Gospel Story Finder

Vitaly: When I had been home from my mission for a few months, I was asked to be a counselor at a local youth conference. Steven C. Smith, president of the Russia Novosibirsk Mission, called me into his office. I anticipated a new calling or a formal interview of some kind. Instead, President Smith told me about someone he wanted me to meet—a young woman who had recently completed her mission and returned home to another part of Russia but who would be in town for the conference.
I had never seen Katya before, but once I arrived at the conference, I introduced myself, and we casually chatted for a few minutes. Later that night I asked Katya for a dance. The next day I asked her for another.
Katya: Growing up, I didn’t know many young, single priesthood holders, but I always hoped that the Lord would provide a worthy young man for me to marry. I had no idea when or how we would meet, but I had confidence in the Lord and His promises.
After my mission, I was invited to help chaperone a youth conference. When I saw Vitaly at the conference, I was immediately interested in getting to know him. We spent the most wonderful and unforgettable three days together at the conference.
I felt a strong prompting early on that Vitaly was the man I was to marry. Of course, not everyone will experience this kind of feeling so early in a courtship. So how do we know we are heading in the right direction? I learned on my mission to recognize the Spirit and to follow His direction without any doubts. So when I felt promptings that I needed to get to know Vitaly, I decided to follow them.

My blood was boiling. These people clearly know nothing on this topic, I thought, peering down at the virtual shouting match playing out on my smartphone’s Twitter feed. I quickly crafted a perfect response to join the throng—certain that everyone would see how uninformed their opinions were when my tweet pointed out their ignorance. I was about to press send, thought clouds of contempt churning, when a still, small voice managed to pop into my head:
Would Christ say that?
My thumb paused, hovering over the “Tweet” button. My stomach sank.
No. No, He wouldn’t.
Then why would you?
I sighed, took a few deep breaths, and deleted the tweet. I felt awful. What had just come over me?

Not only do we lose the Spirit when choosing anger, but we lose the ability to see situations clearly. We can even lose the ability to act with reason. “[Intemperate anger] destroys wisdom and sound judgment. When we become upset, reason is suppressed, and anger rushes in. To make decisions while infuriated is as unwise and foolish as it is for a captain to put out to sea in a raging storm. Only injury and wreckage result from wrathful moments.”2 Just as I was on the verge of sending a tweet I wasn’t proud of, we can lose sight of who we truly are and who we’re trying to be when angry. It can become a vicious cycle if it isn’t curbed.

I’m so thankful for the whisperings of the Holy Ghost not to send my angry tweet that day. It may seem like an inconsequential example of restraint, but it taught me a lesson that I’ll never forget.

Some years ago in Eastern Europe, I listened as a young elder stood before his fellow missionaries in zone conference to share an experience that shaped his life. He and his companion had found and taught a middle-aged man named Ivan (name has been changed) in a distant city. Their investigator came from a difficult background, as was reflected in his well-used clothing, ragged beard, and hesitant demeanor. Life had been harsh and unkind to him.
Without any prior religious training, Ivan had much to overcome. Practices not in harmony with the restored gospel had to be set aside. New principles needed to be accepted and then incorporated. Ivan wanted to learn, and he prepared himself diligently for his baptism and confirmation. His clothing remained threadbare and his beard ragged, but he had taken the first steps. Shortly after Ivan’s baptism, the missionary was transferred. He hoped that he might again cross paths with Ivan.
Six months later the mission president reassigned the young elder to his former branch. Surprised but eager to return, the elder, with a new companion, came early to sacrament meeting his first Sunday back in the branch. The members were pleased to see the missionary in their midst again. They rushed forward with broad smiles and warm greetings.
The elder recognized nearly everyone in the small congregation. However, he searched in vain among the faces for the man he and his companion had taught and baptized six months earlier. There arose within the elder a sense of disappointment and sadness. Had Ivan returned to his harmful habits? Had he failed to honor his covenant of baptism? Had he lost the blessings promised by his repentance?
The elder’s fears and reflections were interrupted by the approach of an unfamiliar man who was rushing forward to embrace the missionary. The clean-shaven man had a confident smile and an obvious goodness radiating from his countenance. Wearing a white shirt and a carefully knotted tie, he was on his way to prepare the sacrament for the small gathering that Sabbath morning. Only when the man began to speak did the elder recognize him. It was the new Ivan, not the former Ivan they had taught and baptized! The elder saw embodied in his friend the miracle of faith, repentance, and forgiveness; he saw the reality of the Atonement.
The missionary told his peers attending the zone conference that Ivan had changed and grown by every measure during the months the elder had been away from the branch. Ivan had embraced the gospel, and it radiated from him. He had experienced a “change of heart” (Alma 5:26) sufficient both to be baptized and to press forward in the continuing process of conversion. He was preparing for the higher priesthood and the ordinances of the temple. Ivan had indeed been “born again” (Alma 7:14).
As the missionary concluded his remarks, he asked himself aloud, “How much of a ‘change of heart’ have I experienced in the past six months?” He continued his self-examination, asking aloud, “Have I been ‘born again’?” These are two profound questions that each of us should privately pose on a continuing basis.

