Gospel Story Finder

When I was 14, my father was diagnosed with cancer. Doctors estimated that with chemotherapy, he had a 50 percent chance of living eight years or longer. Since the alternatives were even less encouraging, my father decided to suffer through the six months of weekly treatments.
At the end of the chemotherapy, my ward in Bountiful held a special fast for my father. It was a marvelous experience to join in faith for a common cause. When the diagnosis came back, the doctors could find no sign of cancer. After I left for my mission, I received letters from my father telling me of his continued improvements and how he even ran a marathon. Things seemed to be going well.
The summer before my mission ended, I was serving with a missionary named Elder Causse. He was from a branch in Bourdeaux, France, a place I had once considered “out there in the mission field.”
One morning my mission president called me into his office and told me my father would be calling. When the phone rang, the president excused himself and left me alone. I was apprehensive as I picked up the phone.
My father greeted me, then told me his cancer had relapsed. He would again go through chemotherapy. I then spoke to my mother, who told me our ward was going to fast again. I said I would join in the fast as well. After I hung the phone up, I wiped away a few tears and walked out of the office.
On the way back to our assigned area, I explained the situation to Elder Causse. He promised to fast with me, and his promise gave me comfort. But he did not stop there. He wrote to his family in France and told them what had happened. They, too, said that they would fast for my father and that they would ask the members of the Bourdeaux Branch to join the fast as well. I was astounded that they would fast for the health of a man they did not know.
At that moment, the Spirit spoke softly to me, and suddenly I understood what it means to be “fellow-citizens with the saints, and of the household of God” (Eph. 2:19). We are of one faith, united in the gospel with bonds stronger than illness or death. We are truly brothers and sisters. None of us is a stranger, no matter what land we happen to worship in.

Four years ago I spoke in this setting about couples serving full-time missions. My prayer was that “the Holy Ghost [would] touch hearts, and somewhere a spouse … [would] quietly nudge his or her companion, and a moment of truth [—a moment of decision—would] occur.” One sister later wrote me about that experience. She said, “We were sitting in the comfort of our family room enjoying conference on television. … As you spoke, my heart was touched so deeply. I looked over at my husband, and he looked at me. That moment changed my life forever.”
If you are or will soon be the age of a senior missionary, I come to you this afternoon to witness of the blessings that can change your life forever. Your Heavenly Father needs you. His work, under the direction of our Savior Jesus Christ, needs what you are uniquely prepared to give. Every missionary experience requires faith, sacrifice, and service, and these are always followed by an outpouring of blessings.
As we discuss these blessings, you will naturally consider what I have called the four F’s: fear, family concerns, finding the right mission opportunity, and financial challenges. May I yet add another more important and powerful F—faith. Only through our faith can we heed God’s counsel to “choose ye this day, whom ye will serve”—“to serve the Lord God who made you.” And only through a trial of our faith can we receive the miraculous blessings we seek for ourselves and our families. “For if there be no faith among the children of men God can do no miracle among them; wherefore, he showed not himself until after their faith.”
Allow me to share some of the miraculous blessings from letters and accounts I have received over the past four years. A humble couple from Idaho met fear with faith when the Lord called them to Russia. They wrote the following acceptance letter: “No one would have imagined we would be called to this assignment. We have no idea how we will learn the language or manage to be of service, and although we accept with much trepidation, going completely on faith, we know that the Lord and His prophet know more than we do where we should serve.” Ten months later the Stockholm Sweden Temple welcomed 30 Saints from a small branch in Russia led by this couple from Idaho who had barely begun to learn the Russian language. The scriptures tell us, “God has provided a means that man, through faith, might work mighty miracles.” Thus, God’s work is carried out by His children, “that faith also might increase in the earth, … that the fulness of my gospel might be proclaimed by the weak and the simple unto the ends of the world.”
Another couple faced family concerns with faith. A faithful sister wrote: “The decision to serve a mission was not hard. But my 90-year-old mother was extremely apprehensive about our leaving. She took great comfort when she heard that our families would be blessed as we serve.” A faithful brother expressed similar concerns about leaving his elderly parents, to which his father responded, “Don’t use your mother and me as an excuse not to go on a mission with your wife. You pray about it and follow the guidance of the Spirit.”
To an earlier generation of missionaries called to leave their families, the Lord offered this reassurance: “And if they will do this in all lowliness of heart, … I, the Lord, give unto them a promise that I will provide for their families.”
Certainly family concerns are real and should not be considered lightly. But we cannot meet our family challenges without the blessings of the Lord; and when we sacrifice to serve as full-time missionary couples, those blessings will flow. For example, one couple worried about leaving their youngest daughter, who was no longer active in the Church. Her faithful father wrote: “We prayed for her continually and fasted regularly. Then, during general conference, the Spirit whispered to me, ‘If you will serve, you will not have to worry about your daughter anymore.’ So we met with our bishop. The week after we received our call, she and her boyfriend announced they were engaged. Before we left for Africa, we had a wedding in our home. [Then we gathered our family together and] held a family council. … I bore testimony of the Lord and Joseph Smith … and told them I would like to give each of them a father’s blessing. I started with the oldest son and then his wife and proceeded to the youngest … [including our new son-in-law].”
As we consider couple missionary service, it is appropriate to involve our families in the same way. In family council meetings, we can give our children the opportunity to express their support, offer special assistance we may need, and receive priesthood blessings to sustain them in our absence. Where appropriate, we may be able to receive priesthood blessings from them as well. As the faithful father in this story blessed his family members, his son-in-law felt the influence of the Holy Ghost. The father wrote: “By the end of our first year [the] heart [of our son-in-law] began to soften toward the Church. Just before we returned home from our mission, he and our daughter came to visit us. In his suitcase was the first set of Sunday clothes he had ever owned. They came to church with us, and after we returned home he was baptized. A year later they were sealed in the temple.”
Though the details of this story may be unique, the principle is true for all who say to the Lord, “I’ll go where you want me to go.” I testify that as we put our trust in the Lord, He will find the right missionary opportunity for us. As He said, “If any man serve me, him will my Father honour.”
In considering missionary opportunities, many couples throughout the world have an abundant desire to serve but lack abundant means. If this is your situation, remember that the right mission call may not be to a far-off country with a strange-sounding name. The right call for you may be within your stake or area. “Your heavenly Father knoweth that ye have need of all these things.” Counsel with your extended family and your bishop or branch president. As the Lord’s servants understand your temporal situation, you will be able to receive the eternal blessings of full-time missionary service.
If you cannot serve because of serious extenuating circumstances, would you consider making a financial contribution to help those who can? The reasonable sacrifice of your means will not only bless other missionaries and those they serve; it will bless you and your family as well.
Now, to those who were not able to serve a mission in their youth, may I speak directly to you. Perhaps over the years you have been burdened by feelings of regret or felt less than adequate because you did not have a missionary opportunity to serve and grow when you were younger. My advice to you: look forward, not back. Begin preparing for your mission as a senior missionary couple today! Save a little money each month. Study the scriptures. Accept Church callings. Pray to feel the Lord’s love for others and receive His love and confidence in you. You can one day claim all the blessings of missionary service!
And what marvelous blessings they are! After 51 years of marriage, I was asked, “What part of life would you want to live over again?” I did not hesitate to reply, “When my wife and I served together in the great missionary work of the Lord.” The sentiments of another missionary couple echo those of my wife and myself: “Our decision to go on a mission brought new vigor, new emotions, new friends, new places, new challenges. It brought us closer together as husband and wife; we had a common goal and a real partnership. And best of all, it brought new spiritual growth instead of spiritual retirement.” Brothers and sisters, let us not go into spiritual retirement.
Now, may I extend a challenge to bishops and branch presidents throughout the world? Over the next six months, would it be possible for each of you to consider recommending one or more missionary couples beyond those presently planning to serve? Your greatest resource in meeting this challenge will be those senior members of your ward who have already served missions. In my own ward an inspired bishop called a special meeting of prospective and returned missionary couples. As we bore our testimonies of sacrifice and service, the Spirit witnessed to us all that a call to serve is indeed a call to “know the richness of [the Lord’s] blessing[s].”

