Gospel Story Finder

As a new bishop many years ago, I noticed a faithful sister who always attended church without her husband, John. I learned that he had previously been a branch president during the time their meetinghouse was being built. He received so little help from branch members that he burned himself out doing most of the work and became less active.
When ward members came to their home, he would light up his cigarette and set his beer can by his chair as if to say, “You won’t get me to come back.”
Eventually, I learned that John was an appliance repair man. Older members in the ward often called me to fix things. Now that I knew of John’s skills, I would call John and ask for advice on repairs.
I continued this for maybe a year. At that time, we needed to call a ward clerk. After prayerful consideration, I felt impressed to extend the call to John.
I told the stake president and he said, “We can’t call him now! He smokes and has his beer.” I asked the stake president to call him in for an interview anyway. John came to the interview but emphatically answered, “No, I am not worthy.”
Things continued as before—John remained less active, and I called him for advice. During this time, I didn’t say anything to him about coming back to church. I asked the stake president to interview him a second time. Again, John said no, but this time he added, “I will tell you when I’m ready.”
After this I still called John for advice and fellowshipped him the best I could.
One day I answered the phone and heard, “Is this the ol’ Bishop?” He had started calling me by that title. “This is John. I’m ready.” He was then called and served as our ward clerk.
As the years passed, John served in a number of callings. He and his wife served a mission together, and now they serve in the temple. At my 50th wedding anniversary party, John wrote a note that said, “Bishop, thank you for saving my life.”
I can’t put in words the joy I feel knowing that John returned to church in part because I was patient and asked him for help when I needed it.

“Each week for several weeks I gave a lady with five children in our ward a few hours to herself. Babysitting five kids is not easy. At times I could have pulled my hair out, but I survived and without losing my temper. I helped the children each transfer one of their drawings onto a quilt block, and we made a special quilt for their mother. Doing good works for someone else gave me a warm feeling inside.”
Heather BellMeridian Idaho East Stake

“And please, Heavenly Father, bless me to know what our family can do to help build the temple,” Mama prayed. Phoebe looked at Mama’s face and saw tears rolling down her cheeks, dripping onto her faded blouse. “Into bed with you now,” Mama instructed.
As she pulled the covers up Phoebe asked, “Why are you crying, Mama? Is it because Papa’s on another mission?”
“I do miss Papa. It will be a glorious day when we’re all together again,” Mama said. She tucked the quilts around Phoebe, tight against the bitter night. “But we have so much to be grateful for—our house here in Nauvoo, and six healthy, beautiful children. The Lord is watching over us, Phoebe.”
“But why are you crying, Mama?”
Mama sighed. “I just want so much to help finish the temple.” Mama stood up. “Good night, sweet Phoebe,” she said, and snuffed out the candle.
Phoebe found it hard to sleep. Her arms ached from scrubbing, wringing, and hanging laundry. Her thumb throbbed from pricking it again and again while mending. Even her back was tired from carrying wood.
All of Nauvoo was busy as the Saints worked to finish the temple. While the men did the heaviest labor of hauling and hammering, carving and cutting, the women and children helped by spinning, weaving, knitting, and embroidering the finest additions for the inside of the temple. They also kept the workers fed. A warm feeling filled Phoebe’s heart as she remembered dishing the soup from the big pot at the temple grounds.
“Over here, little sister,” a worker had called to her.
As she offered the soup to the stonecutter she noticed how he held the steaming cup in both hands, soaking the warmth deep into his freezing fingers. The workers only took a moment to relax, then back they went to the next task. “Thank you, little sister,” the man had called.
And with that memory, Phoebe was sound asleep.
As the sun lightened the sky, Phoebe awakened and began to prepare for church. Sunday was the day she missed Papa most. But there were many things she loved about the Sabbath. She loved how everyone looked their best for church, and she loved how even the babies quieted when the Prophet Joseph Smith stood to speak.
This morning the Prophet thanked the Saints for their hard work on the temple and hoped they would double their efforts. Tears formed in Mama’s eyes again, and Phoebe imagined she could hear her mother praying, “How I wish we had more to give.” But they had given everything. How could Mama’s prayer be answered?
Driving home in the wagon, Mama suddenly yanked back on the reins, jerking the wagon to a stop while straining to see something near the roadside. Phoebe peered over the side of the wagon and saw two brown, furry heaps.
“Why, there’s the answer to our prayer,” Mama said. She pulled her sewing scissors from her bag and asked the older children to help her.
“Buffalo,” said little Sarah, pointing a chubby finger.
Two dead buffalo lay in the underbrush and Phoebe wondered where they possibly had come from.
“Help me, children,” Mama directed. The older children pulled at the long mane hair and Mama cut and snipped until they had a large bundle of brown, coarse hair. It took a long time, but their work had just begun. The next day, they washed the hair squeaky clean with strong lye soap. Next, Phoebe brushed and brushed the hair with the carding comb till it was straight and tangle free. Mama spun the hair on a spindle, making yards of dark brown yarn.
All the while Phoebe held back the question until she couldn’t wait another minute. “What, why … how could we ever use such ugly, coarse yarn for something as beautiful as the temple?”
“You’ll see,” Mama replied.
At last the yarn was ready. As Mama began to knit, Phoebe watched in fascination as it slowly took shape. Suddenly, the image of the stonecutter’s cold, red hands came clearly to Phoebe’s memory.
“Mittens!” Phoebe exclaimed. “Mittens for the stonecutters. Now they won’t have to wait for a bowl of soup to warm their hands.”
By the time Mama finished she had knit eight pairs of brown mittens. “They’re beautiful,” Phoebe sighed as she touched each pair. She felt as if her heart was wrapped up in a warm mitten. Mama’s prayers had been answered and their buffalo mittens would help build the temple.

