Gospel Story Finder

Our family—my parents, my brother, and me—prepared for a long time so that my brother could serve a mission. Whenever we would talk about him being a missionary, I would joke with him, saying I wouldn’t miss him and that I would be glad to be alone.
The day finally came for him to send in his missionary papers. He had tried to do well in school, and we had all worked hard to save money for his mission.
One day the stake president called us and said the call had arrived. My brother opened the letter at home after dinner. He was called to serve in the Mexico City East Mission.
Not long after that, we dropped him off at the airport and said goodbye. On the way home my mother could not stop her tears, but I did not cry. But only two hours later, when I was in the room I used to share with my brother, I suddenly realized that I would not see him again for a long time. Then I was the one who could not stop my tears, and I let myself cry and cry. My parents hugged and comforted me, and we all felt great joy and great sadness at the same time.
Since that day, I pray to Heavenly Father and ask Him to take care of my brother as he serves.
My brother taught me that I must also prepare for a mission. I must be worthy to receive the priesthood, attend seminary, and achieve the goals in Fulfilling My Duty to God. He taught me to work and save money, read the scriptures, and obey my leaders.
I want to serve a mission too so that other people can have the blessings of the gospel and know that it is true.

I was 25 and sitting in church one Sunday—a Sunday that would change the course of my life. I had recently returned after 10 years of inactivity. As the sacrament was being passed, the Spirit told me I had to go on a mission. I nearly died with shock. I couldn’t believe it. “Me? That can’t be right!” But over and over again, throughout that sacrament, the message persisted.
Nothing like that had ever happened in all my years sitting in sacrament meetings. I was shocked. My life was not in order. I was not comfortable, nor had I settled back into Church life. I felt overwhelmed. It was too soon. And, in any case, I had never wanted to serve a mission. I’m strong minded; I had my life all planned. This wasn’t an option or a choice I would ever have considered. So, I decided there and then: I was not going to go; I was going to continue making my own life decisions.
I told no one and tried to push the matter to the back of my mind, but the promptings continued: “You need to go on a mission.” But the answer was, “I don’t want to go.” This carried on for a year. I thought if I ignored the promptings they’d eventually go away. During the day it was easy to do this because I was busy at work, at church, and so on. Then the Holy Ghost started prompting me during the night when I was trying to sleep. I’d wake up and find it hard to go back to sleep. It was relentless. I didn’t want to hear it. I was exhausted. This whole process was consuming me day and night.
It was about this time I started changing my attitude, listening instead of ignoring. I didn’t want to do it, but why? Because I felt forced! It wasn’t in my life plan. So, I decided I would start thinking of the possibility of going, as I knew these promptings would not stop. I had to pick up my mission papers from the bishop.
I was still at odds with myself, but I had to admit defeat and succumb. The Lord had another path he wanted me to follow. It was terribly hard for me to accept this, but I knew it had to happen.
As I was trying to come to terms with everything, I knew the bishop was being prompted to talk to me about my mission papers. I just knew. I had never mentioned it to anyone, but I knew he was also getting the vibes. But I still needed time to adjust and come to terms with everything, so I started dodging him.
If I saw him in the corridor at Church, I’d dive into a classroom and hide until he passed. I’d watch him and stay out of his vicinity—terrible, but I thought this would gain me more time. But one Sunday I was walking up the corridor only to find the bishop walking towards me. No one else was there. I couldn’t hide or dive away. I was nabbed, pure and simple.
The bishop simply said, “Can you come with me for a minute? I’ve got to give you something”. I was hoping the something was to do with my Primary or activities committee callings, but he walked into the clerk’s office, opened the filing cabinet, and handed me my mission papers. He said, “You need to fill these in, and send them.” I said, “I knew you knew!” When I told him that I had been deliberately dodging and hiding from him, he laughed and said he wondered why he could never find me.
That was it. I received my papers; it was all on. It was around Christmas 1996 when I thought I’d better let the family know what was happening. I decided I’d tell everyone over Sunday dinner. As we were sitting at the table my sister said she had something to tell everyone: she’d been thinking of changing careers from a hairdresser to a beauty therapist, thus needing to give up her job and go to college. Everyone was happy about her decision. Then it was my turn. I told them I also had something to say. I told them that I was planning to go on a mission. A look of disbelief and surprise appeared on every face. I told them, “No one is more surprised than me.” Then between Christmas and New Years, a quiet holiday period, I managed to get all my medical and dental appointments arranged. Within three days my papers were ready.
When I was 17, I’d taken out a small insurance policy that I thought would be useful, when it matured, to go towards a deposit for a house. I cashed it in early. (I lost nothing; every penny I had paid was returned to me; there was no financial penalty for early exit.) I was sent a cheque that paid for my whole mission. Isn’t it funny how things work out? Another small unplanned blessing. I then posted my papers.
Over the next few months, I started shopping for my mission attire. Coming from Scotland, I’m no stranger to cold weather so I was going to be well prepared. But every time I went to buy something like a winter coat, big woolly jumpers, hat, scarves, or gloves, I’d get the answer, “No!” I’d leave it a couple of days then go elsewhere. Again, the answer would be “No! Don’t buy that.” I couldn’t believe I was being prompted to buy certain clothes.
The promptings were very specific. I’d pick up clothes and I’d hold the hanger and wait for a yes or a no. I obediently bought according to those promptings. When I look back, I can’t believe how much the Holy Ghost kept prompting me and specifically telling me things each day—I was not asking for such clarity. I’ve never experienced this level of prompting ever since. That was how it was supposed to be—minute detail.
One morning I went downstairs and there on the carpet was the big fat white envelope. My heart leapt. I quickly grabbed it and immediately locked myself in the bathroom. I have a big family, and someone could have been lurking; I wanted to open it on my own.
I stared at the envelope, scared to open it. I kept thinking that it held the next 18 months of my life, my future. I was very anxious. I eventually opened it and scoured through the first few lines. I just wanted to know where I was going—it was the Greece Athens Mission. I’d never heard of this mission. I’d never heard of anyone even going to this mission. I would later find out that I was the first Scottish sister to go there. How cool! I would learn to speak Greek. l would serve my mission during one of the hottest summers they’d had, and another summer the following year. Greece was indeed a different, unusual place. The gospel was still in its infancy there; it had only been dedicated 25 years previously by Elder Gordon B. Hinckley (1910-2008).
I served my mission from May 1997 to November 1998. It was one of the best experiences of my life! I can’t believe that I hadn’t wanted to go. I could quite easily have missed out on this crucial experience. It was meant to be. I would never have chosen that path but it’s what Heavenly Father knew was right for me. Greece will always be a special place with special memories for me. Whenever I go back to visit, I get ‘goose bumps’ and butterflies in my stomach. When I left my mission, I left a part of my heart there, and there it will stay. It brought me so much happiness. It shaped my future. It put me on the right path, in the right direction. It was priceless. I loved it. I’d do it all over again in a heartbeat. It changed me for the better. My favourite word is fantastic, and Greece was fantastic!

