Gospel Story Finder

I can relate to the Prophet Joseph’s experience because of something that happened to me. When I was a boy, I used to love to walk in the fields and in the meadows and to swim in the creeks and in the ponds. My father taught me to hunt and to fish. One summer our family went on an outing near Wanship, Utah. We camped in tents among the trees that grew along the banks of the river. A group of our parents’ friends and their families went with us and pitched their tents close to ours. One afternoon some of my young friends and I went out hunting varmints, which were considered pests because they ate the tender feed the sheep needed as they grazed. We had .22-caliber rifles, and I was accidentally shot in the leg above the knee at close range. When the bullet passed through my leg, it felt like a hot poker was going through the flesh. Then I felt the warm blood running down my leg from the hole where the bullet had passed through it. I called my father to show him what had happened. He and the other men administered first aid to control the bleeding, then helped me into our family car to go to the nearest doctor, who was in Coalville.

After laying me on the operating table and examining the wound carefully, the doctor decided that he must first sterilize the hole in my leg through which the bullet had passed. When I saw how he was going to sterilize it, I was afraid of two things: I was afraid of the pain and I was also afraid that I would cry. I didn’t want to cry, because I wanted my father to think I was no longer a child. In my heart, I said a silent prayer that Heavenly Father would help me so that no matter how badly it hurt, I wouldn’t cry.

The doctor took a rod like those used to clean gun barrels. On the end of the rod was a hole through which a small piece of gauze was threaded and dipped into a sterilizing solution. The doctor then took the rod and pushed it into my leg. When it came out on the other side, he changed the gauze, put fresh antiseptic on it, and pulled it back through the hole, pushing it back and forth three times. It hurt quite a bit, especially when he got near the bone. But my father held my hand, and I gritted my teeth and shut my eyes and tried to hold still. Heavenly Father had heard my silent prayer, because it did not seem to hurt as much as I thought it would, and I didn’t cry. The wound healed quickly and completely. I was never bothered again by that leg, even when I participated in sports in high school and college. I have felt something of a feeling of kinship to the Prophet Joseph ever since, knowing that he, too, had had a painful wound in his leg and had been healed and that he was later described as being a hale and hearty man.

I remember sitting in a college class, and learning from my professor Stephen R. Covey about one of the seven habits. "Seek to understand, and then be understood". I loved that concept then, but even more so now as I read from his son’s book "The Speed of Trust" and the story he wrote about his parents that teaches an important lesson about misunderstanding.

Stephen and Sandra Covey were returning from their cabin in Montana. Stephen felt he was too tired to drive, so Sandra took the wheel while he slept in the backseat of the car.

After a couple of hours, Sandra pulled over to take her turn to sleep. They opened the car doors and got out to make the switch. Stephen slipped into the driver’s seat, and as Sandra was about to shut his door and go to the back, she suddenly remembered that their new car had a special feature that allowed people to raise or lower the chassis for convenience. Because of her bad knee, she said to Stephen, "Please lower the car so I can get in easier," and she slammed the doors so he could do it.

Almost immediately, Sandra was surprised to see the car move forward. Thinking Stephen was pretending to leave her she started chasing after the car. Suddenly, the car sped up, and she was left standing alone on the side of the freeway in winter with no coat and stocking feet.

A man in another car had seen Stephen drive off and doing his civic duty, called the highway patrol and reported that he had just seen a man abandon a woman on the side of the road. Soon, a patrol car pulled up to Sandra, and the patrolman asked her what had happened.

She then explained that her husband left her, but said, "He probably doesn't know that he did. I don't think he heard me when I asked him to lower the chassis"

Suspecting abuse the patrolman asked if they had an argument.

"No" Sandra said, "I'm sure he thinks I'm asleep in the backseat."

Sandra then remembered that Stephen had a cell phone with him and the officer, still skeptical about the situation, called it.

"Mr. Covey, this is the highway patrol. You need to pull over immediately, and I need to know your exact location."

Confused as to how the highway patrol had his cell phone number he said, "Let me wake up my wife, and I'll ask her. "Mr. Covey!" the patrolman said loudly into the phone. "Your wife isn’t there."