To illustrate this, here are two stories of young men in different centuries who answered a call from a prophet. The first happened in 1856. Most of you have heard this story about the last of the handcart companies coming west. The Martin and Willie group was in desperate trouble because of a late start and an early winter. President Brigham Young put out a call in general conference for men to gather their wagons, supplies, and teams and go and rescue these people. As part of those that left, three young men, all 18 years old, answered the call.

Three eighteen-year-old boys belonging to the relief party came to the rescue and to the astonishment of all who saw, carried nearly every member of that ill-fated handcart company across the snowbound stream. The strain was so terrible, and the exposure so great, that in later years all the boys died from the effects of it. When President Brigham Young heard of this heroic act, he wept like a child, and later declared publicly, “That act alone will ensure C. Allen Huntington, George W. Grant and David P. Kimball an everlasting salvation in the Celestial Kingdom of God, worlds without end.”

There was the group of Relief Society women in Central Java who would each save a spoonful of rice in the morning before they began cooking for the day. They’d put that spoonful, each day, in a plastic bag; then on Saturday they would bring their bags with them to Relief Society. If anyone was ill or had not been attending church for some time, all the sisters would walk together following the meeting to visit her. And they would take some of the rice to share. I’ve learned much about service and consecration from such examples.

Like any self-respecting teenager in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, I attended seminary for four consecutive years. This meant long hours of gospel learning in addition to Sunday and family study hours. It was sometimes a difficult and trying experience.
I began seminary in 2017 in our Pare Ward of the Arue Tahiti Stake. I was in 9th grade in school at the time, and I was eager to be part of this youth group.
During my first year, I woke up before 5 am every weekday to get to seminary on time. I did my readings, and I was very attentive in class. I realized seminary contributed to deepening my relationship with God. Without Him, I would not have been able to successfully pass my school’s National Certificate Exam at the end of year 9.
Over the next two years, I gradually became lax in my duties, missing seminary or arriving late more often. I lost my desire to attend seminary, so I was less consistent in my efforts.
Accordingly, my 10th year in school was difficult, but I was unaware at the time of how this was related to my performance in seminary.
In year 11, I started going out with classmates who dabbled in things our Church doesn’t recommend, like alcohol and cigarettes. I even felt a little ashamed of not being like these friends and not hanging out more with them.
Consequently, my annual grades were low and if I had to take the bachelor exam that year, I doubt I would have passed.
Then, the COVID pandemic changed our daily lives, which I thank God for. When seminary classes started up on our smartphones, it was as if to counteract the evil that is also rampant on there.
Although I still had moments of weakness, I decided to hang in there and tried to sincerely follow the lessons of seminary, to benefit from God’s help in my studies.
I am grateful for my parents. Without them, I would have dropped out of seminary and followed the same path as my nonmember friends. As my favorite seminary teachers, they watched over me, making sure I stayed connected to God.
Then, healthy social relationships with the youth of the ward became my lifeline. Our activities together renewed me each time I was not in the mood. Among these friends was Corail Sommers, who never judged but always listened and encouraged and raised me up by her example.
In their own ways, they each contributed to my personal balance.
The discipline of daily immersion in the scriptures paid off in my last year of seminary, which was also my 12th and final year of school.
My seminary study habits allowed me to be better organized. While I’m not a fan of reading, I strove to read daily. It allowed me to maintain my relationship—even a fragile one—with Heavenly Father.
That year, I passed my bachelor diploma with honors. I got my driver’s license on my first try. I received my call to serve a mission in Paris. All in all, the hand of God was in my life the whole time I was in seminary and at school.
Looking back, I testify that God will always help because He loves us.
Seminary is exactly what we need as young people to help us to trust God and to let him prevail in our lives. He always trusted me.

Since President Thomas S. Monson announced the change in age for missionary service, youth all over the Church have eagerly responded not only to the invitation to serve but also to the invitation to prepare to serve. And one way to prepare is to learn more about what’s in store when you become a full-time missionary.
Some youth in Norway did exactly that during a day-long “Missionary Experience” hosted by the Fredrikstad Ward of the Oslo Norway Stake.
The youth gathered at the meetinghouse in a room that represented a missionary training center. “We received an assignment to learn about a country,” says Jakob R. of the Moss Ward. “It gave us a feeling for what it must be like to receive a mission call and know that you could be called to a place that’s different from what you are used to.”
“Then we went next door to meet a returned missionary who was playing the role of a mission president,” says Simon W. of the Oslo Ward. The returned missionary and other returned missionaries talked about what to expect while serving a mission. “I thought it was really neat to learn from returned missionaries what to expect during a full-time mission,” Simon says. Participants also received a name badge, were assigned a companion, and were instructed to remain with their companion at all times.
Workshops taught the youth about developing spiritually but also about managing temporal needs such as doing laundry, following a budget, and staying in good physical condition.
“I particularly enjoyed the workshop about how to start gospel conversations,” says Inger Sofie J. of the Oslo Ward. “That’s something I can start doing right now.”
“I enjoyed discussing how to use Preach My Gospel,” says Karl Frederik O. of the Fredrikstad Ward. “I had always thought that missionaries had their own list of scriptures to learn, but I found out that what I’m already doing in seminary will help me as a missionary and so will what I’m already studying in Preach My Gospel.”
Many young men said that one of the most memorable workshops included hands-on experience with ironing a white shirt. “It reminded me that there are a lot of practical skills I can work on to get ready for a full-time mission,” says Jakob.
“I learned that there is a lot I can be doing right now to join with the full-time missionaries serving here so that we are all part of the same team,” says Sarah R. of the Sandvika Ward. “Members are missionaries too.”
As a reminder that missionaries serve all over the world, refreshments featured recipes from a variety of nations. “That reminded me that I should try new foods now so that I’m used to trying things I don’t eat all the time. That will help me to adjust more quickly if I am called to a place where they eat things I’m not used to,” says Simon.
“At the end of the day, after we heard the testimonies of two of the youth and two newly returned missionaries, we sang the hymn ‘Called to Serve,’” says Liss Andrea O. of the Fredrikstad Ward. “I felt that if I keep singing this hymn all the time, I will have a constant reminder that when we are missionaries, we are serving Heavenly Father and He will bless us.”
By the end of the day, the youth in the stake understood that not only are they preparing for a full-time missionary experience but that they can have missionary experiences right now and through the rest of their lives.

