Gospel Story Finder

The following is an excerpt from volume 3 of Saints: The Story of the Church of Jesus Christ in the Latter Days, which will be released in the spring of 2022. The setting for this account is 1918, after President Joseph F. Smith’s son Hyrum M. Smith died unexpectedly from a ruptured appendix. Within months of Hyrum’s passing, his wife, Ida Bowman Smith, passed away following childbirth.
Joseph F. Smith’s family did not immediately tell him about Ida’s passing, afraid the news would crush him. He had grown more frail since Hyrum’s death, and he had rarely appeared in public over the last five months. On the day after Ida’s death, however, family members brought her newborn son to Joseph, and he wept as he blessed the baby and named him Hyrum. The family then told him about Ida.
To everyone’s surprise, Joseph received the news calmly.1 So much suffering and pain had descended on the world lately. The daily newspapers contained horrific reports on the war. Millions of soldiers and civilians had already been killed, and millions more had been maimed and wounded. Earlier that summer, the soldiers from Utah had arrived in Europe and witnessed the unrelenting brutality of the war.
A deadly strain of influenza had also begun taking lives throughout the world, compounding the pain and heartache of the war. The virus was spreading at an alarming rate, and Utah was only days away from shutting down its theaters, churches, and other public places in hopes of stopping the wave of disease and death.2
A deadly strain of influenza was taking millions of lives throughout the world.
Photograph courtesy of Wikimedia Commons
On October 3, 1918, Joseph sat in his room, reflecting on the Atonement of Jesus Christ and the redemption of the world. He opened his New Testament to 1 Peter and read about the Savior preaching to the spirits in the spirit world. “For this cause was the gospel preached also to them that are dead,” he read, “that they might be judged according to men in the flesh, but live according to God in the spirit.”
As he pondered the scriptures, the prophet felt the Spirit descend upon him, opening his eyes of understanding. He saw multitudes of the dead in the spirit world. Righteous women and men who had died before the Savior’s mortal ministry were joyfully waiting for His advent there to declare their liberation from the bands of death.
The Savior appeared to the multitude, and the righteous spirits rejoiced in their redemption. They knelt before Him, acknowledging Him as their Savior and Deliverer from death and the chains of hell. Their countenances shone as light from the presence of the Lord radiated around them. They sang praises to His name.3
As Joseph marveled at the vision, he again reflected on the words of Peter. The host of disobedient spirits was far greater than the host of righteous spirits. How could the Savior, during His brief visit to the spirit world, possibly preach His gospel to all of them?4
Joseph’s eyes were then opened again, and he understood that the Savior did not go in person to the disobedient spirits. Rather, he organized the righteous spirits, appointing messengers and commissioning them to carry the gospel message to the spirits in darkness. In this way, all people who died in transgression or without a knowledge of the truth could learn about faith in God, repentance, vicarious baptism for the remission of sin, the gift of the Holy Ghost, and all other essential principles of the gospel.
Gazing upon the vast congregation of righteous spirits, Joseph saw Adam and his sons Abel and Seth. He beheld Eve standing with her faithful daughters who had worshipped God throughout the ages. Noah, Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, and Moses were also there, along with Isaiah, Ezekiel, Daniel, and other prophets from the Old Testament and Book of Mormon. So too was the prophet Malachi, who prophesied that Elijah would come to plant the promises made to the fathers in the hearts of the children, preparing the way for temple work and the redemption of the dead in the latter days.5
Joseph F. Smith also saw Joseph Smith, Brigham Young, John Taylor, Wilford Woodruff, and others who had laid the foundation of the Restoration. Among them was his martyred father, Hyrum Smith, whose face he had not seen in seventy-four years. They were some of the noble and great spirits who had been chosen before mortality to come forth in the latter days and labor for the salvation of all God’s children.
The prophet then perceived that the faithful elders of this dispensation would continue their labor in the next life by preaching the gospel to the spirits who were in darkness and under the bondage of sin.
“The dead who repent will be redeemed, through obedience to the ordinances of the house of God,” he observed, “and after they have paid the penalty of their transgressions, and are washed clean, shall receive a reward according to their works, for they are heirs of salvation.”6
When the vision closed, Joseph pondered all that he had seen. The next morning, he surprised the Saints by attending the first session of the October general conference despite his poor health. Determined to speak to the congregation, he stood unsteadily at the pulpit, his large frame shaking from the effort. “For more than seventy years I have been a worker in this cause with your fathers and progenitors,” he said, “and my heart is just as firmly set with you today as it ever has been.”7
Lacking the strength to speak of his vision without being overcome by emotion, he merely alluded to it. “I have not lived alone these five months,” he told the congregation. “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.”
“It is a happy meeting this morning for me,” he said. “God Almighty bless you.”8
When volume 3 is published, a complete list of works cited and the topic entries will be available at saints.ChurchofJesusChrist.org.

