Gospel Story Finder

Thirteen-year-old Tyler Neel remembered seeing police officers in the United States giving teddy bears and toys to abandoned children. But, most of all, he remembered the joy and comfort the toys brought to those children. Now a Lone Scout in South Africa, Tyler decided to bring joy to some of the many abandoned and sick children in his area. He organized volunteers from his ward to help, and he was able to give 66 teddy bears to the children at the Cotlands Baby Sanctuary.
“It made me feel good. The kids were having lots of fun with them, hugging them, tying ribbons around their heads, and climbing all over me!”

During the 150th anniversary of the pioneers’ arrival in the Salt Lake Valley, Brother Myron Richins was serving as a stake president in Henefer, Utah. The celebration included a reenactment of the pioneers’ passage through his town.
President Richins was heavily involved with the plans for the celebration, and he attended many meetings with General Authorities and others to discuss the events. He was fully engaged.
Just before the actual celebration, President Richins’s stake was reorganized, and he was released as president. On a subsequent Sunday, he was attending his ward priesthood meeting when the leaders asked for volunteers to help with the celebration. President Richins, along with others, raised his hand and was given instructions to dress in work clothes and to bring his truck and a shovel.
Finally, the morning of the big event came, and President Richins reported to volunteer duty.
Only a few weeks before, he had been an influential contributor to the planning and supervision of this major event. On that day, however, his job was to follow the horses in the parade and clean up after them.
President Richins did so gladly and joyfully.
He understood that one kind of service is not above another.
He knew and put into practice the words of the Savior: “He that is greatest among you shall be your servant.”

Peace McBride, an apprentice seamstress, and her mistress, Mrs. Root, have heard the Prophet Joseph Smith preach, studied the Book of Mormon, and been baptized into the Church. Now Peace has received Sister Root’s permission and the necessary money to visit her family in a distant county to share her joy in the gospel with them.
On the eve of a brand new decade, December 31, 1839, Peace was bundled in a warm cloak and sitting on top of a coach. Only something as important as the gospel could make Peace take such a journey. Sister Root had tried for days to find someone who was traveling toward the town of Chester Springs, but there were few travelers this time of year. Even so, not a seat was left inside the coach, and no one had been willing to give up his seat to the young girl. I won’t think of the cold, Peace decided. I’ll think of how warm I was after my baptism, of Sister Root’s warm parlor, of anything but the cold.
Cheerfully she hugged a paper-wrapped parcel to her chest. It was Sister Root’s copy of the Book of Mormon. She had given it to Peace as the excited girl had boarded the stage. “I shouldn’t let you be doing this,” Sister Root had fretted. “But since you’re going, here, take the book. It won’t do you much good to just talk about it—your folks need a chance to read it.”
Feeling cold creep around her toes as the coach got farther and farther from Philadelphia, Peace wriggled them and thought about the past few weeks. There had been such a change in her employer! Peace could remember when sour words and slaps were served up regularly to her. Sister Root’s whole manner had changed from the time that she first listened to the Prophet.
Glancing around, Peace noticed that the slush in the road had frozen. She stomped her feet and moved her arms to keep warm. Finally she saw the inn up ahead. It was a two-day trip home, and whenever she made it, she always stayed there.
After a warm meal, Peace felt better and hurried to her room. She knew that the coach would leave shortly after dawn, and she needed all the sleep that she could get. Wrapping herself in the quilts, she drifted peacefully to sleep.
Several hours later she awoke as cold again gripped her. The cozy little room that she had enjoyed in the summer was far from any heat source. Seeing frost forming around the window and on the panes, Peace knew that it was frightfully cold. Reaching for her cloak, she hastily put it on over her nightclothes. Back under the covers, she shivered until she was warm enough to fall asleep again.
The frost was so thick on the panes when Peace awoke a second time that light from the feeble sunrise hardly penetrated the room. She dressed under the covers, then hurried to the gathering room. The other travelers were already huddled around the fire, so she had to stand behind them, where she could barely feel its warmth.
A warm breakfast and cheerful words from the inn-keeper helped. Bracing herself, Peace again took her seat on top of the coach. This time she wore all the clothes that she had brought with her. Yet, before noon, her throat was scratchy. By evening, she was really sick. As the coach approached Chester Springs, she was so ill that she hardly knew what was happening around her.
A kind farmer going her way agreed to take Peace to her family’s farm. It was only two miles outside of town, but to Peace the trip took forever. Each time the wagon hit a rut, her head seemed to explode with pain.
Hearing her mother’s voice was almost like being in heaven. Peace tried to rise from where she lay in the back of the farmer’s wagon, but she sank back weakly.
“Peace!” her mother cried. “Whatever are you doing here?” She bustled around and fussed as the farmer and Mr. McBride carried the girl into the house.
It was bliss for Peace to lie in a soft, warm bed in the safety of her home. Her mother helped undress her and started to take the paper-wrapped parcel from her.
“No!” Peace mumbled. “I need to keep this with me. It’s why I came here, and it’s very important.”
“Important or not,” her mother said firmly, “it’s going on the dresser. It will be there when you get better.”
It was a week before Peace felt well enough to even sit up. She had developed a fever and a deep cough and was able to do little but lie there and try to get well.
“You’re awake!” her mother said cheerfully one morning as she came into Peace’s room. “After breakfast and a wash, you’ll feel much better, I’m sure.”
Peace smiled at her mother. It was so good to be home. Looking over at the dresser, she noticed that the parcel was gone. “Where did my book go?”
“I have it, but not for long.”
Peace looked up in surprise at the angry tone of her mother’s voice.
“How did you come by such a book,” her mother asked.
“Sister Root gave it to me.”
“I should never have let you go off on your own.”
“But, Mother, you know I had to. It was an opportunity for the whole family for me to train with such a great dressmaker.”
“She promised to watch over you!”
Peace smiled at her mother and hoped to get her in a better mood. “She watched over me very well. Do you know anything about the Book of Mormon?”
“Reverend Thompson said that the book is of the devil. He told me to burn it!”
Peace sat up in bed. “You didn’t, did you?” she cried.
“Not yet.” Her mother’s face softened. “It seemed to mean so much to you. And you came so far to bring it to us. I’ll admit that I was a little curious about it, because you value it, so I read a little of it.”
“Did it sound like the devil wrote it?” Peace asked softly.
“Well, no,” her mother admitted and smiled back at Peace. “I read a beautiful story about the Savior visiting a strange people in a land that I never heard of.”
“Bountiful?”
“Yes, that’s it. I have to say that it was a beautiful tale!”
“Oh, Mother,” Peace said fervently, “it’s more than a tale. It’s true—every word of it! If you read about it and pray about it, you’ll know that too.”
“Reverend Thompson said that no God-loving person would get involved with this book. He’s a good man, and he’s been our minister since you were a baby.”
Peace didn’t know what to say. Reverend Thompson was a good man. He’d been more than kind to her over the years. “Have the Mormon elders been in this area?”
“Yes, they have,” her mother answered. “Why?”
“Did many people listen and join the Church?”
“Yes. In fact, the number of people in our church has dwindled. And Reverend Thompson is very unhappy about it.”
“There, Mother. That’s your answer. Reverend Thompson is afraid that he’ll lose his congregation.”
Now it was her mother’s turn to look thoughtful. “You may be right. …”
“Mother, will you and Father read the whole book—and pray sincerely about it? Then if you have any questions, we can ask the elders to come visit.”
“I’m still not sure.”
“Please? It means so much to me.”
Peace’s mother loved her oldest daughter very much. She had been parted from her for a long time, and she felt that it wouldn’t hurt to do as Peace asked.
“All right. I will read it, and I’ll ask your father if he will too. I can’t promise more than that.”
“I know,” Peace said understandingly. “Sister Root didn’t want to believe, either. She wouldn’t let me be baptized until she knew more about the Church.”
“Rightly so,” her mother agreed. “I guess that maybe she was caring for you well.”
With just a few days left till she had to go back, Peace spent all the time that she could with her two brothers and three little sisters. She talked to them about the big city and the things that she had seen. “Not long ago I went into a big church near Mistress Root’s shop. There was a man speaking there,” she told them. “His name is Joseph Smith. He’s a very great man, and he’s a prophet.”
“Like Moses?” Jimmy asked in wonder.
“Yes, like Moses. When he talked, I felt that he had great power. We all felt it, and it changed my life.” She told them all that had happened to her. She told them, too, about the Savior and His visit to the New World. They listened eagerly as she told them stories from the Book of Mormon.
Because it was winter, the McBrides spent most of their time indoors. Peace read the Book of Mormon to her father as he mended harnesses and to her mother while she knitted. They listened intently to what Peace read, and her brothers and sisters did too.
Peace attended sacrament meeting at the small branch. Afterward she invited the elders to visit her family. When they came, her father asked many questions. He didn’t say much but nodded his head as the elders answered him.
The time soon came when Peace had to leave. Her heart was heavy because her parents still had not committed themselves to joining the Church.
Her father took her in their wagon to the inn and placed her bag inside the boot of the coach. Peace had a seat inside this time. She also had a warm quilt that her mother made for her to wrap up in.
“Good-bye, Peace,” her father told her, giving her a big hug. “I know what you want from your mother and me. I’m proud of you for believing your religion enough to suffer hardship to try to bring it to us. We’re not ready yet. Don’t give up on us, though. Just give us time.”
Peace left with a warm feeling. She knew that no matter what happened, she had done what she could to teach her family. Now she would give time and the Holy Ghost a chance to finish the work.