Not long after Nelson was born in Asunción, Paraguay, his parents met the missionaries. “One day my dad was on the porch at home and saw Elder Higbee and Elder Johnson but did not know they were missionaries,” Brother Mousqués recalls. “He told my sister to bring out two chairs because, he said, ‘Those young men will change our lives.’ When the elders clapped at the door, he opened it and said, ‘Come in. We have been waiting for you.’ My father and the entire family joined the Church.”

On June 6, 1944, Hyrum Shumway, a young second lieutenant in the United States Army, went ashore at Omaha Beach as part of the D-day invasion. He made it safely through the landing, but on July 27, as part of the Allied advance, he was severely injured by an exploding anti-tank mine. In an instant, his life and future medical career had been dramatically impacted. Following multiple surgeries, which helped him recover from most of his serious injuries, Brother Shumway never did regain his sight. How would he respond?
Following three years in a rehabilitation hospital, he returned home to Lovell, Wyoming. He knew that his dream of becoming a medical doctor was no longer possible, but he was determined to move ahead, get married, and support a family.
He eventually found work in Baltimore, Maryland, as a rehab counselor and employment specialist for the blind. In his own rehabilitation process, he had learned that the blind are capable of much more than he had realized, and during his eight years in this position, he placed more blind people into employment than any other counselor in the nation.
Now confident in his ability to provide for a family, Hyrum proposed to his sweetheart by telling her, “If you will read the mail, sort the socks, and drive the car, I can do the rest.” They were soon sealed in the Salt Lake Temple and ultimately blessed with eight children.
In 1954 the Shumways returned to Wyoming, where Brother Shumway worked for 32 years as the State Director of Education for the Deaf and Blind. During that time, he served for seven years as bishop of the Cheyenne First Ward and, later, 17 years as stake patriarch. Following his retirement, Brother and Sister Shumway also served as a senior couple in the London England South Mission.
Hyrum Shumway passed away in March 2011, leaving behind a legacy of faith and trust in the Lord, even under trying conditions, to his large posterity of children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren.1

An American naturalist was once walking along the seashore looking for interesting specimens of sea life. His attention was attracted to a large, strange-looking object lying ahead of him out a little way in the water. Upon examination he found that it was an immense bird, an American eagle, with a large steel trap snapped onto one foot. Three hundred miles away, on a rugged mountain slope, this great American eagle, the symbol of freedom, the emblem of power and courage, had soared down out of the sky to pick up an enticing piece of bait. In the process of getting the bait, the eagle had put his foot into the jaws of a vicious steel trap. Then the noble bird had struggled with all his might. He had jerked and pulled and fought until he had finally broken the chain and had flown away with the trap to which a part of the chain was still attached.
The eagle had regained enough of his freedom to fly 300 miles away. But he was still fatally handicapped. He must continue to endure the torment of the trap’s steel jaws relentlessly biting into his leg. In addition to the constant pain, he was now unable to maintain the old-time association with his companions. He was also severely handicapped in obtaining his food and maintaining his spirit. After weeks of suffering and exhaustion, this great eagle, worn out by struggle, famished by hunger, sickened by loneliness, and tortured by despair, had fallen into the margin of the sea to die, with the trap still biting into his broken, festering foot.

Things can feel pretty crummy sometimes, but you don’t have to stay down! These simple strategies have helped me conquer my crummy-day woes.

Sometimes it’s hard to see the little ways God shows that He knows and loves you—especially when you’re distracted by the bad stuff. For example, one morning after several people mentioned a zit I had on my forehead (one dubbed it “the volcano”), I could barely respond without an angry outburst. It almost ruined my day.

During difficult times like this, I cultivate gratitude by listing ways I see God’s hand in my life every day. I write down at least three blessings per day, often more.

Sometimes they may seem little or silly, but they are always things that help me know that God is aware of me specifically. For example, that same day at my job a particularly grumpy customer gave me a compliment—I was floored. He didn’t even mention “the volcano”! It went on my list.

What blessings have you seen today? Focus on the positive. Maybe your friend’s text was an answer to your prayers or simply put a smile on your face. Write down the tender mercies you see, and you’ll keep noticing more.

When we physically record these times that we see God’s hand in our lives—rather than just think of them briefly—it shows God that we recognize them and are grateful for them. President Henry B. Eyring, Second Counselor in the First Presidency, described what happened as he engaged in this process:
“Something began to happen. As I would cast my mind over the day, I would see evidence of what God had done for one of us that I had not recognized in the busy moments of the day. As that happened, and it happened often, I realized that trying to remember had allowed God to show me what He had done.
“More than gratitude began to grow in my heart.”1

Some time later I was summoned to a meeting of the Administrative Council in President Wilkinson’s office. They were discussing the appointment of someone in St. George to recruit the graduates of Dixie Junior College to BYU. I recommended the director of the institute there and said, “To appoint someone else would be misunderstood.”

The others there agreed. But after discussion, President Wilkinson said someone else would be better. I responded, “That’s all right, President, but you are still wrong.”