As you approach old age, you will face new challenges to self-mastery. Symptoms of the deteriorating body can be painful, even disabling. Deep aches of sadness are caused by the departing of loved ones. For some, these deepening trials come early in life. But when yours are thrust upon you, remember a concept expressed by my father some time after my mother had passed away. Your grandparents had been married for sixty-four years. When someone asked how he was doing, my father simply stated, “I’m lonely, but I’m not lonesome.” Do you know what he meant? Though he was now without his sweetheart, he was so busy assisting family and friends, he had replaced sorrow with service and had displaced self-pity with selfless love. He had found joy in following the timeless example of the Master.

Illustration by Allen Garns
On a Saturday afternoon, I was getting ready to go to the beach with my family. They had traveled from Amazonas to La Guaira to spend a few days with me. The sun was bright, the ocean breezes were perfect, and I was happy to see my sisters’ excitement.
Once we were on the road, I remembered that I was in charge of cleaning the church building that day. I now had a choice to make: Should I fulfill my responsibility or continue to the beach with my family? I decided to talk to my mom and sisters about it. They had never been inside an LDS church and enthusiastically offered to help me clean, as long as we headed right to the beach when we finished.
When we entered the church, I explained what needed to be done and how to do it. What we thought would be a quick cleaning job ended up taking four hours because they were so interested! I showed my family each room, the paintings, and the baptismal font. An immense joy filled my heart. I couldn’t believe my family was helping me with something that meant so much to me. While we were there, my teenage sisters, Thalia and Gineska, learned some hymns and asked me questions about the Church.
On Sunday my family attended church for the first time. They were well received in the ward. The young women quickly welcomed my sisters. The sister missionaries met them and set an appointment to meet with them the next day. We held family home evening, and I taught them how to pray. We prayed together often. We also listened to hymns and watched Church videos.
Before my family returned home, I took my sisters to Caracas to see the temple and its grounds. I bore my testimony of temple blessings and encouraged them to find the Church when they returned to Amazonas.
When they left for home, I contacted the missionaries in their area. The missionaries and members of the ward council visited my family and helped them on their way to conversion. My sisters prayed often for our father to give them permission to be baptized.
With great gratitude and joy, I traveled to Amazonas to baptize Thalia and Gineska. The glow in their eyes reflected their hope and their gratitude to Heavenly Father for leading them to the gospel. Through fulfilling an assignment to clean the church, my family came closer together and was strengthened. I will never forget this experience and I know my sisters will not either.

“Are General Authorities human?” I suppose this is a question that is in many minds and has been from the very beginning. It arises, in the very nature of things, because of the high regard in which we hold the offices that these Brethren are called to fill.
I recall an incident from early Church history, from the days of persecutions and difficulties. Heber C. Kimball, then a member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, found himself in circumstances where he sought hospitality from a member of the Church, a widow woman. She offered him what she had—bread and milk—and provided a room with a bed for him. He went to retire. She thought: “Here’s my opportunity. I would like to find out [and this is, in effect, the same old question: Are General Authorities human?] I would like to find out what an Apostle says when he prays to the Lord.” So after the door was closed, she crept quietly up to it to listen. She heard Brother Kimball sit down on the bed. She heard each of his shoes fall to the floor. She heard him lean back on the bed and then utter these words: “Oh Lord, bless Heber; he is so tired.”
… This is a subject about which people often have incorrect concepts. Many people had this same question in their minds during the time of Joseph Smith. He said: “I was this morning introduced to a man from the east. After hearing my name, he remarked that I was nothing but a man, indicating by this expression, that he had supposed that a person to whom the Lord should see fit to reveal His will, must be something more than a man. He seemed to have forgotten the saying that fell from the lips of St. James, that [Elijah] was a man subject to like passions as we are, yet he had such power with God, that He, in answer to his prayers, shut the heavens that they gave no rain for the space of three years and six months; and again, in answer to his prayer, the heavens gave forth rain, and the earth gave forth fruit [see James 5:17–18]. Indeed, such is the darkness and ignorance of this generation, that they look upon it as incredible that a man should [speak] with his Maker.”1

