David

And before the words of Paul fell upon the ears of his listeners, the counsel of the preacher, even the son of David, king in Jerusalem, cautioned: “… the race is not to the swift, nor the battle to the strong. …” (Eccl. 9:11.)

Could the son of David have been referring to his own father? Judged by any standards, the greatest king Israel ever had was David. Anointed by Samuel, he was honored by the Lord.

In the first flush of his incredible triumphs, David rode the crest of popularity. As he achieved fresh victories, the women greeted him with a new song: “… Saul hath slain his thousands, and David his ten thousands.” (1 Sam. 18:7.) In adoration the people exclaimed: “Behold, we are thy bone and thy flesh.” (2 Sam. 5:1.)

Power he won. Peace he lost.

It happened one evening when David was walking upon the roof of the king’s house that he saw from the roof a woman bathing, and the woman was very beautiful.

“And David sent and inquired after the woman. And one said, Is not this Bathsheba, … the wife of Uriah the Hittite?” So “David sent messengers, and took her. …” (2 Sam. 11:3–4.)

The gross sin of adultery was followed by yet another: “… Set ye Uriah in the forefront of the hottest battle, and retire ye from him, that he may be smitten, and die.” (2 Sam. 11:15.) Lust and power had triumphed.

David’s rebuke came from the Lord God of Israel: “… thou hast killed Uriah the Hittite with the sword, and hast taken his wife to be thy wife. … Now therefore the sword shall never depart from thine house. …” (2 Sam. 12:9–10.)

David commenced well the race, then faltered and failed to finish his course.

(April 1972 General Conference http://www.lds.org/general-conference/1972/04/finishers-wanted?lang=eng)

Finishers Wanted

On sunlit days during the noon hour, the streets of Salt Lake City abound with men and women who for a moment leave the confines of the tall office buildings and engage in that universal delight called window shopping. On occasion I, too, am a participant.

One Wednesday I paused before the elegant show window of a prestigious furniture store. That which caught and held my attention was not the beautifully designed sofa nor the comfortable-appearing chair that stood at its side. Neither was it the beautiful chandelier positioned overhead. Rather, my eyes rested upon a small sign that had been placed at the bottom right-hand corner of the window. Its message was brief: “Finishers Wanted.”

The store had need of those persons who possessed the talent and the skill to make ready for final sale the expensive furniture that the firm manufactured and sold. “Finishers Wanted.” The words remained with me as I returned to the pressing activities of the day.

In life, as in business, there has always been a need for those persons who could be called finishers. Their ranks are few, their opportunities many, their contributions great.

(April 1972 General Conference, http://www.lds.org/general-conference/1972/04/finishers-wanted?lang=eng)

The Ribbon in the Tree

Prison warden Kenyon J. Scudder has related this experience: A friend of his happened to be sitting in a railroad coach next to a young man who was obviously depressed. Finally the man revealed that he was a paroled convict returning from a distant prison. His imprisonment had brought shame to his family, and they had neither visited him nor written often. He hoped, however, that this was only because they were too poor to travel and too uneducated to write. He hoped, despite the evidence, that they had forgiven him.

To make it easy for them, however, he had written them to put up a signal for him when the train passed their little farm on the outskirts of town. If his family had forgiven him, they were to put a white ribbon in the big apple tree which stood near the tracks. If they didn’t want him to return, they were to do nothing, and he would remain on the train as it traveled west.

As the train neared his home town, the suspense became so great he couldn’t bear to look out of his window. He exclaimed, “In just five minutes the engineer will sound the whistle, indicating our approach to the long bend which opens into the valley I know as home. Will you watch for the apple tree at the side of the track?” His companion changed places with him and said he would. The minutes seemed like hours, but then there came the shrill sound of the train whistle. The young man asked, “Can you see the tree? Is there a white ribbon?”

Came the reply: “I see the tree. I see not one white ribbon, but many. There must be a white ribbon on every branch. Son, someone surely does love you.”