Suddenly there was dead silence. When President Wilkinson was greatly amused or angry, he had a way of running his tongue around the inside of his cheeks. He stood up and walked around his desk two or three times. I suppose he was trying to get control of himself. Finally he sat down, and Joseph T. Bentley said quietly, “President, Brother Packer is right.”

At that point I was excused from the meeting. That night I told Donna that we would be leaving BYU, and I hoped we could return to Brigham City to teach seminary. Two days later I received a memo from President Wilkinson appointing me to the Administrative Council of Brigham Young University.

During the years I served on that council, I came to appreciate President Wilkinson. He had a profound influence on the university, and the naming of a building, this building, for him is little enough by way of tribute to him.

Let me tell you about three Turkish converts:
The first one is Murat Çak?r who is serving currently as the ?stanbul Branch President. Murat grew up as a Muslim but his parents were not active in the Mulsim religion. He started going to the mosque as a young man but knew something was missing. One day, he prayed to God that if He would help him find that which was missing, he would dedicate his life to Him. Murat’s grandmother was a very devout Muslim. She would often say, “God always protects and blesses those who have faith in Him.”

At age sixteen, in Istanbul, Murat started studying international relations. Murat received a scholarship to study in Norway. In Norway at the age of seventeen, Murat had the opportunity to learn about Christianity.

One evening when Murat was in his room in the dorms at the university, he had a strong impression to get out of his room. As he did, he saw two men in suits and overcoats passing his door. He felt a strong prompting to talk with them. These two men dressed in suits and overcoats were missionaries from the Church. Murat took the missionary lessons. As Murat prayed, he knew that their message was true. He felt a special peace in receiving the lessons and in going to Church. Murat was converted at the age of twenty. He enjoyed sharing the Gospel with others. He was called to be a stake missionary.

Murat decided to become a full-time missionary but realized this would mean leaving Norway resulting in his losing his deferment status to study in Norway again. When Murat joined the Church, there was only one Turkish member residing in Turkey. Going on a mission also meant that Murat would most likely be obligated by the Turkish Government to serve in the military for eighteen months which could easily result in his fighting terrorists in the mountain regions of Turkey.

In 1989, Murat left his education and sold everything he had to serve a mission. He was called to serve in Arizona. Murat’s parents were totally against him going on a mission. However, he knew that this is what the Lord wanted him to do. At the age of twenty-two, Murat began his mission. He devoted himself completely in the service of the Lord for the next two years. Being close to the Spirit, Murat had a dream on his mission that his grandmother would pass on in a week. This was followed by another dream two weeks later that she had died. This was confirmed in a letter Murat received from his mother shortly thereafter.

During Murat’s mission, his passport was about to expire and his embassy refused to renew it as he was not a worker or student. Murat’s mission president had him apply to BYU-Provo whereupon Murat received a four-year scholarship. Murat was able to finish his two-year mission plus one month.

At BYU, Murat was able to help out with the translation of the Book of Mormon into Turkish which took six years. During this time of translation, many miracles occurred in the translation process. In 2001, the Book of Mormon was published in Turkish.

At BYU, Murat met his to-be eternal companion, Susan. They now have five children and all are dual-citizens. After attending graduate school and taking a job in the Middle East for a time, the family moved to Turkey in August of 2008 from Provo without any job prospects. Upon their second day in Turkey, Susan was offered a position at a private Turkish school with full scholarships for their five children. Murat started working for the Translation Department of the Church. He is currently working on translating the Doctrine and Covenants into Turkish. Murat has served as the Istanbul Branch President for over the past six years.

“Mom, I think that boy fell off his bike!” Annie said. A little boy was sitting on the sidewalk just ahead. His bike was on the ground, and he was crying. An older boy was sitting with him.
“Are you hurt?” Annie asked as she and Mom got closer.
“My brother fell and hurt his knee,” the older boy said. “I need to take him home. But I don’t think I can push both bikes and help him walk at the same time.”
“We can help!” Annie said.
Mom nodded. “We can help you get home.”
The younger boy wiped away tears. His brother helped him stand up. Mom and Annie took the bikes. They walked slowly up the street.
Soon they were at the boys’ house. A woman stepped out with her hands on her hips. “What’s going on?” she asked.
“Your son fell off his bike and hurt his knee,” Mom said. “We were passing by. So we stopped to help.”
The woman looked at them. But she didn’t say anything. She took the little boy’s hand. “Come inside. I’ll wash off your knee. Jason, put the bikes in the garage.”
The older boy wheeled the bikes away. The woman closed the front door.
Mom and Annie started walking home.
Annie frowned. “They didn’t even thank us!”
“No, they didn’t,” Mom said. “But do we help people just so they will thank us?”
Annie thought for a minute. “No. We help them because they need our help. When I got baptized, I promised to help other people.”
“You’re right,” Mom said. “That’s what we all promise.”
Annie thought some more. “People didn’t always thank Jesus for the good things He did. But that didn’t stop Him. So I won’t let it stop me either.”
“And remember that Heavenly Father is happy when we help too,” Mom said.
Annie smiled. “That’s thanks enough for me.”
When we’re baptized, we promise to comfort and help others. Who can you help?
This story took place in the USA.