“When I was a member of the branch in Colonia Suiza, Uruguay, my first calling was as a Primary president when I was 13 years old. I was the president, and I was the teacher also. I remember being set apart and given a manual, and the assignment was to teach to the children the lessons and the gospel. I opened the manual, and I didn’t know what to do, how to teach a lesson. So I prayed. I said, ‘Heavenly Father, I need to teach the lesson to the children next Saturday. Wilt Thou help me?’ And I received the influence of the Spirit, and I learned to teach because the Spirit taught me.”Sister Delia Rochon

Maintaining your standards qualifies you for marriage in the temple. Incidentally, this is the 173rd Annual General Conference of the Church, and for just a bit of trivia, my wife and I have been married 73 years. So the year we were married, the Church would have been holding the 100th annual conference. I can remember that as I was holding Ruby’s hand across the altar of the temple—listening to the words of the sealing ceremony—I had a special feeling in my heart, not only of the sacredness of it but of the responsibility I had to live as I should live, to take care of her and our children, and then our grandchildren, and then the other generations that would come along. I was determined to set an example of living the way a person can live in honoring the priesthood and our marriage covenant.

Besides the wallabies and kangaroos, other marsupials living near the Scout camp included the potoroo, ring-tailed possums, echidnas, and wombats. The famous Tasmanian devils have never been sighted on Maria Island.
This information alone allowed the boys to sleep easier at night, although many still felt sleeping was the biggest problem at the camp.
“The nights were really bad. The possums were out in force raiding tents and rubbish bins all night. In the whole camp the worst thing was trying to get to sleep. There was one rock that seemed to follow me all night, and between that and the wind and the cold I didn’t sleep much,” said Stephen Szekely, of Launceston.
“The possums through the night gave me the willies because we had to keep bashing them out of our food box and a possum got in our tent and climbed up our tent pole. We broke our torch (flashlight) trying to get him out of there. Then the emus got in our tent and dunged all over Heath’s, Andrew’s, and my sleeping gear. But the kangaroos were great; they weren’t pests like the emus,” said Geoffrey Jones, a nonmember from Glen Huon.

When I was nine years old, my father, Charles Monson, was called as a bishop. He served as bishop until I was nineteen years old. I had many marvelous experiences watching him serve and seeing him do so much and still be a wonderful father.
When I was twenty-nine years old, I was called to serve as a bishop. It seemed like a hard thing to do, but I remembered my father’s example. I also remembered my Primary teachers telling me how Nephi had received the difficult assignment to go back to Jerusalem and get the brass plates from Laban. He didn’t make excuses. Instead he relied on the Lord and said, “I will go and do the things which the Lord hath commanded, for I know that the Lord giveth no commandments unto the children of men, save he shall prepare a way for them that they may accomplish the thing which he commandeth them” (1 Ne. 3:7). I knew that if I also relied on the Lord, as Nephi had, I could accept the calling I had just received.

“When Elder [David A.] and Sister [Susan] Bednar were married, they consistently had family prayer, scripture study, and family home evening with their three sons. Sometimes things did not go well, and Elder and Sister Bednar wondered if their efforts were worthwhile. Now and then during scripture study there were outbursts such as, ‘He’s touching me!’ ‘Make him stop looking at me!’ and ‘Mom, he’s breathing my air!’ Family prayers were sometimes interrupted with giggling and poking. And family home evening lessons were not always calm with three active, noisy boys.
“But they kept trying.” 1

When the Lakeview First Ward, Orem Utah Sharon West Stake, decided to hold a film festival, they went the extra mile—they also produced the movies.
Each Young Women class was assigned to work with their corresponding age group in the Young Men. Each group wrote a script, shot the film, and added a sound track. When the editing was done, the classes invited the ward to a special showing. Awards were given, and the deacons and Beehives walked away with best film honors. Their script was on several humorous reasons for not dating until age 16.
The experience of working together was a good fellowshipping opportunity, and the group has decided to make it an annual event.

