Talk given in Baker Second Ward's fifth-Sunday meeting 30 January 2022

As I have thought about my topic during the past week, I have identified three principles that apply to ministering:

1. You don't have to have an assignment to be a minister.
2. You just have to be alert to people's needs, and be willing to be inconvenienced.
3. You can be a minister in your own home and family.

I will now give you some examples.  The first is my angel sister, Ellen.  Every morning she goes to our brother's house and takes care of his diabetic big toe.  It has an open sore on the bottom that won't heal.  He can't see it, he can't take care of it, his wife is an invalid and can't help; so Ellen goes early every morning to soak it and bandage it.  This is ministering.  No one asked her to do it.  She is ministering within her own family.

When Marjorie was about 12 years old a cluster of red pimples appeared on her neck which would break open and bleed.  It was found that she had hemangioma tumors which had wrapped around her jugular vein.  She was rushed to the hospital in Portland to undergo surgery.  She was frightened and prayed mightily that she wouldn't experience pain.  Because of her faith and a priesthood blessing she endured the surgery and a skin graft without any pain.  She awoke from the surgery with 22 pounds of sand bags on her chest which were placed there to insure that she wouldn't move.  She had to lie there immobile for days.  She was in the hospital for three weeks.

She was brought a card which arrived in the mail.  It was from Lola Eardley.  The next day there was another, and then another.  The cards contained riddles and puzzles for her to work upon and to think about while she laid there.  She had something to look forward to every day.  Every day she knew that she was going to have mail.  All her life she has been grateful to Lola Eardley.

Our friend, Rick Scrivner, suddenly found himself in the hospital in Boise last year for an extended stay with a diagnosis of cancer.  Taking Lola Eardley as our example, we decided that he needed a daily uplift to look forward to.  He was determined to be healed, so every day we sent him a different healing story from General Conference.  There were 44 of them.  When we ran out of healing stories we sent our favorite stories from General Conference.  We sent 80 of those before he announced that his cancer was officially in remission.  Several weeks ago we declared him healed, and stopped sending emails.

His wife, Barbara, wrote, “I must tell you how much Rick and I have enjoyed your daily email.  They were just what we needed to always stay on the bright side and to look for tender mercies each day.”

Rick wrote, “Your letters have lifted me in so many ways.  I have shared many of them with my family during the times we get together.  Your thoughtfulness and consistency over the last few months will never be forgotten.  You have truly blessed my life during this most difficult time.  May the Lord bless you abundantly for your unconditional service … Our heartfelt love goes out to you!  Thanks for all your prayers and letters.  Your genuine love is more than I could ever ask for.”

And then there was Grant Lindsay.  Grant was Marjorie's bishop when she was a girl.  Her father was Grant's counselor in the bishopric.  Grant loved Marjorie.  He always held her up as an example of the perfect LDS girl.  When she got married, he expanded that love to include her husband.

One cold February morning in 1989, back when we only had nine children, they all got up covered with chicken pox.  They looked ghastly.  It was an epidemic.  Seven-year-old Adam was the only one who looked normal, and he was mad.  This meant that all of his siblings would be staying home from school and having fun together, while he would have to go to school.  He went outside without a coat, and sat on a snowdrift hoping to make himself sick.  It was effective.  The onset of his disease was just a couple of hours behind that of everyone else.  The kids filled the living room with sleeping bags, blankets, and pillows, and prepared to have a party.

Somehow Grant Lindsay, who lived just a mile away from us as the crow flies, heard about the epidemic happening at the Kerns home.  He appeared at the door with a huge pot of soup that he'd made himself.  This is the only meal that someone brought to us that I remember.  I remember this one because it came with so much love mixed in.

During World War II Grant had his boat shot out from under him in the cold North Atlantic.  He and the other survivors drifted for weeks in the cold until they were finally rescued.  The evening before his ship had sailed from England, Grant had attended Mutual where he'd learned some activities and songs.  He kept the men in the boat engaged by teaching them the activities and songs that he'd learned at Mutual.  All except Grant lost fingers and toes to frostbite.

When Grant delivered the soup to the stricken family he surveyed the knee-deep living room full of pock-marked kids and went home and told his wife, “It was the most pitiful thing I've ever seen.”  When Nathan heard that report, he responded, “And he was in the war!”

Nathan was a senior in high school.  He was bummed out about the turn of events.  Because of his chicken pox he missed out on every kid's dream.  The high school caught fire and burned that day.

