Gospel Story Finder

Illustration by Mark Robison
Abby loved her house. But not the coat closet. She was afraid a monster would jump out of it. Abby always ran by it as fast as she could.
“Why do we even have a closet, Mommy?” Abby asked one day. “I don’t like being afraid.”
“Sometimes we’re afraid of what we can’t see,” Mommy said. “You can’t see what’s behind the door. Maybe that’s what scares you.”
“I always think there might be monsters,” Abby said.
“I promise there are no monsters. But you could say a prayer to Heavenly Father and ask Him to help you not feel scared,” Mommy said.
“OK,” Abby said.
The next day Abby was playing in her room. Mommy called her to come eat. Abby jumped up. Dinner smelled really good.
She started down the hall. Then she saw the coat closet waiting at the end.
Abby’s tummy felt tight. She thought about what might be hiding behind the closet door. She wanted to run. Then she thought about what Mommy had said. Abby stopped walking. She folded her arms.
“Please help me to not be so afraid,” Annie prayed.
Abby took two slow steps. She didn’t feel afraid any more! She felt warm and safe. She felt like she did when Mommy gave her a hug.
This time Abby didn’t run past the closet. She stopped right in front of it. She reached out. She touched the handle. Her tummy got tight for a few seconds, but then she remembered her happy feeling. She turned the knob and pulled the door open.
Abby laughed. “Hey! There aren’t any monsters in here. Just a bunch of coats.”
She folded her arms again. She bowed her head. “Heavenly Father, thank you for helping me not be afraid.”
Abby smiled and closed the closet door. She was hungry!

On the evening of 4 April, TV Successo in Mozambique aired a show that they had never run before. Instead of the usual lineup of evening television programs, the station aired uplifting musical items and inspiring messages from Church leaders around the globe. For the first time ever, this local TV station aired the Sunday morning session of general conference.
It was close to midnight on the same evening when President Russell M. Nelson addressed members of the Church to end the conference. It was then that he announced that several more temples would be built.
“We want to bring the house of the Lord even closer to our members, that they may have the sacred privilege of attending the temple as often as their circumstances allow,” said the prophet.1
“And then,” says Freeman Dickie, who is currently serving as the Beira Mozambique Stake president, “They announced that we were getting a temple in Beira!”
Despite the late hour, “messages were being sent around on the WhatsApp groups. People were awake and celebrating! First, we were able to watch general conference live on TV for the first time, and then the same night came the temple announcement! You can imagine how exciting it was.”

When the call came to be a mission president, there was no question about his accepting it. But none of the family realized how profound would be the change it would bring in their lives. Becoming a mission president required him to give up a good job, and his daughters were concerned about that. As the time neared for him to be released, in July of 1981, one of them asked him several times where he planned to work afterward. He had no answer, except that he was not worrying about it.

Then, on 16 March 1981, there was a telephone call from President Spencer W. Kimball in Salt Lake City. The prophet asked how things were in the mission, and asked about the welfare of Elder Abrea and his family. But “I didn’t think he had called me just to see how I was,” Elder Abrea says, smiling. Then President Kimball issued the call to the First Quorum of the Seventy, as well as to the presidency of the temple that was to be built in Buenos Aires. He talked to Sister Abrea and called her to be the first matron of that temple.

Suddenly, everything about the Abreas’ life had changed. Elder Abrea remembers that President Kimball told him on the telephone that day, “You will never finish your mission. This mission is for the rest of your life.” He was sustained a member of the quorum 4 April 1981, and moved easily into full-time service as a way of life.

How does a man who is so dedicated relax? “My only hobby is to work in the Church,” Elder Abrea replies. When there is an opportunity, he enjoys watching soccer, a game he used to play on high school and university teams. (Claudia notes that he also used to make a creditable contribution as a member of Church basketball teams.) “I like to read. I like to talk to people. I like to be with people.”

Elder Abrea undoubtedly has the opportunity to be with many people as temple president. The Buenos Aires urban area includes approximately eleven million residents, more than a third of Argentina’s population. His wife and daughters recall the pleasure of living in Salt Lake City, a “small city” where most people they meet are members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

It is time for more Argentines to become Latter-day Saints, Elder Abrea says. Many are better prepared than ever before to hear the gospel message because of the growth of the Church and the building of the temple in their country. Sister Abrea notes that the Church has become well enough established in Argentina for its influence to be felt over decades; her nephew represents the fourth generation of Church members in his family. Elder Abrea says Church growth has accelerated in his native country during the past fifteen or twenty years.

“The Church has the great respect of the government and the people. They respect the members. They don’t know the doctrine, but they can see how the Mormon people act, how they live. I think that example of the people of the Church is the best proselyting tool we have.”

In fact, he says, people throughout South America are now much more prepared to hear and accept the gospel. “I think the hand of the Lord is at this moment on those countries. We have more missionaries working. More local members of the Church are doing missionary work.” Handling rapid growth is one of the Church’s biggest challenges in South America. But that very growth makes Latter-day Saints more visible and gives them more influence.

