Gospel Story Finder

As a very young child, I had hiked up to a waterfall with my parents. On our way down the mountain, I decided to take a little shortcut to the path down below and surprise my parents. To my surprise, I did not come to the path and after wandering for what seemed to be a long time to me, I became very frightened. I don’t remember specifically being taught to pray but I know that my first thought when I was in trouble was to kneel to the ground and ask the Lord to help me find my parents. No sooner had I stood up than my father came through the brush and said, “Oh there you are you little scamp.” I don’t know if I was seriously lost but I knew that my prayer was answered. It is the first time I really have a memory of praying and it gave me a testimony that Heavenly Father does answer prayers, even those of a little scamp.

A devoted colleague once shared with me an experience he had when fulfilling an assignment to put away chairs and straighten up the stake center following a stake conference. After 30 minutes of carrying out these duties, he realized that he was the last person remaining in the building. Rather than feeling alone with a rush to leave, however, he noticed that the same sweet sense of peace he had felt during the conference remained with him and was even increasing.
As he finished the assignment and exited the meetinghouse, he encountered another member who seemed to be watching him intently. Realizing what my friend had been doing, this member took him by the hand and said, “Brother, the Lord sees these small things that you do for Him, and He looks down and smiles upon them.”
Children and youth can be taught that reverence and care for the meetinghouse extends beyond Sunday meetings. Member participation in the cleaning of the meetinghouse—particularly the combined participation of parents and children—is a wonderful means of developing a sense of reverence for our sacred facilities. As evidenced from my friend’s experience in straightening up his stake center after stake conference, the very act of caring for the meetinghouse is a means of worship and invites the Spirit of the Lord.

Long ago in the land of old Russia there lived a young and beautiful maiden named Tamara. She gathered mushrooms each day to earn enough money to buy food. One day she wandered very deep into the forest, and there she found an enchanted well. From the well a voice called out and asked her to be his wife, and so began a magical adventure for Tamara. She married the mysterious prince and then lost him because of her own foolishness. After she had faced great danger and learned not to look back, Tamara encountered the evil Sea Witch, and the magic spell was broken!

One day I was walking in downtown Fukui when two young men walked up to me. One of them didn’t look Japanese, but he spoke Japanese when he introduced himself.
I said, “I’m sorry, but I don’t speak Japanese. Do you speak English?”
He answered, “Of course! I’m American!”
The young man started speaking English, which I had learned in school. He told me he and his companion were missionaries for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. They talked briefly about Jesus Christ and invited me to church. I hesitated but finally agreed to go.
The first meeting I attended was a fast and testimony meeting. I came late, and as I walked into the chapel, a young woman was crying and talking about how the gospel helped her with her problems. After listening to her and to some of the other members, I realized that all of them had problems. They weren’t perfect, and they knew it. But I could also see they had something strong inside them. Their faith in God was helping them. With that kind of faith, I thought, maybe I could overcome my problems, too.
I continued attending church, and I pondered often what I learned there. I also read the Book of Mormon. One day I accepted the invitation to ask God if what I was learning was true. As I prayed, something strong touched my heart, and I thought, This is the right way. I already believe in God. It’s time to follow Him.
As I continued to pray and attend meetings, the Spirit continued to guide me. Finally I told the elders I wanted to hear the discussions. I wanted to follow God and return to His presence one day. I was baptized on 21 June 1993.
As a member of the Church, I found new strength in meeting the challenges of life in Japan. And after preparing earnestly, I was called on a mission. To my surprise, I was called to serve in São Paulo, Brazil. I was very excited about sharing the gospel in my homeland.
When I look back at my old life, I realize how blind I was. We can go through life the right way or the wrong way. At first I chose the wrong way. I knew God existed, but I wasn’t ready to follow Him. Then the gospel touched my life. Now I know that following our Savior is the only way to true happiness.

Even when I was young, I wanted to be useful, to help others, and to be close to Jesus’ Church. But I didn’t know how. As I grew older, my desire grew stronger and I began looking at ways I could serve God through my religion.
In time I went to a boarding school in Riobamba, Ecuador. I became acquainted with the mother superior at a convent. We became friends, and she eventually influenced me to become a nun. I took my first vows and became a novice.
During the next six years I prayed every day to Heavenly Father to help me know Him better. For some reason, I felt comfortable praying to Him directly instead of through intercessors, as I had been taught. I knew that by getting to know Him, I would get to know myself. I would also be able to see others with a more Christlike perspective and thus serve them as He would have me do. Though I prayed fervently, I felt an inexplicable void. The emptiness I felt became so great I decided to leave the convent.
One day while the bishop was visiting, I talked with him about my decision to leave. He asked me to ponder and pray about my decision. I did and felt even stronger that my decision was right. I knew if I waited until after my solemn vows, which would take place in a year, it would be even more difficult for me to leave. I would have to get the pope’s permission, not just the bishop’s.
The next time I met the bishop, I told him of my decision, and he asked me to request dismissal in writing. Eventually my letter reached him. He was surprised because he thought I would not follow through on my request. When he granted the dismissal of my vows, I bid farewell to the nuns, thankful for all the good I had learned and experienced, and I left in peace.

