PEACE THROUGH FORGIVENESS, LOVE, KINDNESS, COMPASSION, CARING AND SERVICE
PEACE
THROUGH FORGIVENESS, LOVE, KINDNESS, COMPASSION, CARING AND SERVICE
When the supermarket clerk tallied up my groceries, I was $12 over what I had on me. I began to remove items from the bags, when another shopper handed me a $20 bill. “Please don’t put yourself out,” I told him. “Let me tell you a story,” he said. “My mother is in the hospital with cancer. I visit her every day and bring her flowers. I went this morning, and she got mad at me for spending my money on more flowers. She demanded that I do something else with that money. So, here, please accept this. It is my mother’s flowers.” — Leslie Wagner
In October 2007, with a wildfire blazing in the hills nearby, the residents of Julian, California, were under orders to evacuate. But less than 24 hours after fleeing to safety, Christy Connell, 46, 
co-owner of the Julian Bakery and Café, raced back home. "I'd heard from one of the volunteers helping evacuees that the firefighters battling the blaze didn't have anything to eat," she says. "And feeding people is what I do best."
The power was out in town, so she and a few other residents who hadn't evacuated hauled over an industrial size propane grill from the firehouse a few blocks away. She set it up on the street in front of her restaurant and started pots of beef and beans cooking. The fire chief sent out official word to those battling the blaze that the Julian Café was the place to eat. Soon the first group of famished firefighters rolled in on their trucks. Coming straight from the front lines, they shed their gear and dove into their first meal in 12 hours—showering Christy with hugs and spontaneous applause. "You get a group of men who haven't eaten for 12 hours and you'll see how grateful they can get," she laughs. "The joy of just feeding them was enough for me."
For four days, Christy spent nearly 20 hours a day cooking burritos, chicken, steak sandwiches and other food from her restaurant, and serving slices of the cafe's signature apple pie. Every few hours one of the other locals who'd stayed in town took over grill duty, giving Christy a chance to go home and get a little sleep. (Luckily, the fire didn't spread.) All told, she served 1,100 meals—at no charge. Steve Sheppard, battalion chief for the Julian Fire Department, says Christy provided much more than comfort food that week: "To have someone stay behind and say, 'I'm here for you guys'—that means a lot."
taken from: Jesus the Prince of Peace by Melissa Campbell found at experiencerevival.com
Peace is something we all long for. It is one of humanity’s greatest needs and desires. We struggle with fear of the future, conflicts in relationships, financial stress, health problems and so much more. In this day and age when anxiety is at an all time high, peace can seem like an impossible dream.
I’m here to remind you that God specializes in doing the impossible!
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Unable at first to find a publisher for his evocative tale about a man named George Pratt who ponders suicide until he receives an opportunity to see what the world would be like without him, Stern ultimately published the story in a small pamphlet and sent it out as his 1943 Christmas card. One of those 200 cards found its way into the hands of Frank Capra, who shared it with Jimmy Stewart, and the film that resulted became the holiday tradition we cherish today.
An Incredible Rescue
The Nepali earthquake in April 2015 completely destroyed the remote village of Laprak. Every building was leveled, 19 people were killed, and the village, located nine hours away from the closest road, was completely cut off from any kind of medical services or basic supplies. Enter Mike Karch, a volunteer doctor working with the International Medical Corps’ Emergency Response Team.
The response team was helicoptered into the village to provide lifesaving medical care and supplies. Getting people aid was made even more difficult, however, by massive landslides caused by the earthquake’s aftershocks. Eventually, a mobile medical unit was established 10,000 feet from the landslides and displaced people from nearby villages who began pouring in.
When a translator explained that a woman’s husband was still stuck down in the village, Mike formed a rescue squad with another doctor, an EMT, a young Nepali man, and the patient’s wife. They ran down the mountain as fast as they could and found the patient. The man had sustained a spinal injury and a stroke; neighbors had tied him to a rock pile to stabilize him. Without a stretcher on hand, Mike and the other doctor had to take turns carrying him fireman style on their backs, alternating every 50 feet. A stretcher finally arrived, and neighbors jumped in to help carry the injured man, switching out two men every three minutes to conserve everyone’s energy. Mike is an athlete — he’s competed in over five triathlons — but this was more physically demanding than anything he’d ever done before.
The group finally made it back up the mountain and safely transferred the patient to a helicopter to be taken to a local hospital. There are not enough words to convey the bravery of people like Mike, and the International Medical Corps, who are helping the more than 20,000 people injured in the quake. from BuzzFeed.com
President Thomas S. Monson April 2014 General Conference
Often our opportunities to show our love come unexpectedly. An example of such an opportunity appeared in a newspaper article in October 1981. So impressed was I with the love and compassion related therein that I have kept the clipping in my files for over 30 years.
The article indicates that an Alaska Airlines nonstop flight from Anchorage, Alaska, to Seattle, Washington—a flight carrying 150 passengers—was diverted to a remote Alaskan town in order to transport a gravely injured child. The two-year-old boy had severed an artery in his arm when he fell on a piece of glass while playing near his home. The town was 450 miles (725 km) south of Anchorage and was certainly not on the flight path. However, medics at the scene had sent out a frantic request for help, and so the flight was diverted to pick up the child and take him to Seattle so that he could be treated in a hospital.
When the flight touched down near the remote town, medics informed the pilot that the boy was bleeding so badly he could not survive the flight to Seattle. A decision was made to fly another 200 miles (320 km) out of the way to Juneau, Alaska, the nearest city with a hospital.
After transporting the boy to Juneau, the flight headed for Seattle, now hours behind schedule. Not one passenger complained, even though most of them would miss appointments and connecting flights. In fact, as the minutes and hours ticked by, they took up a collection, raising a considerable sum for the boy and his family.
As the flight was about to land in Seattle, the passengers broke into a cheer when the pilot announced that he had received word by radio that the boy was going to be all right.
To my mind come the words of the scripture: “Charity is the pure love of Christ, … and whoso is found possessed of it at the last day, it shall be well with him.”
I am moved by an example of this from our early Church history.
During the winter of 1838, Joseph Smith and other Church leaders
were detained in Liberty Jail when the Latter-day Saints were
forcibly driven from their homes in the state of Missouri. The Saints
were destitute, friendless, and suffering greatly from the cold and
lack of resources. The residents of Quincy, Illinois, saw their
desperate plight and reached out in compassion and friendship.
Wandle Mace, a resident of Quincy, later recalled when he first saw the Saints along the Mississippi River in makeshift tents: “Some had sheets stretched, to make a little shelter from the wind, … the children were shivering around a fire which the wind blew about so it done them very little good. The poor Saints were suffering terribly.”