1 “Stop it!”
“Stop it!”
Andrew stomped his foot and stuck his tongue out at his little sister. She did the same to him.
2 “Mom, I can’t take it anymore. Please make Sarah stop copying me.”
3 “I don’t know if we can stop Sarah from doing everything you do. Right now she is learning from your example and doing the things you teach her to do.”
“I didn’t teach her that.”
“Yes, you did. Sarah loves you and thinks you are a great big brother. She watches what you do and tries to do the same.”
4 “I still don’t like it when she copies what I do. It gives me a headache.”
5 “Remember, Jesus set a good example for us by showing love and being kind to others. You can show Sarah a good example by doing what Jesus did.”
6 Andrew thought about what Mom said. He decided he would try to be a good example. Andrew looked at Sarah and smiled.
“I love you.”
Sarah smiled back at him.
“I love you too.”

Lance Reynolds can understand that feeling. Football had become an important part of his life at an early age, beginning with children’s football teams. He played for the team at Granite High School in Salt Lake City and was chosen to be on the team of top players of the region when he was 16 years old. He was selected to the top team in the state and again to the top team of the region.
The year Lance entered Brigham Young University was the first year that first year students were allowed to play on the first (top) team representing a university, and he played with the varsity football team enough to win a school letter. His second year he was on the starting team, and his third year promised to be a great one—he would have been the only player in his position on the team returning. But it was time for Lance to go on his mission, and although he had always planned to go, the final decision was a difficult one to make.
“At the time,” he remembers, “leaving on a mission seemed like the end of all hopes for a football career.” It seemed like a choice between football and a mission. He chose the mission.
Five years and a professional contract later, Lance no longer feels that you have to make a choice. “Why not do both?” he asks. “Young students and athletes don’t have to ‘give up’ things to go on a mission—only postpone them for two years.”
And he should know. Having kept himself in good physical condition during his mission by exercising during personal time (before 6:30 A.M.) and watching his weight, Lance was able on his return to slip back into his uniform and the game with ease. Within two weeks he felt at home on the field. The following season he was on the starting team at BYU. His fourth year he was honored by the Western Athletic Conference, received All-American honorable mention, and was chosen by the Pittsburgh Steelers, a top professional football team. He is now playing with the Philadelphia Eagles football team.
Lance feels he gained in intensity, concentration, and self-control. And all three felt an increased confidence upon returning to their sport.
Although some missionaries do return and do not continue in sports, it is usually due to a change in interests rather than inability. Ed, Mark, and Lance are convinced that any athlete who serves a mission will be able to regain his previous ability upon diligently applying himself.
And even if that were not the case, Lance wouldn’t have missed his mission for anything. “I would trade all of my athletic experiences for the opportunity of going on a mission,” he insists.