Many years ago, some of my younger cousins were assigned to do a service project at our Grandpa Crozier Kimball’s farm. As a reward, they were promised Grandma Clara’s1 fabulous homemade cake.
When they had completed their tasks, they headed to the kitchen for their reward. Grandpa, however, blocked the kitchen door. My cousin Kathy Galloway, who was about 14 at the time, recalls that he sat down on a piano bench and invited the cousins to sit on the floor. He thanked them for their hard work and then said he had something important to share before they ate their cake.
“There will come a time in your lives when you will need to know and act on what I am about to share with you,” he said.
He explained that his grandfather Heber C. Kimball (1801–68) and other pioneer ancestors had faced arduous physical challenges. Grandpa said the pioneers quickly learned that to survive, they had to work together and love and serve each other.
“This is one of the great legacies they left to you!” he said as tears began to roll down his cheeks.
“In my calling as a patriarch and as your grandfather, when I look down the corridors of time, … my heart aches for you,” he said. “You will face emotional and spiritual challenges that most of your pioneer ancestors could never have imagined.”
Unless the younger generation honors the pioneers’ great legacy of love and service, he added, “many of you will fail because you will not be able to survive on your own.”
Then, with a spirit-to-spirit connection, Grandpa Kimball concluded: “We need each other. In addition to sharing our testimonies of the gospel with one another, our duty is to love and serve and strengthen and nourish and support and sustain each other, … especially in our family. Please remember that in the last days, your very survival may depend on your willingness to work together and to love and serve each other. Now, let us go eat cake!”

“Relax, boys. I’ve seen that kind of sign before.”
“Maybe so,” they shouted, “but that sign isn’t fooling!”
I glanced again at the Beware of Dog sign attached to a tall wire fence. Just beyond the fence were two large black and white dogs. I thought to myself, “An English setter and an English pointer; both breeds are considered fairly even tempered. In fact, they are usually very good family pets.” I was considering those thoughts when my eyes began to focus on the steam coming from those snarling jaws.
I was the replacement driver of a school bus route and was on my first run. It was late in the fall, and I had been thinking about the many things I had to do. Every half mile or so my thoughts, along with the bus route, changed course. I was enrolled in graduate school, as a teacher I had my school lessons to prepare, I had Church meetings to conduct, it was hunting season, my oldest son needed assistance with his Scouting requirements, there was firewood to be cut, and I was trying to finish extra rooms in our basement for our seven children. In light of that schedule, I suppose a reasonably sane person would definitely not be interested in driving a school bus, but we could certainly put the extra wages to good use.
At each stop the students would cheerfully give information about the sites along the route. I guess this job won’t be too bad after all, I thought. That is when the barking dogs snapped me back into reality. Big deal, I thought reassuringly, what are they going to do—eat the bus?
“Hey, Mister,” the kids yelled in unison, “you better get going before they jump that fence and eat this bus!”
“Very funny, very funny.”
However, I noticed that as I shifted gears and pulled away, I kept my eyes on the dogs.
When I returned home that afternoon I related the incident to my family. My three older boys were a bit mystified.
“Come on, Dad, you didn’t really believe those dogs could hurt you in that big bus, did you?”
“I guess I was just concerned about the students, but those dogs certainly looked like they wanted to get over that fence pretty bad.”
The conversation then jumped to the other events of the day, both at school and at home. At supper, my oldest son asked me to help him with his Scouting requirements. He was progressing toward Eagle rank but was having difficulty in completing the high jump skill in the Athletics merit badge. Although he was a fairly good athlete, he just couldn’t seem to find enough spring to jump the additional inch that was required for a boy his height and weight. In fact, he had finished every other skill rather easily, but the high jump seemed to be a tremendous obstacle.
I suggested he try the long jump alternate. He admitted he was even worse in that area and reasoned that he had given it his very best effort, failed, and now needed some extra reassurance. I watched him attempt the long jump. He was right. After inspecting his shoes for traces of Superglue we both concurred that the high jump was his best chance for success.
We went over to the school high jump pit. I reminded him that David had a difficult challenge in the person of the formidable Goliath. I stressed that a person can accomplish goals that appear to be impossible, if they have enough faith and work hard.
After a short warm-up and his first attempt, I was beginning to see how tall Goliath really was! We worked on his approach, his speed, his takeoff, his head position—everything I could think of. As failure began to take its toll, the inch became two, then three. The old wedge of discouragement finally found the mark and sunk deep into my boy’s heart.
“Dad, there is no way I’ll ever make that jump!”
He was trying to conceal his emotions, but it was obvious that his spirit was almost broken. His hair was tousled, his face was wet with perspiration, his shirt was torn, and he looked as though he had been through the first cycle in a washing machine.
“Rhett, the only limits you’ll ever know are the ones you place on yourself. I know you can do it. Just don’t give up. Now get up and …”
“Look, Dad,” he shot back, “I’ve given it everything I have. There’s nothing left to give. It’s not that I’m quitting. I’m just smart enough to know when I’m beat.”
“But Rhett …”
“Dad! Let’s go home. There are plenty of other merit badges I can earn.”
The winter months soon had our valley home in Idaho firmly tucked in under a blanket of deep snow. That year winter seemed determined to show off some muscle. It seemed that snow was falling continuously in record amounts, making driving hazardous and causing frequent cancellation of school. After a particularly severe storm I was proceeding along my bus route, being extremely cautious about the driving conditions. I was concentrating so intently that it wasn’t until all the students at my favorite stop had been seated before I even looked around at the surrounding scenery.
Ah yes, the dogs were barking viciously at the bus. As I reached toward the gear shift I found myself doing a quick doubletake. Both dogs were there, ears back, tails low, warning us in no uncertain terms that they were the meanest critters around. There was no doubt that they wanted to get at me, the students, or the bus itself, if only they had the chance. But that was the amazing part of the scene. At the sight of the bus, both dogs had raced the length of the yard and stopped abruptly where the fence was—I mean used to be! The deep snow had drifted completely over the fence giving it the appearance of a small ski ramp.
I couldn’t believe how ridiculous those dogs looked. The obstacle that had always prevented them from enjoying their meal of orange metal and rubber tires had been eliminated, yet they were stopped from pursuing us by some invisible force. Invisible, but apparently very effective.
While driving away, I noticed in my mirror that the dogs were still barking furiously but refused to give chase. As I pondered this scene, I considered how often people find themselves in situations very similar to the one in which the unfriendly canines were. How unfortunate that we place unnecessary limits on what we think we can achieve. Of course there must be a certain degree of realism in our goals, but if we are to attain great things we must set our standards high.
“High?”
Of course, the high jump! Rhett had talked himself out of a goal simply because he had failed and no longer believed he could surpass that invisible inch. I had to convince him that he was wrong. I couldn’t wait to get home and recall the story of the dogs to Rhett.
For some reason he didn’t share my enthusiasm, but I still encouraged him to try again. My pleading pep talk was beginning to wear down his resistance, so I applied the finishing touches. Assuming the role of Knute Rockne, the famous Notre Dame football coach, I sternly said, “Those dogs can’t fly, but Eagles can!” He was silent for a moment, but then agreed to train harder and continue jumping until he overcame his obstacle. I was pleased with his devotion. Every day he would jump rope, jog, do exercises, or practice his jumping form. It looked like he was getting serious.
In three weeks the weather began to clear, and the theory was put to the test. Rhett was measured and weighed again to make certain he was still in the same skill group. After a word of prayer and some warm-ups, he went to his starting point while I set up the bar. He was unaware that I had set the bar a full two inches above the required height. It was a gamble, but I could tell by the way he glared at the bar that he was determined to clear that height if it took all night.
He began to rock back and forth to establish a rhythm. As he took his first step I could hear my heart pound anxiously. His pace began to increase, and so did my pulse. Faster, faster until he gathered himself for that final spring. He grunted as he swung his arms high and arched his body toward the bar. There were three or four inches of blue sky between the boy and the top of his “fence.” It was hard to believe he had cleared it with such ease on his first attempt.
As he lay on the pile of foam rubber, staring wide-eyed into the sky, smiles began to appear on our faces. There was no “S” on his chest, no cape around his neck, he was not capable of leaping tall buildings in a single bound. He had not earned an Olympic medal. Yet he had more than tripled the output necessary to achieve his goal. Perhaps he had gained something far more valuable than any award. He had begun to see the importance of hard work and determination.
I realized there is no reason for us to allow invisible fences to limit our righteous aspirations. Anyone who has overcome the barriers to success has had to eliminate the invisible fences that would prevent achievement. I am convinced that the prophet Alma taught a profound truth when he said: “by small and simple things are great things brought to pass” (Alma 37:6).

