Gospel Story Finder

Even though Pham was twelve years old, he was about to celebrate his very first Christmas.
Pham and his family had come to the United States during the great airlift of refugees from Vietnam. And although many wonderful things had happened to Pham’s family since their arrival, the most wonderful of all was when they had joined The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints!
Before then, Pham had only heard about Christmas. He had not been too sure how the Christmas holidays would be celebrated, but he thought that they might be celebrated like Tet, the Vietnamese New Year. During Tet everyone decorated his home with flowers, ate delicious food, and shot off fireworks. Then when the missionaries came to teach his family about the Church, Pham learned that Christmas is the celebration of Jesus’ birth. He never tired of hearing his teacher at church read the Christmas story. He especially liked to hear about the Wise Men who had brought gifts to the baby Jesus. Pham had decided that, like the Wise Men, he would give Jesus a gift.
On the Saturday before Christmas, Pham held his little sister’s mittened hand in his as they headed for the bus stop. He shoved his other hand deep into his coat pocket where his fingers found and clutched five one-dollar bills. He had worked very hard shoveling snow and running errands to earn the money, and now he was on his way to the department store to buy the special Christmas gift for Jesus.
Although the cold nipped at Pham’s nose and ears as he and Kim Li got off the bus and started down the sidewalk piled high on either side with snow, his heart was warm and singing. Soon the singing wouldn’t stay inside, and Pham’s voice rose clear and sweet in the cold air. He sang every Christmas carol that he knew, and people passing turned and smiled.
Soon Pham and Kim Li reached the department store. Its windows glittered with gold and silver tinsel and tiny star-lights that blinked off and on. The sight was so dazzling that Pham and Kim Li just stood in wonder for a moment.
Then, remembering his important mission, Pham led his sister into the store and started his search for the perfect gift for Jesus. Slowly he went up and down the long aisles, looking and looking. Ties and socks and books and shirts and jackets were fine for his father but didn’t seem quite right for Jesus. Pham looked at diamonds and watches and golden rings, but somehow even they would not have been good enough, even if Pham had had the money to buy them. Discouraged, he wondered how the Wise Men had been able to decide on their gifts of gold and frankincense and myrrh.
Pham felt a tug on his sleeve. Looking down, he saw that his little sister was so tired that she couldn’t take another step. Gently Pham picked her up and gave her a hug. He carried her to the store’s snack bar and sat her down on a bench while he went to get some hot chocolate for her. It cost fifty cents, but Pham didn’t think that Jesus would mind if he spent a little of the money on Kim Li.
After Kim Li had finished her hot chocolate and had rested a while, Pham decided to try another store. On the way, they passed a crippled man begging on the sidewalk. Pham had seen many people who were hurt and crippled during the war, and his heart went out to the man. Before he quite realized what he was doing, Pham took a dollar from his pocket and gave it to the beggar.
When they arrived at the second department store, Pham again searched down every aisle, but he still couldn’t find anything that was just right. Then he saw a little boy who was lost and crying. Pham bought the boy a small toy and told him stories while they took him to a security guard, who paged his mother.
It was getting late, and Pham and Kim Li started home without finding a gift for Jesus. They stopped for a moment to watch a fat man with a white beard, who was dressed in a red suit. The jolly man was ringing a bell above a pot that people dropped money into. “What is the money for?” Pham asked. When the man said that it was to buy food for the poor, Pham put two dollars into the pot. He knew all about not having enough food.
When Pham put his hand back into his coat pocket, he was shocked to discover that he had only one dollar left. What have I done? he wondered. It was too late to earn more money, and he couldn’t think of anything that he could buy for a dollar. Filled with disappointment, he thought of the Wise Men and their handsome gifts. He had so wanted to give Jesus a fine gift too! How could he ever do it now? By the time they reached home, great tears were sliding down Pham’s cheeks.
“What’s the matter?” his mother asked as she gently held his tear-streaked face. Pham told her about how he had wanted to give a gift to Jesus as the Wise Men had and about how he had spent nearly all his money and still didn’t have a gift.
“Oh, but you do!” his mother said, a tender smile lighting her face. “You have already given Him the only gift that He really wants—the love in your heart!”
“It is true that I have love, but how have I given Him that?” Pham asked, puzzled.
“Don’t you see?” his mother said gently. “You have given love today to Kim Li, to the crippled man, to the little boy, to the poor for food. Oh, Pham, you have given richly! Don’t you remember that Jesus said, ‘Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me’ (Matt. 25:10)? Pham, you have given Jesus the finest gift of all!”
Pham’s eyes began to shine with joy. He took the remaining dollar from his pocket. “I will give this to the bishop,” he said. “Maybe it will help a missionary teach others about Jesus and the gospel.”

I learned why during a religion class I taught once at Ricks College (now Brigham Young University–Idaho). I was teaching from section 25 of the Doctrine and Covenants. In that section Emma Smith is told that she should give her time to “writing, and to learning much” (verse 8). About three rows back sat a blonde girl whose brow wrinkled as I urged the class to be diligent in developing writing skills. She raised her hand and said, “That doesn’t seem reasonable to me. All I’ll ever write are letters to my children.” That brought laughter all around the class. Just looking at her I could imagine a full quiver of children around her, and I could even see the letters she would write. Maybe writing powerfully wouldn’t matter to her.