For over a year I tried to memorize the Articles of Faith, but I was having a hard time because I’m deaf. I worked on it every Sunday, but I just couldn’t do it. I wanted to give up many times, but I kept on trying.
I decided I needed help, so I went into my room and knelt down and prayed to Heavenly Father. When I got up, I started trying to memorize the Articles of Faith again, and it was so much easier. I finished all 13. My mom was amazed at how well I had memorized them. I know now that whenever I need help I can pray to my Heavenly Father, and He will help me.
Sam McGrath, age 9Mesa, Arizona

“Xinia is always writing of her feelings,” says her mother. “When something happens to her, or if she gets offended, she will write about it. She can express her feelings better that way.”
For example, she has written about the day she mistakenly ate some medicine tablets, thinking they were candy: “After I ate my sweets, I dropped down. I was coughing. My eyes were closed. When I woke up [in the hospital], I saw my mom crying. I asked her, ‘Mom, why are you crying?’ She said, ‘I thought you were going to die.’ The next day, there was my family. They said, ‘We love you, Xinia.’ So I was happy. They each bought me a present. They said good-bye and left. The next day, they came to bring me home in a wheelchair. I couldn’t get out of our house for a long time. Finally my heart was okay. I was six years old. I had to get on with my life.”

In the Dominican Republic capital of Santo Domingo is a small school for poor children, held in the patio of a dedicated LDS sister by the name of Lubian Sequi.
When the youth of the West Bountiful Ninth Ward, West Bountiful Stake, heard about the school, they decided they wanted to help. After all, Sister Sequi was funding the school out of her own pocket, and she didn’t have much to spare.
The youth chipped in with their own money to buy school supplies like crayons, pencils, and paper, and they decorated school boxes for each of the students. Then they collected clothes from ward members to include, since Sister Sequi noted that sometimes the children were absent because they literally did not have shirts on their backs.
Once all the things were put together, a local shipping company helped them get the supplies overseas and through customs.
“It was one of the best service projects we’ve ever done,” said Scott Thomas, a priest. “More people came out to this project than any other. They came because they thought it was such a good cause. It makes you feel great to know that you’re helping those little kids.”

When Rachel Chase started seminary, she had her older sister, Jessica, to take her and get her up on time. Rachel tried persuading her sister to be a little late and get five minutes’ more sleep. “But she told me,” said Rachel, “that it’s so important to be there on time, to be there for the whole thing. When she graduated, I had my third year by myself until my little brother was old enough to go. I found out you need every year to build up your testimony.”