But I felt so alone. I was in Zion, the place of peace and rest for the Saints. I was supposed to be happy. But I missed my family.
The blind lady allowed me to stay with her and keep house, and I tried my hardest to keep everything neat and clean for her. But she wasn’t my family. Mama was always in my thoughts. I knew that she would come. Somehow, some way, Mama would make it to Zion.
Whenever I heard of a wagon train coming into the Salt Lake Valley, I watched for the dusty sky—a sure sign that the wagons would arrive soon. Then I’d run to the fence and climb as high as I could to see the immigrants. At first they would be just a dust cloud on the horizon. But slowly, oh so slowly, I could make out the wagons and the animals and the people.
I studied the women passing by. Mama’s hair is that color—but no, it isn’t Mama. Over there is a woman with Mama’s posture—but no, it isn’t Mama, either. Could that one driving the team be she? No, no, no. With every incoming group, I thought, Surely Mama will be in this company with my younger brothers and sisters.
I searched and searched, and doubts would come. No one smiled at me. No one ran and wrapped me in her arms. As the wagons rolled past, another heartache began. With each disappointment, the tears coursed down my cheeks, and I cried until there were no more tears left.
Two long, hard years passed before Mama finally came. When she did, I could hardly believe my eyes. She was worn and tired and covered with dust. I almost didn’t recognize her. But she knew me, even though I had grown quite a bit taller.
I ran to her as fast as I could. I wrapped my arms around her and wept—this time tears of happiness. She had made it to Zion. I wasn’t alone anymore. Together we were home. At last I felt Zion in my heart.

The testimony of the Prophet Joseph continues to change lives. Some years ago I served as the president of the Canadian Mission. In Ontario, Canada, two of our missionaries were proselyting door-to-door on a cold, snowy afternoon. They had not had any measure of success. One elder was experienced; one was new.

The two called at the home of Mr. Elmer Pollard, and he, feeling sympathy for the almost frozen missionaries, invited them in. They presented their message and asked if he would join in prayer. He agreed, on the provision that he could offer the prayer.

The prayer he offered astonished the missionaries. He said, “Heavenly Father, bless these two unfortunate, misguided missionaries that they may return to their homes and not waste their time telling the people of Canada about a message which is so fantastic and about which they know so little.”

As they arose from their knees, Mr. Pollard asked the missionaries never to return to his home. As they left, he said mockingly to them, “You can’t tell me you really believe that Joseph Smith was a prophet of God anyway!” and he slammed the door.

The missionaries had walked but a short distance when the junior companion said timidly, “Elder, we didn’t answer Mr. Pollard.”

The senior companion responded: “We’ve been rejected. Let’s move on.”

The young missionary persisted, however, and the two returned to Mr. Pollard’s door. Mr. Pollard answered the knock and angrily said, “I thought I told you young men never to return!”

The junior companion then said, with all the courage he could muster, “Mr. Pollard, when we left your door, you said that we didn’t really believe Joseph Smith was a prophet of God. I want to testify to you, Mr. Pollard, that I know Joseph Smith was a prophet of God, that by inspiration he translated the sacred record known as the Book of Mormon, that he did see God the Father and Jesus the Son.” The missionaries then departed the doorstep.

I heard this same Mr. Pollard in a testimony meeting state the experiences of that memorable day. He said, “That evening, sleep would not come. I tossed and turned. Over and over in my mind I heard the words, ‘Joseph Smith was a prophet of God. I know it. … I know it. … I know it.’ I could scarcely wait for morning to come. I telephoned the missionaries, using their number which was printed on the small card containing the Articles of Faith. They returned, and this time my wife, my family, and I joined in the discussion as earnest seekers of truth. As a result, we have all embraced the gospel of Jesus Christ. We shall ever be grateful to the testimony of truth brought to us by those two courageous, humble missionaries.”