In that instant he stood cleansed by Christ.

His friend said, “I felt as if I had witnessed a miracle.”

(October 1971 General Conference, http://www.lds.org/general-conference/1971/10/with-hand-and-heart?lang=eng)

"My Fair Lady"

This truth was stated so beautifully on the stage in My Fair Lady. Eliza Doolittle, the flower girl, spoke to one for whom she cared and who later was to lift her from such mediocre status: “You see, really and truly, apart from the things anyone can pick up (the dressing and the proper way of speaking, and so on), the difference between a lady and a flower girl is not how she behaves, but how she’s treated. I shall always be a flower girl to Professor Higgins, because he always treats me as a flower girl, and always will; but I know I can be a lady to you, because you always treat me as a lady, and always will.” (Adapted from Pygmalion, in The Complete Plays of Bernard Shaw, p. 260.)

Eliza Doolittle was but expressing the profound truth: When we treat people merely as they are, they will remain as they are. When we treat them as if they were what they should be, they will become what they should be. (Adapted from a quotation by Johann Wolfgang Von Goethe.)

(October 1971 General Conference, http://www.lds.org/general-conference/1971/10/with-hand-and-heart?lang=eng

"A Christmas Carol"

One who lived much of his life ignoring his fellowmen and living for self alone was Dickens’ immortal character, Ebenezer Scrooge. But there came that wintry night when the ghost of Jacob Marley appeared to Scrooge and lamented:

“Not to know that any Christian spirit working kindly in its little sphere, whatever it may be, will find its mortal life too short for its vast means of usefulness. Not to know that no space of regret can make amends for one life’s opportunities misused! Yet such was I! Oh! Such was I!

“Why did I walk through crowds of fellow-beings with my eyes turned down, and never raise them to that blessed Star which led the Wise Men to a poor abode! Were there no poor homes to which its light would conduct me!”

In an effort to comfort Marley, Scrooge proffered, “But you were always a good man of business, Jacob.”

Lamented Marley, “Business! … Mankind was my business!” (A Christmas Carol.)

The change that then occurred in the life of Scrooge was miraculous indeed. He became overnight the most generous, the most lovable, the most kindhearted Christian soul. In his own words he described his condition: “I am not the man I was.” So it ever is when one inclines his heart to the example of the Christ.

(October 1971 General Conference, http://www.lds.org/general-conference/1971/10/with-hand-and-heart?lang=eng

"A Creed"

“There is a destiny that makes us brothers;

None goes his way alone:

All that we send into the lives of others

Comes back into our own.”

—“A Creed”
--Edwin Markham
(October 1971 General Conference http://www.lds.org/general-conference/1971/10/with-hand-and-heart?lang=eng)

Jesus Christ and the New Testament

Today, only ruins remain of Capernaum, that city by the lakeshore, heart of the Savior’s Galilean ministry. Here he preached in the synagogue, taught by the seaside, and healed in the homes.

On one significant occasion, Jesus (Luke 4:18) took a text from Isaiah: “The Spirit of the Lord God is upon me; because the Lord hath anointed me to preach good tidings unto the meek; he hath sent me to bind up the brokenhearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives, and the opening of the prison to them that are bound” (Isa. 61:1), a clear pronouncement of a divine plan to rescue the “lost battalion” to which we belong.

But Jesus’ preaching in Galilee had been merely prelude. The Son of Man had always had a dread rendezvous to keep on a hill called Golgotha.

Arrested in the Garden of Gethsemane after the Last Supper, deserted by his disciples, spat upon, tried, and humiliated, Jesus staggered under his great cross toward Calvary. He progressed from triumph—to betrayal—to torture—to death on the cross.

In the words of the hymn, “… the scene was changed; the morn was cold and chill, as the shadow of a cross arose upon a lonely hill.” For us our Heavenly Father gave his Son. For us our Elder Brother gave his life.