Seeing the plight of the Saints, Quincy residents rallied together to provide aid, some even assisting in transporting their new friends across the river. Mace continued: “[They] donated liberally; the merchants vying with each other as to which could be the most liberal … with … pork, … sugar, … shoes and clothing, everything these poor outcasts so much needed.” Before long, the refugees outnumbered the Quincy residents, who opened their homes and shared their meager resources at great personal sacrifice.
Many Saints survived the harsh winter only because of the compassion and generosity of the residents of Quincy. These earthly angels opened their hearts and homes, bringing lifesaving nourishment, warmth, and—perhaps most importantly—a hand of friendship to the suffering Saints. Although their stay in Quincy was relatively short, the Saints never forgot their debt of gratitude toward their beloved neighbors, and Quincy became known as the “city of refuge.”
When adversity and affliction are brought upon us by critical, negative, even mean-spirited acts, we can choose to hope in Christ. This hope comes from His invitation and promise to “be of good cheer, for I will lead you along” and that He will consecrate your afflictions for your gain.
Matthew 5: 43-44
“Ye have heard that it hath been said, Thou shalt love thy neighbour, and hate thine enemy.
“But I say unto you, Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them which despitefully use you, and persecute you”
If you don't know the guy on the other side of the world, love him anyway because he's just like you. He has the same dreams, the same hopes and fears. It's one world, pal. We're all neighbors. Frank Sinatra
Dropped dishes: Kindness is greatness
Bill Dyer told the following story at a management seminar I attended years ago: As a recent single parent, a woman was attempting to find a way to support a family of five. Her self-esteem was already shattered because of a divorce. The only offering for a job was as a waitress in an elaborate and expensive restaurant. This, she surmised, was way above her skills and abilities, but she took the job in consideration of her children. The woman was expected to wear a long gown and high heels as she served on tables. She had never worn high heels. On her first evening, her first order required her to carry a large tray with seven plates full of food. Close to the table she tripped and fell in the midst of food and plates. As her manager walked towards her, she sighed, wept silent tears and shook her head in discouragement, pondering her divorce, how she would pay the bills, where she could get another job. In an elaborate setting she had made a fool of herself and brought disgrace to the restaurant. In a few moments she would be out the door. The manager kneeled by her side. “You must feel bad”, he whispered, “but its alright. I will clean the mess up, you go clean yourself up and then reorder. It’s okay. It’s okay. You’re going to make it. It’s ok” This woman knew what it was like to feel peace and be on the receiving end of greatness through kindness.
Writing Your Personal and Family History by Elder John H. Groburg
In the early 1900’s, a young father and his
family joined the Church in Hawaii. He
was enthused about his new-found religion, and after two years of membership
both he and his eldest son held the priesthood.
They prospered and enjoyed the fellowship of the little branch. They anxiously looked forward to being sealed
as a family for eternity in the temple soon to be completed in Laie.
Then, as so often happens, a test crossed
their path. One of their daughters
became ill with an unknown disease and was taken away to a strange
hospital. People in Hawaii were
understandably wary of unknown diseases, as such diseases had wrought so much
havoc there.
The concerned family went to church the
next Sunday, looking forward to the strength and understanding they would
receive from their fellow members. It
was a small branch. This young father
and his son very often took the responsibility for blessing and passing the
sacrament. This was one such
Sunday. They reverently broke the bread
while the congregation sang the sacrament hymn.
When the hymn was finished, the young father began to knee to offer the
sacrament prayer. Suddenly the branch
president, realizing who was at the sacred table, sprang to his feet. He pointed his finger and cried, “Stop. You can’t touch the sacrament. Your daughter has an unknown disease. Leave immediately while someone else fixes
new sacrament bread. We can’t have you
here. Go.”
How would you react? What would you do?
The stunned father slowly stood up. He searchingly looked at the branch
president, then at the congregation.
Then, sensing the depth of anxiety and embarrassment from all, he
motioned to his family and they quietly filed out of the chapel.
Not a word was said as, with faces to the
ground, they moved along the dusty trail to their small home. The young son noticed the firmness in his
father’s clenched fists and the tenseness of his set jaw. When they entered their home they all sat in
a circle, and the father said, “We will be silent until I am ready to speak.” All sorts of thoughts went through the mind
of this young boy. He envisioned his
father coming up with many novel ways of getting revenge. Would they kill the branch president’s pigs,
or burn his house, or join another church?
He could hardly wait to see what would happen.
Five minutes, ten minutes, fifteen
minutes—not a sound. He glanced at his
father. his eyes were closed, his mouth
was set, his fingers clenched, but no sound.
Twenty minutes, twenty-five minutes—still nothing. Then he noticed a slight relaxing of his
father’s hands, a small tremor on his father’s lips, then a barely perceptible
sob. He looked at his father—tears were
trickling down his cheeks from closed eyes.
Soon he noticed his mother was crying also, then one child, then another,
and soon the whole family.
Finally, the father opened his eyes,
cleared his throat, and announced, “I am now ready to speak. Listen carefully.” He slowly turned to his wife and said,
meaningfully, “I love you.” Then turning
to each child, he told them individually, “I love you. I love all of you and I want us to be
together, forever, as a family. And the
only way that can be is for all of us to be good members of The Church of Jesus
Christ of Latter-day Saints and be sealed by his holy priesthood in the
temple. This is not the branch
president’s church. it is the Church of
Jesus Christ. We will not let any man or
any amount of hurt or embarrassment or pride keep us from being together
forever. Next Sunday we will go back to
church. we will stay by ourselves until
our daughter’s sickness is known, but we will go back.”
This great man had proper eternal
perspective.
The daughter’s health problem was resolved;
the family did go to the temple when it was completed. The children did remain faithful and were
likewise sealed to their own families in the temple as time went on. Today over 100 souls in this family are
active members of the Church and call their father, grandfather and
great-grandfather blessed because he kept his eyes on eternity, because he used
his priesthood to bless his family, and because he recorded his feelings. How the heart of this father turned to his
children, and how his children’s hearts turned to him.
All of you have similar incident in your
families. Search them out. Record them.
Live by them, and pass them on to your posterity.
I have a strong feeling that when this life
is over, our personal and family histories and the influence they wield will be
of much greater importance than we now think.
Turin Olympics, 2006
Canadian Sara Renner was leader her team in grueling cross-country skiing team sprint race when her left ski pole snapped. She pushed on, but it was hopeless. On an uphill slope, several skiers passed her. Then something extraordinary happened. A man stepped forward from the side of the course and handed Renner another pole. She got back in the race and made up some of the lost time. In the end, Canada captured the silver medal.
It was not until after the race that Renner learned the identity of her benefactor. It was Bjoernar Haakensmoen, the coach of the Norwegian ski team, which came in fourth.
Haakensmoen became an immediate hero in Canada. A Montreal newspaper ran a one-word banner headline: ‘Takk,’ which is Norwegian for ‘thank you.’