Then a young man stood up near the back. He had said little during the term; I’m not sure he had ever spoken before. He was older than the other students, and he was shy. He asked if he could speak. He told in a quiet voice of having been a soldier in Vietnam. One day, in what he thought would be a lull, he had left his rifle and walked across his fortified compound to mail call. Just as he got a letter in his hand, he heard a bugle blowing and shouts and mortar and rifle fire coming ahead of the swarming enemy. He fought his way back to his rifle, using his hands as weapons. With the men who survived, he drove the enemy out. Then he sat down among the living, and some of the dead, and he opened his letter. It was from his mother. She wrote that she’d had a spiritual experience that assured her that he would live to come home if he were righteous. In my class, the boy said quietly, “That letter was scripture to me. I kept it.” And he sat down.

I was asked to speak at a stake conference. But I thought I wouldn’t have time to prepare since I had school assignments coming up.
While I was still deciding if I’d speak, there was a general conference. Elder Carl B. Cook taught, “Exercising faith in our Savior, Jesus Christ, helps us overcome discouragement no matter what obstacles we encounter.”
I remembered how the Lord had helped me fulfill my responsibilities in the past. When I connected my personal experience with Elder Cook’s testimony, I understood that I would be empowered to accomplish my stake conference talk without fear.
I testify that when I feel anxious or fearful, Christ will inspire me through the words of prophets and other Church leaders, the scriptures, and the people around me.

Oftentimes we are like the young merchant from Boston, who in 1849, as the story goes, was caught up in the fervor of the California gold rush. He sold all of his possessions to seek his fortune in the California rivers, which he was told were filled with gold nuggets so big that one could hardly carry them.
Day after endless day, the young man dipped his pan into the river and came up empty. His only reward was a growing pile of rocks. Discouraged and broke, he was ready to quit until one day an old, experienced prospector said to him, “That’s quite a pile of rocks you are getting there, my boy.”
The young man replied, “There’s no gold here. I’m going back home.”
Walking over to the pile of rocks, the old prospector said, “Oh, there is gold all right. You just have to know where to find it.” He picked two rocks up in his hands and crashed them together. One of the rocks split open revealing several flecks of gold sparkling in the sunlight.
Noticing a bulging leather pouch fastened to the prospector’s waist, the young man said, “I’m looking for nuggets like the ones in your pouch, not just tiny flecks.” The old prospector extended his pouch toward the young man, who looked inside, expecting to see several large nuggets. He was stunned to see that the pouch was filled with thousands of flecks of gold.
The old prospector said, “Son, it seems to me you are so busy looking for large nuggets that you’re missing filling your pouch with these precious flecks of gold. The patient accumulation of these little flecks has brought me great wealth.”

“Beat you to the gift shop!” Andrea said, running as fast as a cheetah past her older brother, Michael.
They were exploring the zoo with their parents. It was one of their favorite places, but for different reasons. Michael was fascinated by reptiles, like lizards, snakes, and crocodiles. Andrea was amazed by colorful birds, like parrots and toucans. She especially loved flamingos because pink was her favorite color.
As they got close to the shop, Michael put on a burst of speed, like a gazelle. He got to the shop first and held the door open.
“You’re as slow as a sloth!” he said with a smile.
“But fierce as a lion,” Andrea growled as they walked inside.
Michael knew exactly what he wanted to buy. He went straight to the reptile area and picked up a book called Awesome Facts about Alligators. With the money he had earned this summer, he would have just enough to buy it. He was about to head to the cashier when Andrea called his name. She was in a section that looked like a giant princess party.
“Come here!” Andrea said, excited as a chimpanzee. “I want to show you something!”
Michael shook his head. “No way. I’d rather stay with the reptiles.”
“Please? Just for a second. I need your help.”
With a sigh, Michael walked across the aisle. He felt like a goldfish out of water surrounded by the fluffy feather boas and sparkly jewelry.
“That’s what I want to buy,” Andrea said, pointing to a book on a high shelf out of her reach. “Can you get it down for me?”
Michael stretched tall like a giraffe and grabbed the book. It was full of stickers of people in fancy ballroom costumes.
“Why do you want that?” he asked. “It doesn’t have anything to do with the zoo.”
Andrea flipped open the book. “It has a page with animals. See? Unicorns!”
Michael rolled his eyes. Of course his sister would pick the one book at the zoo with the pretend animals in it. Then he noticed the price. “Do you even have enough money?”
When Andrea saw the price tag, her eyes got wide like an owl, and her smile disappeared.
“Sorry, sis,” Michael said. “Maybe you can find something that costs less.”
“But this is the only thing I wanted,” Andrea said. “Oh well.” She handed the book to Michael so he could put it back. Then she tried to smile again. “What did you find?”
Michael looked at the two books in his hands. Then he made a decision. “Nothing,” he said. “That is, nothing I need right now. Wait here for a second.”
Quick as a rabbit, Michael returned his book to the reptile section. When he got back to Andrea, he handed her the sticker book she wanted, along with some of his money.
“Here. Now you should have enough to buy it.”
Andrea looked as confused as a chameleon on a rainbow. “But why would you spend your money on that?”
“Because it’s important to you,” Michael said. “We might be as different as a python and a peacock, but that’s OK. God still wants us to show love to each other.”
Andrea gave him a big bear hug. “Thank you so much! You can use the stickers whenever you want!”
“Well, they’re not really my style,” Michael said. “But it might be fun!”
Then they walked to the cashier together, as happy as two frogs in a pond!

