray with lots of fur, and he was the biggest one. I decided I’d call him Major. I’d already saved over fifteen dollars, so I was just waiting for Major to grow a little bit so I could take him home with me.
I don’t have a lot of friends. That’s why I wanted Major. Pamela Roundy says she’s my friend, but she’s just a girl who lives down the street and is always hanging around. The thing that really bothers me about Pamela is her dog Lolo. Lolo’s just a mutt. Pamela doesn’t even know what kind of dog she is. She doesn’t have any papers, so she can’t be very special.
Lolo had pups a week before Lady did, and since Pamela knew I wanted a dog, she asked me if I wanted one of Lolo’s. She said I could have one free, so right away I figured that those pups weren’t any good.
On the day I was to pick up Major, I raced home from school as soon as the bell rang. Then I put my money in my pocket and went over to Brother Lewis’s house.
There was Major! He was bigger than his four sisters, and he sure was pretty. I paid Brother Lewis the money and started home. Major ran beside me for a while; then he took off and began sniffing at flowers, digging in the dirt, barking at everybody who passed, and chasing butterflies. He was fun to watch, but it made me sad that Major wanted to play with everything but me. I guess that’s what important dogs do.
When I got to Pamela’s place, she was out with Lolo and her four pups. They were as ugly as Lolo, and I told Pamela so, but she said looks didn’t matter. She said the thing that was really important was how good a friend your dog was.
Well, one of her ugly pups started following me and Major home. He wasn’t nearly as big and strong as Major, and I could tell by the way Major sniffed him and chewed his ear that he didn’t like that scrawny pup either. But that dumb dog of Lolo’s didn’t care; he just kept right on following us, flopping along and tripping over his own nose.
“Go home, dog!” I shouted at him, but he didn’t pay any attention to me. “Call your old dog back!” I yelled at Pamela. “I don’t want him hanging around me and Major. He’s probably got fleas, and he’ll teach Major bad habits.”
“There’s nothing wrong with him, Travis,” she said. She had a big grin on her face, and she thought it was pretty neat that that pup liked me.
“There sure is something wrong with him,” I called back. “He’s the ugliest dog in the world. And he doesn’t even have any papers.”
“I think he likes you, Travis.”
“I don’t want him to like me!” I shouted. “I have a dog—a good dog.” I picked that pup up and carried him back to Pamela and dropped him in her lap. “Here,” I said. “Keep him till we get home. I don’t want your mutt hanging around me.”
I could tell right away that Major was going to be a good dog. When he grew up and had big teeth, no one would bother me any more, even if I still had my brace on. And when the kids at school chose up teams, they’d have to pick me, or I’d get Major after them.
Every day after school I went home to play with Major and to teach him some tricks. But he didn’t want to play with me or learn tricks. In fact, a lot of times he wasn’t even home. He’d be off chasing around in the park or digging in Brother Bradley’s orchard. One day he dug up Mom’s petunias. Another time he chewed the finger off my baseball mitt. Mostly I had to just watch him. But he was still a good dog. He had papers to prove it.
Every day when I came home from school, that ugly pup of Pamela’s would be waiting for me. I’d cross to the other side of the street to miss him, but he’d come barking after me. He’d jump up on my leg and try to lick my hands. He ran circles around me and made a real nuisance of himself. Whenever I sat on my lawn to watch Major play, that old pup would be right there, nipping at my ears, jumping against my back, or pouncing on my fingers. Sometimes when I lay down, he’d poke his head under my shirt and try to crawl inside to get warm. Nothing I could do would keep him away. I yelled at him and pushed him aside, but that didn’t stop him. He just didn’t know when he wasn’t wanted.
After school one day I couldn’t find Major anywhere. I called him and looked behind the bushes where he liked to sleep. I even went over to Brother Bradley’s orchard, but he wasn’t there. I looked along the streets to see if he’d been run over, but I couldn’t find him anywhere.
That night when I said my prayers, I asked Heavenly Father to help me find him, because I needed a friend. I just didn’t know what I’d do without Major.