In two weeks, we will celebrate Easter. Our thoughts and feelings will, hopefully, focus on Jesus Christ. For many people, this will be another Easter that will casually come and casually go. For some, this Easter will be a season of meditation, reflection, and appreciation.
There is one special Easter that I vividly recall, experienced twenty-seven years ago as a missionary serving in the North Argentine Mission. Our mission had sent missionaries into southern Bolivia. That Easter Sunday 1968 I spent in Quiriza, Bolivia, a small village nestled in the foothills of the Altiplano of southern Bolivia. I remember the preparations made by the villagers for that Easter. The mood, the music, the feel of that moment still linger with me to this day.
Early on Easter Sunday morning, Elder Arce asked me if I would accompany him to visit an investigator family. Shortly thereafter, we walked down the dirt streets of that small village with adobe homes lining the way. We visited the family, reviewing important questions such as, Where do we come from? Why are we here? and Where are we going? We drew pictures with our fingers in the dirt floor. The Spirit was present. A baptismal invitation was extended and accepted. A beautiful baptismal service was held that afternoon. We baptized in the nearby muddy waters of the San Juan de Oro River. Seasons are reversed in South America. When it is springtime here, it is fall there.
Those being baptized disappeared behind large, freshly cut stacks of cornstalks, only to reappear dressed in beautiful white baptismal clothing. Their brown skin, black hair, and radiant smiles still linger to this day in my mind’s eye. The power of that Easter Sunday still moistens my eyes as I reflect on the universality of Christ’s invitation to all to come unto Him.
For me, to have administered in His name as a missionary among those people prompted thoughts of Jesus talking to His disciples during His earthly ministry. He said, “And other sheep I have, which are not of this fold: them also I must bring, and they shall hear my voice; and there shall be one fold, and one shepherd” (John 10:16).
Before we left Quiriza, Bolivia, for Argentina, a special prayer was offered. Accompanied by a dear missionary companion, kneeling on a dirt soccer field under the stars, the two of us took turns pouring out our hearts to our Heavenly Father. There were expressions of love and gratitude for the people, for our mission president, and for the privilege of being missionaries. Promises were made to help the people.
The years since my mission have provided opportunities for the fulfillment of those missionary promises. I returned home to marry my high school sweetheart, Christine Swensen. She is a wonderful companion, and I love her dearly. As a registered nurse, she worked helping us to get through dental school. As school was drawing to a close and our sixth wedding anniversary was upon us, we were still without children. Then a door opened and an opportunity presented itself, and Ashley came into our lives. Our dear, precious Ashley.
A year later we traveled to Bolivia to bring Joshua home from an orphanage. He was two years old. I can still see that beautiful little boy walking to me with outstretched arms, saying, “Papa, Papa.”
Megan then joined us, not even twenty-four hours old when we brought her home. Then back to Bolivia for Daniel, five months old when we held him for the first time.
Several years later, while I was presiding over the Mexico Merida Mission, Jennifer joined our family—a beautiful two-week-old Guatemalan baby girl born in Mexico. She opened the hearts of our missionaries and members in southern Mexico. Natalie Joy came into our family three weeks before our mission ended. Her middle name, Joy, is an eternal reminder of the witness we received that she should be included in our family.
After sixteen years of marriage and six adoptions, Anne and Andrew naturally joined our family, to the joy and happiness of their brothers and sisters. As a family, we are forever grateful for the binding and sealing effect the temple provides for the members of Jesus Christ’s church.
With special promises made to the Lord under the stars in Bolivia at Easter time 1968, there is not a day goes by but that Chris and I embrace our children and feel of God’s love for all of His children. And now, as with Easter 1968, for me Easter season 1995 will be one never to be forgotten.
Six months ago, as members of the Church, we sustained President Howard W. Hunter as the fourteenth President of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I was sustained in that conference as a new Seventy. In early March, President Hunter passed away. My mind is fresh with remembrances of him. We will never forget President Hunter telling our children at the time I was set apart: “We love you. We want you to feel comfortable around us. We want you to feel like we are family.” Following our setting apart, President Hunter and his counselors, President Hinckley and President Monson, shook hands with each of our children. A treasured moment. Six months following that setting apart, I now stand before you for the first time to speak as a General Authority in the Tabernacle.
And President Gordon B. Hinckley has been sustained as the fifteenth President of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
During a visit twenty-seven years ago to South America, Elder Gordon B. Hinckley spoke to missionaries. He was younger then. He had served but seven years as an Apostle. He shared a scripture and extended an invitation. He taught from 2 Timothy: “For God hath not given us the spirit of fear; but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind. Be not thou therefore ashamed of the testimony of our Lord” (2 Tim. 1:7–8).
Elder Hinckley invited missionaries to not fear and not be ashamed of their testimonies of Jesus Christ. His invitation penetrated my heart as a missionary then and is equally important to me and to you this day. The Lord has raised up a new prophet—one who has no fear, one who is full of power and love and of a sound mind, and one who by example reminds us never to be ashamed of our testimony of the Lord.
May this be an Easter season of meditation, reflection, and appreciation. May we resolve to be obedient to prophetic invitations from those who hold the keys of the kingdom. A favorite hymn says:
There is sunshine in my soul today,
More glorious and bright
Than glows in any earthly sky,
For Jesus is my light.
[“There Is Sunshine in My Soul Today,” Hymns, 1985, no. 227]
Jesus is my light. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

A man I met recently, whose name is Wes and who is attending the conference today, accepted Christ’s invitation to learn of Him and of His gospel and began to experience the awe of His love after 27 years of distancing himself from the covenant path. He told me that one day he was contacted via Facebook by a missionary, Elder Jones, who was temporarily assigned to Wes’s area before going to his originally assigned mission in Panama. When Elder Jones came across Wes’s profile, not even knowing beforehand that he was already a member of the Church, he felt the guidance of the Holy Ghost and knew that he should immediately contact Wes. He quickly acted on this impression. Wes was amazed by this unexpected contact and began to realize that the Lord was aware of him despite his distance from the covenant path.
From then on, Wes and the missionaries began to communicate frequently. Elder Jones and his companion provided weekly acts of service and spiritual messages that helped Wes to recover his awe of the Savior and His gospel. It rekindled the flame of his testimony of the truth and of the Savior’s love for him. Wes felt the peace that comes from the Comforter and gained the strength he needed to return to the fold. He told me that this experience brought him spiritually and emotionally back to life and helped him to eliminate the feelings of bitterness accumulated over the years because of the difficult experiences he had been through.