I don’t really know where a young man begins to go wrong. I couldn’t have had a happier childhood. My father was a nature lover, and he had schooled us in the beauties and appreciation of the out-of-doors. My mother enriched our lives with her wit and her songs. And I grew up in the Church. I loved the gospel stories, and I looked forward to becoming a deacon. I remember my baptism day and the feeling that accompanied this ordinance.
But about the time I became a teacher, I began to sit with a crowd of boys in the back who were without a streak of reverence, I’m afraid. From this time on, I never really appreciated the gospel or made the effort to study the scriptures and gain a testimony, and any person without the gospel and spiritual motivation in his life will naturally turn to worldly things. It took a terrible accident and three years to do it, but I finally was able to see through the fads and falsities that had become a part of my life in the early years of high school and to realize just how plastic and superficial many of those values really are.

Last winter when it was too cold to go out to recess, our class went into the third grade classroom to watch a video. I was excited until I found out that the video was a cartoon that our family doesn’t watch. The characters call each other mean names and use bad language. I went to the teacher and told her that I didn’t want to watch the video. She said I could color quietly at the back of the room, instead. Then I whispered to my best friend, and she agreed to play ticktacktoe with me until recess was over. I felt good that I followed Jesus Christ by not watching that video.

My mother, Dorothy Candland Woodruff (now deceased), was supposed to arrive in Regina, Saskatchewan, Canada, one afternoon, but she missed her flight. So she was rerouted, with layovers in Colorado, USA, and Calgary, Alberta. She wouldn’t arrive until midnight. Frustrated, she started her journey.
Her second flight was crowded and noisy. She was trying to do some work, when a little girl across the aisle began crying. She was impatient with her mother, who was holding a small baby. The girl’s father was sitting in front of my mother with another child, about five.
The girl’s mother talked softly to her daughter, but the child’s crying grew louder.
“This family clearly had not prepared their children for the trip,” my mother said when later sharing her experience with our family. For the lesson that followed, I use her words:
“Finally, the mother carried her crying daughter back to the bathroom. A short time later, the mother returned with the little girl, who was still in tears—silent tears, I noted thankfully. She sat down and held her daughter in her arms, tenderly rocking her back and forth. Then I heard her singing softly ‘I Am a Child of God.’
“Startled, I looked up from my work as I recognized the song. I saw the family in a new light. After the mother had finished the song, I put my hand on her shoulder and said, ‘I love that song.’
“Tearfully, she said, ‘It was my seven-year-old son’s favorite song. We are taking him home to our family cemetery in Montana. We lost him yesterday in a terrible accident. We all miss him so much.’
“Shame swept over me. I had been passing judgment on this sweet family, insensitive to how I could have helped. The words of the song sharpened my awareness that even if they had not been Latter-day Saints, they were still children of God, and I should have reached out to them in their need.
“I was humbled. The rest of our journey together was full of a tearful sharing of feelings, emotions, and experiences precious to both of us. We parted as good friends who would keep in touch through letters in years to come.”