The next day was Saturday. All day long I looked for Major. Sister Miller, who lives two streets over from us, said that she saw a dog like Major running with another dog toward the Cherry Heights subdivision. I went there and looked, but I couldn’t find him.
I usually don’t cry. Even when Doctor Monroe took off the cast from my first operation, I didn’t cry. But when I couldn’t find Major, I didn’t know what to do, so I sat down behind the bushes where Major used to sleep, and I cried.
That’s when Pamela’s ugly pup came snooping around. “Get out of here, dog!” I yelled. “I sure don’t want you hanging around me.” I kicked at him, but he just thought I was playing, so he got real happy and started chewing on my shoe. I pushed him away, but that just made him friskier than ever. Finally, I crawled out of the bushes and went into the house. When I came outside a while later, that old dog was still there sitting on the step, waiting for me.
Every day for a week I came home from school and went out into the bushes and sat and thought and wished that I could get my brace taken off so I wouldn’t need a dog. And every day Lolo’s ugly pup came snooping around to see if I would play with him. Sometimes I did because I didn’t have anything better to do, but most of the time I just tried to get rid of him.
About two weeks after Major disappeared, I passed Pamela’s house, and she was sitting on the lawn, crying.
“What’s the matter?” I asked her.
She just sat there and sniffed for a while, and then she said, “Daddy said that when he comes home from work, he’s going to take Lolo’s pup to the vet and have him put to sleep. I can’t have two dogs because they eat too much. I gave all the others away, but no one took this one. Don’t you want him, Travis?”
Her eyes got real big, and she was excited all of a sudden. “He’s the one that really likes you, Travis, and you don’t have a dog now. Don’t you want him? Then he won’t have to be put to sleep.”
I shook my head. “I don’t want a dog like that. He’s just an old mutt.”
“But he’s a good friend.”
“But he’s sure ugly.”
“But he can be a real good friend. You don’t have to be pretty or have papers to be somebody’s friend. He can be a better friend than Major ever was.”
I shook my head again and started home. And guess who followed me—Pamela’s ugly pup. “Go home, dog!” I shouted. “I don’t want you hanging around. You aren’t good for anything.” He didn’t understand, though. He kept tagging along.
I went into the bushes to think, and that ugly pup came right into them behind me. He lay next to me and put his head in my lap. Then he looked up at me real sad-like. Usually he was happy, but this afternoon he must have known what Pamela’s dad was going to do to him. I tried not to look at his sad eyes, but I couldn’t help it. Finally I scratched his ears and said, “Nobody wants you hanging around, either, do they?” He thumped his tail on the ground a couple of times and licked my hand.
Just then Pamela started calling him, and I could tell by the way her voice was shaking that her dad had come home. I came out of the bushes, and the dog followed me. Pamela didn’t say anything to me. She just reached down for the pup. But he ran away from her and hid behind me.
“Is your dad here?” I asked. She nodded and wiped her eyes. “Is he still going to take the pup to the vet?” She swallowed and nodded. I reached down and picked up Lolo’s pup and held him close. I could tell he was my friend because he started to lick my neck and nibble on my ear. I wanted a friend real bad, and I’d asked Heavenly Father to help me find one. Now I knew He had.
“Pamela,” I said, “tell your dad that he doesn’t have to take him to the vet. I guess I’ll keep him.”
“You will?” she said with a grin. “He doesn’t have any papers, you know, and he’s just a mutt.”
I nodded my head without looking at her. “I know, but I don’t have any papers, either, and like you said, you don’t need papers to be friends. You just have to like each other. Well, he likes me and I guess I like him, so we’ll just stay together.”
And we did.

In 2005, I gave birth to premature triplets: Milena, Mateo, and Nelson. Milena was born healthy, but my two little boys suffered complications. Mateo died of those complications three months after he was born.
A month after we lost Mateo, Nelson was diagnosed with cerebral palsy and deafness. We were devastated. Doctors told us he would never walk. At that moment, we were grateful for our knowledge of the gospel of Jesus Christ. It helped us understand why we experience adversity in this life.