While walking down the hall of the Provo 24th–27th Ward chapel in the Provo Utah North Stake, my attention was drawn to a bulletin board on which was located an eye-catching photograph of a pyramid of young Scouts. A closer look indelibly impressed upon my mind the potential impact of Scouting, leaders, and parents, for drawn to the picture of each boy in the pyramid was a line, and at the end of the line appeared names of places both far and near, including Spain, Mexico, Oregon, Thailand, England, Arkansas, and Tahiti.
A desire to investigate further brought me to the home of the former Scoutmaster, Rex Craig, who told me that he had taken the picture in June 1970. At that time he had called members of the troop together to inform them that they had been selected by the YMMIA general superintendency as one of the top 50 troops in the Church with a ranking of #11. (In a later year their troop achieved a #3 rating.)
At the time, Brother Craig had 23 boys in his troop. All of the boys except one went on to achieve the rank of Eagle (the remaining boy lacked only two merit badges), and to date all but two have gone on to serve the Lord in the mission field.
When I asked how he accounted for this kind of activity, he said there were a couple of reasons: The boys were basically good, and, in general, there was excellent support from the homes and the bishopric. But he felt there was one other ingredient that contributed to the success; that ingredient was the application of the program of the Church in which leaders work together to build men. In this case it was the Scoutmaster and the deacons quorum adviser. He handed me a letter that he had received from William Jones, a deacons adviser who had served during the time the boys were in Scouting. The special ingredient is described therein. The letter reads:
“Dear Brother Craig:
“As I prepare to leave Utah, I feel it appropriate to express my feelings and impressions of Troop 194, both as a deacons quorum adviser and as a worker on the troop committee.
“You know of my deep respect for you as a man, but I need to expand this to include your unique role as Scoutmaster. The activities have often taxed your time to the limit, but time was still found to meet the sincere needs of both Scouts and parents, even a ‘confused committeeman’ on occasion. Many felt that after your son became an Eagle Scout your enthusiasm would die. On the contrary, each boy in Troop 194 has, in turn, become a son to you and achieved the Eagle rank. I know personally of the great love each boy has for you.
“As a deacons adviser I owe you much for assisting me in making the priesthood such an integral part of each boy’s life. In no other place is cooperation more important, and I personally feel that in no other area is it more present than in our ward. Because you were with us on Sundays and you allowed me to play an active role in Mutual and on campouts, every boy became our concern and gave the program a true completeness.
“I was privileged to work with a choice group of men, but my greatest joy came from the obvious source—the individual boy. I shall never forget my first outing with the boys to Silver Lake. I was critical and tried to oversee 20 active Scouts. I failed, of course, but by the second go-round things began to focus and I watched the patrol leaders function. I saw characteristics in boys then that will someday make them fine men and our future leaders. Clean speech, honesty, and other principles that were taught in priesthood lessons came alive as I watched our boys.
“Troop 194 has no perfect boy. We have had and will continue to have loud, fidgety, curious, active creatures called boys to love, appreciate, train, and say good-bye to as they head into future challenges, better prepared for having been a boy in our ward.”
In response to my question as to how this relationship between priesthood and Scouting could produce such good results, Brother Craig said, “Everything I’ve ever read or been taught in the scriptures seems to say, ‘Seek the best; cease to be idle; gain knowledge in thy youth; love thy neighbor; do your duty to God; obey; be loyal’; and the list goes on and on. It doesn’t take long to see that a boy’s time seeking, learning, obeying, competing, challenging, promising, and excelling is well spent. It’s not easy, and the boy isn’t happy 100 percent of the time. But he is growing, and he thinks a lot about life now and in the future, and in the end he feels like he’s done something. Though his Eagle badge is important to him, he soon realizes it is just a training step. He knows within himself, here was a challenge. He took it, and he conquered it. Even though it often meant ridicule, sacrifice, and even doing something he thought he could never do, he did it. If you want to see desire and courage, you just watch a boy who reaches the age of 12 and can’t swim. He may struggle, fail, fight, and fail. With determination he will try again, fail again, sometimes cry, but always pick himself up and go on. in the end he knows that he has succeeded at something he thought to be impossible.
“In case anyone should think that our goal in Scouting is to become the top troop in the Church, or 100 percent Eagles, or be awarded the most badges at a court of honor, let me straighten him out. There is only one goal and that is to return the best spirit and strongest character possible to our Father in heaven. This is our goal in priesthood and in Scouting. Scouting offers some tools to practice the principles taught in priesthood.”
Another look at the picture impressed upon my mind the impact that parents, leaders, and the gospel have had upon a closely knit group of boys and, in turn, the impact they are having upon the world: Italy, Taiwan, California, Belgium—Tenderfeet, Eagles, missionaries.