Please share this recent experience I had while visiting in South America. I was traveling with a mission president 200 miles from his office. Word reached him one of his elders was in the hospital with a ruptured appendix. His condition was grave because of the six- to seven-hour delay in getting medical attention. The mission president gave immediate instructions by telephone, getting the best physician possible, leading sixty missionaries assembled in zone conference in united prayer. He and his wife were at the elder’s bedside the following morning. Prayers continued, medical attention increased, companions took turns sitting at his bedside around the clock. Parents in Idaho were notified. “The best is being done for your son. We feel he will make it. Please have your family join us in our prayers.”

Here was friendship in action. Here was a friend at work. Here was an example of leaving the ninety and nine for the immediate attention of the one.

A few years after I had been baptized, becoming better acquainted with some duties in the Church, I was ordained to the Aaronic Priesthood. My father, who had baptized me, had died in the meantime with a heart attack, so the bishop conferred the Aaronic Priesthood upon me and ordained me to the office of a deacon. I remember that I had a wonderful feeling about that as he conferred the priesthood upon me, that I now had responsibilities and would be accountable for my actions and would have things to learn to do as I would progress through life. I did have a special feeling that I now was a little different, that I wouldn’t be exactly the same as friends who did not hold the priesthood or people that you would meet out in the world. I now had some responsibilities, things we would learn on Sundays in church as we would sit around the old coal stove down in the basement of the meetinghouse.

On Saturdays, we would clean out the church, fill the coal buckets with coal, and see that the building was ready for Sunday meetings. We had things to do in the lesser priesthood, in all the temporal affairs of the ward—collecting fast offerings and doing duties for the bishop. He and other leaders would teach us about the Aaronic Priesthood and the office of a deacon, then a teacher, and then, of course, a priest as we would advance in the priesthood. It seemed to me that I was developing an interesting understanding, a vision of the work to be done, and that I personally had some responsibility, even though I was just a young boy in a little country town. There was something very important about it.

One of the most beautiful and tender accounts of brotherly love, concern, and devotion took place in Carthage Jail on the afternoon of the martyrdom. “The afternoon was sultry and hot. The four brethren [Joseph and Hyrum Smith, John Taylor, and Willard Richards] sat listlessly about the room with their coats off; and the windows of the prison were open to receive such air as might be stirring. Late in the afternoon Mr. Stigall, the jailor, came in and suggested that [in view of threats made by the radical and bloodthirsty mob] they would be safer in the cells. Joseph told him that they would go in after supper. Turning to Elder Richards the Prophet said: ‘If we go into the cell will you go with us?’”

Elder Richards answered, “Brother Joseph, you did not ask me to cross the river with you [referring to the time when they crossed the Mississippi, en route for the Rocky Mountains]—you did not ask me to come to Carthage—you did not ask me to come to jail with you—and do you think I would forsake you now? But I will tell you what I will do; if you are condemned to be hung for ‘treason,’ I will be hung in your stead, and you shall go free.”

With considerable emotion and feeling Joseph replied, “But you cannot,” to which Brother Richards firmly replied, “I will.” (B. H. Roberts, A Comprehensive History of the Church, vol. 2, p. 283.)

The Church in Ukraine is racing forward, and the youth are in the forefront. Last Christmas the youth organized a Christmas party for all the members in Kiev, reenacting the Christmas story on stage. They read scriptures, performed music, gave gifts, arranged for a visit from Father Frost (Ukrainian Santa Claus), and got everyone to join hands in a huge circle for the traditional dance around the Christmas tree.
Not long ago, they held their first youth conference in Kiev. Youth came from all the cities the Church has opened in the country, including Donetsk, Kharkov, and Gorlovka. The conference featured, not one, but three service projects: planting apple trees and rose bushes on the lawn in front of the building the Church rents on Sundays; taking toys and clothes donated by members to orphans at a government boarding school; and painting the fence around the boarding school.
Ukrainian youth enjoy spending time together studying scriptures and learning more about the gospel. “Best of all,” said one, “we know that if we all live worthily, we can all return to live with Heavenly Father again.”