When he was fifteen, reflects Elder Abrea, “the only temple I heard about was in Salt Lake City. I couldn’t imagine a temple in my country.” But the House of the Lord that is there now is a symbol of the progress being made in Argentina, and throughout South America. So, too, he says, are the rising attendance figures; in some areas, there is a 75 percent activity rate for Melchizedek priesthood holders.

“I am a witness of the latter-day miracles,” Elder Abrea affirms. “We need to look at what the Church is doing with the eyes of faith. There are so many miracles being done in South America.” Members who look beyond the routine affairs of the organization will see the hand of God at work.

He speaks quietly, but firmly. He is back in South America to work. With Elder Abrea, and South Americans like him, laboring under the Lord’s direction, one expects that the Church will continue to experience many more miracles of growth and spirituality.

Every Saturday, it’s my responsibility to service one of the vending routes my dad owns in the Phoenix, Arizona, area. I drive on the sparsely populated freeway, listen to ’70s music, and enjoy the rare time alone. I love the long distances between the various locations of family entertainment centers and pizza restaurants. My first time making the rounds, however, proved to be more than just a way to earn some extra money and enjoy my time alone.
I had serviced all the booths without incident and felt pretty confident about my skills as a driver and my knowledge of the extensive freeway system in the valley. However, as I drove toward home, I soon found myself in unfamiliar territory and had no idea where I was. Frustrated more than worried, I picked up my dad’s cellular phone, swallowed my pride, and dialed home. No answer.
Getting a little anxious and noticing that I had wandered into a rougher part of town, I locked my doors and dialed again. No answer. I had no idea how to get home, and looking at my directions gave little help. I knew I needed my Heavenly Father and paused to pray. I thanked Him for the opportunity to earn extra money and humbly asked for His assistance to end my predicament. I closed my prayer and paused for a moment to listen. About a minute later, the phone sounded its computerized ring.
“Hello,” I answered.
My dad’s voice crackled through, “Raquel, how are things going? I’m out with your mom, and I felt I needed to call.”
Gratefully, I explained my situation, and he told me where I was and what I needed to do to get home. We disconnected, and I said a simple prayer of thanks, with unbidden tears streaming down my cheeks.
Most likely, I would have found my way home eventually. I doubt even that my situation was very dangerous, but the experience gave me firsthand knowledge that my Heavenly Father listened to my prayers. Now, when serious decisions are thrown my way or when heartfelt questions must be asked, I know He’s near, giving me faith and confidence. Whether I’m lost in an unfamiliar section of town, or lost in an unfamiliar section of life, I know without a doubt He cares and listens.

Anastasia, a young mother in Ukraine, was in the hospital having just given birth to a baby boy as the bombings began in Kyiv this past February. A nurse opened the hospital room door and said with an urgent voice, “Take your baby, wrap him in a blanket, and go into the hall—now!”

Later, Anastasia commented:
“I never imagined my first days of motherhood would be so difficult, … but … I am focusing on … the blessings and miracles I have seen. …
“Right now, … it might seem impossible to ever forgive those who have caused so much destruction and harm … , but as a disciple of Christ, I have faith that I will be able to [forgive]. …
“I don’t know all that will happen in the future … but I know that keeping our covenants will allow the Spirit to be with us continually, … allowing us to feel joy and hope, … even during difficult times.”

