I would like to share some thoughts with you about how we can stand in holy places through the service we render to others. We tend to regard temples as models of holy places. The essence of the temple is a place of service to others, particularly to those who cannot provide the specific service for themselves. As is true with temples, we make other places holy through the unstinted giving of ourselves to others. Our homes have the potential to be the holiest places of all through the devotion that is manifest by caring and dedicated families.
When I was a little girl, I loved to walk beside my father and hold onto his hand. His hand was so strong and warm, and his very large hand covered my tiny one entirely. My father grew up on a farm in the Uintah Basin in Eastern Utah. As a young man he became a laborer and worked hard all of his life. When I looked at his hands, I wondered why there were cuts and scrapes, and why some of his fingernails were purple. I would hold tightly to his hands, trusting completely to go wherever he guided me.
My Grandmother Petersen, my mother’s mother, lived one block from us. She spent a lot of time in our home with our family. Her hands fascinated me. They were very wrinkled with veins standing out on the top of them. The skin was work worn, and the knuckles on her right hand were larger then those on her left. I didn’t ask anything about her hands. I was busy thinking about other things. But I frequently noticed and thought about them.
My mother had pretty hands. They were very tiny and petite—so much smaller than mine are as an adult. As I was growing up, I would think how much my mother’s hands were beginning to resemble those of her mother, my grandmother. The skin was becoming wrinkled, and the veins stood out on the tops of them. At the time I could not fully appreciate what the telltale signs meant. I understand better now—through the eyes of my own learnings, gained from both the joys and challenges of living.
Years passed, and I became a bride. How I loved and still love to hold my husband’s hands. His love, understanding, and guidance have always been felt in his gentle touch.
As a child I often felt a little sad when I saw the hands of my mother, my father, and my grandmother. Now I see my own hands becoming engraved with lines. As the years of caring for babies, growing children, parents, grandchildren, and my husband carve their own inevitable creases in my hands, I am discovering an awareness and a gratitude for what caused their hands to look as they did. As I picture in my mind my mother’s hands, my father’s hands, my grandmother’s hands, my husband’s hands, and my hands, a smile comes because I realize why all of our hands look so much alike. A combination of time, experience, and service marks them with a beauty that only much of doing, in behalf of others, can so artfully design.
President Heber J. Grant once said, “The real secret of happiness in life . . . is service.”[1] Happiness, as well as holiness, really is a by-product of helping others. We have been taught that no one ever finds happiness by thinking of his or herself.
A woman came to Elder S. Dilworth Young at a time he was caring for his invalid wife. The woman said, “I am coming to your house every Friday night from six until ten. You can count on it, so plan to . . . find relief for those four hours.” She didn’t say, “What can I do to help you?” because she knew President Young would say, “I’m handling everything just fine.” But rather, she decided what would be helpful and took action. President Young later commented about this experience: “How blessed she was to me. How good! She blessed both me and my wife with new cheer, new smiles, and new ideas.”[2]
Our Heavenly Father has given each of us the opportunity to make a difference in the life of someone else. In Doctrine and Covenants 81:5 we read: “Wherefore, be faithful; . . . succor the weak, lift up the hands which hang down, and strengthen the feeble knees.” Perhaps this reference will bring to each of our minds people who need our love, people who need our kindness, and people who need our help.
When I was five years old, my mother and her sister lived in homes located next to each other. I had been playing at my aunt’s home and left to walk across the field to my own home. I became frightened as I saw black smoke and fire coming out of the roof and windows of our home. A big red fire engine was on our driveway, and so were a lot of people. I began running. When I reached our home, I saw my mother wrapped in a quilt. She was badly burned. She was placed in an ambulance and taken to the hospital. In the middle of the excitement and confusion, a hand reached out and took mine. It belonged to our neighbor, Hazel Haslam. She took me home with her and cared for me for nearly a month. My two older brothers were taken into the homes of relatives. My father spent all of his time at the hospital. As soon as it was known that mother would be all right, dad began repairing and rebuilding our home. Friends, neighbors, and ward and family members joined in to help Dad. I will always remember those who brought us meals, bottled fruit, and loaves of homemade bread; they gave encouragement, help, support, and love to our family. I will never forget the hand of our neighbor, Hazel, as she reached out and took my little hand in hers.
President Spencer W. Kimball has told us: “God does notice us, and he watches over us. But it is usually through another person that he meets our needs. Therefore, it is vital that we serve each other.”[3] Participation in the answering of such prayers may consist of words that encourage or help with an everyday task essential to the relief of one in need. President Kimball further indicated, “When we are engaged in the service of our fellowmen, not only do our deeds assist them, but we put our own problems in a fresher perspective.” He continued, “When we concern ourselves more with others, there is less time to be concerned with ourselves.”[4] There are many acts of kindness and words of compassion that are given when no one but Heavenly Father is aware of the doer or the act. Nevertheless, He does see and He does know.
At the beginning of my message, I shared something of the hands I love—my mother’s, my father’s, my grandmother’s, and my husband’s. I’m grateful for the beautiful, tender service that each of those hands has given to me through the years.
The time may come when we will even be privileged to see our Savior’s hands, with their inherent evidence of His supreme love and sacrifice. His sacred nail-scarred hands may then gently touch ours, as they did those of the Nephite faithful:
"Arise and come forth unto me, that ye may thrust your hands into my side, and also that ye may feel the prints of the nails in my hands and in my feet, that ye may know that I am the God of Israel, and the God of the whole earth, and have been slain for the sins of the world."[5]
Truly then, we will stand, as it were, in holy places. I am grateful to Him for His life of atoning service—for showing each of us how better to live, how better to love, and how better to serve one another. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.
Notes
[1] Teachings of Presidents of the Church: Heber J. Grant, 15: Labor for the Happiness of Others, From the Life of Heber J. Grant, p. 139
[2] The Love That Never Faileth, Barbara B. Smith, p. 21
[3] Small Acts of Service, Ensign, December 1974, p. 5.
[4] Ibid, p. 2
[5] 3 Nephi 11:14