Michael Weir said:
“My marriage had failed. I was living a life contrary to the principles of the Church. Not only was I inactive but had lost confidence in my ability to go back. I became successful in business, drove the nicest car, and bought expensive clothes. I had everything that the world would want.
“One day, my company hired Ken Wheeler, whom I knew to be a Mormon by the way he acted. We became friends, and he invited me to Church. I wanted to go but didn’t feel worthy. He continued to invite me, and I continued to refuse. I wanted to get back, but I didn’t have the strength to do it.
“One night, alone in my apartment, I became very depressed and broke into uncontrollable sobs. I prayed to the Lord and begged for His help. The next day Ken asked me how I was doing; he could sense something was wrong. Putting his arms around me, he said, ‘He still loves you, and we do, too. Why don’t you come back home?’ That was the answer to my prayers; that was the help I had begged for the night before.
“I came home! I felt uncomfortable at first, but the feeling that everyone cared made it easier. Today, I don’t drive the nicest car or wear the fanciest clothes, but I feel richer than ever.”
He continued, “Those who have fallen away want so badly to come back, but they are afraid to make the move. They don’t lose their testimony; they lose confidence in themselves.”

Jed looked forward to the day when he, like his brother David, would be old enough to go into the world and be a missionary. In his last letter, David had written, “People here ask us why we’ve left our homes to come here, and we tell them we’re here to share something that is most precious to us. And that’s true. I feel a great love for each and every person we meet each day.”
Although Jed looked forward to being a missionary, he had just turned 14. He lived with his family in Broken Arrow, Wyoming, just across the border from Idaho. His dad ran the only auto repair shop in town.
In the late afternoon of December 29, his dad asked Jed if he’d fill in for him at the shop. “Your mom and I would like to go to the temple. All you need to do is stay there until closing time, then lock up.”
“I guess I could do that.”
“Oh, one thing,” his dad continued, “a lady will be coming in to ask about her car. She’s from out of state, and her car broke down just outside town. Tell her I won’t be able to get parts until after New Year’s Day. If she needs a car, she can probably rent one in Idaho Falls. That’s about it. Any questions?”
“Can I have some change?”
“What for?”
“To get some candy from the machine.”
Shortly after his folks left, it began to snow. That was hardly news for Broken Arrow in December. But then the wind started to pick up.
Jed liked being at the shop. He liked wearing his dad’s work coveralls with the name of the shop on the front. He even liked the smell of the place, a mixture of old oil, grease, and, at that moment, the candy bar he was eating. Someday he wanted to be like his dad, a mechanic who could fix just about anything. He helped out during the summers and sometimes, when the work was stacked up, on Saturday mornings.
Nobody came in until just before five o’clock, when a smartly dressed woman with a cell phone to her ear entered the shop, accompanied by her daughter.
The girl appeared to be about his age. She was nearly as tall as he, had long dark brown hair, brown eyes. She frowned at him and then ignored him and started checking out the advertisements for tools on the wall.
“I’d like to pick up my car,” the woman said. “The name is Smith-Porter.” She was wearing an expensive but not very warm coat.
“You’ve got two last names?”
“It’s hyphenated,” the girl said, running a finger across the dust covered counter.
“Oh,” Jed said, confused why a person would have two last names.
“Is there anyone here who actually knows something?” the girl asked.
“Bailey, that’s really not necessary,” her mother chided.
“I’m the only one here, and I know quite a bit about cars,” Jed said, his voice cracking as he said it.
“That’s my car there,” the woman said, glancing into the shop area. She reached for her purse. “How much is it?”
“My dad said to tell you that he won’t be able to get parts until after New Year’s, but if you need a car, you can rent one in Idaho Falls.”
“How far is that from here?” the woman asked.
“It’s about 70 miles.”
“Is there some other place in town that can fix my car?”
“No, we’re the only shop in town.”
“How are we supposed to get to Idaho Falls?” the girl asked impatiently.
“Well, there’s a bus twice a day. The next one should be coming in about half an hour. It leaves from the Broken Arrow Cafe, just across the street. I’ll warn you, though. We have a saying about that place, ‘If it ain’t broke, don’t eat there.’” Jed chuckled enthusiastically for the girl’s sake because he knew she would not approve.
The woman nodded her head. “Well, that’s not too bad then. Thank you for your help. We’ll need to get some things in the car.”
The girl stayed behind while her mother went into the shop area to get their luggage. The girl scowled at the candy wrappers in front of Jed. “How many candy bars have you had?”
“Two or three.”
“Disgusting.” She scowled at him.
“Is your name really Bailey Smith-Porter?” he asked.
“Yes it is. So?”
“It sounds like a law firm.”
“Really? How old are you anyway?” she asked.
“Fourteen.”
“I’m way more mature than you.”
“How old are you?”
“I’m going on 15.”
Before Jed realized that anyone who was 14 was also going on 15, the mother returned with their luggage and they left. Jed watched them fight the wind and the snow on their way across the street. It was then he noticed the cafe, where the bus stopped each day, was closed because of the storm.
Jed looked at the clock. Just a few more minutes and then he could close up and go home. He walked through the shop, making sure everything was locked up. When he went to the front to turn off the outside light that illuminated the sign advertising the shop, he could see the woman and the girl huddled in the doorway of the cafe, waiting for the bus.
“With the way the wind is picking up, the bus probably isn’t going to come,” he thought. “I’d better go tell ‘em.”
He was standing inside in the dark about ready to leave. “There’s no place they can go tonight.”
He answered himself. “That’s not my problem. I did everything I was asked to do here.”
He thought about going out the back door, so he wouldn’t have to see them standing there in the storm.
“What are they going to do if you don’t help them?” he asked himself.
“That’s not my responsibility.”
He went to the back door to leave. As he stepped outside, a sudden gust of wind blew a blast of snow into his face. At the same time, part of his brother’s letter came to his mind. “I feel a great love for each and every person we meet each day.”
He stepped back inside. “I don’t like the girl. How many times did she put me down in the five minutes they were in the shop? I don’t need that.”
He walked to the front of the shop again. “Maybe the storm has let up and the bus will make it after all. For all I know, maybe the bus has come and gone already. Maybe it’s not that bad outside of town.”
He stood at the window and looked out. The storm had grown into a blizzard as the wind sent pulsating waves of snow down the main street of the town. Across the street, their coats now caked with snow, the two strangers huddled in the doorway, waiting for a bus that wasn’t going to come.
Suddenly Jed made a decision, stepped outside into the storm, made sure the door was locked, and walked across the street. “I guess the bus isn’t coming today.”
He expected the girl to insult him or the bus company or the town, but she was too cold to say anything.