In 1936, 68 years ago, one of the secretaries to the Quorum of the Twelve told me what a member of the Twelve had told her. She said that in the coming general conference there would be announced a program which would come to be recognized as even more noteworthy than the coming of our people to these valleys as pioneers.
Now, parenthetically, you should not tell your secretary what you should keep confidential, and she should not tell anyone else when she is given confidential information.
But that was what happened back then. It never happens today. Oh no! I should add that my able secretaries are never guilty of such a breach of confidentiality.
As you who are acquainted with the history know, there was announced at that time the Church security plan, the name of which was subsequently changed to the Church welfare program.
I wondered back in those days how anything the Church did could eclipse in anyone’s judgment the historic gathering of our people to these western valleys of the United States. That was a movement of such epic proportions that I felt nothing could ever be so noteworthy. But I have discovered something of interest in the last short while.
We receive many prominent visitors in the office of the First Presidency. They include heads of state and ambassadors of nations. A few weeks ago we entertained the mayor of one of the great cities of the world. We have likewise recently entertained the vice president and the ambassador of Ecuador, the ambassador from Lithuania, the ambassador from Belarus, and others. In our conversations, not one of these visitors mentioned the great pioneer journey of our forebears. But each of them, independently, spoke in high praise of our welfare program and our humanitarian efforts.
And so as I speak in this great priesthood meeting, I wish to say a few words concerning our efforts in behalf of those in need, be they members of the Church or otherwise, in various parts of the world.
When the modern welfare program was put in motion, it was designed to take care of the needs of our own people. In the years that have followed, thousands upon thousands have been served. Bishops and Relief Society presidents have had available to them food and clothing and other supplies for those in need. Numberless members of the Church have worked in volunteer capacities in producing that which was required. We now operate 113 storehouses, 63 farms, 105 canneries and home storage centers, 18 food processing and distribution plants, as well as many other facilities.
Not only have the needs of Church members been met, but aid has been extended to countless others. Right here in this Salt Lake City community, many of the hungry are fed daily by non-LDS agencies utilizing LDS welfare supplies.
Here, in this city, and in a number of other places, we operate beautiful stores where there is no cash register, where no money changes hands, where food, clothing, and other necessities are provided to those in distress. I believe that no better milk, no better meat, and no better flour is found on any grocery shelf than that which is distributed from the bishops’ storehouses.
The principles on which these establishments operate are essentially what they were at the beginning.
Those in need are expected to do all they can to provide for themselves. Then families are expected to assist in taking care of their less-fortunate members. And then the resources of the Church are made available.
We believe in and take very seriously the words of our Lord:
“Come, ye blessed of my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world:
“For I was an hungred, and ye gave me meat: I was thirsty, and ye gave me drink: I was a stranger, and ye took me in:
“Naked, and ye clothed me: I was sick, and ye visited me: I was in prison, and ye came unto me” (Matthew 25:34–36).
This is the Lord’s way of caring for those in need which, He declared, “ye have … always with you” (see Matthew 26:11).
Those who are able voluntarily work to provide for those who are not able. Last year there were 563,000 days of donated labor in welfare facilities. That is the equivalent of a man working eight hours a day for 1,542 years.
A recent issue of the Church News carried the story of a group of farmers in a small Idaho community. May I read briefly from that account?
“It is 6 a.m. in late October, and frost already hangs in the air over the sugar beet fields of Rupert, Idaho.
“The long arms of the ‘beeters’ stretch out over twelve rows, slicing the tops off sugar beets. Behind them, the harvesters thrust their steel fingers into the soil and scoop up the beets, pulling them up toward a belt and into a waiting truck.
“… This is the Rupert Idaho Welfare Farm, and those who are working here today are volunteers. … At times more than 60 machines [are] working in harmony together— … all owned by local farmers.”
The work goes on throughout the day.
“[At] 7 p.m. … the sun has set, leaving the land dark and cold once again. The farmers head home, exhausted and happy.
“They have finished well another day.
“They have harvested the Lord’s sugar beets” (Neil K. Newell, “A Harvest in Idaho,” Church News, Mar. 20, 2004, 16).
Such remarkable volunteer service goes on constantly to assure supplies for the storehouses of the Lord.
Since the early beginnings, the program has moved beyond caring for the needy to the encouragement of preparedness on the part of families of the Church. No one knows when catastrophe might strike—or sickness, or unemployment, or a disabling accident.
Last year the program helped families store 18 million pounds of basic foods against a possible time of need. Hopefully that time will never come. But the good, wholesome, basic food so stored brings peace of mind and also the satisfaction of obedience to counsel.