"She’s just asleep in the backseat," Stephen replied impatiently. "Wait! I’ll pull over and wake her up."

"She’s in the car with me!" The patrolman replied. "With you? Well, how did she get there?"

"You left her on the side of the road a while ago."

"What?" he said incredulously. "You mean she didn’t get in? Oh, I can’t believe it! I wondered why she was so quiet!"

Within a few minutes Stephen was able to retrieve Sandra from the police car. They all had a good laugh as they retrieved from memory the things that had happened. And finally they all understood what had gone on.

Recently I was participating in a groundbreaking ceremony for a chapel at the Utah State Prison. After the ceremonies, Warden Morris invited Governor Scott Matheson and me to take a tour of the facilities. We had noticed the extra care that had been taken to make the grounds around the maximum-security building pleasing and beautiful. When we asked the warden who had done the work, he indicated that two inmates had been given time outside of their cells to improve the landscape. We asked if we could meet the two men. The warden took us into the maximum facility to see them. As Marvel and Brown shuffled toward us from their restricted confinements on death row, we felt that the look on their faces reflected, “What have we done wrong now?”

“We want to compliment you men on the work you have done on the grounds,” we said. “The flower beds and vegetable gardens look beautiful and well kept. Congratulations on your good work.”

The change that came over their expressions was marvelous. The unexpected words of praise had given them reason for self-esteem. Someone had noticed that their efforts had changed a rocky, weed-filled yard into a beautiful garden. Sadly, they had failed earlier to make productive gardens out of the rocky, weed-covered fields of their own lives. But we hold hope for men like these who could see a need for change in one area and had accomplished such good. Perhaps their part in changing the gardens will lead to improvement in their own lives.

Easter was a week away. Daddy told Oliver that today was called “Palm Sunday.”
“Why?” Oliver asked.
“When Jesus came into the city of Jerusalem, people were so happy to see Him,” Daddy said. “They waved palm branches and shouted, ‘Hosanna!’ That’s why we call it Palm Sunday.”
“Can we wave palm branches too?” Oliver asked.
Mommy smiled. “Well, we don’t have any palm trees. Let’s see what other branches we can find.”
Mommy, Daddy, and Oliver went outside and cut a few small branches off a tree in their yard. The branches didn’t have any leaves yet, just tiny blossoms.
Oliver waved his branch back and forth as he took it inside. “Hosanna!” he said, just like the people in the scriptures said when they saw Jesus. Then he helped Mommy put the pretty branches in a vase.
He liked looking at the branches while they ate dinner. He thought about the branches people waved when they saw Jesus.
The next day, Mommy pulled out a basket of plastic Easter eggs. “Let’s write down why we love Jesus. We’ll put our papers in the eggs and hang them on our special branches.”
Daddy got pens and paper. Oliver told Daddy what to write. Oliver said, “I love Jesus because He’s nice.”
Oliver helped fold up the paper. He put it inside a green plastic egg.
Daddy wrote, “I love Jesus because He understands how I feel.”
Mommy wrote, “Because of Jesus, someday we will see the people we love who have died.”
“Like baby Sophie?” Oliver asked.
Mommy gave him a big hug. “Yes! You will see your baby sister again one day. That’s because Jesus lived again after He died. Because of Him, all of us can live again too.”
“That makes me happy,” Oliver said.
“It makes us happy too,” Daddy said.
They filled lots of Easter eggs with things they loved about Jesus. Then Daddy tied strings through the eggs. Oliver helped hang the eggs on the tree. It looked so pretty!
“Let’s call it the Easter Tree,” Oliver said. He counted all the colorful eggs. “We have so many reasons we love Jesus!”