“Is there a place in town we can stay?” the woman asked.
“There’s a motel in town.”
“Good.”
“But it’s closed down until May.”
“I see.”
“You could come home with me, if you want. At least you’d be warm.”
“Are you sure?” the woman asked.
The truth was he wasn’t totally sure what his folks would say, but one thing he was sure of, his brother David would agree it was the right thing to do.
“My mom and dad are out of town, but they should be home soon. I’m sure they’d want you to stay with us until things clear up.”
“That’s very kind of you. Let’s go, Bailey.”
He offered to lug their suitcases but they said they could do it themselves.
Because there was no traffic, they were able to walk down the middle of the street. They trudged their way through deep drifts alternating with places where the wind was sweeping the road’s surface bare. By the time they reached the house, they looked like snowmen. Once inside, they stomped and brushed the accumulated snow from their coats, slacks, and heads.
Bailey’s mother warmed up for five minutes and then got back on her cell phone.
“Who is she talking to all the time?” Jed asked.
“Very important people. Famous people. Business leaders.”
“Okay.”
“She’s a very influential person.”
Bailey rapidly went through a list of names of famous people that worked with her mother. Then, seeing no recognition in his face, she said, “You’ve never heard of any of them, have you?”
“No, sorry.”
“You’re really out of touch with what’s happening in the world, aren’t you?” she asked.
In a way Jed was amazed. Bailey was tall, had dark eyes and a penetrating glance. She stood with such good posture that he was sure it was something she’d been taught. And she stood too close, almost as if she expected an argument. Also, her voice was too polished. In short, she wasn’t like any of the girls he’d ever known in Broken Arrow.
More than anything, he feared she might make him talk about current events, so he tried to change the subject. “Are you hungry?”
She nodded enthusiastically. “I really am.”
“You want to help me cook up something?”
“Well, I don’t know how to cook very well. We eat out most of the time.”
“Can you peel potatoes?”
She started to blush. “Uh, well, you’ll have to show me.”
“You’ve never peeled potatoes before?”
“Not really.”
Jed went to the storeroom and brought back five or six large potatoes and set them on the counter next to the basin. He grabbed a peeler from the drawer and placed it in her hand. “The idea is, you try to get the brown parts off.”
She smiled. “You don’t have to tell me that.”
“I wasn’t sure.”
Jed got some ground beef from the fridge and started to make patties.
In the living room Bailey’s mother was pacing the floor complaining to someone on the phone.
“How come you and your mom came out here this time of year?” he asked.
“We wanted to be some place safe for the new year.”
“Safe?”
“You know, because of Y2K. My mother was worried there might be riots and no food in the city, so she rented a cabin for us until the middle of January. Then we drove here from Los Angeles.”
She paused. “What has your family done to prepare for the new year?”
“Well, I think my dad picked up a calendar at the bank. They give them away every year.”
“Don’t you people around here know what could happen? What are you going to do on New Year’s Day?”
“We’ll probably have nachos and salsa and watch football.”
“If that’s all you’ve done, then you’re not prepared. It’s as simple as that.”
“If we’re the ones not prepared, how come you and your mom are staying with us?”
“Believe me, this is the last place in the world I want to be.”
“It’s not that bad.”
“It’s so isolated. Have you ever been to Chicago?”
“No.”
“What about New York?” she asked.
“No.”
“Europe?”
“No.” He glanced at how she was doing at peeling potatoes. “You’re doing a good job.”
“So, basically, you’re going to live the rest of your life right here?”
“I suppose so.” He paused. “Except when I’m 19, I’ll go out into the world for two years.”
“Doing what?”
“Being a missionary for my church.”
“What church?”
“The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.”
“My mom and I don’t believe in organized religion.”
“Sometimes we’re not that organized. Like this one time, somebody forgot to get the key to open up the chapel for an activity …”
Just then her mother came into the kitchen. “Well, this is quite a sight. Bailey, I hope you’re learning some great Wyoming recipes.”
“We’re just fixing fried potatoes and hamburgers,” Jed said.
“Sounds wonderful. Well, I’ve called everywhere, and it looks like we’re stuck here. The storm is building in intensity. Looks like the roads may be closed here for a couple of days.
“That’ll give Bailey time to finish peeling that potato she’s been working on since we got here,” Jed teased.
Bailey glanced up from her work, and, to Jed’s surprise, came very close to smiling again.
The food preparation sped up considerably with Bailey’s mother stepping in and taking charge. Jed insisted on cooking the hamburger patties. He thought they turned out pretty good.
While they were eating, the phone rang. Jed answered it.
It was his dad. “Jed, we’re in Idaho Falls. They’ve closed the roads, so we’re going to stay at your Uncle Mel’s place. We’ll try to get out tomorrow. Are you doing okay?”
“Yeah. Oh, that woman and her daughter who left their car at the shop. They were stranded, so I invited them to stay here. I hope that’s okay. I didn’t know what else to do. They didn’t have anywhere else to go.”
“No, that’s good. I’m glad you invited them.”
His dad asked him to go to the shop in the morning and make sure the flat roof didn’t have too much snow on it, and then Jed talked to his mom and told her about the unexpected guests. She gave him a flurry of instructions of what he needed to do to be a good host.
By the time he returned to the kitchen, the dishes were done, and Bailey’s mother was pacing back and forth in the living room, talking on her cell phone.
Bailey was sitting at the kitchen table, deep in thought.
“You okay?” he asked.
“I’ve got a question. Why aren’t you worried about Y2K? If all the computers break down, it will be like all of us don’t exist anymore. It will be like we’ve all been erased.”
“Come with me,” he said.
He opened the front door, and they went outside into the storm. “You feel the wind in your face? That’s real. The snow is real. It’s not going to be erased by some computer. Some things can’t ever be erased.”
“Like what?” she yelled over the storm.
“Like who you are and what you stand for.”
They hurried back inside and sat down again at the kitchen table.
“What did you mean when you said, ‘What you stand for’? Do you stand for something?”
“Yeah, I do.”
“What?”
Jed wasn’t ready for this. He always imagined he would have to go to some faraway place before he’d have a chance to tell people what he believed. He never imagined they would come to him.
He told her about the Prophet Joseph Smith and gave her his copy of the Book of Mormon to read.
While Bailey was reading, he went in the bathroom and set out the guest towels, like his mother had told him to do. And then he put clean sheets on the bed in the guest room, got an extra blanket from the closet, and turned up the heat.
When he finished getting the room ready, he stood in the doorway and looked with satisfaction at what he’d done for his guests.
The first time he’d read his brother’s letter, Jed had had a hard time understanding how his brother could love all the people he met on his mission. But as he watched Bailey sitting at the kitchen table reading the Book of Mormon, and her mother, who had joined her while he’d been making up the guest room, he now understood how that could be.
Jed smiled. He was very happy, and he looked forward with great anticipation to the new year.