Now there has been added another element. It began some years ago when drought in Africa brought hunger and death to uncounted numbers. Members of the Church were invited to contribute to a great humanitarian effort to meet the needs of those terribly impoverished people. Your contributions were numerous and generous. The work has continued because there are other serious needs in many places. The outreach of this aid has become a miracle. Millions of pounds of food, medical supplies, blankets, tents, clothing, and other materials have staved off famine and desolation in various parts of the world. Wells have been dug; crops have been planted; lives have been saved. Let me give you an example.
Neil Darlington is a chemical engineer who worked for a large industrial company in Ghana. Eventually he retired.
He and his wife were then called as a missionary couple. They were sent to Ghana. Brother Darlington says, “In areas of famine, disease, and social unrest, we were there as representatives of the Church, extending a helping hand to the destitute, the hungry, the distressed.”
In small villages they drilled new wells and repaired old ones. Those of us who have fresh, clean water in abundance can scarcely appreciate the circumstances of those who are without.
Can you picture this couple, devoted Latter-day Saint missionaries? They drill into the dry earth. Their drill reaches the water table below, and the miracle liquid comes to the surface and spills over the dry and thirsty soil. There is rejoicing. There are tears. There is now water to drink, water with which to wash, water to grow crops. There is nothing more treasured in a dry land than water. How absolutely beautiful is water pouring from a new well.
On one occasion, when the tribal chiefs and the elders of the village gathered to thank them, Brother Darlington asked the chief if he and Sister Darlington could sing a song for them. They looked into the eyes of the dark-skinned men and women before them and sang “I Am a Child of God” as an expression of their common brotherhood.
This one couple, through their efforts, have provided water for an estimated 190,000 people in remote villages and refugee camps. Contemplate, if you will, the miracle of this accomplishment.
And now, literally thousands of their kind—married couples, couples who otherwise might simply have lived out their lives in largely idle pursuits—have served and are serving in scores of ways and in scores of places. They have worked and continue to work in the impoverished areas of America. They have worked, and still do so, in India and Indonesia, in Thailand and Cambodia, in Russia and the Baltic nations. And so the work expands.
Joining with others, the Church has recently provided wheelchairs for some 42,000 disabled persons. Think of what this means to people who literally have had to crawl to get about. With the aid of selfless doctors and nurses, neonatal resuscitation training was provided to nearly 19,000 professionals in the year 2003 alone. The lives of thousands of babies will be spared as a consequence.
Last year some 2,700 individuals were treated for eye problems, and 300 local practitioners were trained in sight-saving procedures. The blind have literally been made to see.
Where devastating floods have come, where earthquakes have created disaster, where hunger has stalked the land, wherever want has been created by whatever cause, representatives of the Church have been there. Some 98 million dollars in cash and in-kind assistance have been distributed in the past year, bringing such aid to a total of 643 million dollars in just 18 years.
I have been a firsthand witness to the effectiveness of our humanitarian efforts. In traveling the world, I have seen the recipients of your generosity. In 1998 I visited the areas of Central America, which had been ravaged by Hurricane Mitch. Here the distribution of food and clothing was quickly organized, and the cleaning and rebuilding of devastated homes and shattered lives was a miracle to behold.
There is not time to go on recounting the reach of these great and significant programs. In extending help we have not asked whether those affected belong to the Church, for we know that each of earth’s children is a child of God worthy of help in time of need. We have done what we have done largely with the left hand not knowing what the right hand is doing. We seek no commendation or thank-yous. It is compensation enough that when we help one of the least of these our Father’s children, we have done it unto Him and His Beloved Son (see Matthew 25:40).
We shall go on in this work. There will always be a need. Hunger and want and catastrophes will ever be with us. And there will always be those whose hearts have been touched by the light of the gospel who will be willing to serve and work and lift the needy of the earth.
As a correlated effort we have established the Perpetual Education Fund. It has come about through your generous contributions. It is now operating in 23 countries. Loans are extended to worthy young men and women for education. Otherwise they would be trapped in the stagnated poverty their parents and forebears have known for generations. Some 10,000 and more are now being assisted, and experience to this date indicates that with such training they are now earning three to four times what was previously possible.
The Spirit of the Lord guides this work. This welfare activity is secular activity, expressing itself in terms of rice and beans, of blankets and tents, of clothing and medicine, of employment and education for better employment. But this so-called secular work is but an outward expression of an inward spirit—the Spirit of the Lord, of whom it was said, He “went about doing good” (Acts 10:38).
May heaven prosper this great program, and may heaven’s blessing rest upon all who serve therein, I humbly pray, in the sacred name of Jesus Christ, amen.