Evan Stephens was born in Wales in 1854. By the time he was 12 years old, his family had moved to Willard, Utah, where he sang in the town choir. But when Evan learned that President Brigham Young was coming to hear the choir, he had a problem.
Evan looked down at the dusty road and dragged his feet as he walked home from choir practice. Everyone else in the Willard town choir had cheered at the invitation to sing for President Brigham Young. The men clapped each other on the back, while the women whispered excitedly from behind their books and fans. No one noticed the glum look on 12-year-old Evan’s face as he slumped down in his chair. The “Boy Alto,” as he was known, quietly slipped through the church doors and left practice by himself.
The problem wasn’t that Evan didn’t want to sing. He loved music. When his family settled in Willard, a town about 50 miles (80 km) north of Salt Lake City, he had been delighted to learn about the unusually good town choir. As the 10th child in the Stephens family, Evan had found little time between farm chores to learn much about music. In the Willard choir, he could finally learn more about it. He found himself moving in rhythm as he worked and dancing as he herded the cows. He felt music everywhere now.
No, the idea of singing for the prophet didn’t upset Evan. But choir members would need to dress in their best Sunday clothes for the performance, and Evan didn’t have any good clothes. His family didn’t have much money. He had never owned a nice coat or a pair of black Sunday shoes. He was ashamed to sing in front of the prophet while looking so shabby.
Evan looked down at his dusty feet. They were covered with dirt from the trail. He would have to scrub them hard before going to church Sunday morning. Otherwise, his feet would look black. Evan’s heart jumped at this thought. He could get black feet—really black feet—by using polish. Everyone would be looking at the faces of the singers, so no one would notice that Evan had black feet instead of black shoes.
On the day the choir was to sing to the prophet, Evan felt sweat on his forehead and the palms of his hands as he looked down at his black feet. He knew he must go—the choir needed him—but he wanted to hide so the prophet would not see him. With tears racing down his cheeks, he ran toward the bowery where the choir was going to sing.
At the bowery, Evan stopped. What if the prophet did see him? What would he think of a poor farm boy with painted black feet and no coat? Evan couldn’t let the prophet see him. Turning around, he bolted like a frightened colt. He ran right into the very man he had hoped not to see.
President Brigham Young grabbed the frightened boy by the shoulders. “Now, now, what’s this?” he asked. “What’s the matter? Why are you running away?”
Tears filled Evan’s eyes as he bowed his head and whispered, “I have no coat for the program and no shoes.” Swallowing the lump in his throat, he continued, “I painted my feet black with polish.”
The grip on Evan’s shoulders relaxed, and he felt the prophet pat him on the head. Looking up, he was surprised to see a kind look on President Young’s face and tears in his eyes too. “Never mind that,” he told Evan. “Don’t you hesitate a moment. Go right on in.”
Relief wrapped around Evan like a soft, warm blanket. He blinked away the tears and returned the prophet’s smile with one of his own. He hurried to take his place with the choir. Happy to be accepted by the prophet, Evan sang his part perfectly.
President Young gave Evan an encouraging word and courage to do his part. This kindness influenced Evan long after the choir performance. He continued to study music and taught himself new skills.
When Evan grew up, he became director of the Tabernacle Choir. He served in that position from 1889 to 1916. Evan also wrote many sacred hymns and patriotic songs. He remained humble and always remembered the lesson he had learned from the prophet. Evan treated people like he did his music—with love. And like President Young, he listened with his heart.
Evan Stephens later wrote a hymn about courage, including the words, “Courage, for the Lord is on our side” (“Let Us All Press On,” Hymns, no. 243).

“I witness the complete and absolute truth of the Savior’s incomparable atoning sacrifice and of His glorious Resurrection. As we focus our lives on this thought, I promise we will feel His hope, His peace, and His love.
“When we unexpectedly lose someone we love, the sadness and grief can be overwhelming.
“Late last year, the life of radiant Brigham Young University freshman Anna Peterson ended suddenly following a tragic sledding accident. Anna was a humble, loving, and kind disciple of Jesus Christ. She sought ways to help others feel God’s love. In fact, she had just finished her application to become a full-time missionary.
“Though many lost a friend when Anna passed, her parents, John and Julie, lost a beautiful light, who they had cared for, prayed over, and loved for 18 years. The death of a daughter is enough to engulf anyone in grief. However, despite the deep sorrow they feel, John and Julie have chosen to lean on the Lord Jesus Christ.
“I asked John—who served as a missionary with me when I presided over the France Bordeaux Mission—and Julie to share with me their thoughts as they continue to practice faith in Jesus Christ in the face of this tragedy. This is what they shared with me:
“John: ‘Anna’s sudden and tragic death tore what feels like a massive wound in my chest. But there is a balm in Gilead, and as we have leaned into gratitude for both the Savior’s Atonement and the wonderful, amazing times we had in Anna’s 18 years, the tender mercies fill us to overflowing. We have strength to press on.’
“Julie: ‘Shortly after Anna’s accident, I was prompted to make the theme of our efforts ‘Turn to the Light, Our Savior.’ As we share with each other these opportunities to choose light rather than choosing darkness to cope, we strengthen each other, and the Lord carries us in our grief. I/We choose to trust the Lord.’
“I sincerely admire John and Julie’s faith in Jesus Christ. They are a wonderful example to me. During this Easter season, I testify that Jesus Christ broke the bands of death, allowing all to live beyond the grave, and, most importantly, He promises each of us that as we believe in and follow Him, we can live with Him forever—yes, forever!”