Then there was Leonard Dewitt.  I met Leonard when I was bishop.  I was very touched by the care that he gave his wife, Euneita.  Euneita had a stroke.  She occupied a hospital bed in the middle of their living room.  Attached to the ceiling above her was a crane device which enabled Leonard to lift her, and to care for her.  He did everything for her.  It was very touching to see.

Leonard served in the Korean War.  He was blown out of his tank.  He awoke to find himself lying in the tank's wheel track in the snow, surrounded by blood.  He heard his father's voice.  It said, “You're hurt bad, but you'll be all right.”  A vision then opened to him.  He saw a house which he understood would be his one day.  Two men were approaching the house.  There was snow all around, and the men were dressed in overcoats and hats, and were wearing galoshes.  The galoshes of one of the men were unbuckled.  He heard his father's voice again.  It said, “These are two missionaries.  Do not turn them away.”  The message was repeated, “These are two missionaries.  Do not turn them away.”

Later, back home in the states, Leonard was married, and found himself living in the exact house that he'd seen in vision.  He told his wife that some winter day two men would come to the door dressed as he described them.  If he wasn't at home when they came, she was not to let them go until he got there.

One day when he arrived home she told him that they'd been there.  She had tried to detain them.  They said that they had appointments, but promised they would return.  Leonard and his wife joined the Church, and raised a family.  She died.  Leonard remarried.  He married Euneita.  She was baptized and joined the Church, but before she could go to the temple she had the stroke, and eventually died.

Leonard moved to Ontario, and I never thought of him again for years.  One night I dreamed of Leonard.  He asked me to see that he and Euneita were sealed in the temple.  I got up that morning and the phone rang.  It was Bishop Dale Bingham asking if I knew Leonard Dewitt.  Leonard had passed away.  Would I speak at his funeral?  Dale didn't know Leonard, so I offered to take the funeral and its arrangements off his hands.  He was extremely grateful to turn it all over to me because it was tax season, and he didn't have a minute to spare.

I went to view the body.  Leonard was dressed in a suit.  That bothered me because I knew that Leonard had been endowed in the temple.  I got some temple clothing, and Keith Long and I dressed him.  I located Leonard's son in California, and told him what we'd done.  He was grateful, because Leonard had told him that he wanted to be dressed in white when he was buried.  The family sent money to reimburse me for the clothing.

I wrote to Salt Lake asking for permission to do the temple work for this couple to whom I was not related.  I explained the circumstances, and received a reply granting permission, since Leonard had asked for the work to be done.  Marjorie was proxy for Euneita's endowment, and the two of us were proxy for their sealing.

The fall before last I got a call from our daughter-in-law who had an elderly friend in Pilot Rock.  This friend had a pen pal in Baker City.  The pen pal was 89 years old, and needed help cleaning up her yard in preparation for winter.  Could the Church possibly help?  Steve Moultrie, Jeremy Hindman, the Young Men, and I went there and filled Steve's trailer with yard refuse.  I had gone to the lady and explained who we were and what we would be doing.  I gave her my name, and told her that if she needed anything else, she was to call me.  She wanted to pay us, but I told her that all we wanted was some cookies, which she baked for us.  Those were probably the only cookies she'd baked in years.

A year went by.  Then last summer I got another call.  The lady was deathly ill.  Could I check on her?  She had mentioned my name.

She had turned 90 in June.  Her husband had died years ago, and also her only child, a son.  All she had left was a younger sister with dementia, and the sister's two sons who came around once in a while when she needed something.  She was in a bad way.  She had been sick for two months, and just wanted to die.  She had been to two doctors, and to the emergency room three times.  All anyone did was to poke and prod, and send her home with pills that only made her dizzy and caused her to fall.  We loaded her up and took her to the emergency room in La Grande where they poked and prodded and again sent her home with pills.  No one had time for her, and no one had any solutions.  She was just an old lady, and they whispered  that she probably had cancer.

She gave me permission to make an appointment with Doctor Logan Frederickson.  To my surprise he blocked out a 45-minute appointment.  All the other doctors are instructed to limit their appointments to 15 minutes so that they can see a maximum number of patients.  Doctor Frederickson seated himself right in front of her and let her talk.  He announced to her that her problem was constipation.  He patiently explained how the alimentary system works, and how to take care of the problem.  In a few days she was back to being a vibrant senior citizen who was very capable of living alone and of taking care of herself.