I received a notice from my 13-year-old son’s school announcing a special parents’ meeting to preview the new course in human sexuality. Parents could examine the curriculum and take part in a lesson presented exactly as it would be given to the students.
When I arrived at the school I was surprised to discover only a dozen or so parents there. And I was the only Latter-day Saint. As we waited for the presentation to begin, I thumbed through page after page of instruction in the prevention of pregnancy and disease. I searched for the word abstain and related words but found the idea of abstinence mentioned only briefly.
The teacher arrived shortly, accompanied by the school nurse. Before beginning the lesson, the teacher asked if there were any questions. I asked why abstinence did not play a noticeable part in the lesson material.
What happened next was shocking. I was verbally assailed by the other parents. “How stupid are you?” one sneered. There was a great deal of laughter, and someone suggested if I thought abstinence had any merit, I was out of touch with the real world.
The teacher and the nurse said nothing as I drowned in a sea of embarrassment. My mind had gone blank during the unexpected attack, and I could think of nothing to say.
When the laughter subsided, the teacher explained that the school was to teach “facts”; the home was responsible for moral training. I sat in silence for the next 20 minutes as the course was explained. The other parents seemed to give their unqualified support to the materials that would be presented to our children.
“Donuts at the back,” announced the teacher during the break. “And I’d like you to put on the name tags we have prepared and mingle with the other parents. Get to know each other.”
All the other parents moved to the back of the room. As I watched them affixing their name tags and shaking hands, I sat deep in thought. I was ashamed I had not been able to come up with an argument that would convince them to include a serious discussion of abstinence in the lesson material. I uttered a silent prayer for guidance.
My thoughts were interrupted by the teacher’s hand on my shoulder. “Won’t you join the others, Mr. Layton?”
“Thank you, no,” I replied.
“Well, then, how about a name tag? I’m sure the others would like to meet you.”
“Somehow I doubt that,” I replied.
“Won’t you please join them?” she coaxed.
Then I heard a still, small voice whisper, “Don’t go.” The instruction was unmistakable. “Don’t go!”
“I think I’ll just wait here,” I said.
When the class was called back to order, the teacher thanked everyone for putting on their name tags. She ignored me. Then she said, “Now we’re going to give you the same lesson we’ll be giving your children. Everyone please take off your name tags. On the back of one of the tags I drew a tiny flower. Who has it, please?”
The man across from me held it up. “Here it is!”
“All right,” she said. “The flower represents disease. Do you recall with whom you shook hands?”
He pointed to a couple of people. “Very good,” she replied. “The handshake in this case represents intimacy. So the two people you had contact with now have the disease.” The teacher continued, “And who did the two of you shake hands with?”
The point was well taken, and she explained how this lesson would show students how quickly disease can be spread.
“Since we all shook hands, we all have the disease; there is no escaping that fact.”
It was then I heard the still, small voice again: “Speak now, but be humble.” I recognized the importance of the latter admonition, then rose from my chair. I apologized for any upset I might have caused earlier, congratulated the teacher on an excellent lesson, and concluded by saying I had one small point I wished to make.
“Not all of us were infected,” I said simply. “One of us abstained.”

When I was older I found work in a dressmaking shop, and learned how to make nice clothes for myself and for Mama and my little sisters too. Soon after this Jody, my childhood sweetheart, asked me to marry him. Looking closely at the temple-sawdust pincushion one day, I knew I wanted to be married in the temple. But after nearly forty years in building, the temple still was not completed, so Jody’s father solved the problem by giving us railroad tickets to Logan. On a beautiful June day we were married in the Logan Temple for time and all eternity.
The pincushion made from temple sawdust traveled with us to our home in Salt Lake City. It went with us wherever we lived. And it has been a reminder to each of our eight children that the temple is a sacred and important place. Papa was right. It has, indeed, been “a fine thing to have a pincushion made with temple sawdust.”