One ever remembers that Christmas day when giving replaced getting. In my life, this took place in my tenth year. As Christmas approached, I yearned as only a boy can yearn for an electric train. My desire was not to receive the economical and everywhere-to-be-found windup model train; rather, I wanted one that operated through the miracle of electricity. The times were those of economic depression; yet Mother and Dad, through some sacrifice I am sure, presented to me on Christmas morning a beautiful electric train.
For hours I operated the transformer, watching the engine first pull its cars forward, then push them backward around the track. Mother entered the living room and said to me that she had purchased a windup train for Mrs. Hansen’s son, Mark, who lived down the lane. I asked if I could see the train. The engine was short and blocky, not long and sleek like the expensive model I had received. However, I did take notice of an oil tanker car that was part of his inexpensive set. My train had no such car, and pangs of envy began to be felt. I put up such a fuss that Mother succumbed to my pleadings and handed me the oil tanker car. She said, “If you need it more than Mark, you take it.” I put it with my train set and felt pleased with the result.
Mother and I took the remaining cars and the engine down to Mark Hansen. The young boy was a year or two older than I. He had never anticipated such a gift and was thrilled beyond words. He wound the key in his engine, it not being electric like mine, and was overjoyed as the engine and two cars, plus a caboose, went around the track.
Then Mother wisely asked, “What do you think of Mark’s train, Tommy?”
I felt a keen sense of guilt and became very much aware of my selfishness. I said to Mother, “Wait just a moment. I’ll be right back.”
As swiftly as my legs could carry me, I ran home, picked up the oil tanker car plus an additional car from my train set, and ran back down the lane to the Hansen home, joyfully saying to Mark, “We forgot to bring two cars that belong to your train.” Mark coupled the two extra cars to his set. I watched the engine make its labored way around the track and felt supreme joy, difficult to describe and impossible to forget. The spirit of Christmas had filled my very soul.

A few days later, as Winnie and Atobora were going around looking for an apartment to rent because their scheduled marriage was nearing, they met a pastor of a church. While they talked about the rent, the pastor stopped mid-sentence, looked directly at Winnie, and in a state that was obvious to them that he was overcome by the Holy Spirit said something like “You were told to go see a certain man and when you saw him, he told you to bring this young man with you and he would have a conversation with both of you together. You have not done that yet. When you go to him, he will introduce you to a church and that church is the true church of God.”
Atobora then asked the pastor why he was not a member of that church knowing that it is the true Church of God. The pastor admitted that the true Church did not have a paid clergy and he needed the offerings from his congregation for his upkeep. As soon as they left that pastor, they went to Brother Johnson’s home. Over the course of three weeks, he taught them all six missionary discussions and they were ready for baptism.
In September of 1983, because of pressure from her family, Winnie cancelled her baptism date, but Atobora went ahead. The following Sunday, Atobora was ordained a priest in the Aaronic Priesthood and the week after that, he baptized Winnie.
It has been more than 40 years since Winnie heard the familiar voice of the Holy Spirit who urged her to look for Brother Johnson and thereafter experience joy and rejoicing. Winnie and Atobora were blessed with four sons, two daughters, and nine grandchildren. All four sons served full-time missions. All six children have received their endowment in the house of the Lord. The fruits of the seed that was planted on that blessed day in 1983 keeps growing and spreading.
This is a legacy of love. It is a legacy that has blessed many of their ancestors and will bless generations to come.

Because of his great love for science, Henry Eyring encouraged each of his sons to major in physics as preparation for a career in science. It was while Hal was studying physics at the University of Utah that a conversation with his father marked one of those defining influences in his life. He asked his father for help with a complex mathematical problem. “My father was at a blackboard we kept in the basement,” Elder Eyring recalls. “Suddenly he stopped. ‘Hal,’ he said, ‘we were working this same kind of problem a week ago. You don’t seem to understand it any better now than you did then. Haven’t you been working on it?’”
A little chagrined, Hal admitted he had not. “You don’t understand,” his father went on. “When you walk down the street, when you’re in the shower, when you don’t have to be thinking about anything else, isn’t this what you think about?”
“When I told him no,” Elder Eyring concludes, “my father paused. It was really a very tender and poignant moment, because I knew how much he loved me and how much he wanted me to be a scientist. Then he said, ‘Hal, I think you’d better get out of physics. You ought to find something that you love so much that when you don’t have to think about anything, that’s what you think about.’”
The advice deeply impressed young Hal. He went on to finish his degree in physics, graduating not long after the end of the Korean War. During the war, the number of missionaries called from each ward had been greatly restricted. Further, by the time he graduated, Hal had already committed to a commission in the United States Air Force. So he entered the military without having served a full-time mission. But in a bishop’s blessing prior to his departure, Hal was promised that his military experience would be his mission.