When we started having church at home because of the COVID-19 pandemic, I helped give the sacrament to my family. It was nice to be able to do this in my own home, and it made me realize how grateful I am for the sacrament. I am grateful that I was able to live through this time of having church at home.
One of our neighbors needed someone to bring the sacrament to her. There wasn’t anyone in her home who could prepare or bless the sacrament because her husband had passed away a few years ago. She was also being careful with visitors because of the pandemic. My dad and I are her ministering brothers, so we offered to give her the sacrament while wearing masks and taking other precautions for her safety.
She was super grateful that we could come over. It made me feel a little sad that she was lonely, since she was the only one at her house during the pandemic. But I was also grateful that I could offer her something so important to make her happy. It was nice to be able to serve her. It made me happy that my dad and I were able to go and serve our neighbor.
I’m grateful to have the priesthood because it benefits not only me but also other people. It helps me become a better person and helps me see how I can serve others. Passing the sacrament in my home and to my neighbor opened my eyes. I need to take advantage of the opportunity to pass the sacrament and serve people who can’t do it for themselves. I’m grateful I could use the priesthood to bless other people and my family.

She was shy. I was outgoing. Why was she getting all the attention?
This question must have passed through my mind a million times every Sunday during my early teen years. Donna Gilliam was in my Beehive class, a quiet, pretty girl whose parents were deaf. Because of this she knew sign language perfectly. And all the adults thought that was so sweet. She would translate at Young Women functions, and the mothers would cry. She would translate at everything. And everyone, except me it seemed, was deeply moved.
That was a time in my life when I was selfish, wanting attention, wanting to be in the spotlight. But competing with Donna was impossible. In her shy way, she, and her family too, found a special place in our meetings and in the hearts of the ward members. Nevertheless, my jealousy continued.
A month after my fourteenth birthday, my mother was in a very serious car accident. Though she did not die, she suffered serious injuries. She had to stay in the hospital in traction for a month and a half. The accident happened in November, and it soon became clear that our mother would be spending Christmas in the hospital. Because it was important to include her in all the family activities we could, that meant we too would be spending Christmas in the hospital.
Others in my family looked forward to that Christmas as a “special experience” or more likely a growing experience. I viewed it as plain terrible.
I wasn’t much of a spiritual uplift to my family on Christmas Eve. I isolated myself in the corner of the hospital room and just sat there feeling sorry for myself. We were all just looking at each other, getting ready to open our Christmas presents, but somehow the usual anticipation and excitement were missing.
That’s when Donna walked in.
“Hello, Sister Fee,” she said quietly to my mother as her parents came in behind her. “We just came by for a minute. We thought we might sing.”
We all looked up in surprise. Her parents were deaf! How could they sing? I put my presents to the side and lifted my head in interest. I wasn’t exactly happy that they were going to sing, considering my jealousy of Donna, but I listened anyway.
I wasn’t at all prepared for the feelings that burst from within me as I listened to their soft voices sing “Silent Night.” Their hands moved in simultaneous motions, telling of the Christ child and heavenly peace. Tears spilled from my eyes, though I tried to control them. I heard the soft crying of my mother from the hospital bed. Donna’s eyes were tear-filled too. It became all too clear to me that I had been unfair to her.
When the song ended, their hands rested at their sides. We all looked at each other, overcome with emotion. Then they left, as quietly as they had come. Still in the corner of the room, I pondered the new perspective I had gained. Why had I ever been jealous of her? She had a very special talent. She and her family had brought a special spirit into our Christmas, changing it from a gloomy one into a celebration of renewal and hope. The Spirit assured me that my mom would be okay. That Spirit also brought me a new realization that I had talents too.
Right there in that hospital room I then promised myself that I would work on my own talents and stop being jealous of others. With that goal in mind, I found peace within myself. The song repeated softly in my head, “Silent night, holy night.”
All was calm in my heart.

A few weeks ago I learned an important lesson from a Laurel who was the youth speaker in my ward. I was touched as she confidently taught and testified of Jesus Christ. She concluded her remarks with this statement: “When I make Jesus Christ the center of my life, my day goes better, I’m kinder to my loved ones, and I am filled with joy.”
I have observed this young woman from a distance over the past few months. She greets everyone with sparkling eyes and a quick smile. I’ve watched her rejoice in the success of other youth. Two Mia Maids recently reported to me of this young woman’s decision to forfeit her ticket to a movie when she realized that it was not going to be an experience that was “virtuous and lovely.” She’s loving, kind, and obedient. She comes from a single-parent home, and her life has not been without challenges, so I’ve wondered how she maintains her happy, kind spirit. When this young woman testified, “I center my life on Jesus Christ,” I had the answer.