It was Wednesday night—and it was snowing, a rare occurrence in our mid-Texas town. I stood at the door to the church, watching as snowflakes tumbled to the ground, changing the asphalt outside into a field of white. The youth in our ward were in high spirits as they streamed in for Mutual. Their laughter bounced along the hallways and reminded me of music.
Tonight I didn’t follow them into opening exercises. The draw of the snowstorm was too strong, and I remained at the window. I smiled as I remembered the snowball fights and igloo-building contests of my girlhood in Salt Lake. Back then, snow wasn’t cold; it was pure fun.
I was lost in these thoughts when Jack, a priest, tapped me on the shoulder and said, “Sister Shaw, we’re ready to begin.”
I nodded. “Coming,” I said as I turned to take one last look at the snow.
That’s when I caught sight of Deirdre. She cut through the shrubbery that lined the church property and ran across the parking lot towards the building. Her brown hair, wet from the snow, flapped stiffly behind her. As she approached the lighted church, I saw that her hands were pulled deep inside the sleeves of her sweatshirt. She reached for the door, but the handle slipped from her grasp. I leaned forward and pushed the door open for her. Her breath came out in a wild fog before my eyes as she scampered inside.
She looked around, her teeth chattering uncontrollably.
“Deirdre?” I asked.
She looked at me like I was a complete stranger. And I might as well have been. Although I had been her Primary teacher six years ago when she was baptized, I hadn’t seen her since that time. No wonder she didn’t remember me.
But I remembered her. What an exciting year that had been for Deirdre! Not only was she baptized, but her mother had remarried. They moved into a beautiful home just outside the city. Her stepfather was soon called to a position of leadership, and her mother served as a Sunbeam teacher.
Then things began changing. Deirdre, usually talkative in class, seemed to withdraw from her peers. Next, her family stopped attending church, but no one knew why. Back then, I reasoned that this newly formed family was having some adjustment problems that, in time, would straighten themselves out.
I was wrong.
Several months ago, our Young Women presidency attempted to visit Deirdre at home, but like every home and visiting teacher before us, we were politely refused at the door by her parents. Needless to say, I was astonished to see Deirdre at Mutual.
“I’m Sister Shaw,” I said, smiling at her. I taught you in Primary a long time ago. I’m the Young Women president now.”
She looked at me blankly as chills shook her body. She was a petite girl, barely five feet tall.
“Come with me,” I said, putting my arm around her tiny shoulders. “I’ll introduce you to everyone. Do you remember Stephanie? You two were little chatterboxes in my class! She’s the Mia Maid class president.”
Deirdre nodded as we walked into opening exercises together. But before I could make any introductions, Stephanie rushed toward us. “Deirdre!” she called enthusiastically.
“Stephanie?”
The two girls hugged, then Stephanie introduced her to everyone. Although Deirdre appeared shy at first, she warmed up to the others quickly and was soon drinking hot chocolate in the kitchen with them.
As Mutual ended, I handed Deirdre a Personal Progress book and asked her to look it over. “Next week we’ll set some goals for you. Will you be here?”
“Of course she will,” Stephanie chimed in. “Now that I’ve found her, I won’t let her go!”
Deirdre’s face shone as the two girls left the building, their feet making tracks in the new snow. I watched Stephanie open the door of her mother’s van for Deirdre. I felt certain we’d be seeing more of her.
But Deirdre didn’t come the next Wednesday. Stephanie said she and her mother had stopped at her house to pick her up, but no one had come to the door. I asked if Stephanie was certain Deirdre had planned to come.
“Yes. We talked on the phone, and both times she said she wanted to come to Mutual.”
“I wonder what happened.”
“I don’t know, Sister Shaw,” Stephanie remarked, “but I don’t think her stepfather wanted her to come. The second time we talked, he picked up the other line and demanded to know who I was and how I knew his daughter. When I told him, he got real quiet, and then got off the line. A few moments later Deirdre said she had to hang up. And she did. I mean, she hung up on me.”
I didn’t like the sound of that.
I tried paying a visit to Deirdre’s home that week. Although I could hear people inside, no one answered the door. I called several times during the week, but the phone rang and rang, like a timer with no one free to answer it.
We saw Deirdre sporadically over the next few months. It seemed that each time she did come to Mutual, she was reluctant to go home. She’d linger at the drinking fountain or in the cultural hall. Deirdre was always the last one out of the building.
Eventually Deirdre began spending weekends at Stephanie’s and attending sacrament meeting. I wondered what Deirdre’s family would think if they could see the tears that silently slipped from her eyes each time the sacrament was passed.
Finally, I arranged to speak privately with Stephanie concerning Deirdre. The next Wednesday that Deirdre didn’t attend Mutual, we met alone in a classroom. I said, “I’m worried about Deirdre.”
Stephanie nodded. “You’re not alone.”
I smiled. “Lots of people care very much about her—but she doesn’t seem happy.”
“She’s not.”
“Do you know why? I want so much to help her, but she doesn’t open up with me. Is there a problem at home?”
Stephanie shrugged. “Sometimes I think she’s afraid of her stepfather.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Well, she and her mother try to keep him from knowing some of the things she does. He doesn’t know she’s with me as much as she is. Or that she comes to church. I think they’re afraid he’ll stop her from coming.”
“That must be awful for her.”
“Yeah,” Stephanie continued thoughtfully, “but she never really tells me what she feels about it. In fact, she never really talks to me about anything personal—just shopping and movies and stuff like that.” Stephanie sighed and looked at the floor. “Sometimes Deirdre seems so closed up, like a locked room—and I don’t know how to get inside to see who she is.” She paused, looking up at me. “Does that make sense?”
I nodded. My heart ached. I knew exactly what Stephanie meant. Every time Deirdre came to Mutual, she and I sat together to discuss her Personal Progress. Our conversations were always superficial. Even though I’d open my heart to her, she never expressed any deep feelings or thoughts to me, either.
Stephanie tucked her feet beneath her chair, “Sometimes I don’t think being Deirdre’s friend is enough.”
I nodded. “That may be true,” I said, “but friendship is all any of us has to offer her right now. At least until Deirdre offers us something in return—her trust.”
One night in April, I was called home from Mutual early because my two-year-old was having an asthma attack. My child recovered after receiving medical treatment, but, as I prayed at my bedside that night, I felt impressed to return to Mutual. Looking at the clock, I realized that Mutual would be well over by now. I ignored the feeling and got into bed. About three minutes later, I remembered that I had left my purse on a chair as I hurried away. I decided I better follow the prompting and retrieve my purse. Explaining to my husband, I dressed and headed out.
After unlocking the church door and letting myself in, I was able to quickly find my purse. As I turned to leave, I noticed that the light in the chapel was on. I pushed open the double doors and reached for the light switch.
A chill crept up my back when I heard the distinct sound of heavy breathing inside the chapel, yet I could see no one.
My voice trembling, I called, “Is someone here?”
No answer. Repeating myself, I walked forward, my eyes scanning each pew. The breathing became louder as I moved toward the front. “Who’s here?” I repeated.
A slight movement made me whirl to my right.
And there she was. Deirdre. Sound asleep on the fourth pew, center aisle, on her side, her left arm under her head, her right strewn across her ears. I let out a long sigh of relief.
“Deirdre,” I said softly, moving toward her. My mind was reeling with questions. Why was she sleeping here? Was she all right? Did her parents know where she was? Why hadn’t she gone home?
“Deirdre, wake—” and then I stopped and stared at her arm where her sleeve had pulled high, revealing a series of deep purple marks—bruises. I looked closer. Some of the welts looked like they had been made by someone’s fingers. Others were too large for that. My heart fell.
I sat beside Deirdre and gently called her name as I took her hand.
Like a snapped rubber band, Deirdre jerked away from me, automatically curling into a protective ball, her back to me.
“Deirdre,” I said softly, “it’s me. Sister Shaw.”
Turning, she muttered sheepishly, “How embarrassing.”
I reached for her again, this time pulling her closer. With one arm around her shoulder and the other holding her hand, I hugged her. Tears filled my eyes, and I looked from her wounds up to the brass pipes of the organ. In a voice barely above a whisper, I asked, “Are you being hurt at home?”
I felt a singular nod against my shoulder. I wanted to tell her everything would be all right, but I couldn’t. Instead, I told her I loved her. Stephanie loved her. Heavenly Father loved her.
“Deirdre,” I said, “we will help you. We can get you help. I’m going to call the bishop right now.”
Deirdre surprised me by pulling back. “No,” she said emphatically through her tears.
“But he knows better than I do what—”
“No,” she repeated, wiping her eyes. “I don’t need to talk to the bishop.”
“But—” I stopped when she whirled and pounded her fist against the pew.
“No!” she shouted. “I don’t have anything to talk to the bishop about! It’s not my fault. I didn’t do anything wrong. He makes me—” Her voice shriveled up, but she didn’t have to say another word. Suddenly I understood that the wounds this young woman had suffered were much deeper than the bruises on her arms.
The air in the chapel stilled as I asked, “Your stepfather?”
She groaned as her head nodded. “But it’s not my fault …”
Again I hugged her and we wept together. “No,” I murmured, “it’s not your fault. You did nothing wrong.” Never in my life had I spoken truer words.
Ten years have passed since I made that telephone call to the bishop, with Deirdre’s permission. He met us in his office within 30 minutes. Although I cannot say Deirdre’s pain ended that night, I can say that her healing began. I know she has shed many tears over the years, but each tear that has fallen from her eyes has chipped away at the ache and anger in her soul.
Today, I am once again watching as Deirdre’s eyes fill with tears. But my arms are not the arms which will hold her today. It is not my hands which clasp hers as she kneels across the altar, dressed in a gown of sparkling white, with a young man who is promising before God in His most holy house to cherish her in the way heaven intended, as a wonderful, worthy daughter of God.