At the last moment the Master could have turned back. But he did not. He passed beneath all things that he might save all things—the human race, the earth, and all the life that ever inhabited it.

No words in Christendom mean more to me than those spoken by the angel to the weeping Mary Magdalene and the other Mary as they approached the tomb to care for the body of their Lord: “Why seek ye the living among the dead? He is not here, but is risen.” (Luke 24:5–6.)

With this pronouncement, the “lost battalion” of mankind—those who have lived and died, those who now live and one day will die, and those yet to be born and yet to die—this battalion of humanity lost had just been rescued.

(April 1971 General Conference, http://www.lds.org/general-conference/1971/04/lost-battalions?lang=eng)

As I ponder his words, I can almost hear the shuffle of sandaled feet, the murmurs of astonishment from listeners as they echo from Capernaum’s peaceful scene. Here multitudes crowded around Jesus, bringing the sick to be healed. A palsied man picked up his bed and walked, and a Roman centurion’s faith restored his servant’s health.

Not only by precept did Jesus teach, but also by example. He was faithful to his divine mission. He stretched forth his hand that others might be lifted toward God.

At Galilee there came to him a leper who pleaded: “Lord, if thou wilt, thou canst make me clean. And Jesus put forth his hand, and touched him, saying, I will; be thou clean. And immediately his leprosy was cleansed.” (Matt. 8:2–3.) The hand of Jesus was not polluted by touching the leper’s body, but the leper’s body was cleansed by the touch of that holy hand.

In Capernaum, at the house of Peter, yet another example was provided. The mother of Peter’s wife lay sick of a fever. The sacred record reveals that Jesus came “and took her by the hand, and lifted her up; and immediately the fever left her. …” (Mark 1:31.)

So it was with the daughter of Jairus, a ruler of the synagogue. Each parent can appreciate the feelings of Jairus as he sought the Lord, and, upon finding him, fell at his feet and pleaded, “My little daughter lieth at the point of death; I pray thee, come and lay thy hands on her, that she may be healed; and she shall live.” (Mark 5:23.)

“While he yet spake, there cometh one from the [ruler’s] house, saying to him, Thy daughter is dead; trouble not the Master.

“But when Jesus heard it, he answered him, saying, Fear not: believe only, and she shall be made whole.” Parents wept. Others mourned. Jesus declared: “Weep not; she is not dead, but sleepeth.

“[He] … took her by the hand, and called, saying: Maid, arise.

“And her spirit came again, and she arose straightway. …” (Luke 8:49–50, 52, 54–55.)

Once again, the Lord had stretched forth his hand to take the hand of another.

The beloved apostles noted well his example. He lived not so to be ministered unto, but to minister; not to receive, but to give; not to save his life, but to pour it out for others.

If they would see the star that should at once direct their feet and influence their destiny, they must look for it, not in the changing skies or outward circumstance, but each in the depth of his own heart and after the pattern provided by the Master.

Reflect for a moment on the experience of Peter at the gate Beautiful of the temple. One sympathizes with the plight of the man lame from birth who each day was carried to the temple gate that he might ask alms of all who entered. That he asked alms of Peter and John as these two brethren approached indicates that he regarded them no differently from scores of others who must have passed by him that day. Then Peter’s majestic yet gentle command: “Look on us.” (Acts 3:4.) The record states that the lame man gave heed unto them, expecting to receive something from them.

The stirring words Peter then spoke have lifted the hearts of honest believers down through the stream of time, even to this day: “Silver and gold have I none; but such as I have give I thee: In the name of Jesus Christ of Nazareth rise up and walk.” Frequently we conclude the citation at this point and fail to note the next verses: “And he took him by the right hand, and lifted him up: … he … stood, and walked, and entered with them into the temple. …” (Acts 3:6–8.)

A helping hand had been extended. A broken body had been healed. A precious soul had been lifted toward God.