Wind chimes filled the outdoors with music. Telephone wires whistled with each gust of wind. Leaves could not hold on to their branches but danced in the air before floating down to cover the backyard like a big, lumpy, calico quilt.
The wind was teasing everything. It lifted Allison’s hat off her head and pulled her ponytail out in front of her. It pushed at her one way, then shoved her another.
“Stop it!” Allison shouted at the wind. “You’re too rough!”
But the wind didn’t listen.
Allison bounced her ball, but the wind snatched it away. She tried to jump rope, but the wind tangled it under her feet.
“Wind,” shouted Allison, “you don’t play fair!”
Again and again the wind interfered. When Allison tried to roller-skate, the wind made her wobble. When she tried to pedal her bicycle, the wind wheeled her the wrong way.
Allison stopped and thought. “Wind,” she said, looking up into the sky, “I know something that we both can play.”
Allison went into her house and brought out her kite. As she let out some string, the wind pulled the kite little by little high into the sky. Up, up it went, higher than the houses. It kept going up, up until it seemed to be playing tag with the clouds and there was no more string left to unwind.
Allison tugged on the string. The wind pulled on the kite. Allison giggled. The wind whistled. All afternoon Allison and the wind played.
“Al—li—son,” called Grandmother from the porch.
“Wind, I have to go,” Allison said as she tugged harder on the end of the string.
The wind pulled back.
“I really have to go now.” This time she tugged with both hands.
The wind pulled back again, but more gently as it began to die down.
Little by little the kite floated down. Down, down, up, down, zigzagging below the clouds. Down, up, down below the houses. Down, carefully, below the trees. Whispering now, the wind set the kite at Allison’s feet, then brushed across her face like a feather.
“Oh, Allison,” called Grandmother once more. “Come over here and let me see those great big apples in your cheeks.”
Allison giggled. She knew that she didn’t have apples in her cheeks. She had just been kissed by the wind.

I also think it’s essential that our spiritual side be developed along with our craftsmanship. Fifteen years ago I had a conversation with Elder Boyd K. Packer. He said, “As an artist what is your concern?” and I said, “My problem is that I watch the non-LDS artists paint 50 paintings a year and I paint 25 because I have made a commitment that I will seek first the kingdom of heaven. I will be active in the Church, and so I’ll be Young Men president and take my kids around to collect fast offerings and go to Mutual and go home teaching and all those things that eat up one’s time, while other artists can paint twice as much as I do. And because the more you paint the better you get, they just keep on outdistancing me.”

He said, “Why do you fail to recognize that with the help of the Spirit, which is what you’re spending all that time being active in the Church attempting to obtain, you can accomplish more in 10 paintings than another painter can in 30 or 40? It’s not the quantity of paintings, but the quality of the spirit within you that will move you to do good work.” And his words just went right to my heart.