Helaman wondered about lots of things. He wondered about science and history. And he wondered what things were like when his grandparents were his age.
One day he was kicking a soccer ball against a fence outside. He kicked it back and forth, back and forth.
I wonder what kinds of games kids played outside a long time ago, he thought. Did his grandparents play soccer too when they were kids?
Helaman stopped the ball with his foot. Wait … he could ask them!
He raced inside to the computer and logged in to his email account. Mom and Dad had made one just for him. He used it to email his family who lived far away. He sat down and typed an email to Grandma Barnes.
Helaman wonders …
What was your favorite thing to play outside when you were a kid? Mine is soccer.
Love,
Helaman
Click! He sent his question. He sent the same question to Grandpa Barnes. Then he sent it to Grandma and Grandpa White too.
The next day, Helaman checked his email. He had two new messages! He clicked the first one open.
Hi, Helaman!
My favorite thing to play outside was paper dolls. My friends and I would hang up a blanket to make a little house. I also liked playing jacks and hopscotch and riding my bike.
Love,
Grandma White
He read Grandpa White’s email next.
Hi, Helaman,
When I was a kid, we didn’t have TVs or computers. So we played outside a lot. In the summer we went swimming, and in the winter we went ice-skating. I also liked playing capture the flag with my friends.
Love,
Grandpa White
Helaman grinned. It was fun to learn about his grandparents!
Days went by, and Helaman kept wondering. Every time he wondered, he asked his grandparents a question. And he learned a lot about them!
He learned that Grandpa Barnes took ballroom dance classes. Grandma Barnes loved to memorize words and make scrapbooks. Grandma White used to be scared of singing in front of people. But later she sang at her high school graduation. Grandpa White learned how to make model airplanes when he was little, and he still liked to make them.
Helaman laughed when he read about Grandma White’s old cat, Tommy. She used to dress him up in doll clothes and push him around in her doll stroller.
“What are you reading there, Helaman?” Dad asked.
“It’s an email from Grandma White,” Helaman said. “I’ve been asking her questions.”
Helaman showed Dad all the emails he’d been sending back and forth to his grandparents.
“Sounds like you’ve gathered some great family history stories!” Dad said. “Why don’t we put them on FamilySearch?”
Helaman tilted his head. “They’re just emails. Is that family history?”
“You bet!” Dad said. “Whenever you learn about your family, that’s family history. It’s a good idea to keep these stories so we can remember them later. Here. Let me show you.”
Dad helped Helaman log in to FamilySearch.org and type in all the things his grandparents had told him.
“Now the stories are saved so our family can read them later. Isn’t that cool?” Dad asked.
“Yeah!” Helaman smiled. “And I have lots more questions I want to ask.”

Our family is learning from a close relative, six-year-old Liam. This past year he has battled aggressive brain cancer. After two difficult surgeries, it was decided that radiation would also be necessary. During these radiation treatments, he was required to be all alone and lie absolutely still. Liam did not want to be sedated because he disliked the way it made him feel. He was determined that if he could just hear his dad’s voice over the intercom, he could lie still without the sedative.
During these anxious times, his dad spoke to him with words of encouragement and love. “Liam, although you can’t see me, I am right here. I know you can do it. I love you.” Liam successfully accomplished the 33 required radiation treatments while holding perfectly still, a feat his doctors thought would be impossible without sedation for one so young. Through months of pain and difficulty, Liam’s contagious optimism has been a powerful example of meeting adversity with hope and even happiness. His doctors, nurses, and countless others have been inspired by his courage.
We are all learning important lessons from Liam—lessons about choosing faith and trusting in the Lord. Just like Liam, we cannot see our Heavenly Father, but we can listen for His voice to give us the strength we need to endure the challenges of life.
Could Liam’s example help us to better understand King Benjamin’s words to become as a child—submissive, meek, humble, patient, and full of love? (see Mosiah 3:19).