Thirty years ago, while I served as a missionary in the Near East, my companion and I were assigned to visit a branch that had been torn apart by division and apostasy. We approached our assignment humbly and prayerfully. A crucial meeting was held involving the disaffected parties. My companion was selected to preach the sermon that we hoped would bring everyone together again. After we had fasted and prayed earnestly, he stood with confidence and worked the miracle. He spoke with the tongue of an angel. That young, inexperienced elder’s words healed wounds festering in the hearts of men much older than he, prompted confessions, and literally saved a branch of the Church.

The whole family put their faith on the line several years ago when they decided to close the shop on Sunday, even though it was one of their best days. They lost some customers after that, but they held firm to their decision, and their ex-customers, lonely for the incomparable pastries, came back and brought friends. Surrounded by this kind of integrity, Tom has learned many principles more important than the secrets of baking.

Dear Libby,
I guess you don’t know me, but I’m Kevin’s brother. I don’t know if he ever mentioned me or not. Did he? My name is Rick. I’m 15.
I don’t know if you know anything about me, but I know plenty about you. Are you worried? (That’s a joke.)
Kevin wrote a lot of neat things about you. I kept all his letters. I was reading them this morning. I like to go to his room and wrap his sleeping bag around me and read his letters.
In one of his letters he said your real name is Elizabeth, but you like Libby better. I do too. Except it reminds me of canned green beans. He said you were the first Mormon he’d ever met.
I’m 15 now. I was 13 when Kevin joined the Marines, and 14 when he was killed guarding the American Embassy in Rome.
Kevin and I were really close. Even my parents said so.
You probably didn’t know it, but he told me a lot of things about you. He told me things he didn’t even tell my parents. For instance, once he wrote and said that your hair is the same color as our dog. Now before you get mad, you should know we have an Irish setter named Lady, and the color of her hair is my favorite color. So if what Kevin said about your hair is true, then I think that when you get a little older you could be Miss America or even that lady on TV’s “Wheel of Fortune.” I like her because she doesn’t talk much. Mainly she points at the prizes and smiles.
Kevin told me a lot of things about you. Are you worried? I know you’re a dental assistant, and that’s how he met you, when you were cleaning his teeth.
Personally if I were a dental assistant I’d never fall in love with one of my patients. In the first place, how can you stand to put your fingers in a stranger’s mouth? And second, how can you respect somebody after you’ve scraped away all that crud from their teeth? I mean, it’s like you know the absolute worst thing about them.
He said he looked up at you, and that you had the most beautiful eyes he’d ever seen in his life. Do many guys fall in love with you when you’re scraping gunk off their teeth? I never would. No way. Of course Kevin always was a little different.
He also told me that on your first date you went jogging together. That sounds like Kevin. He was always looking for ways to save money. And that you didn’t drink or smoke, but you were a lot of fun anyway. He said that made him curious about you. I guess that’s why he agreed to go to your house and let those ministers from your church talk to him about God and stuff like that.
You must really be something to get him to change religions, because I thought he was pretty good the way he was. And I guess it’s no secret that it set my parents off. Mom said she thought you probably sweet-talked him into it. She says things like sweet-talk all the time because she’s from Georgia. She has all these strange sayings that none of the rest of us have ever heard before.
But about you sweet-talking him into becoming a Mormon—I don’t think so, because Kevin could be pretty stubborn sometimes, and if it’s true what Kevin said about you not kissing him for a long time after he started dating you, then I don’t think anybody can say you sweet-talked him into anything.
I didn’t mind Kevin joining your church if that’s what he wanted to do.
By now you’re probably wondering why I’m writing this letter. Actually it’s mainly because Dr. Nelson asked me to do it. He’s the psychologist assigned to my case. I told him about you, and he told me to write you a letter. He gave me a week to do it, and the week’s up tomorrow, and I have to go back to him then, so I’m sitting here in Kevin’s room, with his sleeping bag wrapped around me, writing you. It’s very early in the morning. Actually it’s three-thirty. Sometimes I can’t sleep at night.
I was 14 when he was killed. I wonder sometimes what was so valuable in that embassy. A bunch of old men. Was any of it worth Kevin’s life?
He sent me pictures of Italy. I’ve got one of him standing by an old boat. He’s smiling in the picture, and there’s this beautiful blue water behind him. The picture was taken just a month before he died.
It makes me wonder if at the same time the picture was taken, somebody was meeting in some little room, maybe in one of those houses in the background of that picture, working out a plan to bomb the American Embassy.
Besides being my brother, Kevin was my best friend. Some people said they’d never seen two brothers so close. Even when he was away from home, he wrote to me about things that were happening to him.
He liked to kid around even in his letters. In one letter he’d give me a puzzle, and in the next letter he’d answer it. It used to drive me crazy sometimes. But he was like that. Always fun.
I saved all his letters. I read them every night.
If a guy could have any kind of brother, he’d be the one to choose. To me he was the kind of guy who can do anything. He made me a kite once after I’d broken mine. He just made it out of newspaper and some branches from a tree. Did you know he got freckles on his face in the summer? He was never ashamed to tell people I was his younger brother. Once he even took me along on one of his dates. We went to a carnival, and he let me ride with him and his girl friend on the Ferris wheel, in the same car. It was a little crowded, but he didn’t seem to mind.
Once he took me camping, just the two of us. During the night there was this heavy thunder storm. It didn’t last long, but my sleeping bag got wet. His was dry because he’d remembered to put down a ground cloth. He told me to do it too when we set up camp, but I said it was too much bother. The reason I said that was because the sky was clear then.
Well, after the storm, and my sleeping bag was wet, he didn’t get mad and tell me it was my fault anyway for not putting down a ground cloth. Instead he got out of his sleeping bag and asked me to get in it instead. I asked him what he was going to do, and he said he thought he’d go build a fire and think.
I let him do it because I was too young to realize that it was only two thirty in the morning and nobody in their right mind goes out and sits by a fire for four hours in the middle of the night to think.
He did things like that for me all the time.
All the girls loved him. They really did. In high school for sure, because I was around and saw what was happening around our house. I wish I had a dime for every girl who came over to our house with a batch of cookies for Kevin. It was good for me too, because he’d always share with me.
Did you love him? A lot? I hope you did.
I asked him once why girls liked him so much, and he said it was because he treated them right. I asked him what he meant, and he said you’ve got to remember one thing about girls and that is that they’re people too. And I said well of course they are. Everybody knows that. So he named this really foxy movie star, and asked me if I thought anybody knew what her favorite color was. And I said no. And he said, that’s because people don’t treat her like she is a person. What do they treat her like, I asked, and he said they treat her like she’s a toy.
You can’t do that, he said. You’ve got to find out interesting things about them, like if they ever had measles, or when’s the last time they used crayons to draw a picture, or if they’ve ever baked a pecan pie, or if they play the piano, or if they know how to change the oil in a car.
This is really getting to be a long letter, isn’t it? Well, I’m almost through.
I have a question I want to ask you. I read all his letters this morning. And mostly I understand them all, except the last one, the one he wrote just before he was killed.
And that’s the main reason why I wanted to write you. I’ll copy down part of his last letter for you. I’ll skip the parts you wouldn’t be interested in.
I heard yesterday that an embassy in Germany was bombed. I hope they stay away from ours. Sometimes I get scared.
Rick, here’s a puzzle for you. Ready?
When things get bad and I’m afraid, I turn to another brother of ours. He’s faced it all before. When I get to a place in my life where I need help with a certain thing, then I read his words and they help me.
You and I are real close, and I’ve never really preached to you much, but I wanted to tell you about this older brother of ours. He’s someone I can go to for advice, and he will be there for you too. Because he’s been here on earth before us, and he knows the best way for us to live. And he loves us, even more than I love you.
In my next letter I’ll tell you who this brother is. And where you can find the things to read he wants to tell you.
Love, Kevin
That’s what he wrote. And it’s the thing I can’t understand.
Here I am, after he’s dead, reading his letters over and over again, trying to understand more about him. And then to think that he was doing the same thing about a brother of his.
But the thing that doesn’t make sense is that there is no other brother. There’s just the two of us in our family. So what did he mean? When the army sent all his belongings back to us, I went through everything, hoping to find what he said he had from this other brother that he talked about. But there weren’t any other letters except the ones from me and my parents and you—just that, and an old beat-up copy of the Bible and the book of the Mormons.
What I want to know is—who is this other brother he talked about? And where are the letters from this other brother to Kevin that he said he read all the time? I need to know because I really need help now too, at least that’s what my parents and Dr. Nelson think.
My mother just came in and told me it was late and I should go to bed. I told her I was writing a letter to you. She told me that you came to the funeral. I’m sorry I wasn’t there to meet you then. I’m sorry I ran away and caused my parents more worry. But I’m all right now.
If you have any ideas on my question, please write to me. And would it be all right if we wrote to each other once in a while? Kevin loved you, so you must feel bad too. Maybe we can help each other for a while, and then I won’t have to keep going back to Dr. Nelson.
Your new friend (I hope),Rick