Another time—it was the Sunday before Thanksgiving, about 1943—I went to priesthood meeting. There was a large framed board. It had the pictures of all the young men serving in the military. Priests who had been at the sacrament table a few months earlier were now in the war. Each week it would be updated. Those who were killed in action had a gold star by their picture; those who had been wounded, a red star; and those missing in action, a white star. Every week, as a 12-year-old deacon, I checked to see who had been killed or wounded.

In quorum meeting that morning, the member of the bishopric said: “This Thursday is Thanksgiving. We ought to all have family prayer in our homes.” Then he said, “Let’s put on the blackboard the things we are grateful for.” We did, and he said, “Include these things in your Thanksgiving prayer.” I got sick to my stomach, as we never had a prayer or blessing.

That night at 6:30 we went to sacrament meeting. At the end of the meeting, the bishop stood up and was very tender. He told about the young men from our ward who had been killed and wounded. He talked about our liberty, our freedom, our flag, and this great country, and our blessings. Then he said, “I’d hope every single family would kneel and have family prayer on Thanksgiving Day and thank God for His blessings.”

My heart ached. I thought, How can we have family prayer? I wanted to be obedient. I hardly slept all Sunday night. I wanted to have a prayer for Thanksgiving. I even thought I would say it if someone asked me, but I was too shy to volunteer. I worried all day Monday, and all day Tuesday, and Wednesday at school.

Dad did not come home on Wednesday until early in the morning. Thursday we all got up. There were five boys and two sisters. We skipped breakfast so we would have a real appetite for Thanksgiving dinner. To work up an appetite, we went to a nearby field and dug a hole six feet deep and six feet wide. We made a trench to it as a hideout. I remember with every shovelful of dirt, I thought, Please, Heavenly Father, let us have a prayer.

Finally at 2:30, my mother called us to come and eat. We cleaned up and sat at the table. Somehow Mom had managed to have a turkey with all the trimmings. She put all the food on the table, including the turkey. I thought my heart would burst. Time was running out. I looked at my father, then my mother. I thought, Please, now, someone, anyone, please can’t we have a prayer. I was almost panicky; then all of a sudden everyone started to eat. I had worked hard all morning and afternoon to work up an appetite, but I wasn’t hungry. I didn’t want to eat. I wanted to pray more than anything else in this world, and it was too late.

Beloved youth, be grateful for parents who have prayer and read the scriptures. Prize family home evening. Be grateful for those who teach and train you.