Permit a personal experience for just a moment. Strengthening one’s brother, I think, comes closer to home when we think of fellowshiping and friendshiping our family. Some time ago when my youngest daughter was faced with the reality of attending a different school, she looked forward to the new experience with great anticipation and excitement but with the usual anxieties and concerns. Her mom and dad tried to make her experience meaningful, and one that would be positive, and we spent several hours attempting to prepare her mind for the new experience. We even planned a time when we could shop for new clothes and other special school supplies.
Finally, the long-awaited day arrived. A special evening was planned to help give spiritual comfort and guidance. Later she put her clothes out in anticipation of the next day. As she retired to her bed, seemingly all was well, but about an hour later she appeared at my study door where I was making some preparations.
“Dad,” she said, rubbing her tummy, “I don’t feel very well.”
You know the sign; and I thought I understood it, so I invited her in and sat her on my lap. We put on a little music that we liked to listen to together. I rubbed her tummy, and she soon fell asleep. I took her back upstairs, placed her in her bed, tiptoed toward the door; and she broke the silence with the announcement, “I am not asleep yet.”
I went back and lay down on the bed with her, stroked her head, gave what fatherly counsel one could under the circumstances, and reassured her. Finally she fell asleep. The next morning she appeared at breakfast in her petticoat. She said, “Dad, I don’t think I had better go to school today.”
I said, “Why not?”
She said, “I think I am going to get sick.”
You know what she was trying to tell us, don’t you? I don’t know how to handle a new situation, Dad. Will I make friends? Will my teacher like me? Will I fit into the social group? Will I be accepted? These are the concerns that all of us experience, as we find ourselves in new and different social situations.
She knew what my answer would be and agreed to have me drive her to school. As we got in front of the school building, the warning bell sounded. The tears started to come to her eyes. I got out of the car and assisted her. We walked about ten feet, and she grabbed hold of my leg. It was as though she were a tackle on some football team. And then, as only a child can do to a father, she looked up at me and said philosophically, “Dad, if you really love me—if you really love me—don’t send me in there.”
I said, “Honey, this may be beyond your comprehension, but it’s because I do love you that I am taking you in there.” And I did. When we got inside the door, she grabbed hold of the other leg and held on. Numerous students came and went, and finally the little miracle happened that changed everything.
From I don’t know where came a delightful, wonderful friendshiper, a fellowshiper who knew how to lose herself in serving others; one who would now take the admonishment of the Savior to strengthen her friends. With the exuberance of youth this little girl said, “Kellie, how are you?”
“Fine.”
“What is your home room?” And she told her. “Tremendous. I had that home room last year. Come on, and I will take you to it.”
And before Kellie knew it, she had let go of my leg and got about ten paces away, then realized what she had done. I will never forget her expression and the sermon she taught as she looked back. “Oh,” she said, “Dad, you can go now; I don’t need you anymore.”
Thank God for the little people as well as the big people who know how to friendship and fellowship.