Kristy Monson enjoyed being in the second grade. Every afternoon she rushed home to tell Mom about her day. On Monday, she bounced through the door, waving an invitation to the birthday party of her best friend, Debbie. On Tuesday, she brought home a new T-shirt she had received as a reward for reaching her goal in the school’s reading program. On Wednesday, she proudly modeled a construction-paper princess hat that she had made. On Thursday, she ran home as fast as she could and exclaimed that her class had traveled to the fish hatchery for a field trip.
Friday was different. A dark cloud hovered over Kristy as she trudged home from school and through the kitchen door. Her normal ear-to-ear smile was replaced by large tears that streamed down her round, freckled face.
Mom immediately set down the pan she was drying and wiped away Kristy’s tears.
“Oh, Mom,” Kristy sobbed, “today was the worst day of my life!”
After offering a few words of comfort, Mom led Kristy to the family room, where they sat together on the sofa. “Sweetheart, please tell me what has upset you.”
Choking back tears, Kristy explained, “Debbie was mad at me for playing hopscotch with Cindy during recess, so she told some of the other girls that I’m adopted and that I’m not really a Monson.”
Mom smiled and replied, “Of course you’re a Monson. The very first time I held you in my arms, I knew that you belonged with us. I’m sure that each member of our family will always remember the wonderful morning when we took you to the St. George Temple to have you sealed to us forever.”
Mom wiped a few tears from her own eyes as she continued, “Dad and I love you just as much as we do your brothers and sisters, and we feel that Heavenly Father helped us find you because He knew that we needed you in our family.”
“I do know that you and Dad love me,” Kristy said as her smile slowly returned. “And I’m very thankful to have such a wonderful family. Thanks, Mom! I always feel better after talking to you.” Giving her mother a hug and a kiss, Kristy skipped off to her bedroom to change her clothes so she could play.
Later that evening, Dad found Kristy sitting at her desk with a serious look on her face. “Mom told me what happened at school today. Do you want to talk about it?”
After collecting her thoughts, Kristy said, “I’m glad to be a member of this family. I love you and Mom very much, and I’m thankful for my brothers and sisters. I even forget that I’m adopted until someone reminds me. But, Dad”—tears welled up in Kristy’s eyes—“why am I the only one who was adopted?”
Dad smiled and hugged Kristy. “First let me remind you of how very thankful I am to have you as my daughter. I love you very much, Kristy.” His voice took on a reverent tone as he continued, “And you aren’t the only one who is adopted. In a very special way, your mother and I, and Jared, Josh, Kari, and Kelli have been adopted, too.”
A look of confusion spread across Kristy’s face.
Dad laughed softly. “Let me see—how can I explain what I’m talking about? I know—in family home evening we’ve been helping you to prepare for your upcoming baptism.”
“I know that baptism is so important that even Jesus was baptized,” Kristy put in with enthusiasm. “I can follow His example and be baptized by immersion. That means I’ll be completely covered by water.”
“That’s correct, honey. Do you remember the covenants you will make with your Heavenly Father?”
“I think so, Dad. I will promise to always remember Jesus and keep His commandments. And Heavenly Father will promise me that I can always have His Spirit to be with me.”
“You’ve done a great job remembering many of the things we’ve talked about, Kristy, and I know that you’ll continue to learn and understand even more. Do you remember whose name you will take upon you when you are baptized?”
“Yes,” Kristy quickly answered. “Jesus Christ’s.”
“That’s right. When you were adopted, you took upon yourself the Monson name. When you are baptized and take Jesus Christ’s name upon you—”
“Then I will be adopted into His family?” Kristy interrupted.
Dad smiled as he picked up Kristy’s scriptures. He opened the Book of Mormon and turned to Mosiah 5:7. “Maybe this scripture will help you to understand.”
Kristy read, “‘And now, because of the covenant which ye have made ye shall be called the children of Christ, his sons, and his daughters; for behold, this day he hath spiritually begotten you; for ye say that your hearts are changed through faith on his name; therefore, ye are born of him and have become his sons and his daughters.’”
“Wow!” Kristy exclaimed. “The more I learn about baptism, the more I see how special and important it is. I can’t wait until my baptism on Saturday!”
Saturday afternoon arrived, and the friends and family members of the children who were going to be baptized filled the chapel. Debbie sat down next to Kristy. Both girls looked beautiful in their white dresses.
“Kristy,” Debbie whispered. “I met with the bishop last night for my baptism interview. We talked about the importance of repentance and about baptism for the remission of sins. Before I’m baptized, I want to tell you how sorry I am for being mean to you the other day at school. Will you please forgive me so we can be best friends again?”
“Of course I forgive you,” Kristy quickly answered. “I’m glad that we’re best friends and that we’re both being baptized today.”
When the Bishop stood at the pulpit to conduct the meeting, Kristy was so excited that her stomach felt like it had butterflies fluttering around in it. She enjoyed the talk that Debbie’s brother gave about having faith in Jesus Christ, and the one her own sister, Kari, gave about the Holy Ghost. Kari shared personal experiences of how the Holy Ghost had helped her since her baptism. Kristy knew that after her baptism and confirmation, she could have the Holy Ghost as her constant companion if she always tried to obey the commandments and choose the right.
After Kristy and Debbie’s Primary class sang a song about baptism, the two girls quietly walked to the stairs by the font. When it was their turn, Kristy and her dad went down the stairs into the water. Then Kristy’s dad said the special prayer and gently lowered her under the water until she was completely immersed.
As Kristy came up out of the water, she felt warm and happy. Her bright, glowing smile matched the faces of her family and friends. This was a special day she would remember forever.
After the services, Kristy and Debbie talked together. “I feel really happy inside,” Debbie said. “I’m glad I chose to follow Jesus and be baptized. I really do feel clean and pure.”
Kristy nodded. “I feel exactly the same way.”
“And I’m glad you forgave me for saying those mean things about you,” Debbie said softly.
“That’s OK,” Kristy replied, putting her arm around her friend. “One of these days I want to tell you something special I’ve learned about being adopted.”