Haakensmoen didn’t understand all the attention. ‘The Olympic spirit is what we try to follow,’ he told a newspaper. ‘If you win but don’t help somebody when you should have, what win is that?’
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James E. Faust in April 2007 General conference
In the beautiful hills of Pennsylvania, a devout group of Christian people live a simple life without automobiles, electricity, or modern machinery. They work hard and live quiet, peaceful lives separate from the world. Most of their food comes from their own farms. The women sew and knit and weave their clothing, which is modest and plain. They are known as the Amish people.
A 32-year-old milk truck driver lived with his family in their Nickel Mines community. He was not Amish, but his pickup route took him to many Amish dairy farms, where he became known as the quiet milkman. Last October he suddenly lost all reason and control. In his tormented mind he blamed God for the death of his first child and some unsubstantiated memories. He stormed into the Amish school without any provocation, released the boys and adults, and tied up the 10 girls. He shot the girls, killing five and wounding five. Then he took his own life.
This shocking violence caused great anguish among the Amish but no anger. There was hurt but no hate. Their forgiveness was immediate. Collectively they began to reach out to the milkman’s suffering family. As the milkman’s family gathered in his home the day after the shootings, an Amish neighbor came over, wrapped his arms around the father of the dead gunman, and said, “We will forgive you.”1 Amish leaders visited the milkman’s wife and children to extend their sympathy, their forgiveness, their help, and their love. About half of the mourners at the milkman’s funeral were Amish. In turn, the Amish invited the milkman’s family to attend the funeral services of the girls who had been killed. A remarkable peace settled on the Amish as their faith sustained them during this crisis.
One local resident very eloquently summed up the aftermath of this tragedy when he said, “We were all speaking the same language, and not just English, but a language of caring, a language of community, [and] a language of service. And, yes, a language of forgiveness.” It was an amazing outpouring of their complete faith in the Lord’s teachings in the Sermon on the Mount: “Do good to them that hate you, and pray for them which despitefully use you.”
The family of the milkman who killed the five girls released the following statement to the public:
“To our Amish friends, neighbors, and local community:
“Our family wants each of you to know that we are overwhelmed by the forgiveness, grace, and mercy that you’ve extended to us. Your love for our family has helped to provide the healing we so desperately need. The prayers, flowers, cards, and gifts you’ve given have touched our hearts in a way no words can describe. Your compassion has reached beyond our family, beyond our community, and is changing our world, and for this we sincerely thank you.
“Please know that our hearts have been broken by all that has happened. We are filled with sorrow for all of our Amish neighbors whom we have loved and continue to love. We know that there are many hard days ahead for all the families who lost loved ones, and so we will continue to put our hope and trust in the God of all comfort, as we all seek to rebuild our lives.”
How could the whole Amish group manifest such an expression of forgiveness? It was because of their faith in God and trust in His word, which is part of their inner beings. They see themselves as disciples of Christ and want to follow His example.
Hearing of this tragedy, many people sent money to the Amish to pay for the health care of the five surviving girls and for the burial expenses of the five who were killed. As a further demonstration of their discipleship, the Amish decided to share some of the money with the widow of the milkman and her three children because they too were victims of this terrible tragedy.
Forgiveness is not always instantaneous as it was with the Amish. When innocent children have been molested or killed, most of us do not think first about forgiveness. Our natural response is anger. We may even feel justified in wanting to “get even” with anyone who inflicts injury on us or our family...Forgiveness comes more readily when, like the Amish, we have faith in God and trust in His word. Such faith “enables people to withstand the worst of humanity. It also enables people to look beyond themselves. More importantly, it enables them to forgive.”
THE IDENTIFICATION OF JOCK ANDERSON
by Hugh B. Brown
I am thinking in terms, at the moment, of an experience I had when returning from the First World War. I always hesitate to tell these experiences of the First World war because they definitely date me as approaching middle life. I was there in 1915 to 1918 and saw many things and experienced some things, but I'm thinking of a certain man who was known to us in the regiment as the "unsentimental cuss." He was a man apparently without any feeling, a man who was not touched by the things that affect most of us at times, a man who could stand by his comrades and see them shot down and never bat an eye. He was the kind of fellow that most of us--as we noted his actions and his attitudes, heard his coarse language, and saw him in debauchery at times--most of us became for the moment like the Pharisees of old and said in our hearts, though we didn't have the courage to say it out loud, "I thank thee, God, that I'm not like that." I felt that way. And I was a Pharisee.
We got over to France finally. And there it became the duty of the officers to read the incoming and outgoing mail. A very interesting assignment, incidentally. You learn a lot of things that way. This man was on duty reading the mail. He was a captain. He read a letter from a woman in Ontario, Canada, Mrs. Jock Anderson. She had written to her husband. It was impressed on my memory because of what happened subsequently. She said among other things, "My darling, Jock. I'm so happy to have you where you are. We're all so proud of what you're doing. The ten little bairns are coming along all right. I had to wean the baby because I have to work to help with the separation allowance the government gives us. But we're all right, Jock, and if God should see fit to take your life, we'll carry on. But, oh Jock, darling, won't you plead with God with me that he will never allow us to receive word that you are missing." She said, "Poor Mrs. Johnson next door received that word two months ago, and she's almost frantic. She'd much rather have heard he was dead. Pray God with me Jock, that I may never get word you are missing."
That was the letter this "unsentimental cuss" read. And that night there appeared before him a sergeant and six men. They were to go out into no-man's land on a very dangerous mission. The sergeant read the roll, and the men responded to their names, and one of them was Jock Anderson. They went out, and in the early morning three of them came back with the sergeant. And again he called the roll. And they answered. But Jock Anderson was not among them. This unsentimental man--of whom I said thank God that I'm not like him--said, "Sergeant, do you know where Jock Anderson fell?"
"Yes, sir. He
was on an elevated piece of land covered by a German machine gun."
"Would it be possible, Sergeant, for a man to go out and get his identification disc?" You remember that each soldier had a disc around his neck, and there was a definite rule that unless you could produce his identification disc or his body, you could not report him dead no matter how many men saw him fall. And so the captain said, "Could you get his disc from where his is?"
The sergeant said, "No sir, it would be absolute suicide, but if you say so, I'll try.
The captain said, "No, I didn't mean that. I just wanted to know."
And that night the captain was missing. No one knew where he had gone. And the next morning there came a large envelope, a military envelope, and upon opening it we read, "Dear Major, I am enclosing herewith the identification disc of Jock Anderson. Will you please send word to Mrs. Anderson that God heard her prayer? Her husband is not missing. He's dead." God heard her prayer. And then he added as though it didn't amount to anything, "As for me, I'm off to Blighty in the morning. The doctor says it's and amputation case and may prove fatal. Cheerio."