That fall the children all came down with strep throat. We gave them antibiotics, and soon everybody was fine except for Jesse. His cough wouldn’t go away, and his neck became swollen. Pat took him to the pediatrician for what we thought would be a second antibiotic.
Two hours later Pat called from the hospital. The pediatrician had sent Jesse there for an X-ray to check for infection in his lungs. Instead, doctors found an 11-inch tumor in his chest.
“Go home, get your family packed up, head to Birmingham, and prepare for a lengthy stay,” the doctor said.
A few days after we arrived at the children’s hospital in Birmingham, we received Jesse’s diagnosis. He had pediatric acute lymphoblastic leukemia, a rare type of aggressive leukemia.
For the next three weeks, Pat and I lived at the hospital. While I zoned in on Jesse, Pat made the 90-minute drive back and forth from our home to the hospital. He tried to keep our business going and care for our goats. My mother-in-law came from California and stayed with our other children.
Jesse’s tumor had begun to cut off his airways, but it shrank after six weeks of chemotherapy. We thought that once the cancer went into remission, it would be an easy road ahead, but then Jesse got a blood clot in his brain. After doctors dealt with that, he got fungal pneumonia. He was in and out of the hospital seven times over the next several months.
In December 2015, while Jesse was back in the hospital, I began reading the Book of Mormon. I thought, “I left the Church, and I just want to rule it out like I’ve ruled out all the other churches.” But right away, it hit me like a ton of bricks—full peace. The book just spoke to me. I didn’t even have to pray to find out it was true. I knew in my heart it was true from the very beginning. I would read for hours sitting in that hospital room.
At one point, Jesse spiked a fever, which lasted for 10 days. It wouldn’t break, and doctors decided they needed to do a bone marrow biopsy to see if the leukemia had returned. I remember lying on the floor of the hospital. I had reached bottom. That’s when I decided to call Elaine Oborn, a member of our ward while I was growing up in Alabama.
I had been best friends with Sister Oborn’s daughter. Though I hadn’t spoken to the Oborn family for 20 years, I couldn’t get Elaine’s face out of my mind. I looked her up on Facebook, and there on the hospital floor, I called her.
“Do you even remember me?” I asked.
After explaining what our family was experiencing, I told Sister Oborn: “I don’t know what I need, but I need something. I’m not active in the Church. We don’t even have a church, but I keep thinking of you. Please, can you help me?”
“We can start by getting you and Jesse a blessing,” she said. She said her husband, Lynn, would come to the hospital that evening.
After the phone call, I told Pat, “I know you’re not a member of the Church, but can we have some guys come and give Jesse a blessing?”
“Whatever it takes for him to feel better,” he said.
That evening, in came Brother Oborn with two full-time missionaries, all dressed in white medical protective clothing because Jesse was so sick.
“The angels are coming for us,” I remember thinking as I opened the door.
They gave Jesse a blessing. Then Brother Oborn lined up all the kids and gave each of them a blessing. Then he gave me a blessing. Then he gave Pat a blessing. That was one of the first experiences where we all felt the Spirit. It was powerful. The next day, Jesse’s fever broke. As soon as he was released from the hospital, we started attending church.
In February 2016, the full-time missionaries began visiting us. At first Pat thought they were coming over to help on the farm. When we accepted an invitation for them to teach us, he thought the lessons were just for the children.
As the missionaries were preparing to teach us their first lesson, Pat went out to work on the tractor. After about 20 minutes, I could see that they—two sisters and two elders—were deflated. At that moment, I felt that I should get Pat and ask him to come listen for a couple of minutes.
Later the missionaries told me that they had been praying that that’s what I would do. They knew that Pat needed to hear what they were teaching.
After the missionaries had taught us for several weeks, Jesse, Bo, and Frank wanted to be baptized. Pat thought that was great, but he felt that he was “beyond salvation.” That was before he met Von and Glenda Memory and heard Elder Dieter F. Uchtdorf of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles speak during general conference.
When we saw Brother Memory at church, I recognized him from when I was a child. He was now serving as the ward mission leader. Pat introduced himself, telling Brother Memory that he really wanted the Church for our children.
“That sounds good,” Brother Memory said with a twinkle in his eye. “We’ll do it for the children.”
A few weeks later, after a lesson from the missionaries on the plan of salvation, Brother Memory said, “Boys, we’re going to talk about your baptism.” Then he added, “And then we’re going to talk about your dad’s baptism.”
Pat said OK, but his doubts about his readiness and worthiness persisted until general conference that April.
“You may be afraid, angry, grieving, or tortured by doubt,” Elder Uchtdorf said in his talk. “But just as the Good Shepherd finds His lost sheep, if you will only lift up your heart to the Savior of the world, He will find you.”1
Pat said: “Before then, it hadn’t occurred to me that I really could be a part of this, that I was worthy of salvation. But after listening to Elder Uchtdorf, it hit me that it wasn’t too late for me. I actually have a shot to get to heaven. I had never felt anything like that. From then on I knew. This is the Savior’s Church. We found it. I got baptized and received the priesthood. A week later I baptized my boys. When our girls were old enough, I baptized them.”
A year later, we were sealed in the Birmingham Alabama Temple.
Living the gospel of Jesus Christ as members of His Church has strengthened our marriage. It has made me a better mom. It has given our kids a foundation they never would have had. We’re confident about their futures, now that they have the Church in their lives.
I’m so grateful for everything that has happened and for all the lessons I’ve learned. I think it was important for me to go through a lot of stuff, a lot of mental anguish. I needed to be humbled, feel desperate for God’s help and love and forgiveness, and forgive myself of wrongdoings earlier in my life.
Jesse completed chemotherapy and his last round of steroids in March 2019. We would be devastated if his cancer returned, but now we have an eternal perspective. Now we’re sealed as a family. I can’t imagine ever not having the Church as my go-to for everything. The gospel has changed us forever.
Whatever happens, it’s going to be OK. We’re not afraid anymore. Jesse’s illness led to the best thing that ever happened to us. It brought us to the Savior’s Church.

After church, Kirill’s mother welcomed their new American friends to their home. She played the piano and sang some Ukrainian songs. The adults ate breads, drank herbal tea, and chatted. Sister Wein from East Germany and Sister Norton translated for them. The two children ate bread and played.
Tanya’s and Kirill’s mothers were thrilled to be able to invite Americans into their homes and allow them to take photos without worrying about getting in trouble with the police. Under Communism, friendly visits with foreigners were not allowed.