One day a year or so later my second son, John, spoke to me at supper, “Father, I have decided to join my brother in America. I have applied for a visa.”
I looked at this boy, hardly into manhood. How different he was from his brother. Handsome he was with dark hair with a bit of wave in it. He had a smile that was captivating, and he was very popular with the girls. Somehow he reminded me of when I was a young man. I too had dark hair with a bit of wave in it, and I was popular with the girls. But Bess came along and stole my heart.
I went to the railroad station and wished him good-bye. My tears fell on his shoulder as the train pulled into the station. As it left I felt as if part of my life went on that train.
The walk back home was the loneliest walk of my life. I had to try hard to keep bitterness out of my heart. That which I loved the most, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, had taken away two of my sons.
The letter from son number two read, “I am excited today, for I have been ordained the bishop of my ward. How can I thank you enough for teaching me the gospel?”

When her dad was on the stake high council, he used to take Katie along on his Sunday speaking assignments, and she would speak in the wards and branches that he visited. “I would talk on the subject the stake president gave us to talk about. I talked about the Book of Mormon and about Alma the Younger. And once I had to talk about being baptized into the Church. When I got baptized, it was fun. I arranged the program.” Katie smiled. “And I want to tell all of the children how nice it felt. It felt lovely.”

Learning by study was a very high priority in my family. My parents were plantation laborers on the “big island” of Hawaii. Both of them had been obliged to leave school at about the sixth grade. High school was out of the question for both of them, and college was an impossible dream. But they desperately desired an education for their children. Perhaps because I was their only child for five years, they dreamed that dream for me, even though it is unusual for a daughter to receive more advantages than a son in traditional Japanese families. They made many sacrifices so that I could go to high school and more so I could graduate from college. They did the same for my brothers with their chosen professions, although my brothers did not pursue academic interests. Neither one of my parents ever set foot on a college campus until my graduation. The only college graduate they knew socially was one teacher in our village.

But they gave me my tools, and they gave me trust. What do I mean by tools? They taught me to be curious, to ask questions, to observe nature closely, to watch people—especially in a new environment—to treat people respectfully and learn how to make connections with them, to work very hard, and to always do my best. They believed that no matter what I chose to do with my life, these skills would help me. And they were right.

And what do I mean by trust? They sent me away to high school at age fifteen. They let me know in dozens of little ways that they trusted my decisions, trusted me to stay focused on my goal, and trusted me to lead an upright life. It is one of the great joys of my life that I did not disappoint my parents.

Because I was willing to study the gospel of Jesus Christ, I became a member of the Church and developed great faith in the Savior. My faith gave me more strength to seek knowledge by study. I cannot separate learning by study and learning by faith. Both of them touch my heart, enlighten my mind, and encourage me in service.

Learning by study and learning from the Spirit are the two halves of my life. These oars have helped me row my professional boat, make a good marriage, raise my sons, and serve in the Church. I need them both as I strive for self-reliance. You need them both as you strive for self-reliance.

In 1951, our branch started building a chapel. It was the first chapel in Uruguay. There were less than 100 members who worked with my parents to construct the building. Most of the work was done by the members of the branch. I wanted to help, too.
Some members mixed cement. Some members dug holes, and some hammered nails. There were not many jobs for a five-year-old, so they gave me the job of straightening nails. I took a hammer and pounded old nails, trying to make them straight. I loved the clang of the hammer and the challenge of getting the bends out of the metal nails. Most of all, I loved having a job. My parents reminded me that the chapel could not be built without nails. I felt thrilled that I could serve with my family.
After three years, the chapel was finally finished. President David O. McKay came to Uruguay to dedicate it. I remember President McKay standing in the chapel, and I was thrilled that he could see the building I had helped create. He put the cornerstone in place and dedicated the building. His white hair made him look like he had come from heaven. He went around and shook everyone’s hand. When he came to me, he bent down especially to shake my hand. It was my first experience meeting a prophet, and when he spoke to me, I had a warm feeling in my heart. I felt glad I had helped build the chapel.