And that was the man who had the intestinal fortitude to crawl out at night alone up to a dead man's body and get a disc from his neck in order that his wife could have the poor satisfaction of learning that her husband was not missing. Many times since then I have felt to say in my heart, "Help me, oh God, never to judge another man. However he may appear, there is something in him better than I.
("The Measure of a
Man," An address to Seminary and
Institute Personal. July 14, 1966)
Taken from an article in The
New Era:
“Class,” she
had said, “I want each of you to promise that some time during this next week
you will tell your father you love him.”
It sounded
like such a simple thing. But I knew I
couldn’t do it. Perhaps if I had the
kind of father some of the others had, I said to myself, I could never say those
words to him. Dad was completely
inactive in the Church. He appeared to
me to be insensitive and the communication gap between us was wide. We had not talked seriously together about
anything for years. Besides, “I love
you” was something that I didn’t think was ever said in my family. I felt I could never do what my Sunday School
teacher had just asked.
After the
closing prayer, I waited until the others had left, and then I approached my
teacher.
“Sister Innes,
what you’ve asked us to do is good. But
I think I need to be excused from that assignment. You know how my dad is, and, well I just
couldn’t say something like that to him.
But Sister
Innes wasn’t convinced. She looked at me
and said, “No matter what your dad is or does, he needs to hear those words
from you just as much as any other dad needs to hear them. I want you to promise me that you’ll fill
this assignment.”
I agreed, and
during the next few days I felt a great burden.
I knew it would only be lifted when I fulfilled my commitment. One night, after the others had gone to bed,
I nervously waited for the right moment to say those words. Dad was smoking a cigarette and stood up to
put the ashes in the trash. With a
trembling, nervous, almost inaudible voice I said, “Dad, I love you.”
He had his
back to me and he didn’t turn around or say anything or do anything. I was sure he hadn’t heard me. And so, weakly, I repeated it, “Dad I love
you.” And then, very slowly, he turned
toward me. My insensitive, untouchable
dad had tears streaming down his cheeks.
He put his arms around me and held me close and kissed the top of my
head. That was the first time in my
sixteen years that I could remember my dad and me embracing.
FOR THE
MAN WHO HATED CHRISTMAS
My husband,
Mike, hated Christmas. Oh, not the true
meaning of Christmas, but the commercial aspects of it – the overspending, the
frantic running around at the last minute to get a tie for Uncle Harry and the
dusting powder for Grandma, gifts given in desperation because you couldn’t
think of anything else.
Knowing he felt
this way, I decided one year to bypass the usual shirts, sweaters, ties etc. and reach for something special
just for him. The inspiration came in an
unusual way.
Our son Kevin was
wrestling at the Junior League level at the school he attended and shortly
before Christmas there was a non-league match against a team sponsored by an
inner-city church. Mostly black, these
youngsters – dressed in uniforms consisting of ill-fitting boxer shorts,
hole-punctured T-shirts and sneakers so ragged that the shoestrings seemed to
be the only thing holding them together – presented a sharp contrast to our
boys in their spiffy blue and gold uniforms and sparkling new wrestling shoes.
As the match
began, I was alarmed to see that the other team was wrestling without headgear,
a kind of light helmet designed to protect a wrestler’s ears. It was a luxury that the rag-tag team
obviously could not afford.
Well, we ended up
walloping them – took every weight class- and as each of their boys got up from
the mat he swaggered around in his tatters with false bravado, a kind of street
pride that could not acknowledge defeat.
Mike, seated
beside me, shook his head sadly. “I wish
just one of them could have won.” He said.
“They have a lot of potential, but losing like this could take the heart
right out of them.” He loved kids.
That’s when the
idea for his present came.
That afternoon I
went to a local sporting goods store and bought an assortment of wrestling
headgear and shoes and sent them anonymously to the inner city church.
On Christmas
Eve I placed the envelope on the tree, the note inside telling Mike what I had
done and that this was his gift from me.
His smile was the brightest things about Christmas that year and in
succeeding years. For each Christmas I
followed the tradition, one year sending a group of retarded youngsters to a
hockey game, another a check to a pair of elderly brothers whose home had
burned to the ground a week before Christmas.
The envelope
became the highlight of our Christmas.
It was always the last thing opened on Christmas morning and our
children, ignoring their new toys, would stand with wide-eyed anticipation as
their dad lifted the envelope from the tree to reveal its contents. As the children grew the toys gave way to
more practical presents, but the envelope never lost its allure.
The story doesn’t
end there. You see, we lost Mike last
year to dreaded cancer and when Christmas rolled around I was still so wrapped
in grief that I barely got the tree up.
But Christmas Eve found me placing the envelope on the tree, and in the
morning it was joined by three
more. Each of our children, unbeknownst
to the others, had placed an envelope on the tree for their dad. The tradition had grown and someday will
expand even further when our grandchildren, standing around the tree with
wide-eyed anticipation, will watch as their father's take down the envelope.
Nicholas Winton
At the end of 1938, Nicholas Winton canceled a skiing trip
and instead met with a friend in Czechoslovakia. Because of that switch, over
6,000 people today owe their lives to him.
With his death July 1, 2015 in England at the age of 106, he
leaves behind an immeasurable legacy, wherein he played a direct role in saving
669 Czech children from Nazi forces just before the onset of World War II.
Born to German-Jewish parents but raised a Christian, Winton
as a young adult started closely following news reports surrounding the people
of his Jewish heritage.
In 1938, the British government started the Kindertransport program, wherein unaccompanied Jewish
minors were welcomed to Great Britain, provided they had a host family.
However, this program did not extend to Czechoslovakia, so Winton decided to
act.
Using a two-week vacation from his work as a stockbroker,
Winton went to Czechoslovakia and met with hundreds of parents desperately
seeking a safe haven for their children. They knew too well what was coming as
a result of the Munich Agreement, a settlement between European powers that
permitted the German annexation of western Czechoslovakia. Adolf Hitler’s plan
was to occupy the area, thereby reincorporating many people of German origin.
The Munich Agreement was not much of a compromise, as it allowed Hitler access
to the eventual cleansing of over 77,300 Czech
and Polish Jews during World War II.
Winton’s task was a formidable one, as the severe majority
of countries had closed their borders to Jewish immigration. Even America
rejected the opportunity to take in some of the children, something Winston lamented for years afterward. Howbeit, Winton
stuck to his motto, which he described in a "60 Minutes" interview:
“If something’s not impossible, there must be a way of doing it.”
After taking registry of thousands of children’s names, Winton
returned to England to acquire entry permits and money as well as to arrange
transportation and eventual homes for the Czech children. Every foster family
under the Kindertransport program was guaranteed 50 British pounds, the
equivalent of about $77, a large sum in 1938.
The bureaucracy proved such an ordeal and time was so
precious with the impending war that Winton covered much of the costs himself.
He also resorted to somewhat deceitful forgeries of permits and bribes in order
to see the children through safely, although hopefully no one would fault him
for doing so to save lives.