“What are we going to do now?” asked Danny as Mom put a batch of cinnamon rolls into the oven.
Before Mom could answer, Elizabeth asked, “Mom, when will Christmas be here? I want to open my presents.”
Mom sighed as she shut the oven door and set the timer. “There’s a lot we can do, Danny, and, Elizabeth, there’s much, much more to Christmas than opening presents.” She sat down. “Let’s see—how about a game?”
The children nodded enthusiastically.
“Elizabeth, I want you to get Baby Jesus from the nativity set in the family room.”
Elizabeth ran into the family room. She quickly came back with Baby Jesus.
“Now, Danny, close your eyes while Elizabeth hides the Baby Jesus. She’ll tell you when you can open them. Then you look for Him. If you’re far away, she’ll say you’re cold or colder. But if you’re getting closer to the hiding place, she’ll say you’re warm or warmer. Do you understand?” When Danny nodded, Mom said, “All right, close your eyes, Danny.”
Danny put his hands over his eyes. Elizabeth quickly put the Baby Jesus on the music stand of the piano. She looked at Mom and silently mouthed, “Is that OK?”
Mom smiled and nodded.
Elizabeth moved back next to Mom. “You can open your eyes now, Danny.”
Danny uncovered his eyes and took several steps toward the couch.
“You’re cold,” said Elizabeth.
“Colder,” Danny heard as he looked under the end table. “Colder. Oh, Danny, you’re as cold as you can get over there by the fireplace!” declared Elizabeth.
Danny slumped his shoulders in frustration and said, “I don’t like this game.”
“Don’t give up,” urged Mom. “Now that you know where the Baby Jesus isn’t, you should have a better idea about where He is.”
Danny thought a minute, then did an about-face.
Elizabeth cheered, “Hooray! You’re getting warmer.”
Then, instead of looking down, Danny looked up at the piano. He smiled and stood tall as he walked toward the piano.
“Warm, warmer, warmest!” declared Elizabeth as he reached out his hand and picked up Baby Jesus.
“Danny wins the game!” announced Mom.
Danny had a great big grin on his face, and Elizabeth had one too. Mom gathered them both in her arms and explained. “You see, the real purpose of Christmas is like our little game. It’s to try to get closer to Jesus. When we do, we feel warm. If you get that good, warm feeling, the Spirit is telling you that you’re doing the kinds of things that Jesus would like.”
Bzzzz!
“The cinnamon rolls are done,” shouted Elizabeth and Danny.
“Why don’t you two put on your coats while I frost the rolls? Then you can deliver some to Mrs. Simms while they’re still hot.”
Elizabeth and Danny rushed into the house after delivering the rolls. “Mom! Mom! Mrs. Simms was so happy to get the rolls that she had tears in her eyes!” reported Danny.
“I think Jesus liked us giving her the rolls, because I feel warm inside,” said Elizabeth. “And if you’re warm, you’re getting closer.”