Jessie stopped at a flower shop on her way home from school and asked the price of a dozen long-stemmed roses—the kind Dad had always given Mom on special occasions before he died. Jessie looked at the two dollars and seventy-three cents in her coin purse. She couldn’t even afford the sweetheart roses that the florist suggested as a less expensive alternative. Mother’s Day was only three days away, and there was no way that Jessie could earn enough money before Sunday to buy the flowers that she hoped would make her mother smile again.
As Jessie walked home from the florist’s, she passed the site of a new housing development. But even all the fascinating construction equipment couldn’t get her mind off the flowers. Then she noticed that near the foundation of what had once been a house were a number of lilac bushes about to fall victim to a hungry bulldozer parked nearby.
A few years before, Jessie had mowed a neighbor’s lawn in exchange for a bouquet of lilacs. Jessie had given the flowers to her mom. What was it Mom had said? Then Jessie remembered: “Heaven must smell like this. I wish we had a lilac bush of our own.” That was it! She could give Mom something that she had always wanted, it wouldn’t cost a cent, and a lilac bush would last lots longer than cut flowers.
Jessie hurried home and returned with some small garden tools for digging up the bush. When she got back to the housing development, she began searching for a healthy, sturdy bush that wasn’t too large to move. Finding one, Jessie worked until her hands ached and started to blister and sweat poured down her face. But the ground was too hard.
In desperation she hurried home and came back with a quickly scribbled note: “Please save this lilac bush. I want to transplant it for my mother.” Feeling helpless, she stuck the note onto one of the bush’s branches, then headed for home.
After school the next day, Jessie raced to the construction site. She stared delightedly at what she saw. Although the bulldozer had leveled the remainder of the land, her chosen bush stood unharmed. As Jessie let out a whoop of joy, two workmen came up. “You must be the one who wrote the note. We saw how hard you had tried to dig around the bush, so we loosened the ground around it a bit and left it for you.”
Jessie thanked the workmen, then ran home and returned with a wagon and a spade. This time the broken ground easily yielded the bush. She pulled it home in the wagon, wet it down with the hose, and hid it behind the garage.
Late Saturday night Jessie planted the bush in the backyard. Later, when Mother was fixing breakfast before church, she happened to glance out the window. Then she looked again.
“Where did that lilac bush come from?”
When Jessie had finished telling her mother how she had gotten the bush, Mother smiled and said, “Thank you, Jessie. If you had spent a fortune, you couldn’t have given me anything that would have pleased me more.”
“I just hope that it will grow—that I planted it right,” Jessie said.
Mother put her arms around Jessie and, still smiling, said, “Don’t worry. You planted it just right. Long after you’ve grown up and left home, I’ll see that lilac bush whenever I look out the window and I’ll remember that you planted it with love.”

At one privately owned and operated care facility, compassion reigned supreme. The proprietress was Edna Hewlett. There was a waiting list of patients who desired to live out their remaining days under her tender care, for she was an angelic person. She would wash and style the hair of every patient. She cleansed elderly bodies and dressed them with bright and clean clothing.
Through the years, in visiting the widows of the ward over which I once presided, I would generally start my visits at Edna’s facility. She would welcome me with a cheery smile and take me to the living room where a number of the patients were seated.
I always had to begin with Jeannie Burt, who was the oldest—102 when she died. She had known me and my family from the time I was born.
On one occasion Jeannie asked with her thick Scottish brogue, “Tommy, have you been to Edinburgh lately?”
I replied, “Yes, not too long ago I was there.”
“Isn’t it beautiful!” she responded.
Jeannie closed her aged eyes in an expression of silent reverie. Then she became serious. “I’ve paid in advance for my funeral—in cash. You are to speak at my funeral, and you are to recite ‘Crossing the Bar’ by Tennyson. Now let’s hear it!”
It seemed every eye was upon me, and surely this was the case. I took a deep breath and began:
Sunset and evening star,
And one clear call for me!
And may there be no moaning of the bar,
When I put out to sea.11
Jeannie’s smile was benign and heavenly—then she declared, “Oh, Tommy, that was nice. But see that you practice a wee bit before my funeral!” This I did.

I am an atheist who recently came to Saipan from mainland China. One day I unexpectedly found a copy of Sheng Tu Chi Sheng, the Chinese International Magazine. Out of curiosity, I read through the magazine and was deeply touched by its contents. It gave me courage to live, strength to face difficulties, and curiosity about the Mormon Church and God. I hope to gain more knowledge about religion, because until now I could not believe that an almighty God exists in this world.
I came to Saipan by myself, and I have often felt lonely and lost. It was this magazine that gave me the courage to overcome these feelings. I give my sincere wish that the International Magazines will continue to be successful.
Li, Rei-mingSaipan

I grew up in Provo, Utah. My grandpa had a 60-acre farm, where he grew hay, corn, wheat, tomatoes, and other vegetables. He also had cows, pigs, and horses. My dad, my Uncle Stan, and I helped Grandpa on his farm. When it was time to gather the hay, I stood in the wagon and tromped down the hay as my dad, uncle, and grandpa loaded it into the wagon. When I helped do the milking, my grandpa sometimes gave me a squirt of milk straight from the cow.
My grandpa was not a member of the Church, but he taught me to be fair and honest with everyone. I remember being in the field with him when storm clouds quickly came up. Grandpa unhooked the horses from the wagon so that they could run back to the barn. Then he and I got under the wagon. As we lay there, waiting for the storm to pass, my grandpa told me all about his parents and brothers and sisters.