When the phone rang, Michael had no idea that the call would turn a good deed into a bad one.
Dad got up from the dinner table and answered the phone. He returned a few minutes later, hands held up as if he’d just scored a touchdown. “Great news!” he shouted. “The company has called me back to work. I start next month.”
It was great news. Dad had been laid off from the steel mill nearly two years ago. They had lost their house and now lived in a small apartment. It had been a difficult adjustment.
“Congratulations, Dad,” Michael said.
Crystal jumped up from the table, threw her arms around Dad’s neck, and squealed, “Oh, Daddy!”
Michael hadn’t seen her do that for a long time.
Mom sat quietly, smiling.
“Donna,” Dad told her, “this spring we hunt for a new house.”
A tear slid down over Mom’s smile. She got up from the table and gave Dad a long, tender hug. “Sit down and finish your supper, Fred.” She put on a coat and took the storage shed key from the key rack. “Wait here,” she said, heading for the door. “I have a surprise for you.”
That’s when Michael realized that he might have a problem. He knew that Mom had gone after Dad’s company coat. Dad had been proud of the coat, an award for ten years’ service at the steel mill. But he had refused to wear it after the layoff. Mom had stored it for safe keeping, though—just in case.
Several weeks before that, while Michael and Crystal were doing the dishes, he had overheard his mom and dad talking. She had suggested that Dad wear his company coat since the weather was getting cold.
“No,” Dad had said sternly. “I’ll freeze before I give the mill free advertising. Just get rid of it.”
The next day Michael had gone to the park as usual. He enjoyed seeing the pigeons and squirrels there on his way to school. He had paid little attention to the old man collecting empty bottles and cans from the garbage cans. But that particular morning he noticed the old man sniffing and sampling food scraps, stuffing what he liked into his pockets.
From then on, whenever he could, Michael smuggled biscuits or waffles or jam-covered toast from his own breakfast plate and left it in a neatly wrapped package for the man. Normally the man smiled gratefully when he found the food. It made Michael feel good inside.
But one morning the man reacted differently. He searched about the park with stark, jerky glances. When he saw Michael, he marched over, shook the wrapped breakfast in Michael’s face, and rasped, “What is this! I don’t need charity from any young wet-eared whippersnapper like you.”
Mortified, Michael had run.
He hadn’t left anything for the man again until yesterday. The weather had turned extremely cold, and when he saw that the man was wearing a thin, ripped jacket and was huddling under the viaduct near the park. Michael ran home, scavenged two leftover chicken legs from the refrigerator, wrapped them in a napkin, then stuffed them into a pocket of Dad’s coat and hurried back to the park. He jammed the coat into the garbage can, trying to make it look discarded, then fled—it was almost time for the man to get there on his daily round.
Michael’s recollections were interrupted when his mother came back. “Fred, your company coat is gone! Did you throw it away?”
“No,” Dad said. “Didn’t you get rid of it long ago?”
“No,” Mom said. “Just last week I had it out, thinking that maybe I could talk you into wearing it while it’s so very cold. But it had a big grease stain on it, so I put it back until I had a chance to take it to the cleaners.”
Michael looked worriedly at Crystal. She had seen him with the coat. But she just looked at the ceiling and didn’t say anything. He knew that he should tell what happened, but he was afraid to. I’ll wait to tell them tomorrow and not spoil Dad’s good news today, he rationalized.
The next day, when the family was returning home from church, Mom gasped and said, “Fred, that man is wearing your coat!”
Michael spun around to look.
Dad stared at the old man. “Are you sure?”
“Of course I’m sure,” Mom said. “See that grease stain?”
Michael blurted, “I think I’d better ex—”
“No need to concern yourself with this, son,” Dad interrupted. “Donna, go ahead with the kids up to the apartment. I’ll take care of this.”
“But, Dad, I want to—”
“It’s all right, Michael,” Dad cut him off again. “Go upstairs now.”
While Michael paced the floor, Mom sat watching out the window. Crystal’s gaze went back and forth from Michael to Mom as if she were watching a tennis match.
When Dad came in, he stared at Michael for a long moment. He didn’t hear Mom’s questions till she tugged at his sleeve and asked again, “Where’s your coat? Wouldn’t he give it back to you?”
“We were mistaken,” Dad said. “It’s not my coat.”
“Fred, I’d know that coat anywhere,” Mom said, astonished. “It’s your coat.”
“It’s his coat, Donna,” Dad said. “He said that his boy gave it to him.”
“Highly unlikely,” Mom said indignantly. “If he had a son, he wouldn’t let his father live on the streets and eat out of garbage cans.”
“It’s not really his son,” Dad replied. “The old man said that ‘his boy’ is like an angel, showing up just when he is most in need. When he’s starving, this boy shows up with food. When he was freezing, the boy brought the coat. Who could ask for more than that?” Dad said, gazing intently at Michael. “In my book, he’s a wonderful son.”
The next morning after breakfast, while Michael got ready for school, Mom said, “Michael, while you’re going by the park, would you care to dump those scraps for me? I’ve cleaned out the refrigerator, and the garbage man won’t come until Thursday.”
“OK, Mom,” Michael said. On the counter he found a neatly wrapped paper plate, piled with leftover food, sitting on Dad’s old work boots. “The boots too?”
“The boots, too,” Mom said. “Your dad is getting a new pair.”
Now both Dad and Mom knew! And better still, they cared too. Michael smiled to himself as he picked up the plate full of “scraps.” Who had ever heard of warm scraps from the refrigerator?

Carlos Yépez Yong of Lima, Perú, cannot move his legs or right arm, and he has difficulty speaking. But he is one of the strongest people I know. What makes him strong is the Spirit of the Lord. Whenever he speaks or teaches, his words are beautiful to the ear because they touch the heart.
Brother Yépez’s paralysis is the result of damage he received at birth. For most of his first five years he remained in a vegetative state, receiving nourishment through his veins. Some of the doctors treating him wondered if it was worthwhile keeping him alive. They did not know the Lord had a mission for him.
When Carlos was six years old, to everyone’s surprise he began to move part of his body. Medical treatments began, and his mental abilities developed to such a degree that in a few years he surpassed his classmates. His physical progress slowed somewhat after age 12. When he was about 18, his parents divorced, and his treatments stopped.
Carlos felt frustrated and was depressed, but he did not sink into despair. When he was 20 years of age, a neighbor invited him to hear the missionary discussions. Carlos received all of them, and after praying and pondering in his heart, he received a spiritual witness that what he had learned was true. He decided to be baptized.
Carlos says that when he was immersed at baptism, his life changed completely. “In my mind, I felt as though my useless arm and legs had become strong and vigorous,” he says. “I decided on that day that I would serve the Lord in any calling He gave me, that I would ‘run and not be weary, and … walk and not faint’” (D&C 89:20).
Although his physical paralysis remained, Carlos’s spirit soared, and the Lord blessed him. He was punctual at his meetings and attended adult religion classes sponsored by the Church Educational System. He was called to serve as the second counselor in the Young Men presidency of the Caja de Agua Ward, Lima Perú Las Flores Stake. Every day of the week, we would see him going from one house to another in his wheelchair, inviting the youth to Mutual.
Years have passed since then. He is now a member of Los Jardines Ward. He still has a firm testimony of the Lord and His gospel, attends the Lima Perú Temple regularly, does his home teaching, and helps the missionaries teach investigators. Because of his perseverance, testimony, and trust in the Lord, seven of his nieces and nephews and some of his friends are now members of the Church. Other members, both youth and adults, have returned to Church activity because of his influence. He never misses a meeting, he frequently attends firesides, and he goes to ward activities. Though some might think he is hampered by his disabilities, the youth in the stake admire him as one whose spirit soars.