Seven of eight trainloads of children escaped Czechoslovakia
and were successfully ferried to England. The eighth trainload of 250 children
never left Czechoslovakia, as war was declared on Sept. 1, 1939, just before
the train was scheduled for departure.
Surprisingly, Winton’s courageous work went virtually
unknown for some 50 years. Fortunately, Winton had kept meticulous record of
the children he had saved, and his wife unearthed his scrapbooks in 1988, consequently sharing the information with BBC.
As meek as he was daring, Winton often downplayed his
efforts in interviews and award acceptance speeches to instead give credit to
the British government for allowing the Czech children into the country, or to
their parents, who somberly watched them leave for a better life, never to see
the concentration camps at Auschwitz, Bergen-Belsen or Theresienstadt, where
the majority of the parents died.
Even to the end of his mortal life, Winton was an example of
a true hero — someone who humbly embraced the ideal that one person can make a
remarkable difference for good in this world. In February of this year, in accepting
the honorable Freedom of London award, Winton said this: “The world would
be a better place if people behaved in an ethical manner, with honesty and
love, rather than causing disputes over religious beliefs.”
His favorite saying from the Talmud: save one life, save the world
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Skateistan
Oliver is a skateboard teacher working for Skateistan, a non-profit that combines skateboarding and education as a tool for empowering young people. Half the population of Afghanistan is under the age of 16, and 70% of the population is under the age of 25. Most shocking is the role that women play in society — most of them don’t have jobs and cannot go to school. It’s even been deemed culturally inappropriate for them to ride bicycles!
Skateboarding, however, is so new in Afghanistan that nobody has had a chance to forbid the girls from doing it. So they skate!
Oliver only makes $10 a week, and he only has electricity every couple of days, but he is constantly rewarded by his time with the children: showing them how to skate, teaching them valuable skills in the classroom, taking them on field trips around Kabul… He was even able to help a 12-year-old girl, Priscilla, get a job as a skateboarding instructor, so she could stop begging on the streets as a way of supporting her entire family.
But Skateistan is not without its heartbreak. In April 2015, four of the school’s students were killed in a suicide bombing at the NATO facility in Kabul. The community rallied together to help the families of the children who passed away, and at the skate park, a boy skated up and down the ramps in honor of his deceased brother.
Today, in Afghanistan, 40% of skateboarders are girls. Skateboarding is now the largest female sport in the country, and Skateistan continues to use it to educate and empower girls and boys through the community.
from Buzzfeed .com
Circus School
Mohammad Qusam Ghouzlan is a circus trainer who helped Finn Church Aid start a circus school in the Za’atari refugee camp in Jordan two years ago. The camp was created to host Syrians fleeing the violent Syrian civil war. Over 80,000 refugees live there, and the camp is so large it could fit 1,000 American football fields!
At the beginning, circus school took place in a refugee tent. Today, the kids train in a padded floor hangar divided by a curtain — boys on one side, girls on the other. Children and youths in the camp need a way to unwind and to focus their attention on something positive. The circus school gives them hope for the future. It teaches them that it’s OK to make mistakes, and together they learn to trust each other and work as a team.
Experts say that children’s limbic systems become paralyzed in war situations. Sometimes, in the middle of an activity, some of the children seem to forget what they’re doing, or they’ll lose focus and stop listening to instructions. But teachers like Mohammad, and the work of the circus school, help give them focus. It also helps release war traumas and discharge the energy that builds up in young people forced to live in a small space
from Buzzfeed.com
THOMAS MOORE
The principle of helping one in need is well expressed in the touching love story of Thomas Moore, a famous nineteenth century Irish poet, who, when he returned from a business trip found his wife had locked herself in her upstairs bedroom and had asked to see no one. Moore learned the terrible truth that his beautiful wife had contracted smallpox and her milky complexion was now pocked and scarred. She had looked at herself in the mirror and demanded that the shutters be drawn, and that she never see her husband again. Thomas Moore did not listen. He went upstairs to the darkened room and started to light the lamp. His wife pleaded with him to let her remain in darkness alone. She felt it best not to subject her husband to seeing his loved one with her beauty marred. She asked him to go.
Moore did go. He went downstairs and spent the rest of the
night in prayerful writing. He had never
written a song before, but that night he wrote not only words but also composed
music. As daylight broke, Moore returned
to his wife’s darkened room. “Are you
awake?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said,
“but you must not see me. Please don’t
press me, Thomas.”
“I’ll sing to you then,” he said. Thomas Moore sang to his wife the song that still lives today.
Believe me, if
all those endearing young charms
Which I gaze on
so fondly today,
Were to change
by tomorrow and fleet in my arms,
Like fairy gifts
fading away,
Thou wouldst still be adored as this moment thou art
Moore heard a movement in the corner of the darkened room where his wife lay in loneliness. He continued:
Let thy
loveliness fade as it will,
And around the
dear ruin each wish of my heart
Would entwine
itself verdantly still.
The song
ended. As his voice faded, Moore heard
his bride arise. She crossed the room to
the window, reached up and slowly withdrew the shutters, opened the curtain,
and let in the morning light.
Irish Melodies, “Believe Me, If All Those Endearing Young
Charms,” st.1; cited in Barlett’s Familiar Quotations, p. 542
acts of kindness, it goes incredibly far. By being considerate and kind to the people around us we can easily foster a sense of compassion, community, and overall well-being. A kind act often spurs a sweet conversation that can bring people together, widening our awareness of the human experience.
At the end of the day, when someone uplifts us, an innate instinct encourages us to keep spreading that newborn light, and that’s something to celebrate.
Giving Shelter
Natalie Barnes, a bus driver in Milwaukee, went out of her way to help a homeless man whose residence had been recently condemned. She helped him find a temporary shelter, provided him with snacks, and allowed him to ride along with her on the cold night they met. Now they stay in touch.
“He calls me his little guardian angel. I’m happy to say he’s progressing well” Barnes told ABC News. “At some point in our lives, everybody needs help…I wanted to do what I could to help Richard in some way.”
Barnes is no stranger to kindness and often rides with peanut butter and jelly sandwiches to share with those in need.
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Letters of Love
Sean O'Connor invited redd-it users to send his terminally ill uncle letters, and the internet heeded the call immediately.
“Hey Reddit - my 47 year old uncle, Scott Widak, has down syndrome and is terminally ill with liver disease,” O’Connor writes in his post. “One of his favorite things to do is open mail… anyone feel like sending him a letter or card?”
Just hours later, over 1,300 comments flooded the post and in a few days, hundreds of letters came in from around the globe. Readers not only sent encouraging letters, they also sent in artwork and supplies to support Widak’s unique and famed art, RoseArt “Fuzzy” brand drawings.
The family told Mashable that they are touched that so many strangers on the internet would go out of their way to be supportive.