For the next several months, time seemed to stand still for me; it seemed as though my life was a continual nightmare. No one seemed to understand my situation. There was no organization or group to support me or offer understanding. My life lost all direction and meaning. I was listless, tossed like a ship without sails, rudder, or anchor. Because I lost sight of all my former goals, my feelings were almost totally dead.
After spending some time at home, I met my childhood sweetheart and we began dating. Several months later we were married, but only after a very bad courtship. Because I had no priesthood, we could not enter the temple to be married, so we settled for a civil wedding. From the beginning our relationship was unstable.
I realized that attending church was a necessary part of the repentance process I had committed myself to, but I found it an almost overwhelmingly painful experience. Over and over again I reminded myself of my condition. Many times unknowing friends called on me to say a prayer or answer a question about the lesson and I knew that the only thing I was allowed to say was, “I’m sorry—I can’t.” In many ways I was reminded of my serious transgression.
As painful as these and other situations were, I was able to bear all but one. Each week as the sacrament was blessed and passed, in my heart I grieved and wept and prayed. But, because of my transgression and excommunication, I could not seal the holy baptismal contract by partaking of the sacrament. I had broken my contract. I longed to be one with the Lord and to be freed from my mountain of guilt.
Years earlier I had experienced the powers of Satan and his followers. Now I soon learned with great clarity the divine power contained in the righteous exercise of the priesthood. I could no longer exert this power to ward off these evil influences. Over the next several months, I called on my father many times to bless both me and my house and to cast out the darkness.