As a young man having just finished my first year of college and needing to earn money for a desired mission, I spent the summer working at the new Jackson Lake Lodge in Jackson Hole, Wyoming. Many college-age youths came to work in that pristine, beautiful area.
One such person was Jill, a young woman from San Francisco, California. Feeling that a young woman from a big city might be a little bit naive about her new environment, I and a few friends felt it our obligation to teach her about the ways of the real West. We decided to take her on a “snipe hunt.” For those of you who may not be familiar with a snipe hunt, it is a practical joke, as there is no such thing as a snipe, at least not in the western United States. The tools necessary for a snipe hunt are a stick and a cloth bag. The “hunter” is told to go through the brush, beating the bushes with a stick while calling the snipe in a high-pitched, ridiculous voice. The nonexistent snipes are thus to be driven into the cloth bag.
We gave Jill her cloth bag and a stick and an area to hunt across the hill. The plan was to return to our starting point in about 15 minutes, at which time we would supposedly count our snipes.
When she did not return at the appointed time, we gloated and took delight in the seriousness with which she took her hunt. After about 30 minutes, we felt it was time to rescue her, explain the joke, have a good laugh, and all go to dinner. However, it became apparent that she had taken her snipe hunt more seriously than we had expected—she was not to be found in her assigned area. After searching rather extensively and still finding no evidence of her, we began moving into the woods, calling for her at the top of our voices, but to no avail.
Hoping she might have gone back to her dormitory, we returned and asked some young women to search for her there, but this also was to no avail. It was now turning dark, and our concern heightened. We enlisted all the young men we could from the boys’ dormitory and with flashlights continued the search deep into the woods. Well into the darkness of night—frightened, concerned, and hoarse from calling—we decided it was now time to report our ridiculous deed to the park rangers. While we were standing in front of the dorms, trying to determine which brave soul would have the privilege of reporting her disappearance, Jill suddenly appeared—not from her dormitory, but rather from that of a friend with whom she had enjoyed dinner (which we incidentally missed) and a comfortable evening with her friends. Her first words to us as she approached said it all: “How do you fellows like hunting snipe hunters?” Well, so much for big city naïveté, and so much for the ways of the real West. The joke was on us, and I have never had a desire for any more snipe hunting.

Having entered the university’s medical school in 1944, Russell completed the four-year course in three years. Then followed an internship at the University of Minnesota Hospital where, in addition to the normal surgical training, he began a program leading to the Ph.D. degree. He also became part of a team that received a five-year research grant to develop a machine that would take over the functions of a patient’s heart and lungs while the heart was being surgically repaired. The challenges were enormous, but after nearly three years of labor it was ready for use. In 1951 it was used for the first time in an open-heart operation on a human being.

For Aileen Akagi, 17, the word crèche doesn’t remind her of only one nativity scene—it reminds her of roughly 600 of them! As a member of the Midway Fourth Ward, Midway Utah Stake, she has volunteered at the Interfaith Crèche Exhibit for three years in a row.
“It’s interesting to see the different styles of nativity scenes,” Aileen says. Seeing how diverse cultures portray the Christ child’s birth reminds her of how well-known the Christmas story is.
Volunteers set up the exhibits, monitor them, and lead children’s activities. Although Aileen has done a little of each, she spends most of her time running the marionette show for children. She organizes young women into groups who perform scenes from the Nativity with puppets. The show runs every 20 minutes.
“The first year we did the marionette show, one little boy brought his grandma to see it four times in a row,” Aileen laughs.
Throughout the show, the young women and audience sing Christmas songs. “One year, we finished by singing ‘Silent Night’ (Hymns, no. 204), and all the children and their parents joined in. It sounded like more than the audience was there—like angels were singing.”

While I was in high school in Oakley, Idaho, the school board was finally able to raise enough money to buy us football uniforms. Our coach was the chemistry teacher. He had seen a game one time, and so he taught us how to tackle and run a few simple plays. The rest of us had never seen an actual team play.
Our first game was against Twin Falls, Idaho, the previous year’s state high school champs. Well, as you can imagine, the game was interesting. We tried a couple of plays and didn’t go anywhere, so we kicked the ball to get rid of it. Each time we got the ball, we kicked, and each time they got the ball, they scored.
Near the end of the game, when we were battered and beaten, Twin Falls started to get a little reckless. Clifford Lee, who was playing halfback with me, had one of their wild passes land right in his arms. He wondered what to do with it. He saw them coming after him, so he started to run for his life. He scored a touchdown.
We didn’t try an extra point because we didn’t have anyone who could kick one. The final score was 106 to 6. Our team lost so badly because we had not mastered the basics of football.
In life when there is something to be done, we have to learn the basics. They are taught in the scriptures. None of them has changed. We have to learn to obey the simple, basic rules of the gospel that are necessary for us to advance.