The youth of the American Servicemen’s District of Okinawa had no idea that Brother Toshimitsu Kina’s broken leg would lead them to fighting off nasty snakes and wielding big knives, but that’s exactly what happened when they volunteered to help him with his sugar cane harvest.
The crop had to be brought in, so the district members took to the fields, learning how to cut the cane using “kamas,” and how to avoid “Habu” snakes. But would you believe they had a great time doing it? “It’s hard work, but it feels good,” said Leslie Sousley, 15.
“This harvest is pretty fun because we’re helping someone, we get to eat sugar cane, and it’s a new experience,” said Troy Baker, 13. What could be sweeter?

Like many returned missionaries will tell you about their time serving the Lord, I absolutely loved my mission. For me, it was two years of almost nonstop spiritual experiences and blessings, watching and helping people come closer to Christ and overcoming periods of trial and homesickness. It was amazing, and I wouldn’t trade my mission for anything.
But my experience right after my mission was not what I had imagined. I came home and felt like I was suddenly facing all kinds of expectations about where I should go, what I should do, and how I should act. I felt blindsided by questions from others about my dating life and my career, and I didn’t have solid answers. And along with these extra expectations came increased temptation. Much like Nephi in the Book of Mormon, I felt “encompassed about, because of the temptations and the sins which do so easily beset me” (2 Nephi 4:18).
I never stopped going to church or trying to fulfill my callings. I even got married in the temple. Still, I knew that there were parts of my behavior that were not the way they should be. I kept going back and forth between the testimony I had shared on my mission and the way I was behaving now. I knew that Heavenly Father and the Savior loved me, but even with that knowledge, I questioned why—why would They love a person like me who kept making such silly, easily avoidable mistakes? Or, for that matter, how could They love a person who made even more serious poor choices?
Eventually, I realized I needed to find answers to my questions. So I began to really study more about the Atonement of Jesus Christ and ponder the things I read and how they applied to me.
Moses 1:39 teaches that God’s purpose is “to bring to pass the immortality and eternal life of man.” I knew that the Atonement of Jesus Christ is what makes the whole plan of salvation possible, and that it was through His Atonement that Christ took upon Himself “the pains and the sicknesses of his people” (Alma 7:11). During the agony of His suffering in Gethsemane, Christ suffered for all my sins and pains. He knows everything I have done and knows that I will fall short in the future. The suffering was so painful that He even asked God to “remove this cup from me.” And yet, even while suffering for the sins of all mankind, even after asking for the pain to go away, He still said, “Not my will, but thine, be done.” (See Luke 22:42.)
Studying Christ’s Atonement helped me understand that Heavenly Father and the Savior love me despite my shortcomings and my sins, but I still struggled to understand why They love me the way They do.
I finally found my answer after pondering Doctrine and Covenants 18:10: “Remember the worth of souls is great in the sight of God.” This verse wasn’t new to me—I’d heard and read it dozens of times. However, this time the Spirit helped me understand that this verse did not just mean that it is God’s opinion that souls are valuable, as I had always interpreted it before. No, “the sight of God” means so much more.
In my limited sight, I was only seeing my poor choices in the moment. I was imagining myself making those same choices throughout the rest of my life. I was not seeing through God’s sight; He sees not only my current situation but also my potential.
Both Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ know perfectly well that I have made and will make many mistakes. And through Their heavenly eternal perspective, They also see the total worth of my soul—They see what I can become. This is why Christ paid the price for my sins in Gethsemane and on the cross, even after understanding all the wrong that I would do.
Now, I know I’m not perfect. I will continue to fall short as I learn to be more like Christ. However, now I understand that when He said, “What manner of men ought ye to be? Verily I say unto you, even as I am” (3 Nephi 27:27), being “even as He is” includes having the heavenly vision to see my potential. Reaching that potential won’t be immediate. It likely won’t even be in this life. But I know by embracing the gift of repentance and focusing on Christ, I can look past the mistakes I make each day to see myself even as He is—even as I can become.

I once met a young sailor who was a member of the crew of an atomic submarine based in Scotland. He was the only member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in the crew. The submarine would go on long trips taking many weeks. As this young Church member was assigned to his station on his first cruise, he found that other crewmen had covered the walls in his area with improper pictures of women with very little clothing on. This offended him. He took all the pictures down and destroyed them. He was conscious of the probable reaction of the other men but, nevertheless, had the courage to do what he thought he should. Not one picture was put up again. As a matter of fact, on that first cruise, he began to teach a Sunday School class attended by two or three of the other men. He learned an important lesson—generally speaking, others will show respect for one who has the courage of his or her convictions and isn’t afraid to do what he feels is right.