“I was reading the newspaper when one of my young grandsons snuggled up to me,” said Elder Robert D. Hales of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles. “As I read, I was delighted to hear his sweet voice chattering on in the background. Imagine my surprise when, a few moments later, he pushed himself between me and the paper. Taking my face in his hands and pressing his nose up to mine, he asked, ‘Grandpa! Are you in there?’

“… Being there means understanding the hearts of our youth and connecting with them. And connecting with them means not just conversing with them but doing things with them too. …

“We must plan and take advantage of teaching moments. …

“… The more I live, the more I recognize that the teaching moments in my youth, especially those provided by my parents, have shaped my life and made me who I am.”4

When the First Presidency announced that a new temple would be built in Tuxtla Gutiérrez, México, Church members rejoiced. One young girl was so excited she told the news to almost everyone she knew.
“Temples are where dads and moms can be married for eternity!” she told them. “Temples are where families can be sealed together forever!”
Each time she passes the temple, she announces, “That’s where I’m going to be married someday.”
Seven-year-old Íngrid Fabiola Martínez Barredo knows something about temples. When she was five years old, she and her parents were sealed as an eternal family in the México City D.F. México Temple. The trip took 18 hours each way on a bus crowded with members from their ward and stake. Like many members in Tuxtla Gutiérrez, Íngrid is thankful now to have a temple just minutes away in her own city.
Even though the long journey to the temple was uncomfortable, Íngrid and the other Primary children accompanying their parents to the temple did their best to make it pleasant. “They sang their favorite hymns and songs on the way, such as ‘Count Your Many Blessings’ and ‘I Am a Child of God,’” says Íngrid’s dad, Javier. Several members who traveled on the bus thanked the children for helping make their journey more enjoyable.
Traveling a long distance wasn’t the only sacrifice Íngrid and her family made to get to the temple. Although her dad gave his employer plenty of notice when requesting time off from work, he lost his job because he left on the temple trip. However, after returning home he was able to get a better job.
While Íngrid was waiting to be sealed to her parents, she helped the temple nursery workers care for the younger children and babies. When it was time for her to leave, the workers said, “Oh, don’t take her! She helped us so much. She put the babies to sleep.”
A couple of years after they went to the temple, Íngrid’s mother, María Carmelita, gave birth to a baby boy. Later, Íngrid’s parents had a baby girl. “Luis Fernando and Mari Carmen are children of the covenant,” Íngrid says proudly. She explains to her nonmember relatives that since her family was sealed in the temple before her baby brother and sister were born, the babies are also members of their eternal family. Íngrid loves her brother and sister and helps her mother take care of them. “She often puts them to sleep by singing Primary songs to them,” says her mom.
Her dad says with a smile, “She tells us that when she grows up, she wants to be whatever she is thinking of at the time—a doctor, an artist, a teacher.”
“But mostly she wants to be a mother,” her mom adds. “Besides helping me with the babies, she holds her dolls and hugs them and sings to them. She has told me, ‘When I’m big, I’m going to get married. And I’m going to study a lot so my children don’t lack anything.’”
Íngrid enjoys drawing pictures of animals, running races, playing ball, and riding her bicycle. She especially loves to dress up in costumes and perform folk dances.
Her bishop, Juan José Albores Gallegos, of the Las Lomas Ward, Tuxtla Gutiérrez México Stake, says Íngrid participates with great energy in Primary and in ward activities. Bishop Albores especially appreciates the care Íngrid gives younger Primary children. “She loves them and gives them her time and attention,” he says. “She plays and sings songs with them.”
Never at a loss for words, Íngrid has told her nonmember friends and relatives about the Church and has invited several of them to attend. Although none of them have joined the Church yet, she isn’t discouraged.
“Wherever we go,” her dad says, “she tells people about the Church.”
For example, when her family was invited to a picnic one Sunday, Íngrid said, “No, we can’t go on the picnic because it’s Sunday, and we are members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.” When someone offers her a drink that is not in keeping with Church standards, she says, “No, we can’t drink it.”
“Íngrid has learned a lot in Primary and in our family home evenings,” her mother says. “She is often the one to remind us to say our prayers before going to bed. ‘Did you say your prayers, Papi, Mami?’ she will ask. And at mealtime, she will say, ‘Let’s bless the food before eating.’ She is teaching us all the time.”
“On fast Sunday, Íngrid is the first in our family to get up and bear her testimony in sacrament meeting, and she bears her testimony like an adult,” says her dad. “Sometimes she’ll ask me, ‘Are you going to bear your testimony today?’ I’ll usually tell her I’m not sure, because it’s hard for me to speak in public. And she’ll tease me by saying, ‘If you don’t, I’ll call you from the pulpit to come up and do it.’ I’ll say, ‘Don’t you dare!’ She smiles happily if I do go up.”
Íngrid’s parents are thankful for her strength and example. “She makes sure we obey the commandments,” her dad says. “Maybe she understands the gospel better than I do!”