(October 1971 General Conference, http://www.lds.org/general-conference/1971/10/with-hand-and-heart?lang=eng)

Jack and the Bus Ride

There are other “lost battalions” comprised of mothers and fathers, sons and daughters, who have, through thoughtless comment, isolated themselves from one another. An account of how such a tragedy was narrowly averted is this occurrence in the life of a lad we shall call Jack.

Throughout Jack’s life, he and his father had many serious arguments. One day, when Jack was seventeen, they had a particularly violent one. Jack said to his father: “This is the straw that breaks the camel’s back. I’m leaving home, and I shall never return.” So saying, he went to the house and packed a bag. His mother begged him to stay, but he was too angry to listen. He left her crying at the doorway.

Leaving the yard, he was about to pass through the gate when he heard his father call to him: “Jack, I know that a large share of the blame for your leaving rests with me. For this I am truly sorry. I want you to know that if you should ever wish to return home, you’ll always be welcome. And I’ll try to be a better father to you. I want you to know that I’ll always love you.”

Jack said nothing but went to the bus station and bought a ticket to a distant point. As he sat in the bus watching the miles go by, he commenced to think about the words of his father. He began to realize how much love it had required for him to do what he had done. Dad had apologized. He had invited him back and had left the words ringing in the summer air, “I love you.”

It was then that Jack realized that the next move was up to him. He knew that the only way he could ever find peace with himself was to demonstrate to his father the same kind of maturity, goodness, and love that dad had shown toward him. Jack got off the bus. He bought a return ticket to home and went back.

He arrived shortly after midnight, entered the house, and turned on the light. There in the rocking chair sat his father, his head in his hands. As he looked up and saw Jack, he rose from the chair and they rushed into each other’s arms. Jack often said, “Those last years that I was home were among the happiest of my life.”

We could say here was a boy who overnight became a man. Here was a father who, suppressing passion and bridling pride, rescued his son before he became one of that vast “lost battalion” resulting from fractured families and shattered homes. Love was the binding band, the healing balm. Love—so often felt; so seldom expressed.

(April 1971 General Conference http://www.lds.org/general-conference/1971/04/lost-battalions?lang=eng)

"Somebody's Mother"

“The woman was old and ragged and gray

And bent with the chill of the Winter’s day.

The street was wet with a recent snow,

And the woman’s feet were aged and slow.

She stood at the crossing and waited long,

Alone, uncared for, amid the throng

Of human beings who passed her by

Nor heeded the glance of her anxious eye.

“Down the street, with laughter and shout,

Glad in the freedom of ‘school let out,’

Came the boys like a flock of sheep,

Hailing the snow piled white and deep. …

[One] paused beside her and whispered low,

‘I’ll help you cross, if you wish to go? …

‘She’s somebody’s mother, boys, you know,

For all she’s aged and poor and slow.

“‘And I hope some fellow will lend a hand

To help my mother, you understand,

If ever she’s poor and old and gray,

When her own dear boy is far away.’

And ‘somebody’s mother’ bowed low her head

In her home that night, and the prayer she said

Was, ‘God be kind to the noble boy,

Who is somebody’s son, and pride and joy.’”

(April 1971 General Conference http://www.lds.org/general-conference/1971/04/lost-battalions?lang=eng)

Young men provide Christmas dinner for widows

In Brooklyn, New York, there presides today in a branch of the Church a young man who, as a boy of thirteen, led a successful rescue of such persons in Salt Lake City. He and his companions lived in a neighborhood in which resided many elderly widows of limited means. All the year long, the boys had saved and planned for a glorious Christmas party. They were thinking of themselves, until the Christmas spirit prompted them to think of others. Frank, as their leader, suggested to his companions that the funds they had accumulated so carefully be used not for the planned party, but rather for the benefit of three elderly widows who resided together. The boys made their plans. As their bishop, I needed but to follow.