Illustration by Toni Oka
Taking the step to leave her family and gather to Zion was a profound choice for 20-year-old Cyrena Dustin. Baptized in Portage, Ohio, in March 1837, she was the only member of her family to accept the message of the restored gospel. Joining the Church brought opposition from her family, but rather than abandon her faith, Cyrena held fast to her testimony.
In the summer of 1837, she traveled to Kirtland, Ohio, and visited the recently dedicated temple. She described that meaningful experience: “Truly I felt like thanking God that my mind had been enlightened and that I had been permitted to embrace the gospel and partake of its blessings.”
The next year she felt the desire to gather to Zion and join her fellow Latter-day Saints in Missouri. This decision not only separated her from her family but required her to, in her words, “start out alone in the world to fight the battle of life among strangers.”
Cyrena trusted in the promises of her patriarchal blessing, which brought her comfort and gave her the “necessary faith, courage, and fortitude to make the sacrifice of leaving home and friends.” She wrote of her determination: “I went forth trusting in the Lord in full faith that he would give me grace sufficient to overcome all obstacles and difficulties which might be thrown in my way, and that I might endure to the end.”
Her final farewell with her parents and siblings before leaving for Far West, Missouri, was filled with tears, pleas for her to stay, and even threats to have her forcibly returned home. Despite the sadness, Cyrena left holding firm to the conviction that she had heard the voice of the Lord.
“As I was leaving the house,” she recalled, “I turned back at the door and bore a faithful testimony to the truth of the gospel, and that was the last time I ever saw any of my father’s family.”
Quotations come from Cyrena Dustin Merrill, Autobiography, L. Tom Perry Special Collections, Harold B. Lee Library, Brigham Young University.
A longer version of this article can be found in this issue at liahona.ChurchofJesusChrist.org or in the Gospel library app.

Liliana loved Primary. She loved the lessons. She loved the pictures her teacher drew on the chalkboard to go with the stories. She loved the games they played and the things they made. Most of all, she loved singing the Primary songs while Hermana (Sister) Soto played the sweet melodies on the piano. She always listened as the notes lingered on after the singing stopped.
Today, though, Liliana was worried about going to Primary. She was worried because she would not be going to her own Primary. Her family was visiting her abuelo (grandfather) in a village just outside of Iquitos, Peru.
Things were very different in Iquitos than in the big city of Lima, where Liliana lived. It was always hot and steamy, and the buses and cars had no glass on the windows. Most of the homes out where Abuelo lived had straw roofs and were built on stilts so that they wouldn’t get flooded during the rainy season.
“Where’s the chapel?” she asked as she and Abuelo strolled down a dirt path, just ahead of her parents. Abuelo stopped, bent down to Liliana’s eye level, and pointed to a small hut barely visible in the distance. “That’s it? That hut at the end of the path?”
“Sí (yes),” Abuelo replied. “That is where our little branch meets each Sunday. It is the home of our branch president.”
When they reached the hut, Liliana followed Abuelo to one side of the large, one-room dwelling and sat, cross-legged, on the straw mats that covered the wooden floor. She looked around. There were no chairs, no benches, and no piano. All that she saw was a table at the front of the room with the scriptures on it and, to the side, another, smaller table covered with a white cloth.
Several more families came in and greeted Abuelo, Liliana, and her parents. When they were all settled, the meeting began.
It seemed really strange to sing without a piano and to sit on the floor, but as the sacrament was blessed and passed by one young man, it seemed more like sacrament meeting.
When it was over, Abuelo said, “It’s time for you to go to Primary.”
She looked around. There were less than a dozen children and no other rooms in the house. “Where is Primary, Abuelo?”
“Follow me,” a girl about Liliana’s age told her as she headed for the door. “I’ll show you where it is. My name’s Elena,” she added as they climbed down the ladder and headed around the back of the hut. “What’s yours?”
“Liliana.”
“Here we are,” Elena said as they reached a small clearing at the edge of the rain forest.
Liliana was astonished to see children of all ages sitting together on a fallen tree trunk propped up with mounds of dirt. The teacher was sitting on a rock just across from them. This isn’t Primary! she thought, sitting down next to Elena. Only one class? Outside? No table? No chalkboard? No chairs? Her heart sank. She longed to hear the beautiful melodies of the songs she knew and to see the familiar faces of her friends and teacher.
The lesson began. Liliana sat silently in the sticky heat. ¡Pobrecitos (These poor kids)! she thought. They don’t know what Primary is really like. How can they even pay attention with all the bird and insect noises?
The teacher began telling a story. She drew pictures in the dirt with a long stick. Then she had the children come up and act out what they thought would happen next. Later they went into the rain forest and played a game called “Follow the Spirit.” It was so beautiful, and Liliana was having so much fun, that she forgot how disappointed she had been.
As Primary time was coming to a close, the children gathered back in the clearing and sat down on the log. “Let’s have a closing song and a prayer,” announced the teacher. As the group of children sang “Soy un hijo de Dios” (“I Am a Child of God”) with all their hearts, tears came to Liliana’s eyes. Suddenly she realized that Primary was Primary, no matter where you were, or what kind of a chapel you had. Heavenly Father loves all His children just the same, and we can learn about Him anywhere. As the song ended, she listened as the notes lingered and echoed through the trees.
As she sat in Primary in Lima the next month, Liliana ached to take a walk in the rain forest and to see the smiling faces of her new friends there. And during singing time, she missed the rich accompaniment of the tropical birds and bugs. ¡Pobrecitos! she thought. They don’t know what Primary can really be like!