As a young child, I remember my mother reading to me the story “The Ugly Duckling,” by Hans Christian Andersen. Maybe it was because I was shy and felt like I didn’t fit in, but the memory and the moral of that story have always remained with me.
In the version that I remember, a mother duck waits patiently for her eggs to hatch into little ducklings. Before long, the fuzzy, yellow ducklings emerge to the delight of the mother duck. However, there is one slightly larger egg that still has not hatched. The mother and her ducklings wait and watch. When the egg finally cracks open, the yellow ducklings notice that this new member of the family looks different. They gather around him and declare to their mother and father, “He’s not like us. He’s ugly.” They leave him alone in the nest and swim away. The ugly duckling wanders away from the nest and tries to hide. Every encounter he has is negative and discouraging. He would often think to himself, “Everyone hates me because I’m ugly.”
Then a miracle takes place in his life. He sees others who look and act just like he does! He becomes friends with them, and they take him to their mother and ask, “Mother, Mother, we’ve found a little brother! Can he stay with us forever?” The beautiful, graceful swan mother folds her white wing around the ugly duckling and says to him in a gentle voice, “You’re not a duckling at all! You are a little swan, and someday you will be the king of the pond.”
I loved hearing this story as a child. I didn’t realize that the lessons I learned from it would help me through my difficult teenage years. I was baptized a member of the Church when I was eight, but gradually my family became less active.
In the small town in Idaho where I grew up, there was a movie theater that featured an afternoon matinee every Saturday. I would always go with two or three of my friends. The theater would show a short movie about sports and another about current events. The main feature was usually a cowboy movie with lots of action.
One Saturday during intermission, the staff wheeled out a 10-speed bicycle. It was red, it was beautiful, and they were going to give it away to the person in the audience who had the winning ticket stub! Oh, how I wanted that bicycle!
The announcer reached into the container and pulled out a ticket. As he read the number on the ticket, I discovered that I had the winning ticket. Yet I didn’t move or say anything. I was too shy and embarrassed. I did not have enough confidence in myself to stand and let everyone know that I had the winning ticket. He announced the winning number two more times, and each time I held the ticket down so that no one could see it. Finally, the announcer read another number. One of the friends I came to the movie with happened to have the new number. He jumped up, screamed, and ran to the stage to claim his bicycle. That bicycle could have been mine!
As I walked home alone from the movies that Saturday, I thought of the story of the ugly duckling. I was feeling a lot like that little swan. I felt like I was wandering around in the woods trying to hide and that no one liked me. I didn’t realize who I was or what I could become. By the time I arrived home, I knew something had to change. I remember thinking, “It’s time to grow up. That will never happen to me again.”
I began to discover that there were others around me who loved and cared about me. My ward bishopric took an interest in me, as did my stake president, who lived just down the street from me. They taught me the gospel. They bore their testimonies to me of the reality of the Savior and His precious Atonement and what it could do for me. They read to me repeatedly the story of Joseph Smith and his vision in the Sacred Grove. From that experience I have developed the wonderful habit of reading Joseph Smith—History every week. By doing so, I know that I can have the strength to overcome anything placed before me that week.
At that time in my life, when I needed someone so badly, my Heavenly Father blessed me. He knew who I was, and He sent His servants to help me discover that for myself. They wrapped their arms around me and told me by their actions that I wasn’t an ugly duckling at all and that if I was worthy and kept the commandments of God, I could become “the king of the pond.” The blessing and understanding of the Atonement began to give me added strength and confidence.
When I reached the age of 16, these good men encouraged me to receive a patriarchal blessing. After I received my recommend, I got on my old bike and rode several miles to the patriarch’s home. He explained once again what a patriarchal blessing is and how it would bless my life. He laid his hands on my head. After that experience, my life was never the same.
I accepted a mission call to Scotland and had a wonderful experience. A few weeks after I returned home, I met my future wife at a Church meeting. We dated, and I proposed marriage. We were married in the Salt Lake Temple.
One sentence in my patriarchal blessing indicates that I would be permitted to live in mortality with an angel. At the time the patriarch gave me that blessing, I didn’t know what an angel was, let alone the meaning of the phrase. As I left the temple the day my wife and I were sealed, I knew what it meant. She has been the light of my life. Thanks to her, I have been permitted to live in an environment of light. She has brought joy and happiness to our 8 children, 25 grandchildren, and 2 great-grandchildren. My children have all come to call her blessed. I give thanks to God for the blessings of the gospel and the eternal blessings of the covenants and ordinances of the holy temple.
Satan would have us believe that we are ugly ducklings with no chance of becoming like our Heavenly Father and His holy Son. I bear witness that God loves each of us in special ways. As Elder Neal A. Maxwell (1926–2004) of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles said so often, “God’s personal shaping influence is felt in the details of our lives.”1 We are His children. I have come to know that we can rise above our current environment and become “kings and queens of the pond” by following the gospel commandments.
I know something else. I know who you are and where you came from. The revelations remind us of our faithfulness in the premortal life (see Revelation 12:7–11; D&C 138:56; Abraham 3:22–23). As we tie our testimonies to that great truth, each day becomes a wonderful blessing for each of us.
Stay on the Lord’s side of the line. If He can take care of a bashful, shy boy like me, He will take care of you now and in the future. You are a chosen son or daughter of God. Choose to live up to the divine potential that lies within you.

Men turn from evil and yield to their better natures when mother is remembered. A famed officer from the Civil War period, Colonel Higginson, when asked to name the incident of the Civil War that he considered the most remarkable for bravery, said that there was in his regiment a man whom everybody liked, a man who was brave and noble, who was pure in his daily life, absolutely free from dissipations in which most of the other men indulged.

One night at a champagne supper, when many were becoming intoxicated, someone in jest called for a toast from this young man. Colonel Higginson said that he arose, pale but with perfect self-control, and declared: “Gentlemen, I will give you a toast which you may drink as you will, but which I will drink in water. The toast that I have to give is, ‘Our mothers.’”