“The gospel fills my life with such joy!” the young woman at the pulpit in my student ward exclaimed. I could tell it was true, but my own heart was heavy. I had always been a member of the Church, and I believed in the gospel with all my heart. I followed its principles faithfully. But I didn’t feel that there was any true joy in my life, only the never-ending demands of school, Church callings, friends, and family. Why couldn’t I feel the way the girl at the pulpit did?
The question soon began to consume my thoughts. The familiar Book of Mormon scripture echoed in my head: “Men are, that they might have joy” (2 Nephi 2:25). I became determined to find an answer.
“Father in Heaven,” I prayed late one night, “please, oh please. I’m not happy, and I’m not sure why. Where can I find the joy that prophets and others speak of?”
I crossed campus the next day, sure that now I would get the answer to my prayers. Rain had been falling for three days, filling the flower beds and spilling down the sidewalks. As I plodded through the puddles, I peered into the faces of the other students and wondered if they were truly happy.
The day passed as usual, and I was still discouraged. I sat doing homework, more downhearted than ever.
The shrill ring of the telephone shattered the silence of my self-pity.
“Catherine!” It was my dad’s cheery voice. “How are you?”
“Hi, Dad,” I said. “I’m okay.”
“Just okay?” he asked.
Soon I had told him the whole problem. Finally, I asked, “Where can I find true joy?”
He was silent for a moment, thinking.
“When I was in Germany on a mission,” he said slowly, “the sun sometimes shone for only a few hours a day. Depressing darkness would fill the rest of our waking hours. I struggled with the gloominess for some time before I learned that if I wanted to have sunshine, I had to carry it with me in my heart.”
I think back on this conversation with my dad regularly. My answer came then. Joy is something inside a person. It comes from living the gospel, being grateful for the opportunity to do so, and then remembering to simply be happy about it.

Graziely Moreira, 25, was pretty much raised to do good. When people in her hometown of Fortaleza, Ceará, Brazil, see someone in need, they help. “It’s a cultural thing,” she explains. And for members of the Church, “it’s also because we just think about, as Jesus Christ said, love others as you love yourself. So we just do it. We do it because we like doing it.”
With her quiet example of watching out for and going out of her way to help those in need—like when she saw an old man struggling to carry heavy bags and crossed the street to help him carry them home—Graziely is a force for good. She also knows that we can do the most good when people know that we’re serving out of love, not obligation. “There’s something I learned from my mom: Do to others what you want people to do to you. It’s Heavenly Father’s plan—He wants us to help people.”
We also can’t let things like technology (AKA our smartphones) get in the way of our reaching outside ourselves to do good, says Graziely. “That’s the thing—we have to know each other, we have to understand others’ needs because our life is not based on apps. Our life is based on people. It’s based on what we have to do to become better and to follow Jesus Christ.” And a big part of following Jesus means doing good.

One day while running some errands, I saw a homeless man in front of the bank. I had seen him there before, and I had always tried to make sure that I smiled and said hello. Although I didn’t usually give him money, I wanted him to know that I’m not trying to avoid him and that I recognized him as a real person. When I got out of the car, I went to put change in the meter, but all I had was a “loonie” (Canadian dollar coin) and a bunch of pennies.
As I stood there and pushed the pennies around, making sure there wasn’t a nickel or dime, I heard the homeless man ask, “Do you have change?”
I told him I didn’t, not even for the meter. Then he surprised me by saying, “Oh, here. I’m sure I have a dime for you.”
I had just tried to shake off this homeless man because I didn’t have any change for him, and then he handed me a dime. But his gift was more than monetary. He also gave me a change of heart. His simple act was charity and service in its truest form. A homeless man begging for change gave his change to someone who needed it more at the moment. I thanked him and then, even though he wasn’t expecting it, gave him my loonie.

That was a lesson for Katelyn. She had had difficulty seeing this kind of potential in herself. As a Beehive, she looked up to the other young women, but she didn’t feel like she had anything to contribute to her Beehive class. At school she felt pressure to try to be popular and fit in. “It’s hard when other people try to tell me what I am supposed to look like, act like, and do well at.”

One night for Mutual each young woman received a piece of paper with a name on it. The paper was passed around the room and each young woman wrote talents, abilities, or admirable traits about the young woman whose name was on the paper. As Katelyn read the kind words that the other Beehives wrote about her, she realized that the other girls saw talents and gifts that she had never seen in herself. That experience, coupled with her efforts visiting the hospital, “have taught me a lot about my role here.”