Her name is Joy, and her name couldn't be more appropriate.  She never left her house except to go to the grocery store.  She had a beautiful, blue 2009 car in her garage whose battery had run down because of disuse.  I pushed the car out of the garage to jump start it.  I put the cables on, and the dashboard lit up.  That 2009 car had 1,590 miles on it.  That tells you how much she got out of her house.  She was basically a hermit, but a totally delightful person.  Marjorie and I were worried about her being there all alone, but she was perfectly happy.  We checked on her daily by phone or in person.  We did her grocery shopping.  We did her banking.  We took her and her dog to the vet.  We cleaned up her yard again.  Marjorie took a vacuum cleaner and cleaning supplies, and cleaned her house.  We asked what we were to do if someday we were to come to her locked door and find that she wasn't able to come open it.  She gave us a key to her house.  She tells her brother in Arkansas, who is a good member of the Church, that she doesn't understand why we've adopted her, but she's grateful.  For our part, we're blessed, too.  We have a friend.  We're needed.  We have a great sense of satisfaction and accomplishment.

I could go on and talk about my own ministering assignments, but instead I'll repeat the three principles of ministering that I've learned:

1. You don't have to have an assignment to be a minister.
2. You just have to be alert to people's needs, and be willing to be inconvenienced.
3. You can be a minister in your own home and family.

In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

Addendum:  I didn't have time to tell about my ministering assignments, but the following one needs to be added:

Many years ago I was assigned to be the home teacher to an inactive family.  The man had formerly been an elders quorum president, but due to an ugly divorce, had not been back to church in 12 years.  He remarried an inactive woman, and they had children.  I liked them very much.

One day the stake president asked me to come into the bishop's office, and called me to serve as elders quorum president.  I immediately knew that I wanted this man as my counselor.  The president turned down my request for fear that it might cause jealousy within the quorum.  I went to the man and told him what had happened.  I told him that the Lord wanted him, and that it was time for him to come back.  The next Sunday the whole family was at church, and they never missed  another church meeting.

The wife had a smoking problem.  Ward boundaries changed, the family moved, and I was no longer their home teacher.  I would often see them, though, and we remained very good friends.  Whenever I could do so without seeming pushy, I would ask the woman when she'd be ready to go to the temple.  Marjorie and I wanted to take her.  She would reply that she wasn't ready yet, and besides, she was a smoker.  I told her that could be fixed.  Eventually she actually quit smoking, but her answer was still the same:  she wasn't ready to go to the temple.

One evening I found her working alone in the meetinghouse library.  I asked her if she was ready to go to the temple.  She took a deep breath and said, “Jim, I can't go.  I've done something, and I'll never be worthy to go to the temple.”

“I don't believe that,” I said.  “Unless you've committed murder, I know that you're worthy in every way to go to the temple.”

As tears started to flow she said, “I've done something just as bad,” she blurted out.  “I had an abortion.”

“That's forgivable,” I told her.  “You need to talk to your bishop.  He's in his office right now.”

“Well, you'd better take me right now,” she said, “because I'll never be able to talk about this again.”

I rushed her down the hall, put the two of them together, and went back to the library to find a talk in an old issue of the Ensign magazine where Vaughn J. Featherstone had told a story in general conference about a woman who had that exact same experience.  Elder Featherstone had written to Spencer W. Kimball who told him to immediately issue a temple recommend to that worthy woman because she had long ago repented.  (Ensign, November 1980, page 30).  I knocked on the bishop's door, gave him the magazine, and told them to read the story together.

The woman told me what happened.  She said that while expecting a baby, her doctor told her that the baby had died, and that he needed to remove it.  She had consented.  She said that she had lived in hell ever since that time for not having more faith.  She thought that maybe the baby would have survived if she had not submitted to what she thought was an abortion, but which was actually a medical procedure called a “DNC.”

Marjorie and I got to take this couple to the temple, where the woman received her endowment, and they were sealed.  She later served as a very capable and compassionate Relief Society president.  Some time later her husband died, and she lived alone for a short time.  She wasn't in my ward, and we rarely saw one another; but I thought of her often, and, just as often, told myself that I needed to go see her.  She appeared to be in good health, but one day I heard that she'd passed away.

One of the big regrets of my life is that I didn't follow up on those promptings to pay her one last visit.  I wasn't her minister, but a visit would have meant so very much to her.