65 for 65
When Dog Eaton’s Facebook friend suggested that he do 65 random acts of kindness on his 65th birthday, he took the idea to heart.
On the blessed day, he stood at an intersection in Oklahoma City Oklahoma and for 65 minutes handed out $5 bills to whoever was around.
“I think this is the craziest guy I have ever seen in my life and it’s fantastic! I am enjoying the moment out here,” one driver told KFOR News. Eaten said on Facebook that it was the best birthday gift ever!
Better than New
After a woman’s just paid off 2005 Jeep Wrangler was stolen and destroyed in Aurora, Colorado, local businesses came together to repair it.
Ten businesses offered to help, and after two weeks of hard work they brought it back, “better than new,” said Joven Williams.
The car was stolen in front of Williams’ eyes. When found, she discovered that the thief had poured soda in the gas tank and broke, stole, and sold every part possible.
When KMGH News reported the incident, and mentioned that insurance wouldn’t fix it, a team of local businesses united to completely overhaul the car for free.
Operation Sweet Allie-Bama
After being separated for five years, Brenda Travis and Tom Shield were reunited with their dogs, thanks to strangers who transported the pets 1,000 miles.
In 2007, the couple had their two basset hounds, Bama and Allie stolen from their house in Tennessee. “It was like a death in the family…they were just our babies so it was devastating,” they told Fox News.
Although they tried their best, they were unable to find them The couple moved a year later to Wichita Kansas and thought they would never see their dogs again.
Five years later they received a phone call from the Paulding County animal shelter in Georgia, who told them that the dogs had been found wandering near a highway in the suburbs of Dallas, Georgia. The shelter located the owners because one of the dogs was chipped.
When friends and strangers found out that the couple was unable to travel to retrieve the lost dogs, they volunteered to transport them from Georgia to St. Louis Missouri, where the couple was able to pick them up. The successful mission was called “Operation Sweet Allie-Bama”.
“There will be no way I'll ever be able to say thanks enough,” Travis told KPLR News.
These stories teach us that a few simple acts of kindness can completely transform a person’s life. The ripple effect of making someone’s day or year is immeasurable, often reverberating to much greater heights and lengths than we can imagine.
Excerpts Taken From Readers Digest Article
Carolyn Waldo, Grace Under Water
By
Janice Tyrwhitt
Twice Canada’s female athlete of the year, this young swimmer now has her eyes on an Olympic gold medal. Yet as a child, she was terrified of water.
Today world champion, Waldo has twice been chosen Canada’s female athlete of the year by the Sports Federation of Canada, and is probably the best synchronized swimmer who has ever lived.
At age three, she had almost drowned on a family outing. Revived by her father, Carolyn refused to go near water for years. At the local park where her older sisters Valerie and Robin took lessons, she fled from the wading pool and screamed if she was splashed. Sensibly, her mother waited until Carolyn decided she was missing fun with her friends. At ten she began floating on her back, moving her hands in the figure-eight basic synchronized swimming stroke. Next year Carolyn joined her sisters in summer synchro classes, and at 13 she began practicing year round.
In 1979, when she was 14, she joined an elite Montreal swimming club, CAMO.
In 1981 at age 16 she was picked for Canada’s first all-star national “A” team.
In 1984 she won figures and solo at the Canadian national Championships and the chance to swim solo in the Los Angeles Olympics.
Carolyn’s solo has never been defeated since.
What enables
Carolyn to handle her rigorous schedule is the legacy of a loving and
supportive family: “Our parents never pushed us, they just encouraged us to do
our very best. I’ve seen success spoil
other athletes, so I don’t think of myself as world champion, I think of myself
as Carolyn Waldo.” Often invited to
speak at high schools, she says, “I love talking to kids, telling them to get
involved and to enjoy what they do.”
Florence Nightingale the lady with the lamp
In the 1850’s by the time she was 34 Florence Nightingale was a volunteer nurse in the Crimean war and shortly after her arrival was the leader of 38 volunteer nurses. Conditions at the battlefield were wretched. By mobilizing her small group of nurses and lobbying government leaders against societies sentiments, Florence was able to upgrade nursing services on the wars front, she increased the hygiene, upgraded cleanliness standards, improved hospital conditions and obtained better food for the wounded. Within 6 months she had mobilized her staff and resources and had lowered the death rate of the wounded from 42 percent to 3 percent. She was the leader of the small group of nurses who were, like her, so dedicated that they often went without eating and without sleep, often working well into the night and early morning hours. Florence would go out to the battlefield at night to comfort the wounded. She became known as the lady with the lamp and was often referred to publicly as a ministering angel.
In later years Florence dedicated her lifestyle to writing about nursing, lobbying for government reform to upgrade health, promoting and supporting and improvement to nursing training, rules and regulations that positively impact the medical arena. She had a significant impact on upgrading nursing in England and throughout the world. Florence died peacefully at the age of 90.
Florence Nightingale was destined sit around in English high society sipping tea conversing about wealth, prestige and people in high position. Born in 1820 to a rich upper-class English family during a period of time when those with money frowned on nursing. Nursing often was the domain of prostitutes who would assist those who were dying in the streets. Florence had all of the benefits that wealth and high stature could give her.
The first defining moment for Florence was when she was 17 and was being educated at a boarding school. She was soured on the pampered and pompous lifestyle of the rich and was influenced by a handful who wanted to give their lives to help others. So her ‘take away’ from boarding school was that she wanted to go into nursing. Her parents were appalled. Against their outrage Florence studied and practiced nursing every chance she had. All the while her parents tried to encourage their daughter to marry and to enjoy high society living. Florence, however, had a powerful spiritual witness that nursing was to be her call in life.
At 30 she was helping at a religious
community who helped the sick and the afflicted. At the religious community she saw firsthand
as a deaconess and a pastor helped those who were sick and dying. Her defining ‘take away’ at the religious
community was that God had called her to help those who were struggling with
health issues.
From the movie REVOLUTION
Tom Dobb (played by Al Pacino)
We're gonna find us a place
Where
there aint no one to bow down to
Where
there aint no lord or lady better than you
Where you
can say what you like
And climb
as high as you want
And they
aint nobody gonna treat no one like a dog in the dirt
I look
around me…….
And I see
all kinds of people
Men and
women
And they
got families like mine
And we
stand together
Like
brothers and sisters
And we
make for ourselves
We make a
place
Where our
babies can sleep safe through the night
story told by Elder Boyd K. Packer in October 1974 General conference
In the late 1850s many converts from Europe were struggling
to reach the Great Salt Lake Valley. Many were too poor to afford the open and
the covered wagons and had to walk, pushing their meager belongings in
handcarts. Some of the most touching and tragic moments in the history of the
Church accompanied these handcart pioneers.