Photograph courtesy of Allie Bradford
I received my mission call in January to the Cape Verde Praia Mission! I’m really excited about my mission, but I was just as excited to be able to go through the temple and receive my endowment.
Both my bishop and my stake president reminded me that the temple is not merely a stepping-stone to the mission. The covenants I make in the temple are literally vital for my salvation; a mission is not.
I prepared to go to the temple by focusing on my baptismal covenants, reading the booklet Preparing to Enter the Holy Temple, reading my scriptures daily, and praying a lot. I felt like I was about as prepared as I could have been, without actually knowing specifically what was going to happen.
I feel like I’ve been preparing for my endowment my whole life. I wasn’t really nervous about it, even though I still didn’t know what to expect. I had my parents, other family members, and temple workers escorting me the whole time, so I was never alone.
Before I went to the temple, I got the same advice from a lot of people: Don’t worry about trying to learn or remember it all the first time, don’t stress about the symbolism, and don’t worry if you don’t understand everything; just focus on feeling the Spirit. That’s just what I did, and my first time in the temple was a very good experience. The Spirit was so strong.
The things that happen in the temple are different from the way we worship outside the temple. But the Spirit is the same, and that’s the most important thing. When we’re worthy and prepared to be there, we can truly feel God’s presence in His house. I’m so grateful that I’ve been able to receive my endowment and make those important covenants. I look forward to going back again and again.
Allie Bradford, 20, Utah, USA

Young missionaries always have an idea as to where they would love to serve. Usually it’s a faraway place with a strange-sounding name.
One day I was in the men’s suit department of a large store when I encountered two missionaries with their mothers. It isn’t difficult to spot missionaries or their mothers. The two elders were conversing, and one said to the other, “Where are you going to serve?”
Came the reply, “I’m going to Austria.”
The first missionary responded, “You lucky dog, going to Austria! Those beautiful Austrian alps, that wonderful music, those delightful people! I wish I were going there.”
“Where are you going?” said the missionary assigned to Austria.
“California,” came the answer. “You know, less than two hours away by plane. We go there every year for a vacation.”
I could see by the expression on the mothers’ faces and the near tears of the one missionary that it was time for me to intervene. “Did you say California?” I asked. “Why, I once supervised that area. You have an inspired call. Do you realize what you will have in California to help you? You’ll have chapels and stake centers that dot the land, and they’ll be filled with Latter-day Saints who can be inspired to be fellow missionaries with you in sharing the gospel. You are a very fortunate missionary to be going there.” I glanced at the other mother, who said, “Brother Monson, say something about Austria, quick!” I did so.

Thinking we can’t help can have devastating results. “I can’t remember my bishop ever asking me about my son’s condition and how I am handling this situation in my life,” says a father. “This is especially strange, because I am his executive secretary. My home teachers haven’t mentioned the problem with our child, either, and my high priests group leader has avoided talking with me about it.

“If my bishop, home teachers, and high priests group leader were insensitive or uncaring, I would be able to understand. But they’re all good men. As I review the situation, I realize that they are just people who do not know what to do.”

I have thought often about the priest and the Levite in the parable of the good Samaritan. When they saw the wounded man by the roadside, why did they cross over to the other side? Perhaps rather than being evil or bad people, they were simply afraid. Perhaps they didn’t know what to do. Perhaps they didn’t care enough. They allowed their ignorance, apathy, or fear to overcome the feelings of charity to which they should have responded.

It was the Samaritan, a political adversary, who, “when he saw him, … had compassion on him.” He did what he could for the man and then enlisted the support of others to give the necessary care. (See Luke 10:29–37.)

Like the Samaritan, we can help if we want to. All we really need is the awareness and the desire. Try to think of individuals with disabilities as exactly that—individuals who happen to have disabilities. They have the same needs as the rest of us; they want to be loved and recognized, to participate, to experience the same joys we experience.

It is difficult to involve people with special needs because there really aren’t that many things they can do.

There are as many ways to involve them as there are people with disabilities.

We need to remember that the Church exists for the individual—not the individual for the Church. Adapting Church programs to the needs of the individual requires sensitivity and inspiration.

I know a bishop who presides over his ward from a wheelchair, and intellectually impaired Relief Society sister who serves with great pride in the nursery, and a woman with hearing impairments who teaches Sunday School. Another young man, completely paralyzed except for his head and neck, completed a full-time mission where he had part in the conversion of more than two hundred people!

A high councilor says: “I am blind, yet I’ve had major callings in the ward and stake. People relate to me as a person—the handicap doesn’t get in the way. This wasn’t always so; it’s taken a few years for people to learn to understand.”

Whether a person with a handicap is called to serve as stake president or as the helper who turns off the lights after the meetings—he or she can feel the joy of serving in the Lord’s kingdom.

I sympathize with those who have special needs, but I honestly don’t have the time to take on any more projects.

Assisting those with special needs usually means new attitudes rather than new programs, more caring rather than more time.

Several years ago our family attended a Latter-day Saint Scout Training Camp. Our older children joined in the activities and were having a wonderful time. However, our nine-year-old autistic son, Brian, was having a difficult time. The Cub Scout events were not designed for someone with social and language impairments. I felt hurt, humiliated, and brokenhearted as I observed the intolerance and impatience directed toward my normal-appearing but handicapped son’s inappropriate behavior. He was as miserable as his peers.

So at a Relief Society meeting at the camp I took a few moments to explain Brian’s disability and share some of the challenges we were facing in rearing him. After that, the sisters began explaining the situation to their families. Within an hour the entire camp had learned about Brian.

Never have I seen such a complete reversal in attitude, nor felt such an outpouring of love and acceptance. It confirmed my belief that the Church is made up of wonderful people who will respond in a Christlike manner when they understand others’ needs. They’ll not only respond, but they’ll also be better because of it.

