The greatest of all...1 Corinthians 13

   

Bruce R. McConkie said:  “Above all the attributes of godliness and perfection, charity is the one most devoutly to be desired.  Charity is more than love, far more; it is everlasting love, perfect love, the pure love of Christ which endureth forever.  It is love so centered in righteousness that the possessor has no aim or desire except for the eternal welfare of his own soul and for the souls of those around him.”  (Mormon Doctrine, 121.)

       This story told by Vaughn J. Featherstone illustrates what type of charity we should have.  “Winter came early that year and froze much of the sugar beet crop in the ground.  My dad and brother Francis were desperately trying to get out of the frosty ground one load of beets each day, and then haul the load off to the sugar factory.  It was slow and tedious work due to the frost and the lack of farm help.  While they were thusly engaged in harvesting the family’s only cash crop, a phone call came through  bearing the tragic news that the nine-year-old son of our brother Charles, had been stricken with the dread flu and had died; and would dad please come to Ogden and bring the boy home and lay him away in the family plot.  My father cranked up his old  Chevrolet and headed for Ogden to bring this little grandson home for burial.  Father brought the boy home, made a coffin in his carpenter shop, and then dad went with Franz and two kind neighbors to dig the grave and conduct a brief graveside service.  The folks had scarcely returned from the cemetery when the telephone rang again:  Charles had died and two of his beautiful little girls were critically ill.  Our good cousins were able to get a casket for Charles and send him home in a railroad baggage car where Father and young Franz commended Charles into the keeping of his Maker.  Next day my sturdy, unconquerable old dad was called on still another of his grim missions—this time to bring home one of the little girls.  Before father arrived home with the little girl, word had come again.  Her little sister had gone to join their daddy and sister.  And so it was that father made another heartbreaking journey to bring home and lay away a fourth member of his family, all within a week.  After that final burial, Dad said to Franz, ‘Well, son, we had better get down to the field and see if we can get another load of beets out of the ground before they get frozen in any tighter.’  As they drove along the road, they passed wagon after wagon-load of beets being hauled to the factory and driven by neighborhood farmers.  As they passed by, each driver would wave a greeting:  ‘Hi ya, Uncle George,’  ‘Sure sorry, George,’  ‘Tough break, George,’  ‘You’ve got a lot of friends, George.’  On the last wagon was the town comedian, freckled-faced Jasper Rolfe.  He waved a cheery greeting and called out:  ‘That’s all of ‘em, Uncle George.’  My dad turned to Francis and said:  ‘I wish it was all of ours.’  When they arrived at the farm gate, he  stopped the team, paused a moment and scanned the field, from left to right and back and forth—and lo and behold, there wasn’t a sugar beet on the whole field.  Then it dawned upon him what Jasper Rolfe meant when he called out:  ‘That’s all of ‘em, Uncle George!’  Then father sat down on a pile of beet tops—this man who brought four of his loved ones home for burial in the course of only six days; made caskets, dug graves, and even helped with the burial clothing—this amazing man who never faltered, nor flinched, nor wavered throughout this agonizing ordeal—sat down on a pile of beet tops and sobbed like a little child.  Then he arose, wiped his eyes with his big, red bandanna handkerchief, looked up at the sky, and said:  ‘Thanks, Father, for the elders of our ward.”  (Ensign, July 1973, pp. 36-37.)