Through faith and hard work, Nelson learned to walk and to communicate through sign language. He has done much better than his doctors ever predicted. He has grown up happy in our family and in the gospel.

Samuel Grant, from Wigan Ward, Liverpool Stake, was diagnosed with type-1 diabetes in March 2016. His mum, Michelle, remembers, “It was just five days before Easter and Samuel, who was eight at the time, had been under the weather for too long. They say, ‘Mother knows best’, and after several doctors’ visits, which prescribed, more rest, I felt that we needed divine inspiration. Sam received a blessing, and we decided to take him to the out-of-hours doctor at the hospital, where much the same advice was given.
“As we were walking out, I felt a prompting to take him to hospital. I responded by walking him straight back into accident and emergency. There, he was quickly and correctly diagnosed as a person with type-1 diabetes. He was in DKA (diabetic ketoacidosis—a life-threatening low-insulin condition). It was then that the bombshell dropped. Our world felt like it had been turned upside down.”

But most of all, I remember sitting in a merciless rain on the hill with a sister and her companion while she, with joy filling her eyes, told me how happy she was to be in pageant and related to me a personal incident that had happened to her a few days before.
It was a brisk morning in Palmyra, and she and five other sisters who were staying with a nonmember family during pageant were waiting for the bus that would take them to the rehearsal on the hill. Across the street, a young boy was tossing a baseball up and down in the air. It had been over a week since she had last been with her family in the West. She missed her little brothers and her home.
Before she knew it, she was across the road and asking the young lad if she could play catch with him. The boy’s eyes lit up, and he thanked her for asking him.
“You’re a Mormon, aren’t you?” he asked jubilantly.
“Yes,” she replied, wondering why this eight-year-old youngster was asking.
“I love Mormons,” he added, as if in answer to her thought. “You’re all so nice. You dress nice. You look nice. And all of you are always fun to be with when you come for the pageant.”
Possessed with the true missionary zeal of the pageant and touched by the boy’s comment, this sister asked if he would like to have two “representatives” come to his house. The answer and the feeling that emanated from him brought tears to her eyes.
“That’d be great! But my mother wouldn’t like it. See, Daddy died a little while back, and she doesn’t really want to see anyone. But I keep working on her.” At this point, the boy stopped playing catch, looked at her with the surety and faith that only an adolescent can possess, and said, “I’ve seen the pageant every year, and I pray in secret every night. I love Jesus, and I know Mr. Smith found those plates over there. Someday I’m gonna be a Saint too, and I’m gonna be in pageant and tell everybody what I believe.”
From the mouth of a child, the Lord had given her all the encouragement she could need to be an example. And being an example is the key to the miracle of the pageant. No one thing influences the effect and success of the pageant more than the spiritual atmosphere present on the hill. For this reason, during the performance, participants who are not on stage maintain reverent silence. The result is an astonishingly spectacular pageant that has awed, thrilled, and inspired millions of viewers since its inception thirty-four years ago and has received news reports in papers in all of the fifty states and many other nations, in addition to widespread television and radio coverage. For anyone not to be deeply inspired by pageant, he would have to have water instead of blood in his veins.

Lucy’s Heart
Lucy and her older sisters entered an art contest at their school about making the world a better place. Lucy knew she wanted to paint a heart. She said, “The world would be a better place if we have love in our hearts.”
A Loving Sister
When Lucy found out that her painting won the contest, she told her sister Ruby, “Yours is so good. I wish you would have won instead of me.” Lucy couldn’t believe it when she found out her painting won the contest for the whole United States too!
A Special Way to Communicate
It’s hard for Lucy to tell others what she is feeling. But she wants to help people feel loved and happy. And her paintings do that!

“I’d like to bear my testimony and give thanks to my Heavenly Father for my many blessings.”
The voice came from the back corner of the chapel. To the regular ward members it was a familiar voice and one that was often heard at testimony meetings.
A visitor, turning to see who was speaking, saw a boy bent over a folding chair, supporting his gaunt body on his arms while his legs hung limp behind him. How could this obvious cripple be thankful for his many blessings? What blessings?