When I had been a member of the Church for only six months, I was called to be the first Icelandic Relief Society president. It was a difficult time, but I knew I was serving the Lord. There was no one to teach me what to do—we were all so new. We had a manual and a handbook in English, but they were of no use to me because I could not speak or understand that language. Sister Sveinbjörg Gudmundsdóttir translated the lessons each week for the teachers. That was the first Church material I had ever seen in Icelandic! I loved getting those lessons, and I read them over and over again. As I look back, I think that perhaps the best times were when it was most difficult—it was then that I had to get on my knees and seek the Lord.

Women and men who can hear the voice of the Lord, and who respond to those promptings, become invaluable instruments in His hands. I will never forget an experience I had following a stake conference. I was asked to participate in a blessing for a young woman who was suffering with cancer. The family were converts, and they had found peace through the promptings of the Spirit. Prior to our giving the blessing, this dear sister said to me: “Elder Ballard, I am not afraid to die, but I would like to live here with my family. I am prepared to accept the will of my Father in Heaven. Please bless me to find peace and to know that He will be with me.” What faith, insight, and courage the Spirit had blessed her with! A few months later the family advised me that Heavenly Father had called her home. She died in peace, and the family lived in peace because they were familiar with the Spirit. One of the sweetest messages the Spirit will relay is how the Lord feels about you. And that reassurance will strengthen you in a way that almost nothing else can.

When Kahn turned 4, we holidayed in our homeland of Samoa, where we reconnected with Kahn’s birth family. They welcomed us with open arms, and Kahn’s birth grandmother wept when she recognised him. “Your son is gorgeous,” she said. “He’s so active, and he looks like he enjoys his food, too.”

It was an emotional reunion. They thanked us for loving and nurturing Kahn—and then they asked if we had room in our lives for another child.

My husband and I were astonished.

We discovered that Kahn’s birth mother had another baby. Naree Alalafaga was 5 months old at the time and, again, her family wanted more for this child than they were able to offer.

My mother’s words echoed softly in my mind: you reap what you sow.

It wasn’t by chance we met our miracle daughter this way. The Lord knows our deepest desires, and what is best for us. So, when our reunion with Kahn’s birth family brought a precious addition—his baby sister—to our home, it just felt right.

We encourage those of you who have a large reservation of names to share them so that members of your extended family or ward and stake can help you in completing that work. You can do this by distributing temple cards to ward and stake members willing to help or by using the FamilySearch computer system to submit the names directly to the temple. This latter option is something Cindy Blevins of Casper, Wyoming, has been doing for years.

Sister Blevins was baptized as a teenager and has been the only member of her family to join the Church. She has completed a vast amount of genealogical work. But there are far too many names for her and her immediate family to complete. Consequently, Sister Blevins has submitted the names to the temple, which, she reports, are often completed in a matter of weeks, usually at one of the two temples closest to her home. She says she likes to think that friends and neighbors in her own ward and stake may be among those helping to complete the work for her ancestors. She appreciates their doing so.

We hear some these days who say that because of economic pressures they cannot afford to pay their tithing. I recall an experience I had as a stake president some years ago. A man whom I knew came to get his temple recommend signed. I questioned him in the usual way and asked, among other things, whether he was paying an honest tithing. He candidly replied that he was not, that he could not afford to because of his many debts. I felt impressed to tell him that he would not pay his debts until he paid his tithing.
He went along for a year or two in his normal way and then made a decision. He talked about it some time later and said: “What you told me has proved to be true. I felt I could not pay my tithing because of my debts. I discovered that no matter how hard I tried, somehow I could not manage to reduce my debt. Finally my wife and I sat down together and talked about it and concluded we would try the promise of the Lord. We have done so. And somehow in a way we can’t quite understand, the Lord has blessed us. We have not missed that which we have given to him, and for the first time in many years we are reducing our debt. We have come to the wisdom of budgeting our expenditures and of determining where our funds have been going. Because we now have a higher objective, we are able to curtail some of our appetites and desires. And above all of this, we feel we can now go to the house of the Lord with those deserving of this wonderful blessing.”

When I was seven years old, my mom and dad befriended a less-active family in our ward that consisted of a single mother and her two sons. My older brother, John, and I were the same ages as the two boys, Robin and Shannon, so it seemed appropriate that we extend a hand of fellowship.
The family didn’t own a car, so my father offered to pick them up at their home in a nearby city and give them rides to and from church. I remember the days Dad summoned my brother and me to accompany him to pick them up. I begrudged it at the time, but despite my groaning, Dad continued to give them rides until they were actively attending church and had their own car. Robin and Shannon were soon baptized and confirmed, and their mom began participating in Relief Society. I didn’t realize at the time the positive repercussions that would come from this act of service.
A few months before I began eighth grade, my dad passed away. To compound my grief, I was insecure about my physical appearance and lack of friends. I began to succumb to feelings of despair, and I spent my lunch hours walking to my house and back because I couldn’t bear sitting alone.
That same year, the family we had befriended moved into our school district, and Shannon began attending my school. We became immediate friends. I felt accepted, and I was no longer so sad. Knowing that someone enjoyed being my friend boosted my confidence and self-worth. I no longer had to spend my lunch hour by myself.
Our friendship deepened during high school. When our older brothers left for college and missions, Shannon and I became surrogate brothers. We received our Eagle Scout Awards at the same court of honor, went to the same university, left on missions during the same summer, and became roommates afterward. We were both married in the Salt Lake Temple to wonderful women, and our first children were born within three months of each other.
One evening shortly before Shannon’s wedding, we began talking about our childhood. I told him how he had helped me overcome my insecurities and cope with the death of my father. It was his friendship, I added, that had helped me turn my life around. Shannon then told me that if my dad had not given his family rides to church, he would not have attended church, served a mission, and been sealed in the temple.
The Spirit touched me strongly during that conversation as I realized the blessings that a simple ride to church had on our lives. As I reflected on Shannon’s friendship, I realized that my father not only helped save Shannon’s family, but he also prepared a friend who helped save his own son.