While reading this letter, I returned in my thoughts to a visit to one of the great art galleries of the world—even the famed Victoria and Albert Museum in London, England. There, exquisitely framed, was a masterpiece painted in 1831 by Joseph Mallord William Turner. The painting features heavy-laden black clouds and the fury of a turbulent sea portending danger and death. A light from a stranded vessel gleams far off. In the foreground, tossed high by incoming waves of foaming water, is a large lifeboat. The men pull mightily on the oars as the lifeboat plunges into the tempest. On the shore there stand a wife and two children, wet with rain and whipped by wind. They gaze anxiously seaward. In my mind I abbreviated the name of the painting. To me, it became To the Rescue.
Amidst the storms of life, danger lurks; and men, like boats, find themselves stranded and facing destruction. Who will man the lifeboats, leaving behind the comforts of home and family, and go to the rescue?
President John Taylor cautioned us, “If you do not magnify your callings, God will hold you responsible for those whom you might have saved had you done your duty.”
Brethren, our task is not insurmountable. We are on the Lord’s errand, and therefore we are entitled to the Lord’s help. But we must try. From the stage play Shenandoah comes the spoken line which inspires: “If we don’t try, then we don’t do; and if we don’t do, then why are we here?”
When the Master ministered among men, He called fishermen at Galilee to leave their nets and follow Him, declaring, “I will make you fishers of men.” And so He did. Tonight He issues a call to each of us to “come join the ranks.” He provides our battle plan with His admonition, “Wherefore, now let every man learn his duty, and to act in the office in which he is appointed, in all diligence.”
I love and cherish the noble word duty. Let us hearken to the stirring reminder found in the epistle of James: “Be ye doers of the word, and not hearers only, deceiving your own selves.”
There is an old song of my vintage. It’s entitled “Wishing Will Make It So.” It’s not true. Wishing will not make it so. The Lord expects our thinking. He expects our action. He expects our labors. He expects our testimonies. He expects our devotion. Unfortunately, there are those who have departed from the track of priesthood activity. Let us help them back to that path that leads to life eternal. Let us build that strong Melchizedek Priesthood base which will be the foundation of Church activity and growth. It will be the underpinning to strengthen every family, every home, every quorum in every land.
Brethren, we can reach out to those for whom we are responsible and bring them to the table of the Lord, there to feast on His word and to enjoy the companionship of His Spirit and be “no more strangers and foreigners, but fellowcitizens with the saints, and of the household of God.”
The passage of time has not altered the capacity of the Redeemer to change men’s lives—our lives and the lives of those with whom we labor. As He said to the dead Lazarus, so He says today: “Come forth.” Come forth from the despair of doubt. Come forth from the sorrow of sin. Come forth from the death of disbelief. Come forth to a newness of life. Come forth.
We will discover that those whom we serve, who have felt through our labors the touch of the Master’s hand, somehow cannot explain the change which comes into their lives. There is a desire to serve faithfully, to walk humbly, and to live more like the Savior. Having received their spiritual eyesight and glimpsed the promises of eternity, they echo the words of the blind man to whom Jesus restored sight, who said, “One thing I know, that, whereas I was blind, now I see.”
How can we account for these miracles? Why the upsurge of activity in men long dormant? The poet, speaking of death, wrote, “God … touched him, and he slept.” I say, speaking of this new birth, “God touched them, and they awakened.”
Two fundamental reasons largely account for these changes of attitudes, of habits, of actions. First, men have been shown their eternal possibilities and have made the decision to achieve them. Men cannot really long rest content with mediocrity once they see excellence is within their reach.
Second, other men have followed the admonition of the Savior and have loved their neighbors as themselves and helped to bring their neighbors’ dreams to fulfillment and their ambitions to realization.
The catalyst in this process has been—and will continue to be—the principle of love.
Another principle of truth which will guide us in our determination is that boys and men can change. I’m reminded of the words of a prison warden who taught this fact. A critic who knew of Warden Duffy’s efforts to rehabilitate men said, “Don’t you know that leopards can’t change their spots?”
Warden Duffy responded, “You should know I don’t work with leopards. I work with men, and men change every day.”
Many years ago, before leaving to become president of the Canadian Mission, headquartered in Toronto, Ontario, I had developed a friendship with a man by the name of Shelley, who lived in my ward but did not embrace the gospel, irrespective of the fact that his wife and children had done so. Shelley had been known as the toughest man in town when he was young. He was quite a pugilist. His fights were rarely in the ring but rather elsewhere. Try as I might, I could not bring about a change in Shelley’s attitude. The task appeared hopeless. In time, Shelley and his family moved from our ward.
After I had returned from Canada and was called to the Twelve, I received a telephone call from Shelley. He said, “Will you seal my wife and me and our family in the Salt Lake Temple?”
I answered hesitatingly, “Shelley, you first must be a baptized member of the Church.”
He laughed and responded, “Oh, I took care of that while you were in Canada. My home teacher was a school crossing guard, and every weekday as he and I would visit at the crossing, we would discuss the gospel.”
The sealings were performed; a family was united; joy followed.
Abraham Lincoln offered this wise counsel, which surely applies to home teachers: “If you would win a man to your cause, first convince him that you are his sincere friend.”
A friend makes more than a dutiful visit each month. A friend is more concerned about helping people than getting credit. A friend cares. A friend loves. A friend listens. And a friend reaches out.
There are brethren in every ward who seem to have a special skill and aptitude to penetrate the outer shell and reach the heart. Such was Raymond L. Egan, who served as my counselor in the bishopric. He loved to befriend and activate in the Church the father of a family and thereby bring into the fold a dear wife and precious children as well. This wonderful phenomenon occurred many times right up until Brother Egan departed mortality.
There are other ways, as well, by which one might lift and serve. On one occasion, I was speaking with a retired executive I had known for a long time. I asked him, “Ed, what are you doing in the Church?” He replied, “I have the best assignment in the ward. My responsibility is to help men who are unemployed find permanent employment. This year I have helped 12 of my brethren who were out of work to obtain good jobs. I have never been happier in my entire life.” Short in stature, “Little Ed,” as we affectionately called him, stood tall that evening as his eyes glistened and his voice quavered. He showed his love by helping those in need. He restored human dignity. He opened doors for those who knew not how to do so themselves.
I truly believe that those who have the ability to reach out and to lift up have found the formula descriptive of Brother Walter Stover—a man who spent his entire life in service to others. At Brother Stover’s funeral, his son-in-law paid tribute to him in these words: “Walter Stover had the ability to see Christ in every face he encountered, and he treated each person accordingly.” Legendary are his acts of compassionate help and his talent to lift heavenward every person whom he met. His guiding light was the Master’s voice speaking, “Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these … , ye have done it unto me.”
Brethren, acquire the language of the Spirit. It is not learned from textbooks written by men of letters, nor is it acquired through reading and memorization. The language of the Spirit comes to him who seeks with all his heart to know God and keep His divine commandments. Proficiency in this “language” permits one to breach barriers, overcome obstacles, and touch the human heart.
In a day of danger or a time of trial, such knowledge, such hope, such understanding bring comfort to a troubled soul and a grieving heart. Shadows of despair are dispelled by rays of hope; sorrow yields to joy; and the feeling of being lost in the crowd of life vanishes with the certain knowledge that our Heavenly Father is mindful of each of us.
In closing, I return to the painting by Turner. In a very real sense, those persons stranded on the vessel which had run aground in the storm-tossed sea are like many young men—and older men as well—who await rescue by those of us who have the priesthood responsibility to man the lifeboats. Their hearts yearn for help. Mothers and fathers pray for their sons. Wives and children plead to heaven that Daddy and others may be reached.
Tonight I pray that all of us who hold the priesthood may sense our responsibilities and, as one, follow our Leader—even the Lord Jesus Christ, and His prophet, President Gordon B. Hinckley—to the rescue.
In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