When he was four years old, a series of tests disclosed that Stephen Farrance had a type of muscle disease, which, if it progressed as it had been doing, would kill him by the time he was 12.
“The impact and finality of the doctor’s verdict didn’t really register with us,” recalled his mother. “Stephen could do so many things. We just encouraged him to be independent. He had his regular chores to do just like his brother and sister. Then later, when the tendons pulled his feet up and he had to walk on his toes, we withdrew some of his responsibilities but gave him others. He went to a regular school and made a niche for himself.
“I remember one teacher telling me that she called Stephen and a new boy up to her desk at the same time. When Stephen arrived, he braced his feet and placed a hand on her desk. The newcomer said, ‘Are you okay?’, and Stephen said, ‘My feet don’t like to stop walking, and it takes me a minute or two to convince them. But, thanks, I’m fine now.’”
Stephen had difficulty sitting. By the time he was 12, he knelt on his chair during class and got callouses on his knees. But he didn’t believe in missing anything that he could take part in. He figured out ways to be part of what the other kids did. The following year his class decided to learn square dancing, and the teacher apparently told Stephen that he could go to the library and read while the others danced.
“But I’d rather take part,” Stephen told her.
“Just how do you propose to do that?” asked his teacher, startled, because by now he walked hanging on to the wall and couldn’t balance himself.
“Well, I’ve thought about it and I’ve decided I could handle the record player, change the record, and watch how the steps are done. That’ll give you more time to be with the other kids on the floor,” he said. So he got to change the records and watch.
“ I have many blessings for which I am thankful …”
Like being basketball scorer in high school, managing one of the girls’ teams, working on the school newspaper, and being elected to various student council offices. When he ran for treasurer, he said in his campaign speech, “You have only to take one look at me to be sure I won’t run off with the funds.” He was elected.
He didn’t limit his time to school activities. His family had joined The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints when Stephen was eight, so he took an active part in Church programs. He went to Primary, was active in Cub Scouts, and moved on into Scouting. He advanced in the priesthood offices and served the sacrament until one day he tripped. That night he wrote in his journal: “Passing sacrament and tripped, nothing spilled, but maybe I’d better not risk it again. I think it’s too hard on the watchers.” So he switched to reminding the other deacons when it was their turn. As a teacher he helped prepare the sacrament in the little side room and was also secretary of the quorum.
Stephen got up at 5:30 A.M. five days a week for four years to go to seminary. He achieved two years’ perfect attendance and one year with one day absent. The other year he went to a drama festival with the winning play and couldn’t find an early morning seminary, so he missed four days.
“I’d like to thank Heavenly Father for my many blessings …”
While Stephen was making friends and doing new things, the disease was also progressing. His head bent back because his neck muscles couldn’t give him the support he needed. As he would inch his way along the corridors of the school, holding on to the walls, he would have to stop every few feet and rest, then look ahead to see what was in his way.
People made comments. Even some adults would come up and say, “How come you look like that?” or “What’s the matter with you?” Sometimes in a restaurant people would think he was just a bad-mannered kid and tell him to sit up properly or not take up so much room.
Did it bother him?
“No, not really. If they knew it wasn’t intentional, they wouldn’t feel like that,” said Stephen.
His older brother, James, started carrying him over his shoulder. They would make a game of it, and people never knew how serious it really was. Stephen would start home from school, and after half a block James would come along, scoop him up, and run on. Stephen would holler, and often the pair would beat the other kids to the house.
There were times in shopping centers when James would carry Stephen and be told by the security men that that type of thing wasn’t allowed. After awhile Stephen became friends with most of the security men, and they would find carts that he could drape himself over.
“Stephen became friends with people because he took time to notice them. I remember one day at the shopping center he said to me, ‘Hey, Mom, let’s go over there, I want to speak to that guy.’ He went over, and he congratulated the man on his promotion and asked what his new duties entailed. The man explained, and they chatted away. Later, I asked Stephen how he knew the man had had a promotion. ‘If you look at the sleeves of their uniforms, you’ll see they have some gold braid on the cuffs. That guy only had one stripe on last week, and this week he has two, so I figured it must mean a promotion.’”