After the teacher dismissed the class, Karen gathered up her books. She smiled at Sue across the aisle and said, “Thanksgiving vacation is finally here.”
Sue frowned. “I suppose everyone’s thankful for a vacation from school.”
Karen laughed. “I’m thankful, and I’m looking forward to a great holiday.”
As they left school, Karen said, “I can hardly wait for tomorrow. My grandparents and Aunt Emily and Uncle Joe’s family are coming. And my cousin Marilyn gets to stay until Sunday.”
Sue glanced at her soberly. “You’ll sure be busy all weekend.”
“I’ll say. Marilyn’s a lot of fun. It’s great to have a girl cousin my age.”
“I wish I had a cousin any age,” Sue said.
“Our family gets together every Thanksgiving—” Karen stopped, suddenly realizing Sue wasn’t excited at all about the holiday. “What are you doing tomorrow?” she asked cautiously.
“Not much.”
“Does your mother have to work on Thanksgiving Day?” Karen asked.
“Uh-huh. Thanksgiving is a very busy day at most restaurants.”
“Oh,” said Karen, “then where will you be having Thanksgiving dinner?”
“I’ll eat at the restaurant with Mom when her shift ends.”
Karen was silent. She felt almost guilty for the busy, fun-packed Thanksgiving holiday she was expecting to have, while Sue would have to spend most of the day alone. But telling Sue she was sorry would probably make her friend feel worse, she decided. When they paused in front of Sue’s house, Karen just smiled and said, “Happy Thanksgiving.”
Sue tried to smile. “The same to you,” she mumbled and hurried up the walk.
As Karen hurried on home, a sadness came over her. Sue’s already lonely, she thought. Maybe I should have just said, “See you Monday.” But lots of people have to work on Thanksgiving—doctors, nurses, bus drivers, firemen, policemen, cooks, waitresses. Maybe Sue’s used to being alone on Thanksgiving.
“I’m glad you’re home, Karen,” Mother greeted her. “Will you get out our best silver and polish and wash it for tomorrow?”
“Ummmmm!” Karen paused to savor the aroma. “The smell of mince pies baking makes me hungry.”
By the time she had finished the silver, Mother had a pie ready for her to take to the Carvers. Karen felt content as she carried the warm pie to the elderly couple who lived on the corner.
“Happy Thanksgiving from our family,” Karen greeted Mrs. Carver.
“A home-baked pie!” Mrs. Carver exclaimed, her face glowing. “Thank you so much. Being remembered makes Thanksgiving very special.”
“Do I smell mince pie?” Mr. Carver asked, getting up from his chair.
Karen smiled. “Hot from the oven.”
“Warm mince pie’s my favorite.” Mr. Carver’s eyes twinkled. “If you don’t mind, I’ll have a piece right now.”
As Karen left the Carvers, she thought about what Mrs. Carver had said about being remembered. Then she thought of Sue.
When she arrived home, holiday preparations again dominated her thoughts. And by the time she’d straightened her dresser and made room in her closet for Marilyn’s clothes, she was almost too tired to think. “I can hardly wait for morning, though,” she told her reflection in the mirror just before she said her prayers and crawled into bed. “Marilyn will be here for the whole weekend!”
But with the lights out, Sue’s loneliness again intruded into Karen’s thoughts. “I wish I could give her a happy Thanksgiving,” she murmured to herself, her troubled thoughts keeping her awake. Somehow, such a wish seemed like asking Heavenly Father to help the poor while selfishly refusing to help them yourself. Then, smiling suddenly to herself, Karen turned on her lamp and set her alarm.
Karen was already in the kitchen the next morning when Mother got up.
“Karen!” Mother said, looking surprised. “Are you up early to help me stuff the turkey?”
“Whatever you want me to do,” Karen replied. “But I’ll need some time off this morning.”
“Time off? On Thanksgiving?”
Karen told her mother about Sue and about the plan she’d made last night.
Mother gave Karen a big hug. “I think your plan will make Thanksgiving more meaningful for all of us.”
Karen telephoned Sue’s mother and told her about the plan.
“Thanks so much, Karen,” responded Mrs. Anderson. “You have no idea what it means to me to know that Sue won’t be spending most of Thanksgiving alone.”
As soon as breakfast was over and Karen had the dishes washed, she put on her coat.
“With all the work to do around here,” her brother Bill protested, “where are you going?”
Karen grinned. “I’m going after an extra pair of hands.”
Karen rang the bell three times before Sue, still in her bathrobe, answered the door.
“Aren’t you ready?” Karen asked.
“Thank you for your invitation, Karen, but I couldn’t intrude on your family, especially on Thanksgiving.”
“You’re my friend. You won’t be intruding.”
“Thanksgiving is a family day,” Sue insisted.
“On the first Thanksgiving, the Indians weren’t members of the Pilgrims’ families,” Karen pointed out. “Thanksgiving is a day of friendliness and thankfulness.”
“Maybe it was—a long time ago,” Sue said. “But holidays change like everything else. Besides, your cousin’s coming.”
“Marilyn is my friend as well as my cousin. You two will like each other.”
“You haven’t planned for me.”
“When there are sixteen people, there’s always room for one more.” With a mischievous twinkle in her eye, Karen looked as grim as she could as she added, “I should warn you, though, we’ve been assigned the dishwashing detail.”
Sue laughed at that, relaxing a little. “Sounds more fun than frightening.”
“After the last dish is done and put away, you and Marilyn and I can plan what to do Friday and Saturday—that is, if we have any strength left.”
Sue’s eyes began to sparkle. “Don’t make it sound so gruesome. You know you’ll love every minute of it.”
“Only if you’re helping,” Karen said. “Knowing you were here alone would spoil my day.”
Sue’s enthusiasm suddenly evaporated. “But I forgot—I want to be with Mom today too. She only has a short time when we can celebrate Thanksgiving together.”
“We’re eating at noon. You’ll be ready to eat again by the time your mother gets off work.”
Excitement danced again in Sue’s eyes. “I’ll be ready in a wink.”
“Good,” Karen said. “I promised my brother I’d bring back an extra pair of helping hands.”

One day Elder Smith was taken desperately ill with a raging fever. He was given a priesthood blessing, but he remained ill. He almost passed away. His condition was very critical on many occasions. For the next three months, he was tenderly cared for by a native brother and his wife. This young couple did everything possible to save the young missionary’s life and gave him the best they had through tender fatherly and motherly love, even fasting and praying for many days. This young missionary never forgot a kindness and never forsook a friend. He always treated and honored this wonderful Hawaiian lady, Ma Manuhii, as his own Hawaiian mother.

And love endures through the hardships of life. The Apostle Paul taught: “Charity suffereth long. … [It] beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things. Charity never faileth” (1 Corinthians 13:4, 7, 8). I watched a mother’s enduring love for her alcoholic son. She never gave up praying for him and being available for him. In his later years, he finally “came to himself” (Luke 15:17), kept a respectable job, and used his mechanical skills to fix up his mother’s house.