One such company was commanded by a Brother McArthur. Archer
Walters, an English convert who was with the company, recorded in his diary
under July 2, 1856, this sentence:
“Brother Parker’s little boy, age six, was lost, and the
father went back to hunt him.” (LeRoy R. Hafen and Ann W. Hafen, Handcarts
to Zion, Pioneers Ed. Glendale, California, The Arthur H. Clark Co.,
1960, p. 61.)
The boy, Arthur, was next youngest of four children of
Robert and Ann Parker. Three days earlier the company had hurriedly made camp
in the face of a sudden thunderstorm. It was then the boy was missed. The
parents had thought him to be playing along the way with the other children.
Someone remembered earlier in the day, when they had
stopped, that they had seen the little boy settle down to rest under the shade
of some brush.
Now most of you have little children and you know how
quickly a tired little six-year-old could fall asleep on a sultry summer day
and how soundly he could sleep, so that even the noise of the camp moving on
might not awaken him.
For two days the company remained, and all of the men
searched for him. Then on July 2, with no alternative, the company was ordered
west.
Robert Parker, as the diary records, went back alone to
search once more for his little son. As he was leaving camp, his wife pinned a
bright shawl about his shoulders with words such as these:
“If you find him dead, wrap him in the shawl to bury him. If
you find him alive, you could use this as a flag to signal us.”
She, with the other little children, took the handcart and
struggled along with the company.
Out on the trail each night Ann Parker kept watch. At
sundown on July 5, as they were watching, they saw a figure approaching from
the east! Then, in the rays of the setting sun, she saw the glimmer of the
bright red shawl.
One of the diaries records: “Ann Parker fell in a pitiful
heap upon the sand, and that night, for the first time in six nights, she
slept.”
Under July 5, Brother Walters recorded:
“Brother Parker came into camp with a little boy that had
been lost. Great joy through the camp. The mother’s joy I cannot describe.”
(Hafen and Hafen, Handcarts to Zion, p. 61.)
We do not know all of the details. A nameless woodsman—I’ve
often wondered how unlikely it was that a woodsman should be there—found the
little boy and described him as being sick with illness and with terror, and he
cared for him until his father found him.
So here a story, commonplace in its day, ends—except for a
question. How would you, in Ann Parker’s place, feel toward the nameless
woodsman had he saved your little son? Would there be any end to your gratitude?
Related by Elder David B. Haight in October 1981 gen conf
Arturo Toscanini, the late, famous conductor of the New York
Philharmonic Orchestra, received a brief, crumpled letter from a lonely
sheepherder in the remote mountain area of Wyoming:
“Mr. Conductor: I have only two possessions—a radio and an
old violin. The batteries in my radio are getting low and will soon die. My
violin is so out of tune I can’t use it. Please help me. Next Sunday when you
begin your concert, sound a loud ‘A’ so I can tune my ‘A’ string; then I can
tune the other strings. When my radio batteries are dead, I’ll have my violin.”
At the beginning of his next nationwide radio concert from
Carnegie Hall, Toscanini announced: “For a dear friend and listener back in the
mountains of Wyoming the orchestra will now sound an ‘A.’” The musicians all
joined together in a perfect “A.”
The lonely sheepherder only needed one note, just a little
help to get back in tune; he could go on from there. He needed someone who
cared to assist him with one string; the others would be easy. Then, with all
strings in tune—in harmony—the lonely sheepherder would have a source of
companionship and joy and could play uplifting strains.
from James E. Faust in Oct 1982 Conference
In Leicester, England, there is an inscription on the
outside wall of an old church which bears a remarkably fine thought. The
inscription reads:
“In the year 1654 when all things were, throughout this
nation, either demolished or profaned, Sir Robert Shirley, Baronet, founded and
built this church. He it is whose singular praise it is to have done the best
things in the worst times, and to have hoped them in the most calamitous.”
The Sherpa and the Earthquake
Nuri is a sherpa who has spent his life helping climbers from all over the world hike the mountains of Nepal. When the earthquake hit Nepal in April 2015, Nuri was helping Don Bowie and his team climb the Annapurna Circuit.
News spread fast of hundreds of villages flattened or decimated by the earthquake, villages nestled deep in the mountains that were cut off from any supplies. Bowie’s team decided to remain in Nepal and help where they could. Though Nuri’s own home had been destroyed, and he longed to be with his family, he chose to stay and join Bowie’s team in their efforts to help the World Food Programme provide humanitarian relief.
The Larke Pass is a passageway that used to provide access to these isolated villages before it was cut off by a landslide. Nuri and the crew worked for three weeks to get the Larke Pass open for supplies, then prepared mules for the long journey to bring WFP food to remote villages. The team trekked through cold temperatures and low oxygen — and 5,100 m altitude! — to reach village after village. They were completely self-sufficient, carrying their own food, equipment, and medical supplies on mules. With every stop on their journey, they assessed the needs of the community and relayed them via satellite phone back to WFP’s operations team.
Nuri is one of thousands of people doing their part to help Nepal following its devastating tragedy.
from Buzzfeed.com
A poor boy was selling goods from one door to another to pay for his studies. One day he found that he had only one dime left, and he was hungry. While approaching the next house, he decided to ask for a meal.
But when a young woman has opened the door, he only dared to ask for a glass of water. She looked at him and understood that probably the boy is hungry. So she brought him a large glass of milk. He drank it and then asked how much he owed her. The woman replied: 'You don‘t own me anything. Mother taught us never to accept pay for a kindness. Then I thank you from the bottom of my heart', – he said and felt that now he was stronger not only physically, but his faith in God has grown as well. The boy‘s name was Howard Kelly.
Many years have passed. One day that woman became seriously ill. Local doctors could not help her. Therefore they sent her to a big city, where her rare disease would be studied by specialists. Dr Howard Kelly was called in for the consultation. When he entered her room in the hospital, he immediately recognized the woman, that showed kindness to him, when he was poor. The doctor was determined to do his best to help her recover from her disease.
The struggle was long, but together they managed to overcome her illness. After some time the woman received a bill for her treatment. She was worried that the amount to pay would be so significant, that it would take the rest of her life to pay for it. Finally, when the woman looked at the bill, she noticed words that were written on the side of the bill. The words were: Paid in full with a glass of milk.
"My husband and I went to the San Diego Zoo on our honeymoon. Before we could pay the $50 per person entry fee, two older ladies approached us and offered to take us in on their membership passes. Turns out they had both purchased memberships that allow you a guest entry every visit, and went walking at the zoo often. Every time they went, they take a couple of strangers in for free with them. Not necessarily life changing, but wonderful for a couple of newlyweds on a budget."