I went outside and saw some new neighbors moving in. One of the kids was my age. Her name was Hannah. I remembered there was a Primary activity that very day, so I asked her if she wanted to go. She asked, “What time?” I said, “four o’clock at the church.” She asked her mom and then said OK. I knew at that moment that Jesus and Heavenly Father were happy that I was being kind, because I felt warm inside. Now Hannah and I are best friends.

As a mission president in France, Belgium, and the Netherlands some years ago, I had the privilege and blessing of interviewing individuals for worthiness to be baptized. I will never forget the interview I had with one sister.
During our interview I asked her how she came to know that the Church was true. She reached in her handbag and brought out a worn and well-read paperback copy of the Book of Mormon. She opened the book to 3 Nephi 27 and explained that this was the first chapter the missionaries had invited her to read. She said that as she began to read, she was profoundly moved by what she read and the Spirit she felt. She was so overcome with the spirit of the Book of Mormon that she took a red pencil and began to underline the words that impressed her the most.
Then she showed me her copy of the Book of Mormon, open to 3 Nephi 27. Almost every word in that chapter was underlined in red.
“That is why I believe,” she said. “This book speaks to me in a way that I cannot deny. I know that it is true, and I know that The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is true.”
She was baptized and became a faithful member of the Church.

Lisa watched as her 16-year-old sister, Michelle, sat on her bed and read the Book of Mormon.
“Aren’t you going to the dance?” Lisa asked. Lisa was 11. It would be three more years before she could go to a stake dance. “I wish I was old enough to go,” she said as she sat down on Michelle’s bed.
Michelle smiled at her. “You bet I’m going! But I want to finish reading before I go,” she said. “I just have a couple of pages left.”
Lisa sat quietly while Michelle read. She knew her sister had looked forward to the stake New Year’s Eve dance for weeks. Michelle had saved her money from her job at the mall and had bought a new dress to wear that night.
Lisa also knew that Michelle had set a goal to finish reading the Book of Mormon by the end of the year. Lisa was reading too, but she wasn’t finished yet.
Michelle looked up and grinned as she closed her scriptures. “Done!” she said. “I finished the whole Book of Mormon! Lisa, do you want to pray with me?” she asked.
Surprised, Lisa nodded. She and Michelle had prayed together for family home evening and family prayer, but never just the two of them.
Lisa listened as her sister prayed. Michelle told Heavenly Father how much she loved the scriptures, the prophet, and Jesus Christ. After the prayer both girls were silent for a long moment.
Lisa finally looked up to see tears on Michelle’s cheeks. “Why are you crying?” she asked.
“I’ve read the Book of Mormon before,” Michelle explained with a smile as she brushed the tears away. “But I never really understood the words on the cover until now—‘Another Testament of Jesus Christ.’ This time I learned that the Book of Mormon really does testify of Jesus Christ.”
Lisa suddenly felt a rush of love for Michelle. “I’m glad you’re my big sister,” she said.
Michelle brushed a hand over Lisa’s hair. “I’m glad you’re my sister too,” she said. “Want to help me do my hair?”
“Sure!” Lisa said. They both brushed Michelle’s long brown hair until it was shiny and smooth.
Michelle kissed Lisa’s cheek, then hurried to get ready for the dance. Lisa picked up the scriptures. She had just set a goal for the year. She was going to finish the Book of Mormon too.