“Grandma Rose passed away at about 9:30 this morning.”
I heard the words, but my mind refused to process them. After her four-year battle with cancer, seizures, and strokes, I knew that she deserved to rest from all the pain she’d been suffering. But how could she really be gone?
My denial was shattered by reality when I walked into the funeral home. The body lying on a table no longer looked like my grandmother.
My mom and aunt bravely set about the tasks of dressing Grandma for her funeral and then fixing her hair and makeup. She looked a little better when they finished but still not like herself.
As we drove away from the funeral home, I realized why she was so different: the body was hers, but her spirit was gone. A body without a spirit is an empty shell. Until I saw my grandmother, I didn’t comprehend how literally true that is. Everything that made her essentially who she was had left with her spirit, and her spirit lived on.
The Son of God gave His life for us so we could live forever. I always knew that was true, but I didn’t really appreciate His sacrifice until I lost someone I loved. At that moment, I had never been so grateful to have a Savior.

Not long after receiving my blessing, I came home from Sunday School. Our lesson had been about Joseph Smith’s First Vision, and I was wondering if it was really true. My father was leaving for a Church meeting. I stopped him and asked, “Dad, how do we really know that Joseph Smith had that vision?” My father put his arm around me, and we sat on the sofa in our living room. There he shared with me the Prophet Joseph’s account, and my father bore his own testimony of its truthfulness. That experience with my father burns in my heart today. Since then I have never doubted the Prophet Joseph’s account of his First Vision.

Many years later, in 2000, the Adelaide Australia Temple was dedicated, and every month, Bill and Betty would travel four hours from Whyalla to serve and worship there. Then in 2003, they drew a circle of a 30-minute radius to the temple and were blessed to find a home which was only a ten-minute drive away. They began working two days a week at that temple and did so for 10 years, until Bill became ill.
Betty returned to regular temple visits after Bill passed away in 2015 and now, at age 91, she says, “I hope to be doing that until the day I die”.