Light spilled through the open door onto the cobblestone street outside. Behind the marble counter a 13-year-old boy slapped and pounded a fistful of dough into a flat circle and drizzled it with olive oil.
“Funghi o qualcos’altro? (Mushrooms or something else?),” he asked Casimiro.
“Funghi,” replied Casimiro, and Annalisa nodded her head in agreement. While on their way home from Mutual they had not been able to resist the yeasty, spicy aura hanging about the street near the neighborhood pizzeria and had stopped in for pizza.
The boy deftly smeared a ladleful of tomato sauce on the flattened dough and almost as quickly chopped up a fresh curd of mozzarella cheese, still dripping milk from the bowl it was snatched out of. He dashed coarse salt and pepper over the two pizzas and slipped a large wooden paddle under them one at a time. Taking a large straw broom from against the wall, he swept away the embers near the fire in the back of the oven. Without hesitation the wooden paddle soon deposited the pizzas on a fine layer of ash on the floor of the brick oven.
Near the door of the pizzeria, three of Casimiro’s neighbors were discussing in tones growing warmer every minute the merits of their favorite calcio (soccer) teams.
“The fire in the oven isn’t the only thing that’s cooking this evening,” chuckled Casimiro to Annalisa as they watched their pizzas roast and grow bubbly through the pizza oven’s open door.
Soon the mozzarella was running in milky rivers between crusty mountains of browned pizza dough, and the wooden paddle swished them from the fire. Still piping hot, the two pizzas were folded over, wrapped in paper, and held out to Casimiro and Annalisa. Each plunked 250 lira, about 50 cents, on the counter and turned to leave the pizzeria.
Outside the door the conversation had turned from soccer to the irresponsible driving habits of youth because a young girl crossing the street had just narrowly avoided being hit by a small motorbike. Casimiro and Annalisa dodged the discussion just as one of the participants began offering Casimiro the opinion that “in the old days, youth had more respect.”
Waving back at the men and laughing as they hurried down the cobblestones toward their homes, Casimiro and Annalisa finally bit into their steaming pizzas. Mutual had been over for about half an hour, and their parents would begin wondering where they were.

My eyes begin to sting as I ride my bicycle through smoke drifting from the barbecue on the side of the street. I close them just long enough to hit a hole in the road, nearly knocking me from my bike. I again focus my attention forward, as we keep riding amid the glare of neon lights and the headlights of the oncoming traffic. Everything seems a little hazy on this hot, muggy December night in Bangkok, Thailand.
Sister Jones and I park our bikes in front of an apartment complex. As we head toward the stairs, I ask, “Who are we going to see?”
“Her name is Nóg,” Sister Jones answers. “She is a 12-year-old girl who was baptized last month.”
I remember hearing about Nóg. She had been referred to the missionaries by her mother, who was not interested in the Church but thought Nóg might like Christianity.
The missionaries had been hesitant to teach a 12-year-old, but as they began to tell Nóg of Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ, she was captivated. Her eyes never left their faces.
I am touched by the image of this little girl, who works in her family’s flower stand on the side of a busy street, learning about the Savior. I wonder how a little girl could accept the gospel of Jesus Christ, which is so foreign to her Buddhist culture.
We knock on the pale green door and are invited in by Nóg’s mother. Removing our shoes, we enter the one-room apartment. Before we can ask where Nóg is, we hear her voice calling from the balcony, “Sisters, come quickly.”
We step onto the small balcony overlooking the busy street. Nóg grabs me by the hand, points to the sky, and asks, “Can you see them? Can you see the special stars?”
I look up and see a few breaks in the clouds through which stars shine faintly. “Which ones?” I ask.
“The five baby ones, right over there. You can see them only on certain nights,” she answers.
I look again and see a cluster of five tiny stars through the pollution and lights of the enormous city. I ask how she was able to see them twinkling so dimly.
Nóg answers simply, “I look for them every night, and tonight I found them.”
I glance at Nóg, who is gazing intently at the night sky. Her face is peaceful; her countenance shines. They are simple, childlike words, yet I think how similar they are to those spoken by wise, learned men—the Wise Men of old (see Matt. 2:2). How long those Wise Men must have searched the heavens looking for the star. How excited they must have been to see it.
Nóg, a 12-year-old flower girl, learned of Jesus Christ amid the chaos of downtown Bangkok, above the smoke, lights, glitter, and pollution of the world. Nóg had looked for and recognized the words of Christ and eagerly followed, just as the Wise Men did. She is among those who “look forward unto the Messiah, and believe in him” (Jarom 1:11).
How could a little girl so readily accept the gospel of Jesus Christ, so foreign to her family and culture? My question is answered as I stand on a small fourth-floor balcony above the pollution and noise and, with Nóg, look to the heavens.