“Kurt is a Down syndrome Scout who also has coordination problems,” says a priesthood leader. “He went with our Scout troop on a hike of about thirty kilometers. After sixteen kilometers, he lost his walking rhythm. But with his dad in front of him and his Scoutmaster behind him, he walked every step. We waited hours for him to finish.

“When Kurt and his helpers finally appeared, a spontaneous cheer went up, and Kurt proudly ran the last part, crying, and saying, ‘I did it, I did it! They are cheering for me! They thing I’m good!’ Everyone had tears in their eyes. We will never forget that lesson.”

Jesus said: “Have ye any that are sick among you? Bring them hither. Have ye any that are lame, or blind, or halt, or maimed, or leprous, or that are withered, or that are deaf, or that are afflicted in any manner? Bring them hither … for I have compassion upon you.” (3 Ne. 17:7.)

This same merciful Savior still lives and loves each one of us, regardless of our disabilities or our weaknesses. May we walk in his footsteps and follow his example. May our desire to serve his special children increase. May we have the compassion to overcome our own fears and love them, teach them, and work beside them in the Lord’s kingdom.

With new awareness and genuine fellowship, let us invite those with special needs to come unto Christ. More often than not, we may find they are leading us to Him!

My mother was a tremendous support to us. She always cleaned our white shirts on Saturdays so they would be ready to wear on Sundays. We would polish our shoes and the shoes of our youngest brothers and sisters. We lived in a poor neighborhood in Guatemala, and our neighbors would laugh at us on Sundays as we wore our white shirts and ties to church.
My mother always gave us courage to do the right. Because of her influence, we were very active in the Church. I remember that at one time, my father served as the Sunday School president, my older sister served as the Primary president, my mother served as the Relief Society president, and four of my brothers passed, prepared, and blessed the sacrament.

Illustrations by Craig Stapley
There’s a hospital for cancer patients in my area called City of Hope. I never knew this hospital existed until I advanced to the office of a priest in the Aaronic Priesthood, when I learned that the LDS chaplain at the hospital was a member of my ward. One day he asked me and another member of the priests quorum to help him take the sacrament to some members of the Church who were receiving treatment at City of Hope.
When we arrived, I was shocked by the number of people who were really sick. The care they received at the hospital really was their last hope. We entered the first room and met a woman from Missouri, USA, who had just started treatment. She was surprised to learn that the hospital had a connection with the local ward and that young men would take the time to come and administer the sacrament.
We returned again the next week and found there were now eight members checked in to the hospital. Not only did we administer the sacrament to them, but we visited with each one as well. I felt a deep sense of gratitude for my own health and for the opportunity to help the patients.
The following week I was on a family trip, so another quorum member went in my place. He told me that the members at the hospital had asked where I was. It made me feel happy to know that my service mattered to them, and it motivated me to continue to go when I’m needed so that my service will bring peace to people who “stand in need of comfort” (Mosiah 18:9).

“I spent eighteen years teaching and fulfilling my responsibilities as a priest,” says Hsieh. “I was very busy, but I wasn’t happy. I had had the opportunity to study in Europe; I had been a teacher, a student, a professor, a chaplain, a seminary director—my life was colorful—but there was a spiritual void.”
And there were rules and customs within the Catholic church with which Hsieh was uncomfortable, such as the ban on certain books—and he liked to read and study all he could. Another problem that bothered him as an ordained priest was the Lord’s statement: “It is not good that the man should be alone” (Gen. 2:18).
“This particular scripture became a vivid reality for me once when I was seriously sick and there was no one close to take care of me. I felt very alone. I realized the need for a companion to share my life. I decided then that being alone forever wasn’t right.”
This combination of feelings built up over time. Finally, in 1973, he asked to be released from his priestly vows. He resigned from Fu Jen University and was immediately hired by National Cheng Chi University in Taipei. There, one year later, Hsieh met, courted, and married one of his university assistants. He was about fifty years old at this time.
“But giving up the priesthood was difficult for me,” he says. “I had been a priest for so long. Now I had given up everything that I had lived for up to that point in time. I missed sharing my knowledge and understanding of the gospel, something I had been able to do as a priest. I thought about becoming a minister in another church that allowed priests to marry. But because of my belief in the Catholic church, I couldn’t make that change.”
Three years after his marriage, Hsieh was alone in his home when two young men knocked on his door. “They asked to talk to me, and I said I had no time and no interest in whatever they wanted to talk about.
“But as I thought about them, I became more curious. I wanted to know who they were and what they were doing in Taiwan, so I looked out from the balcony of my apartment and saw them going from door to door. I waited for a long time for them to come out of one of the apartments, and then I called to them to come back to mine.
“The first question I asked them was, ‘Are you missionaries?’ When they answered yes, I questioned them about their religion. Many of my questions were left unanswered, and I didn’t feel satisfied with our first conversation.
“That evening, as I discussed their visit with my wife, she reminded me of the Lord’s admonition to ‘beware of false prophets.’” (See Matt. 7:15.)
When the missionaries made a return visit, Hsieh was not going to let them in, but he didn’t want to be impolite. For the entire evening, Hsieh explained to the missionaries what true religion should be. He did not tell them that he had been a Catholic priest, but they felt encouraged by his knowledge of Christianity.
One of the missionaries, Donald B. Cenatiempo, wrote of the experience, “I felt as if we were the students and he was the teacher. We could tell he was a very intelligent and religious man.” The missionaries asked if they could return, and Hsieh said yes. The visits became a weekly ritual.
“I didn’t want to send them away,” Hsieh remembers. “I thought that if their church were true, it would have a prophet and continuing revelation. I asked them why their church didn’t have crosses or crucifixes, and they said, ‘Because Christ is risen; Christ lives. If one of your friends or parents dies,’ they said, ‘do you take out a photograph of them dead and show it to everyone?’ I was spiritually touched by the wisdom of their response.”
Hsieh started to read the Book of Mormon and the Doctrine and Covenants, which he especially liked because it is a record of the Lord speaking to man in these latter days. He asked for other books to read, and the missionaries gave him a copy of A Marvelous Work and a Wonder, by Elder LeGrand Richards.
“We told Brother Hsieh that it was possible for him to receive the priesthood and perform certain duties within that priesthood,” Elder Cenatiempo wrote. “Brother Hsieh understood as well as anybody could in his stage of spiritual progression what it would mean to hold the priesthood—the true priesthood of God.”
Hsieh explained to his wife what he had read, and she found it very interesting. Together, they began to study and pray for understanding. Eventually, Hsieh’s wife announced to the missionaries, “We have prayed and we feel it best to be baptized together.” They were baptized in December 1977.
In the years since that special event in their lives, they have developed strong testimonies that they enjoy sharing with others.
“We have always said that we would be willing to do whatever the Lord wants us to do,” says Brother Hsieh. “And we’ve always tried to use every opportunity and every talent he has given us to help build up the kingdom of God on the earth and to share the gospel message.”
Some unique opportunities have opened up to Brother Hsieh to do this. He has lectured seven times at the International Conference for Christian Professors. “They are interested in the Church because it is quite new and unique in modern Christianity,” he says. “The Lord has given me many opportunities to bear my testimony to these scholars.”
Currently, Brother Hsieh, a member of the Mu Cha Ward, serves as a high councilor in the Taipei Taiwan West Stake and has assisted in work on a second Chinese translation of the Book of Mormon.
“The gospel is the love of God,” he says. “It is important that all men and women hear this message. What we do, we do for the glory of God and the salvation of souls. Friendship is the method by which we share the gospel. The final goal for all is salvation and exaltation.”