With the enthusiasm of a new adventure, the boys purchased a giant roasting chicken, the potatoes, the vegetables, the cranberries, and all that comprises the traditional Christmas feast. To the widows’ home they went carrying their gifts of treasure. Through the snow and up the path to the tumbledown porch they came. A knock at the door, the sound of slow footsteps, and then they met.

In the unmelodic voices characteristic of thirteen-year-olds, the boys sang “Silent night, holy night; all is calm, all is bright.” They then presented their gifts. Angels on that glorious night of long ago sang no more beautifully, nor did wise men present gifts of greater meaning.

I gazed at the faces of those wonderful women and thought to myself: “Somebody’s mother.” I then looked on the countenances of those noble boys and reflected: “Somebody’s son.”

(April 1971 General Conference http://www.lds.org/general-conference/1971/04/lost-battalions?lang=eng)

The Lost Battalion

As a boy, I enjoyed reading the account of the “lost battalion.” The “lost battalion” was a unit of the 77th Infantry Division in World War I. During the Meuse-Argonne offensive, a major led this battalion through a gap in the enemy lines, but the troops on the flanks were unable to advance. An entire battalion was surrounded. Food and water were short; casualties could not be evacuated. Hurled back were repeated attacks. Ignored were notes from the enemy requesting the battalion to surrender. Newspapers heralded the battalion’s tenacity. Men of vision pondered its fate. After a brief but desperate period of total isolation, other units of the 77th Division advanced and relieved the “lost battalion.” Correspondents noted in their dispatches that the relieving forces seemed bent on a crusade of love to rescue their comrades in arms. Men volunteered more readily, fought more gallantly, and died more bravely. A fitting tribute echoed from that ageless sermon preached on the Mount of Olives: “Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.” (John 15:13.)

Forgotten is the plight of the “lost battalion.” Unremembered is the terrible price paid for its rescue. But let us turn from the past and survey the present. Are there “lost battalions” even today? If so, what is our responsibility to rescue them? Their members may not wear clothes of khaki brown nor march to the sound of drums. But they share the same doubt, feel the same despair, and know the same disillusionment that isolation brings.

(April 1971 General Conference, http://www.lds.org/general-conference/1971/04/lost-battalions?lang=eng)

In Flanders Fields

“In Flanders fields the poppies blow

Between the crosses, row on row,

That mark our place; and in the sky

The larks, still bravely singing, fly

Scarce heard amid the guns below.

“We are the Dead. Short days ago

We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,

Loved and were loved, and now we lie

In Flanders fields.”

—John McCrae
(April 1971 General Conference http://www.lds.org/general-conference/1971/04/lost-battalions?lang=eng)

Stories, etc. of LDS President Thomas S. Monson

Scriptural Accounts
David
Jesus Christ and the New Testament
Job
Judas Iscariot
Paul
Peter
The Rich Young Man

Personal Stories
Children going through their mother's effects
"Finishers Wanted"
Harold B. Lee Ordains a Patriarch
The Missionary who Couldn't Read Well
Mothers' Day as a Boy
The Mothers in the Nursing Home
Standing in the American War Memorial Cemetery in the Philippines
The Star Valley Missionary Mother
The Testimony of James Farrell
Yellow Canaries with Gold on their Wings
Young Men Provide Christmas Dinner for Widows



Tales of Others
"A Christmas Carol"
Jack and the Bus Ride
The Lost Battalion
"My Fair Lady"
The Ribbon in the Tree
The Toast to Mothers

Poetry
"At Sunrise"
"A Creed"
"Father, Where shall I Work Today?"
"The Impossible Dream"
"In Flanders Fields"
Lead us, Oh Lead us, Great Molder of Men
"The Gate of the Year"
"It Might Have Been"
"The Name of Mother"
"Somebody's Mother"
"Stick to Your Task 'Til it Sticks to You"
"A Sweet New Blossom of Humanity"
"Which Loved Best"