Recently I was able to travel with more than 100 other young men and young women from the Hamburg Germany Stake to the Frankfurt Germany Temple to do baptisms for the dead and to attend a youth conference. Maybe it was because I was 13 and had unrealistic expectations, but the trip didn’t start out exactly as I had thought it would.
We stayed in a youth hostel in Bad Homburg. The hostel is a really old building with dim rooms and old furniture. It seemed that the knights of old had slept in those beds. Some of the youth in our group, who had expected the comforts of home, were disappointed by their first impressions and wanted to go home.
Our leaders tried to encourage us by reminding us that we were here to serve people who had lived on this earth before us—people who were waiting for us to be baptized for them in the temple.
Our feelings began to improve as we became involved in the activities and workshops of the conference. Each morning we had a devotional in which many of our personal questions were answered. And one evening we had a fireside with Elder Dieter F. Uchtdorf of the Seventy, a member of our Area Presidency. He encouraged us to write down the goals we wanted to work on during the coming year. We put the letters in envelopes and addressed them to ourselves. In a year, we will receive these letters. I am already working toward reaching my goals.
During the rest of the trip, I didn’t hear anything else about going home. As we became more unified in our purpose, the worldly environment as well as the just-for-fun activities became less and less important. For example, we had planned to hold a social one night, but it lost its excitement for me.
I frequently had the feeling that a lot of us had come on the temple trip actually hungry for spiritual experiences. Many of us had those righteous desires fulfilled by our experiences in the temple. Tears of gratitude were shed, and friendships became stronger. Nowhere on this earth have I felt closer to Heavenly Father than in the baptistry. How marvelous it will be when I can go to the temple to receive my own endowment and enter the celestial room! I don’t know when that will happen, but I am already looking forward to it. I now know that I want to return to the Lord’s house often.
Some of my friends who came to the conference hadn’t prepared themselves to attend the temple. They quickly realized that next time they don’t want to come just for the activities; they want to be able to enter the temple.
At our closing testimony meeting, we felt a spirit of unity. All testimony meetings when we are together as youth are wonderful, but this one was something special. Some of us shared special feelings we had experienced in the temple; others who want to come back to the Church or to make peace with their families or to feel close to Heavenly Father also shared their feelings.
At the youth conference and in the temple, we felt the Spirit of the Holy Ghost. When we returned home, we took many memories with us—not of our uncomfortable accommodations, but of the Spirit we had felt in our hearts.

Some months ago I sat on an airplane beside a gentleman from the Far East. After exchanging a few pleasantries, he, responding to my inquiry, told me about his business activities. He then inquired about mine. This, of course, led to a gospel discussion. He had no religion, although he said his mother was a Christian. He had no concept of a God, no idea whether he had had a pre-earth existence or whether he would live on after death. He had no purpose in life except to work hard and obtain a “reasonable standard of living.” After discussing a few fundamental gospel truths, he responded: “Such concepts would surely give one an objective to live for.”
A few weeks later I mailed him a letter and sent him some literature.
In his response, he wrote:
“I still remember you, that I really enjoyed the conversation exchanged with you on the [airplane]. …
“I have been working hard … without ‘purpose.’ … You made my eyes open for what is the true purpose of working every day and [of] life itself. …
“In the meantime,” he said, “I cannot stop drinking and smoking so far”—he was carrying a package of liquor when we were talking, and I let him read the Word of Wisdom. So he said, “I cannot stop drinking so far, but I shall never forget where we came from, and why we are here, and where we go after we leave this probation.”
As to who we are, I had explained, of course, as Paul told the Athenians on Mars’ hill, that we are “the offspring of God.” (Acts 17:28–29.) This statement required some explanation because, as he pointed out, our physical bodies are the offspring of our mortal parents. At this point I let him read in the revelation the Lord’s statement that “the spirit and the body are the soul of man” (D&C 88:15) and emphasized the fact to him that it is man’s spirit which is the offspring of God. This opened the way for an explanation that God himself is a soul, composed of a body of flesh and bones as tangible as man’s, and a spirit; that he is a resurrected, glorified, exalted, omniscient, omnipotent, and—in spirit, and power, and influence—an omnipresent person, the ruler of the heavens and the earth and all things therein; that the spirits of all men are literally his “begotten sons and daughters.” (D&C 76:24.)
This concept is what he must have had in mind when he wrote, “I shall never forget where we came from.”
As to why we are here on earth, I reminded him of the self-evident fact that, as the offspring of God, we inherit the capability of reaching, in full maturity, the status of our heavenly parents just as we inherit from our mortal parents the capability to attain to their mortal status; and that since God has a body of flesh and bones, it was necessary and perfectly natural for us, his spirit offspring, to obtain such bodies in order that we might be like him; that coming to earth was the means provided for us to obtain these bodies. I further explained to him that this mortal probation provides us the opportunity to, while walking by faith, prove ourselves worthy to go on to perfection and exaltation in the likeness of our heavenly parents.
I explained what Abraham wrote concerning his vision of the council in heaven where the gospel plan was presented and the creation of this earth projected. We considered Abraham’s statement:
“Now the Lord had shown unto me, Abraham, the intelligences that were organized before the world was; …
“And there stood one among [those that were spirits] that was like unto God [namely, Jesus Christ], and he said unto those who were with him: We will go down, for there is space there, and we will take of these materials, and we will make an earth whereon these may dwell;
“And we will prove them herewith, to see if they will do all things whatsoever the Lord their God shall command them;
“And they who keep their first estate shall be added upon; and they who keep not their first estate shall not have glory in the same kingdom with those who keep their first estate; and they who keep their second estate shall have glory added upon their heads for ever and ever.” (Abr. 3:22–26.)
We all know, of course, that the program thus announced was implemented. The spirits who kept their first estate—that was their spirit estate—are added upon, as promised, by receiving mortal bodies as they are born here upon this earth as human souls.
The promise is that if they keep this, their second (that is, our mortal) estate, they “shall have glory added upon their heads for ever and ever.”
It thus became clear to him, as it is to all of us, that we came to earth for two purposes: one, to obtain physical bodies of flesh and bone in the likeness of our Heavenly Father; and two, to be proved—to see if we “will do all things whatsoever the Lord” our God commands us.
This was what my friend had in mind when he said, “I shall never forget … why we are here.”