Nathan’s eyes shifted now to the rearview mirror. The reflection in it of the back of the truck prompted his memory of the time he rode in it the day of his baptism. His father’s car had broken down, so the family piled into the old truck. Nathan sat in the open bed with his brother, Frank, and his little sister, Ashley. His father and mother rode up in the cab with Grandpa Virgil.

Nathan liked the feel of the breeze on his face. Grandpa had said that maybe it was the same easy wind that had cooled the brows of the early handcarters as, seeking peace, they trudged across the plains with their families to their new beginnings in these very valleys.

Peace! Nathan thought, his eyes filling with hot, stinging tears at the reality of his grandfather’s absence. Peace is what I need now to help me deal with Grandpa Virgil’s being gone. He pushed his face out the open window into a breeze that had arisen with the dawn. Maybe it was the same wind, he speculated, that cooled the tears of the handcart pioneers who had to bury their dead in shallow graves and continue on their way. That’s what Grandpa would want of me now—to continue on my way and be the best I can be. “I will, Grandpa,” he whispered out loud. “I will.”

Later that morning as everyone gathered around the breakfast table, Nathan’s father asked Frank, Nathan, and Ashley what one thing they would each like to have that had belonged to Grandpa Virgil, as a remembrance of him. Frank chose Grandpa’s fishing pole. “It’s yours,” Father agreed with a kindly smile. “And all his tackle. I know how you cherished your time with him under that old willow by the fishing hole.” He turned his smile toward Nathan’s sister. “What about you, Ash?”

“Grandpa’s scriptures,” she said after a moment’s thought, “the ones he always took to church.”

Father patted the small girl’s hand and nodded. “I think Grandpa especially wanted you to have them because he knew you’d really study them like he did.” He then turned toward his firstborn. “And you, Nathan? What would you like, son?”

Nathan hesitated, knowing how much his father needed the extra milk cows. His eyes fell, and he poked at his food. Then, mustering a smile, he looked up and said, “I really can’t think of anything, Dad.”

Father and Mother exchanged glances. They knew different. “It’s Grandpa Virgil’s old pickup, isn’t it, Nathan?”

He nodded. “But the extra milk cows—you need the money you’ll get from Mr. Finch for Grandpa’s truck to buy them.”

“I made all of you kids an offer, Nathan,” Father reminded him. “You’d like to have his old pickup, and we want you to have it. Besides—” he glanced away quickly to blink back a tear— “I saw you outside, sitting in Grandpa’s truck, and I could tell that to you that old pickup is as priceless an earthly treasure as a boy or man could ever hope for.” He leaned forward and spoke with warm finality: “The old pickup is yours.”

Before Nathan could protest, Father added, “The extra cows can wait, Nathan. We have managed without them this long, haven’t we? And if this year’s harvest is good, I just might be able to buy them then—OK?”

That night Nathan sat by his bedroom window, staring out at the green pickup in the tall weeds. It was as alive in his mind as it was in the yard—as alive as Grandpa Virgil would always be, for memories were eternal, his grandfather once said, “and things eternal never die.” Nathan had been wrestling in his mind with something ever since supper. Now a look of peace and contentment washed over him. He regarded the battered machine in the soft glow of moonlight a final moment, then went to bed.

Early the next morning, he approached his father with a determined look on his face. “I have something to say, Dad.”

“Sure,” his father answered. “What is it, son?”

“It’s something I want to do. I just feel it. It’s what Grandpa would do if he were here.”

“OK,” Father said slowly, waiting to hear his son out.

“I called Mr. Finch about the pickup—I’m selling it to him.”

“You’re what?”

“I want to be like Grandpa, Dad. I want to help.”

“I told you, Nathan, you don’t have to—”

“I want to, Dad,” Nathan interrupted. “I really want to.”

Nathan went with his father for the last ride in the pickup. Mother drove the other family truck, Frank and Ashley riding with her. After they dropped off Grandpa Virgil’s pickup at Mr. Finch’s, they would head for Mr. Anderson’s farm to purchase two more milk cows. It was hot enough that Nathan could roll down the truck window and let the wind rush across his face. He seemed to hear in his mind Grandpa Virgil saying that maybe it was the same easy wind that had cooled the brows of the early handcart pioneers as they trudged across the plains.

Nathan smiled and gazed affectionately around the old truck, which was still alive with memories—the kind of memories that go on forever. Just like Grandpa Virgil.

When I was a young man, my home was on Long Island about 30 miles from New York City. We had woods around us, and we enjoyed nature. My father had a large yard with hedges, rock gardens, fish pool, vegetable garden, lawns, and trees. They all required regular care. There were always chores, like cutting the lawn in the summer and raking leaves in the autumn. I thought we worked pretty hard taking care of our yard, but it was nothing like my father’s boyhood on the sugar beet farm in Burton, Idaho.
One day my father said to me, “You’re never going to learn how to work until you go out and work on the ranch with your Uncle Frank.” So I spent that summer in Skull Valley near Tooele, Utah, learning how to work.
The change from the lush greenery of my home in Long Island to Skull Valley’s dusty, stark desert environment was hard for me to believe. It gave me an appreciation of the first impressions that pioneers coming from Europe and the eastern part of the United States must have had when they were told, “This is the place.”
I had grown up near a large city. Ranch life was an education for me. I was impressed to see the cattle and the horses and the hard work necessary to bring about the harvest. I can remember the feelings when I first realized that an enormous amount of preparation was necessary before the crops were brought in. We had to plow, disk, harrow, plant, cultivate, weed, irrigate and then continue to cultivate, weed, and irrigate, endlessly it seemed. That summer was a great lesson to me. It is a cherished part of my heritage, because it was here in this almost desolate, remote corner of the world that I learned the law of the harvest.