The moon was big and round and bright, just as it should be on the night of the Moon Festival. I held my glowing paper lantern higher, hoping that the Old Man in the Moon would see me amid the other children. The whole park gleamed with our brilliant Chinese lanterns.
I ran up the hill to where my parents and sisters sat on a blanket, eating moon cakes. My eldest sister, Mei Lai, was gazing at the moon. I knew that she was probably dreaming about that boy who took her to the dance last Saturday. That’s a girl for you! I thought. I’m glad that I’m not a girl.
Not that Mei Lai didn’t have a right to think about love tonight. Everyone thought about love during the Moon Festival, or Mid-Autumn Festival, the proper name that my sister preferred to call it. On this night the Old Man in the Moon supposedly wove an invisible red thread around couples who would one day get married.
Even I was thinking about love. But not that kind. I was thinking about how I could love my neighbors.
My Primary teacher had told us last Sunday that we should, and ever since then, I had been wondering how I could ever do it. I couldn’t think of any neighbors in our apartment building that I even liked—especially not that new boy down the hall! He didn’t even speak Chinese! The first time I saw him, I just kept looking at his eyes. I had never seen such blue eyes!
Once I had tried talking to him in the English that I was learning in school. “Where are you from?” I asked.
Looking at me oddly, he lifted up his large nose and declared, “I’m an Aussie.”
Whatever an Aussie was, I certainly didn’t know. I went home and asked Mei Lai, who knew English well.
“An Aussie is someone from Australia,” she told me.
My mother’s voice interrupted my thoughts. “Sun Ling, it will soon be time to go home.”
“Oh, let me run once more through the park.”
“Well, you be careful with that lantern. Remember that you have a lighted candle in it.”
“I will.” As I sprinted down the hill, I looked up at the Old Man in the Moon to see if he was still watching me and my shining paper lantern. I ran and ran, with my eyes turned upward toward the beautiful full moon.
Suddenly—CRASH! Was it a wall? No, it was a body. Another person and I tumbled over and over each other. It was the Aussie. When we finally stopped, we raised our tousled heads and looked at each other. I blurted out, “What are you doing here? This is a Chinese holiday!”
It was a good thing that he couldn’t understand my Chinese. I indignantly grabbed my lantern, which miraculously lay unharmed on the grass. In my mind I grumbled, Even if I wasn’t looking where I was going, it wasn’t really my fault because he’s the one who doesn’t belong here.
A sizzle and a flare made us both jump up. His colorful paper lantern was in flames. My mother’s words flashed through my mind, “Be careful with that lantern.”
I looked at him. Then I tilted my head in amazement. There were tears in those blue, blue eyes! It had never occurred to me that an Aussie could cry too.
The boy’s lips began to quiver, and he said, “My dad gave me that Chinese lantern.”
I didn’t understand all his words, but I understood what he meant. And I felt awful! I tried to remember how to say I’m sorry in English, but all my words came out in Chinese.
Suddenly, in Chinese, he said, “I’m sorry too.”
I blinked with surprise. He did know some Chinese words. He smiled at me. I smiled back.
The next day I strode into the house, banging the door happily behind me.
“What’s that huge grin for?” Mei Lai asked.
“Oh, I’ve been learning to love my neighbor. Jim is my friend now.”
“Who’s Jim?” she asked.
“He’s the Aussie I told you about,” I replied, perching myself on a nearby stool. “Do you know what? Before he came here, Jim had never even heard of moon cakes. So I gave him one with an egg-yolk center. When he bit into it, he sort of wrinkled up his nose and tried to smile. I could tell that he didn’t like it.”
“So, do you think he’s still your friend?” Mei Lai laughed.
“Well, I did let him try a lotus seed moon cake after that, and he ate every bit of it and smacked his lips.”
“I’m glad that you gave him something he likes,” said Mei Lai.
“I did give him one other thing that I hope he likes. I gave him my Book of Mormon.”
“Your Book of Mormon!” exclaimed my sister. “Why did you do that?”
“Well, because it’s the most special thing I could share with a friend,” I answered.
“But how do you expect him to read it?” she said. “He doesn’t even read Chinese.”
I looked at my sister intently. “I don’t know, Mei Lai, but I’m still glad that I gave it to him.”
It was the week before Christmas. Someone knocked at our door, and Mei Lai opened it to blond-haired Jim. My friend didn’t see me sitting in the corner, so he spoke in English to my sister. “I read your book,” he said, holding up a blue book with Chinese characters Book of Mormon engraved on it.
“You read it!” she gasped. “But—but you don’t know Chinese, do you?”
“No. What I meant to say,” Jim explained, “was that my tutor read it to me. He comes every day to teach me Chinese, and so we have been reading it together. In fact, my tutor was wondering if he could get a copy of his own. Also, would it be possible to get a copy in English for my father?”
My sister finally closed her mouth from her astonishment. She smiled, motioning to me.
Jim turned and saw me. “Oh, Sun Ling,” he said in halting Chinese, “this book you gave me is very interesting. I am curious to find out more about it. Can you help me?”
“I’ll be happy to help you,” I replied slowly to make sure that he understood my words. “I can think of no better way to love my neighbor from Australia.”

On a rainy morning in 1953, 79-year-old President David O. McKay visited Thurso, Scotland, to see the home where his forebears had embraced the restored gospel more than 100 years earlier. President McKay’s son Llewelyn, who accompanied him on this visit, recalled: “[As we approached the home], the sun broke through the clouds and smiled at us as though he were reflecting the joy and happiness in father’s heart. As we all gathered in front of the home, tears came to father’s eyes as he looked through the door. ‘If it had not been for two missionaries knocking on this door about 1850, I shouldn’t be here today!’” he declared.1
Even though the home had fallen into disrepair and was by that time used only to store potatoes, President McKay lingered for some time in the doorway, speaking fondly of what had happened there. The gratitude and joy President McKay expressed that day were characteristic of his life and ministry. As a General Authority for almost 64 years, including 19 years as the ninth President of the Church, he served with the energy of one who cared deeply for people and for the gospel and found joy in bringing the two together.

On the subject of prayer, Elder Abrea said, “I know my prayers have been answered many, many times. One of the first times I remember was when I was eleven years old. My father also used to sell a variety of grains that had to be mashed for cattle to eat. One day he had an appointment and he couldn’t finish mashing the grain. I told him to leave me with the machinery and that I could finish it for him. He said he felt I was too young and wouldn’t be able to do it.
“‘Oh, father,’ I insisted, ‘trust me, I can do it.’
“Well, he decided to let me try. The job took about four or five hours, and I began by putting the grain into the machine. Things were going all right and then suddenly the machine jammed. I knew that you had to take one of the parts off the machine and put it on again and then it would work. I removed the part but I couldn’t get it back on the machine. I started to cry because I didn’t want to disappoint my father.
“At that time I had been a member of the Church for about six months, and I remembered one of the lessons I learned in Primary. Still crying, I kneeled down. I remember I said, ‘Father, I need Thy help, in the name of Jesus Christ, Amen.’ After that I went back to the machine and tried again, and it worked!
“The next testimony meeting was the first time I gave my testimony in public. I expressed my experience with prayer very simply and sat down. I know that the Lord does hear and answer our prayers.