The day that President Howard W. Hunter died was a memorable one for all the Hinckley grandchildren. They were saddened that President Hunter had served such a short time. They were apprehensive because of the great responsibility their grandfather would take on. As President of the Quorum of the Twelve, their grandfather would become the next President of the Church.

Joseph and Spencer Hinckley were on a backpacking trip with their dad. “We were driving into a town,” says Joseph. “All the flags were at half-mast. As soon as he saw the flags, Dad knew exactly what had happened. He kind of took a deep breath.”

At the solemn assembly during general conference when President Hinckley was sustained as the prophet by the Church membership, all the grandchildren stood at the appropriate times and raised their hands to sustain the new prophet.
“It was an amazing experience,” says Ada Hinckley, 16, “to raise your hand to the square and sustain the prophet, the President of the Church, who is also your grandpa. When they sing, ‘We Thank Thee, O God, for a Prophet,’ you are just kind of taken aback because they are singing about your grandfather.”
But Ada found that the very thing that helped a lot of young women in the Church also helped her gain a testimony of the prophet. She attended the general Young Women meeting before April conference where the theme was gaining a testimony of the prophet. “It helped me a lot to gain a testimony that he is a prophet and that he leads the Church. I know he does.”
Katie says, “I sustain him as the prophet, not as my grandpa. With or without the prophet being my grandfather, I have to know for myself if the Church is true. I do.”
Did they notice a difference in their grandfather after he was sustained as the prophet? James answers, “At first he was really quiet and just humbled.”
“He spent more time alone,” says Ada. “I think humble is a good word. It’s cool when I hear people talk about him, and they don’t know I’m related. People just love him.”
Jessica notices a difference most when he is speaking. “At conference, when he is speaking from the pulpit, you can see the mantle of his calling on him.”
Amy agrees, “He’ll be giving a talk, and he’ll be saying amazing things. I think ‘Wow.’ When we visit him at his office, then I see him as both. Then he is Grandpa and the prophet at the same time.”
Even though their grandfather gets to meet with important and influential people and leaders, he sees people just as they are. “When he has met the president of the United States or someone like that,” says Amy, “we ask, ‘Are you excited?’ He says, ‘He’s just a man.’ He doesn’t see the different levels or positions of authority. He just sees everyone as equal. If he meets a president or a housewife, he reacts the same way.”
“Yes,” adds James, “he has respect for everyone.”
Ask any of the grandchildren if their grandfather, the prophet, understands what it is like for teenagers these days, and they will answer quickly and confidently. “He is never negative about our generation,” says Katie. “He’s really positive. I think sometimes he wishes he were young.”
“Is he in touch with the younger generation?” Spencer asks and then answers. “Yes, because of us.”
“He knows us,” says Ann. “And he knows what we’re involved in and what our pressures are and what our joys are. He knows what’s hard for us and what’s easy.”
And just as he does for his own grandchildren, the prophet prays for the young people of the Church. And he knows that every day in every temple the youth of the Church are prayed for specifically. The advice he gives to his grandchildren would also be great advice for every LDS teen to follow: Do the best you can. Work hard. Do what is right.
When Jessica attended an Especially for Youth program at Ricks College, no one except her close friends knew who her grandfather was. In one class, the teacher asked if any of those attending had met any of the General Authorities or President Hinckley. Jessica did not raise her hand. It wasn’t because she was embarrassed. She just wanted to hear what other people had to say. “I was interested that people loved seeing him at temple dedications or conferences.”
“How lucky I am,” says Ann, “that I know him as a person and a grandfather and as a prophet. What an amazing thing that is.”

I was a Scoutmaster leading 20 young men and two leaders on an activity trip in southern Utah, USA.
When we got to the turnoff that would take us to the campsite, I stopped and surveyed the desert in front of me. I had made this trip many times, but for some reason, I couldn’t see anything that I recognized. I scanned left and right, looking for something familiar.
No matter how many roads I turned onto, they were all dead ends.
It was getting dark. Finally, I stopped and told everyone to stay put. I grabbed a flashlight and told them that I’d find the road on foot and signal to them once I had found the way.
What I actually did was kneel down and beg Heavenly Father to help us out of this awkward situation. I poured my heart out to Him, detailing my preparedness, my love for the boys, my gratitude for the fathers who had come with us, and my absolute faith that He would answer my prayer quickly. I finished my prayer and stood up. I expected to get up off my knees, point my flashlight out into the darkness, and have the beam immediately fall upon the right road.
But nothing happened.
I silently scanned the horizon as far as my beam would reach.
Still nothing.
I couldn’t believe it. I knew that as soon as I stood up, I would see the road. I knew that the Lord would not let me down, especially with so many people depending on me.
I now had to face two frustrated fathers and their vans full of rowdy, anxious young men, all of them asking, “Are we there yet?”
I apologized and assured them that I had made this trip 20 times in my life and that I knew the road was there. I just couldn’t see it.
Finally, we decided to drive into town and rent two motel rooms. We would start out fresh on Saturday morning.
Since we couldn’t build fires to cook the campfire dinners we brought, we went to the local pizza place we’d seen at the end of town.
The pizza was delicious and the boys were happy, but I still felt guilty about the motel and dinner bills.
As we ate, I wondered why Heavenly Father hadn’t answered my prayer, when suddenly I heard a loud boom.
I got up, swung open the door of the pizza place, and saw the biggest downpour of rain I had ever seen. There were lightning bolts to the northwest—right toward where I had been praying for an answer not an hour earlier. At that moment, the Spirit came over me, and I realized that the Lord had answered my prayer!
The next morning, the sky was blue, and as we headed back into the maze of dirt roads, I drove straight to the exact turnoff I had been searching for the night before. I know now how prayers are sometimes answered with a no, but they are always answered.

