One of the most basic human needs is to have someone, or something, to love. Allied closely with that need is a second one: that of having someone, or something, to serve.

Marjorie and I took it upon ourselves to watch over Joy Barnhart. Joy is a delightful, nearly 94-year-old lady. She is a genuine recluse. She neither goes anywhere, nor wants to go anywhere. For years she has had several pen pals, all of whom she has outlived but one. That one is an acquaintance of our daughter-in-law, Tia. Tia and the pen pal, Beverly, lived in Pilot Rock. Both were members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Joy is not.

One fall several years ago, Beverly asked Tia if she knew anyone in Baker who could help Joy get her yard ready for winter. Tia contacted me. I organized the ward young men, and we had Joy's yard cleaned up in short order.

That's when I met Joy. I discovered that she was a widow, that her only son had passed away, and that she had no one that she could call upon or to care about her. She only has several local nephews who rarely contact her.

When Joy became ill Marjorie and I became her caregivers. She had gone to the emergency room several times, and had consulted doctors about her problem, but none were of any help. They only prescribed medications that made her dizzy, and caused her to fall. We got her paired up with a physician who correctly diagnosed her simple problem, and quickly cured her.

Since then she has come to depend upon us. We get her groceries, take her to the bank, take her to appointments, and check on her welfare. Since we were willing to be her transportation, and since she was nervous about driving, she sold her car. She gave us a key to her house so that we could get in if she ever had a medical emergency. She trusts us.

While she was sick, I went across the street, introduced myself to the single lady who lived there, told her about Joy's plight, and said that Joy needed to be watched. Michele responded magnificently. She has become Joy's friend, and also helps get her groceries.

The only other friend that Joy has is her dog, Pixie. Pixie is a cute part dachshund. Pixie is 16. Pixie is old. Pixie used to do a tap dance on Joy's floor whenever we came to visit. She was so excited to see us that she would dance, and her nails would beat a staccato rhythm on the hardwood floor. She became older, and quit dancing. She quit greeting us. She became blind and deaf. She was no longer able to jump up into Joy's lap and be cuddled. She would no longer let Joy touch her.

Joy's sole purpose in living was to care for Pixie. She hoped to be able to outlive her. Joy's husband, Wes, passed away 20 years ago. Their only child, Larry, died from leukemia a few years before that. He died childless. Joy's sisters had multiple children and husbands, but Joy had only one of each. She wanted more children, but Larry was all she got.

Two days ago Marjorie and I had the unpleasant duty of taking Pixie to be euthanized. It was a terribly difficult decision for Joy to make. It was the only time we've seen Joy cry. I was very worried about her. I called the next morning. She had made it through the night and slept well, but said, "It feels like there's something missing in the house."

As I prayed for her that night, it came to me that Joy has no one and nothing to love, and that having someone or something to love is a necessity of life. She has nothing.

Contrarily, I have a wife to love, and who loves me. I have children and grandchildren. I have the Lord. I love the scriptures, the Church, and the gift of the Holy Ghost. I love where I live. I love life. I have so much to love, and Joy has nothing. I am blessed. It is all because of the Lord.

Having someone or something to love means that you have someone or something to serve. That is also a human necessity. Joy had only her dog. She has now outlived her dog, has nothing left to serve, and I don't expect that we'll be caring for her much longer.