INTERNATIONAL CHILD ART FOUNDATION
In response to the tragedy of September 11, 2001, the ICAF developed a unique and effective methodology for creative interventions with children victimized by manmade conflicts. These interventions tap into children's innate creative resources so they can imagine their enemy as human beings not so different from themselves and hence begin to visualize peaceful co-existence. The overarching goal is to reduce the transmission of trauma and hatred from the current generation to the future one. The program develops empathy through art and imparts leadership skills so children can co-create a peaceful future for their communities. https://www.icaf.org/whatwedo/peacethruart.php
FROM PEACELEARNER
For people who have been struggling as a community or a group from a never-ending conflict, traumatizing tragedy, and fear of the future, art is a resource that could open your eyes. One simple thing can really make a difference. We never want our communities to be haunted by horrific history; we do not want our kids to grow up only remembering a tragedy and be afraid every day. Art allows us to stand up and express that we want peace in our lives. https://peacelearner.org/
The Miracle Baby
Khaled Farah is a first responder for the White Helmets in Syria’s Civil Defence team. In the last four years, nearly 200,000 Syrians have lost their lives in the Syrian civil war, where civilians are targeted daily with bombs. Khaled is one of 2,697 volunteers, including more than 80 women, who risk their lives every day.
On July 11, 2014, a barrel bomb was dropped in the Ansari neighborhood of Aleppo. Khaled arrived on the scene of the blast to help pull people out of the debris. He kept an eye on the sky, as a second bomb is often dropped to kill rescue workers.
As the team pulled two families out of the debris, one of the mothers cried out desperately that her 2-week-old baby was missing. Khaled rested his head against the concrete and heard a baby crying. He called over his team and started digging through the rubble as gently as possible so as to keep the baby safe. They finally spotted the child, and using car jacks — the only tool at their disposal — they lifted the concrete slab to pull the baby out.
Khaled recently visited Muhammad, the baby he saved from the rubble. Thanks to people like Khaled, over 22,000 lives have been saved. Yet the destruction of lives will continue until the world steps in to stop the bombing.
from Buzzfeed.com
Athens was declared the first host at an
international sport conference in the Sorbonne in 1893. The Games were financed by sales of souvenir
stamps and medallions and with the donation of a million drachma from Olympic
stadium architect Georgios Averoff.
Thirteen nations sent athletes – 311 men, 0 women – to compete in nine
sports at the long, narrow Panathenaic Stadium from April 6 to 15. It was an awkward track, with corners so
tight runners had to slow down to round the bend. There were also competitions in swimming,
wrestling, weightlifting, cycling, fencing, gymnastics, shooting and
tennis. The United States took nine of
12 track and field events, Germany dominated in gymnastics and France in
cycling.
Spiridon Louis, a shepherd and Greek post
office messenger, sent 60,000 home fans into a frenzy by winning the classic
finale – the 26-mile run from Marathon to Athens. He took the lead seven miles from the end,
and when a messenger on horseback galloped into the stadium to inform occupants
of the royal box the leader was “Elleen!” – a Greek – Crown Prince Constantine
and his brother Prince George left their seats to greet him at the finish
line. Athenian merchants wanted to heap
gifts upon their hero – free haircuts and clothing for life, a sewing machine,
jewelry, wine – but he turned down all but the offer of a horse and cart to get
water to his home village.
Terminator kills robot idea
Arnold Schwarzenegger is trying to look more like the common man. The multimillionaire asked his hometown of Graz, Austria, to scrap plans for a 77-foot-high robotic statue of himself that would have cost residents $2.5 million. He asked the town’s mayor, Alfred Stingle, to spend the money on the poor, or on health projects.
On a cold winter’s night in 1951 there was a knock at my door, and a German brother from Ogden, Utah announced himself and said, “Are you Bishop Monson?” I answered in the affirmative. He began to weep and said, “My brother and his wife and family are coming here from Germany. They are going to live in your ward. Will you come with us to see the apartment we have rented for them?” On the way to the apartment he told me he had not seen his brother for many years. Yet all through the holocaust of World War II, his brother had been faithful to the Church, serving as a branch president before the war took him to the Russian front.
I looked at the
apartment. It was cold and dreary. The paint was peeling, the wallpaper soiled,
the cupboards empty. A forty-watt bulb
hanging from the living room ceiling revealed a linoleum floor covering with a
large hole in the center. I was
heartsick. I thought, “What a dismal
welcome for a family which has endured so much.”
My thoughts were
interrupted by the brother’s statement, “It isn’t much, but it’s better than
they have in Germany.” With that, the
key was left with me, along with the information that the family would arrive
in Salt lake City in three weeks – just two days before Christmas.
Sleep was slow in
coming to me that night. The next
morning was Sunday. In our ward welfare
committee meeting, one of my counselors said, “Bishop, you look worried. Is something wrong?” I recounted to those present my experience of
the night before, the details of the uninviting apartment. There were a few moments of silence. Then the group leader of the high priests
said, “Bishop, did you say that apartment was inadequately lighted and that the
kitchen appliances were in need of replacement?” I answered in the affirmative. He continued, “I am an electrical
contractor. Would you permit the high
priests of this ward to rewire that apartment?
I would also like to invite my suppliers to contribute a new stove and a
new refrigerator. Do I have your
permission?” I answered with a glad
“Certainly.”
Then the
seventies president responded: “Bishop,
as you know I’m in the carpet business.
I would like to invite my suppliers to contribute some carpet, and the
seventies can easily lay it and eliminate that worn linoleum.”
Then the
president of the elder’s quorum spoke up.
He was a painting contractor. He said, “I’ll furnish the paint. May the elders paint and wallpaper that
apartment?”
The Relief
Society president was next to speak?\:
“We in the Relief Society cannot stand the thought of empty
cupboards. May we fill them?”
The next three
weeks are ever to be remembered. It
seemed that the entire ward joined in the project. The days passed, and at the appointed time
the family arrived from Germany. Again
at my door stood the brother from Ogden.
With an emotion-filled voice, he introduced to me his brother, wife, and
their family. Then he asked, “Could we
go visit the apartment?” As we walked up
the staircase to the apartment, he repeated, “It isn’t much, but it’s more than
they have had in Germany.” Little did he
know what a transformation had taken place, that many who participated were
inside waiting for our arrival.
The door opened
to reveal a literal newness of life. We
were greeted by the aroma of freshly painted woodwork and newly papered
walls. Gone was the forty-watt bulb,
along with the worn linoleum it had illuminated. We stepped on carpet deep and beautiful. A walk to the kitchen presented to our view a
new stove and refrigerator. The cupboard
doors were still open; however, they now revealed that every shelf was filled
with food. The Relief Society as usual
had done its work.
In the living
room we began to sing Christmas hymns.
We sang “Silent night! Holy night!
All is calm; all is bright.” We
sang in English; they sang in German. At
the conclusion, the father, realizing that all of this was his, took me by the
hand to express his thanks. His emotion
was too great. He buried his head in my
shoulder and repeated the words, “Mein Bruder, mein Bruder, mein Bruder.”
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