“Do I have to watch Bobby again?” Cindy asked.
“It’s just for a little while, dear. You know how he can get into things. You’re such a good helper.” Mother smiled at Cindy as she went out the apartment door with a basket of laundry in her arms.
Cindy sighed and shut the door. She turned and looked at her baby brother. Bobby banged two blocks together.
“Ah-bah, ah-bah, Mama!” Bobby yelled.
Cindy shook her head. “When are you going to really talk? When are you going to be a helper like me?”
“Me … bah.” Bobby laughed and started climbing up onto the couch.
“Oh no you don’t,” Cindy said as she picked up Bobby and put him on the floor by his toys.
“No, no?” asked Bobby.
“Right. Climbing onto the couch is a no-no. Let’s do something else. We can play Wonder Woman and Superman.”
“Dooper!” Bobby grinned happily.
Cindy ran to her bedroom to get her cape, but she couldn’t find it anywhere.
“I bet you lost it, Bobby. Tell me where you put my cape.”
“Bah-ma. Dooper?” said Bobby.
“I give up,” Cindy said. “If you’d just talk like the rest of us, that would be a big help.”
Cindy went into the bathroom and found two large towels. She tied one loosely around Bobby’s shoulders, then put the other one on herself. Cindy twirled on her toes, letting her cape fly out around her. Then she ran down the hallway. “Wheee!”
“Eeeeh!” Bobby echoed.
Cindy ran around the living room. Bobby ran too. Cindy leaped up and down. Bobby hopped the best that he could in imitation. Cindy jumped over the magazine rack. Bobby tried to do it, too, but he bumped his knee. He screamed. As Cindy turned around to see what had happened, her long cape flew out and hit a potted plant on the windowsill. The pot wobbled back and forth. Bobby stopped screaming. They both stood still and watched helplessly as the pot fell.
Crash!
“Oh, no!” cried Cindy, bending down to look at the mess. There was dirt all over the floor, but the plant didn’t look broken.
“No-no,” Bobby announced.
“It sure is a big no-no! Give me your towel. I’d better put them away and clean up this mess.”
While Cindy was in the bathroom, she heard her mother open the apartment door.
“Bobby!” she exclaimed. “What did you do?”
Cindy went back into the living room. Her mother was pulling Bobby away from the pile of dirt, where he was playing.
“Oh, Cindy,” Mother said, “I wish that you’d watched Bobby a little better.”
Bobby pointed at the floor and said, “No-no!” Then he ran out of the room.
Cindy knew that her mother thought that Bobby had broken the pot. It would be easy not to tell what had really happened. …
“Mom,” Cindy said at last, “I’m sorry.”
“I know, Cindy. It’s not your fault. Please get the dustpan and brush. I think that we can save the plant.”
Cindy didn’t move, even though she wanted to run away.
“Hurry up, dear.” Mother picked up the plant.
“I said that I was sorry,” Cindy said slowly, “because I knocked down the plant.”
“Oh, Cindy!” Mother looked at her and put down the plant. Then she hugged Cindy. “Thank you for telling me what really happened. Now we’ll clean this mess up together. You are a good helper.”
“Mama!” Bobby yelled. He had come back holding the dustpan and brush. He waved the pan in the air and said, “Me do.”
“Oh, Mom,” Cindy exclaimed happily, “Bobby is learning to talk better and to be a helper too.”

Recently Sister Nelson and I were in Denmark during the commemoration of the 150th anniversary of the Church in Scandinavia. Between meetings, we took a few hours to search for villages where two of my father’s grandparents were born. They were among the early converts to the Church in Denmark. Father’s paternal grandmother’s family lived in the western part of the country. His paternal grandfather’s family lived in northern Denmark. Thanks to a good driver and a superb map, we found each town on our list and obtained treasured information. During the entire journey, my hands were riveted to that valuable map so essential to achieve our goals.
In contrast, many people travel through life without good guidance, lacking knowledge of a desired destination or how to get there. But if rapt attention is paid to a road map for a day’s journey, isn’t it also wise to pay attention to authoritative guidance on our journey through life? To this end I would like to speak—on why we need guidance, where we obtain it, and how we can achieve it.
The question why focuses on the purpose of life. The ultimate objective in our mortal journey has been revealed by our Creator, who said, “If you keep my commandments and endure to the end you shall have eternal life, which gift is the greatest of all the gifts of God.”
His gift of eternal life is subject to conditions established by Him. Those conditions constitute a plan or, to use my analogy, a spiritual road map. And when trouble comes, guidance is needed most. In our journey in Denmark, we met an unexpected detour that led us astray. In order to get back on course, we stopped the car. We studied the map with great care. Then we made the necessary course correction.
What if you are lost and have no map? Suppose you are alone. You do not know where you are. What can you do? You call for help! You call home! Call the Church! Pray! When connected with your help line, you learn that you need to make a climb here or a turn there to get back on course. Or you may have to go back to the beginning in order to be certain that you can get where you want to go.