As a young couple, my husband and I were called by our bishop to visit and minister to a family who hadn’t been to church in many years. We willingly accepted the assignment and went to their home a few days later. It was immediately clear to us that they did not want visitors from the Church.
So on our next visit, we approached them with a plate of cookies, confident that chocolate chips would melt their hearts. They didn’t. The couple spoke to us through the screen door, making it even clearer that we weren’t welcome. But as we drove home, we were fairly certain success might have been achieved had we only offered them Rice Krispies Treats instead.
Our lack of spiritual vision made additional failed attempts frustrating. Rejection is never comfortable. Over time we began to ask ourselves, “Why are we doing this? What is our purpose?”
Elder Carl B. Cook made this observation: “Serving in the Church … can be challenging if we are asked to do something that frightens us, if we grow weary of serving, or if we are called to do something that we do not initially find appealing.” We were experiencing the truth of Elder Cook’s words when we decided we had to seek direction from Someone with a greater perspective than our own.
So, after much sincere prayer and study, we received the answer to the why of our service. We had a change in our understanding, a change of heart, actually a revelatory experience. As we sought direction from the scriptures, the Lord taught us how to make the process of serving others easier and more meaningful. Here is the verse we read that changed both our hearts and our approach: “Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, with all thy might, mind, and strength; and in the name of Jesus Christ thou shalt serve him.” Though this verse was so familiar, it seemed to speak to us in a new and important way.
We realized that we were sincerely striving to serve this family and to serve our bishop, but we had to ask ourselves if we were really serving out of love for the Lord. King Benjamin made clear this distinction when he stated, “Behold, I say unto you that because I said unto you that I had spent my days in your service, I do not desire to boast, for I have only been in the service of God.”
So whom was King Benjamin really serving? Heavenly Father and the Savior. Knowing the who and the why in serving others helps us understand that the highest manifestation of love is devotion to God.
As our focus gradually changed, so did our prayers. We began looking forward to our visits with this dear family because of our love for the Lord. We were doing it for Him. He made the struggle no longer a struggle. After many months of our standing on the doorstep, the family began letting us in. Eventually, we had regular prayer and tender gospel discussions together. A long-lasting friendship developed. We were worshipping and loving Him by loving His children.

Jim and Marian spent much of their time determining who was making the greatest contribution to their marriage. They believed that a marriage would work only if it was a 50–50 relationship. Neither felt that the other was being fair. Each was constantly upset about how little the other partner gave to the marriage.
When Jim and Marian changed their focus from how much they each could receive to how much they each could give, their marriage began to improve. Mormon said that “charity is the pure love of Christ” and that charity “seeketh not her own” (see Moro. 7:45, 47). A principle for making this work is found in the Sermon on the Mount: “Therefore all things whatsoever ye would that men should do to you, do ye even so to them: for this is the law and the prophets” (Matt. 7:12).
To make this work, Jim and Marian each needed to find out what the other really wanted. Marian had a romantic nature and valued thoughtful notes, an occasional flower, and frequent verbal reminders that she was loved. By contrast, Jim felt that he best said “I love you” by fixing things around the house, keeping the yard neatly groomed, and providing financial security for the family. Neither of these orientations is superior to the other. Once they learned that the “language of love” was different for each of them, they began to speak each other’s language. As a result, they began to see each other’s contributions to the marriage as fair.

Choosing good music has always been hard for me. I used to listen to whatever was popular at the time. I would memorize the words and sing along to the radio, but I wasn’t really paying attention to what I was hearing and singing. These small things led to my not making the best decisions in other parts of my life.
Most of the songs had a bad word in the lyrics. I would always make sure I didn’t sing those words, but every once in awhile one would slip. It’s just once, and I’m not doing it on purpose, I would think to myself. I should have stopped listening to that music right away, but I didn’t.
Looking back, I realize the more bad music I listened to, the more my attitude and the way I was acting was changing as well. I didn’t feel the Spirit with me very often, and I felt unhappy and angry all the time. I would yell at my friends, and I’m sure I wasn’t fun to be around.
Then I had this overwhelming feeling that I should look in my Personal Progress book. I noticed Integrity value experience 2: “Pray daily for strength and for the guidance of the Holy Ghost to help you live with integrity. Write in your journal the things you can do to improve your personal integrity and at least one new habit you want to develop” ([booklet, 2009], 62). I realized I hadn’t been the best I could be. I decided that I should work on listening to better music. Now I choose not to listen to bad music. I feel so happy, and the Spirit is back.

If we follow up, the Lord will not let us down. I have seen the unspeakable joy that accompanies testimony-driven inviting and faithful follow-up among members of the Church the world over. While in Argentina recently, I encouraged members to invite someone to church before this general conference. An eight-year-old by the name of Joshua listened and invited his best friend and his friend’s family to an open house at their ward in Buenos Aires. Let me read from a letter I just received that explained Joshua’s invitation and his faithful follow-up:
“Every few minutes [Joshua] would run out to the gate to see if they were coming. He said that he knew they would [come].
“The evening wore on and Joshua’s friend did not come, but Joshua did not give up. He faithfully checked the front gate every few minutes. It was time to start putting things away when Joshua started to jump up and down announcing, ‘They are here! They are here!’ I looked up to see an entire family approaching the church. Joshua ran out to greet them and hugged his friend. They all came in and seemed to enjoy the open house very much. They took some pamphlets and spent lots of time getting acquainted with some new friends. It was great to see the faith of this little boy and to know that Primary children can be missionaries too.”