Stephen’s awareness of people as human beings with triumphs and problems was well known. A fellow student sums up this quality: “Even through junior high you could always go to Steve with your troubles. He was always more interested in other people’s problems than his own.”
Another friend says, “He was always happy and unimportant to himself. He thought it was more important to help other people, which he did every day. He was only important to himself as far as he needed to be to return to Heavenly Father. What a beautiful, fantastic person. He had the attitude, ‘I’m not going to let me get me down.’”
“I’m thankful, Heavenly Father …”
He followed his sister and brother in drama. While they were actors, Stephen became a director, a sound man, and a dabbler in lighting. He did this at high school and with the roadshows.
No one thought of him as a cripple. At home it was understood there were certain things he couldn’t do. As his sister explained to one of her friends, “Stephen can’t run, I can’t draw, and James can’t sing.” Living with Stephen taught the other Farrances compassion, not just for him but for all people.
Stephen sailed through school getting straight A’s until the last couple of years of high school when the toll of just living and moving took a great portion of his energy. He ended with a B average. He was voted Citizen of the Year by the student body and received service awards every year of high school. His last year he won the Soroptimist Youth Citizenship Award and a school bursary. He also ran an hour-long morning radio broadcast at school.
He spoke at church on a regular basis and held various church positions. Ward members loved him and gave him strength, while drawing courage from watching him. He served as secretary in the Aaronic Priesthood MIA and was vice-president of his institute class.
He was a staunch supporter of the missionary program and invited the elders home as often as possible. Stephen was thrilled the day his brother, James, received his mission call. He enjoyed the preparations and being able to travel to Salt Lake City to take James to the Missionary Home there. Stephen firmly believed he would serve a mission too, and he studied diligently to prepare himself for it. His patriarchal blessing stated that he would go on a mission. He didn’t expect to do such a great thing as tracting, but he was sure there was a place for him.
Each day found him a little weaker. His body grew more and more distorted until he was bent almost double and spent his time, awake and asleep, draped over a chair. He didn’t complain; he accepted things the way they were.
Writing and directing the New Westminster Ward roadshow was his last big venture. The Vancouver British Columbia Stake produced the combined roadshows from all the wards. When the judges came back with their verdict, Stephen’s roadshow had won “Best All-Round Entertainment.”
As the applause died down, the stake MC approached the microphone. “Stephen Farrance, writer and assistant director of the winning roadshow, died this morning. We’ve kept this sad news until now we didn’t want to influence the judges. We’d like to congratulate the cast and crew for going on tonight, with special mention to Stephen’s family, who did such a fine job. We dedicate the roadshows to Stephen.”
“How could his family be here tonight?” someone asked, and the reply was, “After living with Stephen, what else could they do?”
“I’d like to bear my testimony and thank Heavenly Father for my many blessings … thank him for the sure knowledge that I will receive a perfect body in the resurrection, for my knowledge that God lives, that Jesus is the Christ, and that Joseph Smith was a prophet. I’m thankful for my membership in this church …”
Stephen had the blessing of a keen mind, a lively sense of humor, and the ability to see problems for what they were. He put all these things together and accomplished a full life, all 18 years of it. But he was not superhuman, neither a paragon of virtue nor a saint, but a warm, loving, normal human being with ups and downs, likes and dislikes.
About the time when many young LDS men are entering the Missionary Home in Salt Lake City at the start of their two-year missions, Stephen Farrance completed his mission here on earth. Did Heavenly Father send him out from the realm of pure love to give us an example to follow? Are we not all, to some extent, crippled in mind, if not in body, and in need of each other’s strength? Was this his mission?
In a letter to Stephen’s brother, James, their former stake president wrote: “Stephen had such a great desire to follow you into the mission field. Now he has received his call. He is eminently prepared to preach the gospel and will yet fulfill a great mission. But on his mission he will not have the heavy burden of his affliction. His spirit now stands straight and tall, and he can walk forth to preach the gospel with power and conviction, even as you are doing. Be of good cheer, Elder. Your brother is about his Father’s work, even as you are.”