Johnny was unhappy. There was no one to play with him. Todd had gone to visit his grandmother. Scott was on a fishing trip with his father. Mother was in the kitchen making bread. Baby was asleep in his room.
It had rained yesterday, but now the sun had broken through the clouds. Johnny was anxious to go outside.
“May I go out to play?” Johnny asked Mother.
“Yes,” she answered, “but be back in time for lunch.”
Johnny pulled on his shoes and ran outside. He skipped down the sidewalk to a field of tall grass. Everything smelled fresh and new after the rain.
When Johnny reached the edge of the field, he turned a cartwheel and rolled to the bottom of the grassy slope.
Lying in the tall grass, Johnny pretended he was in a jungle.
Then he imagined he was in a forest in the mountains. Finally Johnny made believe he was a small worm squirming through the grass.
But playing all alone wasn’t much fun.
Johnny looked up at the sun. It seemed to be dancing through great white puffs of clouds.
The wind shaped the clouds into an elephant with big floppy ears and a long trunk.
Behind the elephant Johnny saw a roly-poly bear dancing along with the sun, a lollipop, a boat, two fish, a dog, and a car.
The car reminded Johnny that Daddy would soon be home for lunch. Johnny looked up again at the sky. The car in the clouds was gone, but he could see Daddy’s car in the driveway.
Mother was putting the baby in the high chair as Johnny came into the house. The kitchen was full of good warm smells.
“I’m glad you’re back,” Mother smiled. “Were you lonely all by yourself in the field?”
“No,” Johnny answered happily, thinking about all the things in the clouds he had seen floating through the sky. “I found some new friends today!”

“Here’s the ball, Apollo,” Matt called to his golden retriever. “Now go and get it, boy!” He threw the ball, and Apollo ran and caught it in his mouth. Matt always had fun playing ball with Apollo. His dog had been his favorite companion ever since they got him as a puppy two years ago.
“Matt, it’s time for dinner,” his mother called from the porch. “So just one more throw.”
“OK, Mom.” Matt threw the ball so hard it rolled into the street. Without looking, Apollo immediately chased after it and was hit by an oncoming car.
Quickly, Matt and his mom ran to where Apollo lay. “He’s really hurt, Matt,” Mom said. “We need to take him to the vet right now.”
Matt’s dad and older brother rushed outside. They lifted Apollo and placed him in their car. At the veterinarian’s office, Dr. Maxfield took Apollo into the examination room. Matt and his parents sat in the waiting area.
“Can we say a prayer to help Apollo?” Matt asked his parents as tears streamed down his face.
Dad nodded. They bowed their heads and prayed to Heavenly Father, asking that Apollo would be healed. When they were finished Matt’s tears were gone and he felt much better. He was sure Heavenly Father would help Apollo.
Finally Dr. Maxfield came in. Matt jumped up and ran to him. “Is Apollo better now? Can I go see him?”
“I’m really sorry, Matt,” Dr. Maxfield said. “Your dog was badly hurt. I did all I could to help him, but he died.”
Apollo was dead! Matt put his hands over his eyes and sobbed.
Later that night, Matt couldn’t stop thinking about what happened. “Dad, why didn’t Heavenly Father answer my prayer? I prayed that Apollo would be healed. I knew that Heavenly Father could do it.” Matt wiped his eyes.
“Heavenly Father answers all prayers,” Dad said. “He answered yours too—just not in the way you wanted.”
“But, Dad, He didn’t answer my prayer. Apollo died.”
“But how did Heavenly Father answer my prayer if Apollo died?” Matt asked.
“Before you prayed you were really sad. How did you feel after?”
“A lot better—like everything would be all right.”
“Heavenly Father knew you would be very sad when Apollo died, so He sent His Spirit to comfort you,” Dad said. “That’s one way we can know that Heavenly Father loves us all.”
“Even Apollo?”
“Yes, even Apollo.”

My mom took my sister and me to the hospital, to a class where we learned about how to help take care of our new baby brother when he is born. In the corner were a lot of balloons that were going to be given to us at the end of the class. I saw a cute mouse balloon that I really wanted, so when it was time to get balloons, I hurried fast so that I could choose that one. And I got it! I was very happy.
Then I saw a little girl who was crying. I thought that maybe she was sad because she didn’t get the balloon she wanted. I asked her if she wanted my balloon. She said she didn’t. (I think maybe she was too shy to take it.) My mom saw what I had done and told me that she was proud of me. I felt good inside because I went to see if the girl wanted my balloon. I know that Heavenly Father saw me, too. I am trying hard each day to be kind and to do things that Jesus would do.