Some years ago I was serving as a bishop. At the same time I was working on a doctor’s degree at a university and working a full-time job. I was under some strain, fearing that because of my desire to succeed in so many areas I was really failing as a father.
One Sunday evening I stayed late at church to complete some work. As I walked into the chapel to turn off the lights before going home, I suddenly felt lonely. I felt that my back would not bear for another day the heavy burdens I was carrying.
I fell to my knees near the pulpit and cried to the Lord. I poured out the feelings of my soul to him and described in detail my seemingly insurmountable tasks. When I finished I remained kneeling. And then I heard the Spirit speak to me in my heart. The answer it gave me was all I needed. It said just three things: Go forward. Do your best. Love your family.
I arose a new man.

Did you ever wish for something so long and so hard that it was on your mind every single day? I did. I wished for a horse. From the time I could recognize four hooves and a mane, I wanted my own horse.
We lived in Maine, USA, out in the country, but my family couldn’t afford a horse. That didn’t stop me from wishing and praying and nagging my parents for one, though.
One sunny August morning, just before my 13th birthday, I looked out our big front window. Down the hill, at my friend Sandy’s house, a horse trailer was pulling in! Sandy’s dad stepped behind the truck and led a beautiful mare down the ramp and up to the pasture behind their house.
Sandy’s parents had bought her a horse! I couldn’t believe what I was seeing! At that moment I thought, Sandy probably just wants to be popular. She’s not really interested in loving a horse and caring for it like I am. It’s so unfair!
I sat down and started crying. I knew I was the one who was being unfair. I knew I was feeling angry and jealous. But right then I didn’t care.
Mom tried to comfort me. She told me that Sandy would probably let me ride sometime. But I didn’t want to be comforted. I wanted to get to know that horse and ride her, and I was going to do it my own way.
A few days later I snuck over to visit Sandy’s horse, Lady Samantha. You couldn’t see that part of the pasture from Sandy’s house, so I was sure no one would find out. I made friends with Lady, and I started going there whenever I could to ride her all around the field. Because she was just grazing when I visited, she didn’t have a saddle or bridle on, so I rode her bareback and with no bridle.
Then one day my secret was found out. Sandy came looking for Lady, and from far away she spotted someone sitting on her. She yelled, “Hey! Get away from that horse! Hey you! Get out of there!”
I got down off of Lady and ran away as quickly as I could! I hoped Sandy hadn’t seen who it was. But she must have known. Everyone knew how much I loved horses.
Back at home, I felt terrible. Maybe Sandy’s parents would call my parents. I was afraid of what would happen next. But as I waited, I also thought about what could have happened because of what I had done. I could have been hurt. Or I could have accidentally hurt Lady.
Then I thought even more about what I had done. I had trespassed on my neighbor’s property. I had ridden her horse without permission. I had been dishonest!
I began to realize what I had to do. I prayed for forgiveness and for courage. Then I picked up the phone and called Sandy. She answered. I took a deep breath and said, “Sandy, I’m sorry! It was me riding Lady Samantha.”
Sandy was really angry. I told her again how sorry I was, and I told her about how jealous I had felt. I promised never to do it again. As she listened, she got less angry and began to forgive me.
After a while Sandy said, “I know what! You can come over on the days I have my riding lessons, and I’ll give you a lesson afterward. And you can help me take care of Lady, too, if you want.”
I was thrilled. I tried to get rid of all of my jealous feelings, and I said yes.
During the next few years, Lady carried Sandy and me on many adventures, and I learned many lessons. But I think the biggest lesson I learned was never to let my wants and wishes gallop away with me!

Many of my memories of being a five-year-old consist of volleyball nets, floor polish on gym floors, referee whistles, and roughly scribbled rosters. My dad coached a team of young volleyball players in our ward. I was his “assistant.”
My dad taught the players principles of hard work, team spirit, honesty, trust in self and in others, goal setting, perseverance, and sacrifice. There were prayers before games, 5:00 A.M. practices on Saturdays, and ice cream socials at our house.
One of the most important lessons I learned from my dad and his players was that of honesty. When a player touched the net inadvertently or mishandled a pass, my dad taught that it was important for the player to reveal his error with a raised hand. That lesson would make a lasting impression, not only on the members of the team, but also on a five-year-old “assistant coach.”
Our team had struggled in the beginning. But when the championships were held, we were there to compete. When it was time for the final match, the four years the team had spent playing together paid off. Just one match stood in the way of our winning the championship.
There was a spirited atmosphere at the championship match. Crowds of people came to watch the competition. I took my place next to Dad when the horn sounded to begin play.
I don’t remember much of that match, but I do remember the end of the final game. The crowd cheered as my dad’s team scored the final point. Participants and spectators flooded the floor. Brent, a big, formidable player on our team, had made the final point with a decisive spike. So powerful was his contact with the ball that even the experienced referee didn’t notice that Brent’s finger had brushed the net. It was a penalty that easily could have been forgotten. But amid the excitement, Brent slowly raised his arm into the air.
The teams reassembled, the crowd took their seats, and the game continued. Shortly thereafter, the game ended, and my dad’s team captured the championship they had been working at for four years. They could feel good not only about winning, but also about doing it honestly.
Many years have passed since my days of chasing volleyballs for my father and his players. But the memory of a coach teaching the value of honesty to his team still remains firmly planted in my memory. From my low vantage point on the floor that day, most people seemed tall. But the way I—and everyone else—saw it, Brent stood the tallest.

In April 2009 former Presiding Bishopric counselor Richard C. Edgley told the story of an exemplary quorum that mobilized to assist a fellow member who had lost his job:
“Phil’s Auto of Centerville, Utah, is a testament of what priesthood leadership and a quorum can accomplish. Phil was a member of an elders quorum and worked as a mechanic at a local automobile repair shop. Unfortunately, the repair shop where Phil worked experienced economic trouble and had to let Phil go from his job. He was devastated by this turn of events.
“On hearing about Phil’s job loss, his bishop, Leon Olson, and his elders quorum presidency prayerfully considered ways they could help Phil get back on his feet. After all, he was a fellow quorum member, a brother, and he needed help. They concluded that Phil had the skills to run his own business. One of the quorum members offered that he had an old barn that perhaps could be used as a repair shop. Other quorum members could help gather needed tools and supplies to equip the new shop. Almost everyone in the quorum could at least help clean the old barn.
“They shared their ideas with Phil; then they shared their plan with the members of their quorum. The barn was cleaned and renovated, the tools gathered, and all was put in order. Phil’s Auto was a success and eventually moved to better and more permanent quarters—all because his quorum brothers offered help in a time of crisis.”

In the spring of 1848, you developed an interest in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, although your father, family, and friends did not share your enthusiasm. They did everything possible to persuade you to denounce the Church. Your father even locked up your clothes to keep you from attending Sunday meetings. But your faith was steadfast. In spite of persecution you struggled on.

Dear Ebenezer, despite your father’s opposition, you were baptized in April 1848, the only convert in your family.