Instantly a strange spell seemed to come over all the tipsy men. They drank the toast in silence. There was no more laughter, no more song, and one by one they left the room. The lamp of memory had begun to burn, and the name of Mother touched every man’s heart.

When President Hinckley was a young man, he served a full-time mission to the British Isles. He tells us some of his experiences.
The boat on which I traveled to England docked at Plymouth the night of July 1, 1933. The three of us missionaries aboard took the boat train to London, arriving late at night. The next day I was assigned to go to Preston, Lancashire. After what seemed like a long, lonely train ride, I met my companion at the station, and he took me to our “digs,” a short distance from Vauxhall Chapel where the first LDS missionary sermon had been preached in 1837.
My companion then announced that we would go into town and hold a street meeting. I was terrified. We sang a hymn and offered prayer. Then he called on me to speak. A crowd gathered. They looked menacing to me. The world was then in the bottom of the Depression, and Lancashire had been particularly hard-hit. The people were poor. They wore wooden clogs on their feet. Their dress reflected the hard times in which they lived. They were difficult to understand; I was a westerner from the United States, and they spoke with a Lancashire dialect.
Those first few weeks I was discouraged. I wrote a letter home to my good father and said that I felt I was wasting my time and his money. He wrote a very short letter to me which said: “Dear Gordon, I have your recent letter. I have only one suggestion: forget yourself and go to work.” Earlier that morning my companion and I had read these words of the Lord: “Whosoever will save his life shall lose it; but whosoever shall lose his life for my sake and the gospel’s, the same shall save it” (Mark 8:35).
Those words of the Master, followed by my father’s letter, went into my very being. I went into our bedroom and got on my knees and made a pledge to the Lord. I covenanted that I would try to forget myself and lose myself in His service.
That July day in 1933 was my day of decision. A new light came into my life and a new joy into my heart. The fog of England seemed to lift, and I saw the sunlight. I had a rich and wonderful mission experience, for which I shall ever be grateful.

As my baptism day approached, my mom and I talked about inviting a friend of mine to the service. We had been friends since preschool, but recently she had moved about 45 miles (72 km) away. I knew she didn’t go to our church, so I was nervous to ask her to come, thinking she might not want to. Finally I decided to invite her, so my mom called her mom. My friend and her mom were excited to come! My baptism day was stormy and rainy, so we thought they might not make it. They showed up right on time! They seemed to really enjoy the baptism, and asked a lot of questions. I felt good that they came and shared this special day. It was an easy and fun way to share the gospel.

Having heard the voice of the Shepherd, they fully committed their lives to living the gospel and following the direction of the Lord’s prophet. Responding to the call to gather to Zion, they left behind their home in England, crossed the Atlantic, and gathered with the Saints in Nauvoo, Illinois.
They embraced the gospel with all their hearts. While trying to get established in their new land, they assisted in the building of the Nauvoo Temple by tithing their labor—spending every 10th day working on the construction of the temple.
They were brokenhearted at the news of the death of their beloved prophet, Joseph Smith, and his brother Hyrum. But they carried on! They stayed true to the faith.
When the Saints were persecuted and driven from Nauvoo, Robert and Maria felt greatly blessed to receive their endowments in the temple shortly before they crossed the Mississippi River and headed west. Although they were uncertain of what their future held, they were certain of their faith and their testimonies.
With six children, they slogged through mud as they crossed Iowa on their way west. They built for themselves a lean-to on the side of the Missouri River at what came to be known as Winter Quarters.
These intrepid pioneers were waiting for apostolic direction on how and when they would be heading further west. Everyone’s plans were altered when Brigham Young, the President of the Quorum of the Twelve, issued a call for men to volunteer to serve in the United States Army in what came to be known as the Mormon Battalion.
Robert Harris Jr. was one of over 500 Mormon pioneer men who responded to that call from Brigham Young. He enlisted, even though it meant he would leave behind his pregnant wife and six little children.
Why would he and the other men do such a thing?
The answer can be given in my great-great-grandfather’s own words. In a letter that he wrote to his wife when the battalion was on its way to Santa Fe, he wrote, “My faith is so strong as ever [and when I think of the things that Brigham Young told us], I believe it about the same as if the Great God had told me.”
In short, he knew he was listening to a prophet of God, as did the other men. That is why they did it! They knew they were led by a prophet of God.
In that same letter, he expressed his tender feelings for his wife and children and told of his constant prayers that she and the children would be blessed.
Later in the letter, he made this powerful statement: “We must not forget the things which you and I heard and [experienced] in the Temple of the Lord.”
Combined with his earlier testimony that “we are led by a Prophet of God,” these two sacred admonitions have become like scripture to me.
Eighteen months after departing with the battalion, Robert Harris was safely reunited with his beloved Maria. They stayed true and faithful to the restored gospel throughout their lives. They had 15 children, 13 of whom lived to maturity. My grandmother Fannye Walker, of Raymond, Alberta, Canada, was one of their 136 grandchildren.
Grandma Walker was proud of the fact that her grandfather had served in the Mormon Battalion, and she wanted all of her grandchildren to know it. Now that I am a grandfather, I understand why it was so important to her. She wanted to turn the hearts of the children to the fathers. She wanted her grandchildren to know of their righteous heritage—because she knew it would bless their lives.