Without safety ropes, harnesses, or climbing gear of any kind, two brothers—Jimmy, age 14, and John, age 19 (though those aren’t their real names)—attempted to scale a sheer canyon wall in Snow Canyon State Park in my native southern Utah. Near the top of their laborious climb, they discovered that a protruding ledge denied them their final few feet of ascent. They could not get over it, but neither could they now retreat from it. They were stranded. After careful maneuvering, John found enough footing to boost his younger brother to safety on top of the ledge. But there was no way to lift himself. The more he strained to find finger or foot leverage, the more his muscles began to cramp. Panic started to sweep over him, and he began to fear for his life.
Unable to hold on much longer, John decided his only option was to try to jump vertically in an effort to grab the top of the overhanging ledge. If successful, he might, by his considerable arm strength, pull himself to safety.
In his own words, he said:
“Prior to my jump I told Jimmy to go search for a tree branch strong enough to extend down to me, although I knew there was nothing of the kind on this rocky summit. It was only a desperate ruse. If my jump failed, the least I could do was make certain my little brother did not see me falling to my death.
“Giving him enough time to be out of sight, I said my last prayer—that I wanted my family to know I loved them and that Jimmy could make it home safely on his own—then I leapt. There was enough adrenaline in my spring that the jump extended my arms above the ledge almost to my elbows. But as I slapped my hands down on the surface, I felt nothing but loose sand on flat stone. I can still remember the gritty sensation of hanging there with nothing to hold on to—no lip, no ridge, nothing to grab or grasp. I felt my fingers begin to recede slowly over the sandy surface. I knew my life was over.
“But then suddenly, like a lightning strike in a summer storm, two hands shot out from somewhere above the edge of the cliff, grabbing my wrists with a strength and determination that belied their size. My faithful little brother had not gone looking for any fictitious tree branch. Guessing exactly what I was planning to do, he had never moved an inch. He had simply waited—silently, almost breathlessly—knowing full well I would be foolish enough to try to make that jump. When I did, he grabbed me, held me, and refused to let me fall. Those strong brotherly arms saved my life that day as I dangled helplessly above what would surely have been certain death.”1

I’m reminded of the little child who came to her daddy and said, “Give me something hard to do.” So he thought of things she could do, but she would say, “No, daddy, that isn’t hard enough. I want something hard to do.” He was carrying his briefcase into the house, and he said, “Well, carry this; this will be very hard to carry.” She grabbed hold. Oh, boy, it was heavy! She said, “I think I can.” She struggled and staggered until she finally got it to the house. We all like to feel that we have met the challenge of something hard to do.

When Brother Jones and his son were assigned to home teach the Williams family, they began making monthly visits. Through those visits, Kim, a daughter in the family, learned that they cared about her. She had many questions about the gospel and enjoyed conversations with them.
One summer when Kim was struggling to know if she had a testimony, Brother Jones, along with another holder of the Melchizedek Priesthood, was asked to attend Young Women camp. Kim later said how much it meant to her to have her home teacher there. She told her family that she had gained a testimony of the Savior’s love for her when Brother Jones and another priesthood holder, at her request, gave her a priesthood blessing at camp.
Her home teachers were, in the truest sense, friends to the Williams family. Their influence mattered to Kim and her parents—and to the Lord.