Kim* held her pen above her paper as she listened to her English teacher give the day’s assignment. “I want you all to pretend that you could have lunch with anyone, living or dead, or even imaginary. Write about that person and why you’d like to dine with them.”
Whispers could be heard around the room. Kim heard others name their favorite sports player, movie star, or country singer. But Kim knew who she would write about. It wasn’t anybody famous or powerful. In fact, most of the other students in the class wouldn’t even know who he was.
Matt, the shy young boy that Kim would choose to have lunch with, had been a classmate of hers in the fifth grade. He was obnoxious and he didn’t have many friends, and Kim had a hard time hiding her irritation when the teacher assigned her to sit next to him. She tried to make it very clear to Matt that she wasn’t enjoying the arrangement by moving her desk as far from his as it would go, but she hoped Matt got the message.
After about a week of sitting next to Matt, Kim was quietly working on a math assignment, listening to Matt talk to himself.
“Okay, Matt, how should you do this problem?” Matt murmured. “Hmm, should I add, subtract, or multiply?” He hit himself in the head with his pencil. “Think, Matt, think!”
“Shut up, Matt. I can’t work with you talking to yourself like that,” hissed Kim. “I hate you. Just shut up!”
Matt looked hurt, but he didn’t utter another word for the rest of class.
The next day Kim was relieved to notice that the desk next to hers was empty. Matt must be home sick, she thought. However, when the teacher stood to announce why Matt was gone, Kim’s happiness quickly turned to shock. Matt had been killed in a car accident the evening before.
All Kim could think about were the unkind words she had said to him the day before. They were the last words he would ever hear her say.
So Kim knew who she would choose to have lunch with, not because he was rich or famous, but because she had something she wanted to say to him. She filled her paper with the details of what had happened, and then got out a new sheet. On it she wrote, “‘Famous last words’ … That’s what they always say, isn’t it? Well, my last words to Matt weren’t words that I would choose to be famous for.
“If I could have lunch with anyone, it would be Matt. We’d find a nice little restaurant, order lunch, and I would apologize for what I said. Of course I can’t eat with him now, but in the next life, the first thing I’m going to do is find Matt and give him a hug and tell him I’m sorry. I’m not sure he’ll even remember what I said that day, but I can never forget.”
Kim turned in her paper and rushed out of the classroom to her next class. As she was walking, Sandy, the nerdy boy that nobody liked, bumped into her. Exasperated, Kim started to say, “Excuse you!” but stopped herself and just smiled at him. The bell rang, and Kim walked into class.