My grandmother Marta Cziesla was a wonderful example of doing “small and simple things” to bring great things to pass. We lovingly called her Oma Cziesla. Oma embraced the gospel in the small village of Selbongen in East Prussia together with my great-grandmother on May 30, 1926.
Marta Cziesla (right) on the day of her baptism.
She loved the Lord and His gospel and was determined to keep the covenants she had made. In 1930 she married my grandfather, who was not a member of the Church. At this point it became impossible for Oma to attend Church meetings because my grandfather’s farm was far away from the nearest congregation. But she focused on what she could do. Oma continued to pray, read the scriptures, and sing the songs of Zion.
Some people might have thought she was no longer active in her faith, but that was far from the truth. When my aunt and my father were born, with no priesthood in the home and no Church meetings or access to ordinances nearby, she again did what she could do and focused on teaching her children “to pray, and to walk uprightly before the Lord.” She read to them from the scriptures, sang with them the songs of Zion, and of course prayed with them—every day. A 100 percent home-centered Church experience.
In 1945 my grandfather was serving in the war far away from home. When enemies approached their farm, Oma took her two little children and left their beloved farm behind to seek refuge in a safer place. After a difficult and life-threatening journey, they finally found refuge in May of 1945 in northern Germany. They had nothing left except the clothes on their bodies. But Oma continued with what she was able to do: she prayed with her children—every day. She sang with them the songs of Zion she had memorized by heart—every day.
Life was extremely hard and for many years focused on simply making sure there was food on the table. But in 1955 my dad, then 17 years old, was going to trade school in the city of Rendsburg. He walked by a building and saw a small sign on the outside that read “Kirche Jesu Christi der Heiligen der Letzten Tage”—“The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.” He thought, “That is interesting; this is Mother’s church.” So when he came home, he told Oma that he had found her church.
You can imagine how she must have felt after almost 25 years of no contact with the Church. She was determined to attend the next Sunday and convinced my father to accompany her. Rendsburg was more than 20 miles (32 km) away from the little village where they lived. But this would not keep Oma from attending church. The next Sunday, she got on her bicycle together with my father and rode to church.
When the sacrament meeting started, my dad sat down in the last row, hoping it would be over soon. This was Oma’s church and not his. What he saw was not very encouraging: only a few older women in attendance and two young missionaries who effectively ran everything in the meeting. But then they started to sing, and they sang the songs of Zion that my dad had heard since he was a little boy: “Come, Come, Ye Saints,” “O My Father,” “Praise to the Man.” Hearing this little flock sing the songs of Zion he’d known since childhood pierced his heart, and he knew immediately and without a doubt that the Church was true.
The first sacrament meeting my grandmother attended after 25 years was the meeting where my father received a personal confirmation of the truthfulness of the restored gospel of Jesus Christ. He was baptized three weeks later, on September 25, 1955, together with my grandfather and my aunt.
It has been more than 70 years since that tiny sacrament meeting in Rendsburg. I often think about Oma, how she must have felt in those lonely nights, doing the small and simple things she was able to do, like praying, reading, and singing. As I stand here today in general conference and talk about my Oma, her determination to keep her covenants and trust in the Lord notwithstanding her struggles fills my heart with humility and gratitude—not only for her but for so many of our wonderful Saints throughout the world who focus on the simplicity in Christ in their challenging circumstances, perhaps seeing little change now but trusting that great things will come to pass some day in the future.

In fast and testimony meeting, Brother Johnson told an experience he had while driving across a lonely stretch of highway. The still, small voice told him to take a different route home, one that would add about 10 kilometers to his trip. Although he had been eager to get home from his business trip, he obeyed the prompting. On his detour, he came across a car accident. A young family had been traveling to visit relatives. When the father, who was driving, fell asleep, the car drifted too close to the side of the road and rolled down a steep hill. Brother Johnson was able to call for help and administer first aid.

Guests often begin feeling the excitement of family history work as they see hundreds of patrons searching four floors of genealogical records. During one memorable visit, a guest of Eastern European ancestry who had felt only lukewarm interest in family history was shown ships’ registers and immigration records of his ancestors. “Two and a half hours later,” recalls Sister Shumway, “we told him we had to leave, and he said, ‘Go ahead and leave. I’m staying.’”

Later that summer Leann came to my house and said that she was my visiting teacher. This seemed strange and wonderful at the same time, especially since I was not a member of the Church. Here she was taking time from her busy schedule to share a spiritual thought with me and to see if there was anything she could help me with. I knew from her spirit that she was sincere. I’ve never forgotten Leann and the messages she shared with me.