Ryan’s dad is a Cub Scout leader, and he also helps out with the Boy Scouts in the ward. Ryan accompanies him on some of the campouts and activities that he might otherwise have to wait a few years to participate in. After Hurricane Hugo struck near Charleston, South Carolina, the Scouts from the Hugheses’ ward decided to see if there was anything they could do to help. Brother and Sister Hughes, Joshua, and Ryan went with the Scouts, and Ryan learned a great deal about people serving one another.

I think of two other friends of about the same vintage, a boy and a girl. I knew them in the years of high school and university. He was a boy from a country town, plain in appearance, without money or apparent promise. He had grown up on a farm, and if he had any quality that was attractive it was the capacity to work. He carried bologna sandwiches in a brown paper bag for his lunch and swept the school floors to pay his tuition. But with all of his rustic appearance, he had a smile and a personality that seemed to sing of goodness. She was a city girl who had come out of a comfortable home, but she would never have qualified for a beauty contest. Her face was freckled, but she made the most of what she had in the quiet but attractive manner of her dressing and in the way she fixed her hair.

Something of magic took place between them. They fell in love. No one could understand why. There were far more promising boys for her and far more beautiful girls who might have interested him. But these two laughed and danced and studied together through those years. They married when people wondered how they could ever earn enough to stay alive. He struggled through his professional school and came out near the top of his class. She scrimped and saved and worked and prayed. She encouraged and sustained and when things were really tough she said quietly, “Somehow we’ll make it.” Buoyed by her faith in him, he kept going through those difficult years. Their children came, and together they loved them and nourished them and gave them the security that came of their own example of love for and loyalty to one another. Now forty-five years and more have passed. Their children are grown and are a credit to them, to the Church, and to the communities in which they live.

Recently, while riding a plane from New York, I walked down the aisle in the semi-darkness of the cabin and saw a woman, white-haired, her head on her husband’s shoulder as she dozed and his hand clasped warmly about hers. He was awake and recognized me. She awakened when we began to talk. They, too, were returning from New York, where he had delivered a paper before one of the great learned societies of the nation. He said little about it, but she proudly spoke of the honors accorded him. Forty-five years ago people without understanding had asked what he saw in her and what she saw in him.

I thought of that as I returned to my seat on the plane. And I said to myself, their friends of those days saw only a farm boy from the country and a smiling girl with freckles on her nose. But these two saw in each other love, loyalty, peace, faith, and the future. Call it chemistry if you will; maybe there was a little of that, but there was much more. There was rather a flowering of something divine, planted there by that Father who is our God. In their school days they had lived worthy of that flowering. They had lived with virtue and faith, with appreciation and respect for self and one another. In the years of their difficult professional and economic struggles, they had found their greatest earthly strength in their companionship. Now in age they were finding their peace, their quiet satisfaction together. And beyond that they were assured of an eternity of joyful association under covenants long since made and promises long since given in the house of the Lord.

During a visit to the afflicted area prior to the distribution of the packets, Elder and Sister Johnston met a little boy named Cosmin. His house had been destroyed and he was living under a tarp.
When the Johnstons returned a while later with food, he and his family were nowhere to be found.
“We desperately wanted to find them,” said Elder Johnston. “We promised them we would return with help. We left the distribution to others and began scouring the faces in the crowd of refugees, hoping to find him and his father and mother.
“Near the end of the day, after most materials were distributed, we found them standing off a distance from everyone else, waiting patiently. They were a contrast to the majority who pushed and shoved their way to the front of the line. We were touched by their humility and gratitude. Little Cosmin soon brought us flowers and said, ‘Thank you.’”