Elder Bruce R. McConkie spoke of tears in general conference just a few weeks before his death. In one of the most powerful testimonies I have ever heard, that special witness, with full and complete knowledge that his passing was near, said,

I testify that [Jesus Christ] is the Son of the Living God and was crucified for the sins of the world. He is our Lord, our God, and our King. This I know of myself independent of any other person.
I am one of his witnesses, and in a coming day I shall feel the nail marks in his hands and in his feet and shall wet his feet with my tears. [“The Purifying Power of Gethsemane,” Ensign, May 1985, p. 11]

Those of us who witnessed the delivery of this magnificent address can testify that those tears were flowing even as he stood at the pulpit. They were not tears of sorrow relative to leaving this mortal existence, but tears of joy at the anticipation of the blessing awaiting him.

On May 22, 2022, my husband, Roger, was in an accident on his way to church. He was riding his motorbike when a driver failed to see him. He was life-flighted to Oregon Health Sciences University where surgeons worked for 11 hours just to stabilize him. Amazingly, he survived. They added 71 pieces of metal to his body to reattach some of his 24 broken bones. His brain and vital organs were miraculously unharmed. We are very aware that others are not always as fortunate and feel grateful. It has been a long road of patience and learning with 11 surgeries slowly transitioning from the hospital to a care home, to home health, to outpatient visits; and from a bed to a wheelchair, to a walker, to a cane, to walking. He wanted to be here today, but he was able to return to work last week.

Thankfully, my husband’s accident is not the first major trial in his life or mine. We had lots of experiences prior to that day. One of the more difficult trials I experienced went on for an extended period. I was told that the experience was to teach me to trust the Lord.

As I went through that trial, I was not particularly grateful it was happening, but in hindsight, I can see the growth that resulted from it. As I watched the helicopter lift off with my injured husband inside, I was very grateful for the lessons of that earlier trial. I was starting this trial already acquainted with a Savior who I knew would help and whom I could trust no matter the outcome.

This trust was key as the news came first that his leg might be amputated (it wasn’t), that his left arm might never work again (it didn’t for a month or so, but now it does), that he might never regain the use of his hands and leg well enough to return to work (and now he has done that too).

Another key to navigating this trial came from the blessings of family, friends, neighbors, and our ward family. Our eldest daughter, Lindsay, came home for two weeks to help and then, seeing that this was going to be a situation that was slow to find resolution, she dropped out of school for the term and came home to serve. She was a tremendous support that summer emotionally for our family and in watching our youngest son, Abraham, so I could visit Roger daily.

People contributed funds to help our family. They brought food. They did service around our home and provided enjoyable play dates for Abraham. They built a ramp to our front door so Roger would be able to get a wheelchair into our home. People of our faith and friends and neighbors of other faiths prayed for my husband. We were so blessed at the hands and hearts of many.

Once Roger was home and off many of the medications, the concerns of the situation came into better focus for him. He would struggle to sleep at night because of concerns about providing for our family and worries from the day. He initially handled this by listening to many conference talks. He thinks he listened to more talks in the past year and learned more from them than in the previous 60 years of his life. These spiritual beacons helped him find peace.

A good friend of mine recommended he begin journaling so he could let go of his concerns and sleep. This sounded like a great idea in principle, but with two broken hands, it wasn’t terribly practical. We decided instead that we would journal together each night. I acted as scribe and we would share the blessings of the day, the questions of the day, and our needs. This was a wonderful blessing for us. Some days the blessing list was long; some days we struggled to come up with blessings. But we’ve tried it and will likely continue to count blessings together and express our questions and needs to each other for the rest of our lives. It is a wonderful way to see the blessings and communicate with each other. It is also great preparation to know what we should include in our evening prayers.

I remember a dance on the last night of youth conference. A younger boy was sitting by himself. “This next dance is girls’ choice,” a voice announced. One of the sharpest girls in the stake walked up to this boy and asked him to dance. It wasn’t a setup. It wasn’t a service project. No leaders said that every girl had to dance with at least one shy boy before the night was over. This young woman simply noticed someone who needed a hand. She did what she could to make someone else feel cool—cool-aid.

Ben’s interest in photographing animals began when he was 14. Whilst being driven to school, he noticed some deer in a field and wished he could have taken a picture. He had caught the bug. He would go out in the early hours of the morning or late afternoons looking for animal and bird subjects he could photograph. His family have encouraged and supported his passion, even arranging trips to the Isle of Skye so he could photograph sea otters.