Before sunrise I knew it was going to be one of those days. I hadn’t yet eaten breakfast when I messed up my shoes on some really fresh—and really fragrant—cow manure in Grandpa’s barn. Then one of the oversized eager eaters in the hog pen gave me a pretty good shove causing slop to slop onto my shoes and pants.
After breakfast things went steadily from bad to worse to awful. This was the day Grandpa had selected to have us put “soil sweeteners” on a newly cleared piece of land. I didn’t realize it yet, but Grandpa had just sentenced the four of us—Uncle Lynn, the new hired man, my little brother, and me—to a slow death by asphyxiation.
As we pitched several million tons of really ripe cow manure into the spreader, my brother managed to miss the spreader and “accidentally” hit me with a pitchforkful of the stuff. After slipping and falling several times while shoveling, all I could say to no one in particular was “No 13-year-old boy has ever been this dirty.” I didn’t hear anyone disagree.
Things didn’t get any better as the day went along. After the manure had been shoveled, we had to take the spreader to the sawdust pile and load enough sawdust to cover all of North America. Not so bad, I thought.
Boy, was I wrong. First, my brother nailed me in the back of the neck with a shovelful of sawdust. I nailed him back. He tackled me. I stuffed a handful of sawdust down his shirt. He returned the favor. Over and over we rolled, wrestling like a couple of overgrown kittens.
Cow, pig, and chicken manure on my shoes. Cow manure in the center of my back. Hog slop on my pants and shoes. Chicken manure all down my left side. Sawdust inside my shirt, and enough sweat to give me a nice shine.
Now I’m as dirty as I can get, right? I wish. While we were catching our breath, the hired man decided to tell a really dirty, offensive story.
When he finished, there was this long silence. Nobody laughed. Uncle Lynn was the ward clerk and an innocent, virtuous man. I was a newly ordained deacon who wanted to be like Uncle Lynn. My 11-year-old brother hadn’t even understood. Finally, the hired man said something about guessing his story hadn’t been very funny. He had that part right.
By the end of the day, I was dirtier than I had ever been. Eventually, I took a long shower with lots of soap and shampoo. It felt so good to be clean again. My skin was clean. My hair was clean. Even my fingernails were clean.
But no amount of soap, water, or shampoo would wash the hired man’s lewd story out of my memory. Like an unwanted and unwelcome guest, it had arrived and now it wouldn’t leave.
It’s been decades since I heard that dirty story. I’ve never repeated it. I’ve tried hard to forget it. I know the Lord considers me blameless regarding that story. But every once in a while, it pops into my mind for just an instant, and I discover the uninvited guest still hasn’t gone home.
You see, there are some kinds of dirt which soap can’t reach.

Sister Patience Kaloobhai wanted the 2018 Light the World campaign to be different. She wanted to fully participate in the suggested service activities and to have the Spirit of Christmas abide with her and her family.
She felt inspired to share daily thoughts on her social media platforms. Almost immediately, a few friends began asking her about this “Light the World thing” that was constantly on her social media timeline. But she wanted to do more than just share, and so she looked for opportunities to participate in the service activities herself. She had been teaching her seven-year-old son, William, that Christmas is not only about Christmas trees and presents and wanted her own service to be an example of that.
One morning on a quick errand, as she made her way across the bridge to the bus rank in Gaborone, she observed that there was an elderly lady with two children trying to get two big suitcases to the other side of the bridge. She was carrying the infant on her back and the two heavy suitcases on each hand while the toddler trudged behind—at times holding on to her dress. She would take a few steps, then turn to be sure that the toddler was staying close to her amongst the fast-moving crowd. Whenever she stopped, she would relieve her hands from the heavy suitcases that she was carrying. This flustered lady and toddler would often get in the way of the oncoming crowd—people who were not at all pleased with this slow-moving elderly lady and her child. In the hot December Gaborone heat, this old lady kept her eyes to the ground as she would take three steps, rest and start all over again. As Sister Kaloobhai watched, she wondered if the woman would ever make it across to the other side of the bridge and the bus rank.
“Can I help you, Mama?” Sister Kaloobhai asked the elderly lady.
“Yes please,” the clearly relieved lady replied, handing Sister Kaloobhai one suitcase and wiping beads of sweat from her face. She seemed close to tears and clearly overwhelmed. Sister Kaloobhai smiled, took the suitcase and also held out her hand to the toddler who grasped it—and the two women walked over the bridge. As they walked to the bus rank, the elderly lady expressed gratitude that someone, a stranger, felt pity and was willing to help in a moment of need. She remarked that nowadays, it is rare to find someone who will go out of their way to assist—and especially in this case where Sister Kaloobhai had to deviate from her intended destination to assist. For some reason, Sister Kaloobhai felt that what she had originally set out to do was not so important as helping this lady and her children. After all, she could finish her errands after this. As she helped the older lady, her luggage, and children onto the bus, Sister Kaloobhai suddenly remembered that week’s Light the World suggestion to light her faith by being the answer to someone’s prayer.