Many years ago, after returning from an activity in our ward, when we were about to go to sleep, my daughter asked if we would pray together, the two of us that night, to which I replied, sure, honey. Then she looked at me with a serious, worried face and said: yes, we need to pray because I have a problem. (I am so thankful that she was six and not sixteen when she told me that!) So, I asked what happened. Then she explained that when we were at the activity in the church that day, she lost her pink rubber CTR (Choose the Right) bracelet. Well, in my mind, this was not a big deal because I could easily buy another one, and the cost was probably just a few dollars. But then the invitation to make sure that I was awake came from her when she said: Let's pray so we can find the bracelet. I was the old guy, the leader in the church, the one who knew the scriptures. Still, at that moment, I realized that I needed to make sure that I was awake, that I truly understood the situation, and how much Heavenly Father is in the details of our lives, including a matter that may seem insignificant from a world perspective. After praying with her, I went to my room and prayed a lot more, asking for the guidance necessary to understand the situation and provide the answer my daughter was looking for.

The next day was Sunday, and I needed to attend my early morning meetings. Although I planned to participate in a sacrament meeting in a different building and park my car on the street, I decided to park my car inside the church property. I don’t know if you are aware of this, but in South America, big, tall fences surround some church properties, probably 13 feet tall, so you need to open the gate to enter the property. Still, that day, I decided to park inside, and even though there were no parked cars and the closest spots to the door were available, I chose to park in the middle of the parking lot, like “this is my parking lot.” Then, when I turned the car and started facing the building wall, I noticed a little pink thing on the ground next to the wall. My heart started beating fast, and it was not because of the monetary value of the pink rubber CTR bracelet. Instead, it was for the opportunity to awaken to the principles that we teach and try to live daily in our lifelong journey as disciples of Jesus Christ.

A righteous rabbi once lived in Jerusalem. All of the people in his city were very poor, and so the thoughtful rabbi decided to go to Egypt and collect money for them.
As the rabbi traveled, he met a caravan with camels and asked if he might join the group. Since the leader knew that the rabbi could not travel on the Shabbat (sabbath), he agreed to journey for six days straight and then rest on the seventh day. So the rabbi paid his fare, and they all set out together for Egypt.
At the end of the sixth day of traveling, the rabbi asked the caravan leader to stop and rest as he had promised. “I am sorry, rabbi,” the leader angrily replied, “but I cannot delay everyone else for the sake of just one traveler. We must go on!”
The rabbi could not break the Shabbat, and so he got down from his camel and took his bag with him. Soon the caravan was gone and the rabbi was left all alone in the desert.
As the sun went down, the rabbi began to welcome the holy Shabbat with prayers and songs. As he was singing, a ferocious lion appeared and started walking toward him. The rabbi was frightened, but he continued to sing. Suddenly the lion stopped, lay down, and quietly listened to the rabbi’s songs. Then it fell asleep, and after the rabbi finished his song, he too lay down and went to sleep.
The next morning when the rabbi woke up and looked around, he saw the lion looking at him with gentle eyes. All that day the rabbi prayed and sang, and all that day the lion stayed by his side watching or sleeping.
When evening came and the stars twinkled in the sky, the lion got up and stretched. Then it came closer to the rabbi, wagging its tail and motioning for the rabbi to climb on its back. The rabbi took his bag and climbed up onto the lion’s back, and at once the animal was off on a run.
All night the lion hurried over the desert sands, and by morning the rabbi could see his caravan a short distance ahead.
The other travelers were shocked when they saw the rabbi riding on the back of a lion. They were even more surprised when the lion bent its knees and carefully let the rabbi off its back. Then the lion got up, roared fiercely, shook its mane, and vanished into the desert.
Now the travelers realized that even a lion knew that the rabbi was a very holy man. The leader of the caravan bowed down on his knees before the rabbi and begged his forgiveness.
From that day the people called the rabbi Ariel, because Ari means “lion” and El means “God.”

My baseball team was playing a very important game. My team was behind by one run in the last inning. There were two outs, and the bases were loaded. I was waiting for my turn to bat. Unfortunately, the batter ahead of me struck out, and we lost the game. Many of the other players on my team got angry. Some even threw their gear in the dugout. I felt sorry for the player who struck out. I knew he must have felt terrible. I put my arm around his shoulder and said, “It’s OK. You did the best you could.” He felt much better, and so did I.