“I hate Santa Claus,” I exclaimed, glaring at a painting of the jolly old elf on a window at the mall.
Mom looked at me with raised eyebrows. “You certainly have the Christmas spirit,” she said.
I hurried with her to the car, trying to find the words to explain how I felt. “It’s just that I’m sick of Santa, the tinsel, and all the rest of the Christmas frenzy,” I said, as I put my shopping bags in the trunk. “I mean, aren’t we supposed to be celebrating the birth of the Savior?”
“I agree. Christmas is getting too commercialized,” Mom said.
We drove past the town hall and saw a poster requesting people to bring in their Christmas donations for the needy. “And that’s another thing,” I blurted. “I hate the way people feel a tug of guilt on their heartstrings at Christmastime and donate all their old stuff to charity. Why can’t people be generous all year long? As if they’re fooling anyone.”
Mom smiled. “Christmas is a good time to start.”
But I didn’t care what she had to say. Before long I was mad at everyone, and by the time we pulled into our driveway I had made up my mind that I wasn’t going to act any different just because it was Christmas. I wasn’t going to be hypocritical like the rest of the world. And as for the Savior’s birth, I’d just celebrate that in April.
After dinner we cleared the table and sat down to do homework. “Hey, help me with this algebra problem,” my brother Tom said.
“I’ve got homework to do,” I snapped.
“Come on, it’s Christmas,” he pleaded. Boy, was that the wrong thing to say! I told him I didn’t care if it was Christmas. “Ask someone who has time,” I said.
“How about someone who needs blessings because she’s acting weird,” said Tom.
“All right,” Mom’s stern voice cut in. “That’s enough. I’ll help you, Tom. Your sister’s carrying a grudge against Christmas this year.”
It was hard to concentrate on my homework because the ugliness inside me was growing. I couldn’t understand why I was feeling worse instead of better. After all, I wasn’t being a Christmas hypocrite, pretending to be jolly when people the world over were starving and suffering.
Just then the doorbell rang. Mom looked at me, then quietly walked to the door. Her surprised gasp brought the rest of the family to her side, including me.
There stood our home teachers dressed as shepherds. They waited until everyone had gathered around. “We’re on our way to Bethlehem,” one of the shepherds said, “and we thought we’d stop by and tell you what has happened. You see, we were watching over our flocks when suddenly an angel appeared to us. At first we were terribly afraid, but the angel said, ‘Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people.
“For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord’” (Luke 2:10–11).
There was something about the simplicity and sincerity of their message that touched me deeply. My lip started quivering, and I quickly bit it to keep it under control. I didn’t hear any more. I was too busy remembering how awful I’d been, all because I didn’t want to be a hypocrite. I had been griping about how horrible everyone is, when I wasn’t willing to change myself for the better. At least the people I complained about were generous and kind part of the year. I certainly hadn’t been.
“We’re going to see this miracle which has come to pass,” the other shepherd said. With that, they disappeared into the night, leaving us in silence, meditating on their wonderful message.
Then it hit me. They were going to share this marvelous event with others, to help them feel the true spirit of Christmas.
I wiped my eyes and cleared my throat. “I’ve got some Christmas messages of my own to deliver,” I said. Turning to Mom, I gave her the biggest hug I could manage. “I’m sorry for all I put you through.”
Mom smiled. “I guess that’s part of being a mother.”
I looked at Tom, who was grinning triumphantly.
“Probably the hardest thing I have to do is apologize to you, Tom,” I began. “But if I didn’t, you wouldn’t believe me when I tell you that my heart has changed tonight.” He shrugged his shoulders and brushed past me. I noticed the reddening of his ears, a sure sign he was embarrassed.
I followed him to the kitchen table and sat down. “Tom,” I asked, “can I help you with your algebra?”
“Sure,” he said, handing me the book. “And you can start by telling me how to do number seven.”
I looked at the problem and smiled. Maybe Christmas wasn’t such a bad time to start being generous after all.

Midway through our final year in the mission field, after the pandemic had largely passed, our family was invited to eat at the home of a local Church leader. After dinner, as I sat alone with this dear friend, the conversation took a surprising turn. A former mission president himself, he suggested that personal turbulence might be ahead for me. With a grandfatherly smile, he said that most of the mission presidents he knew—himself included—had experienced very real challenges as they returned to their former lives and professional careers and that my so-called fourth year of mission leadership may well prove to be the most trying. I silently wondered, “How could life get more difficult than leading a mission during a pandemic?” I left that evening subdued by his comments.

A few weeks later, an unanticipated trial not of my own making came into my personal life. This unforeseen challenge left me grasping for understanding. Like my missionaries, I had planned on sacrificing specific things, but this turn of events was totally unexpected. In my anguish I grumbled to my wife, “I’ve tried to do everything right! I’ve willingly sacrificed and consecrated and given my heart and soul to the Lord and His missionaries! How can things possibly go this way? This is a cost I never imagined paying when we accepted our assignment.”

I am somewhat ashamed to admit that I began to loathe my wife’s cheerful mission stickers. There were times when I wept as I walked in the woods near our mission home. After my tears dried, I would counsel with and uplift struggling missionaries, smiling outwardly while sorrowing inside. “This is not what I signed up for!” I lamented in my personal prayers.

Ultimately, it was my Savior and a handful of His disciples who rescued me. My dear wife and missionary companion, one of the few who was aware of my trial, reminded me of the goodness of our Father in Heaven and the Savior. Special friends ministered to me in meaningful ways and created a new path forward for me to follow. I was buoyed up by reading about the experiences of ancient Saints such as the apostle Peter and of modern Saints who had consecrated their all when called upon. My daily study of the Book of Mormon especially helped me remain spiritually centered on the Savior. Transcribing, annotating, and sharing the personal records of William and Rachel Atkin and their fellow handcart pioneers soothed my soul. Like them, I wanted to be faithful to my temple promises and remain on the covenant path. Ultimately, the meekness the Savior demonstrated during His mortal ministry inspired me to be increasingly humble and forgiving. I learned a great deal about the majesty of the character of Christ during this wintry season of my life.

Since those challenging days, a silver lining has emerged in my personal life that continues to brighten. I am regularly reminded that just as there are known and unknown costs, there are also anticipated and unanticipated blessings that far surpass any cost we are asked to pay. I am grateful for a patient Savior who allows me to count and recount the costs of my discipleship.