Gospel Story Finder

One year I set a New Year’s resolution to read and study the entire Book of Mormon. I wanted to gain a rock-solid testimony of the book and the gospel. However, sticking to a schedule was harder than I thought, and I soon became overwhelmed and discouraged. I lost sight of my original goal to gain a testimony, and I stopped reading altogether.
The next year I was setting goals again. With only two years of high school left, I wanted to focus on preparing for a mission. I knew that in order to be a successful missionary, I had to study and gain a testimony of the Book of Mormon, but I remembered my earlier attempt and was overwhelmed by that task. I thought, “I tried that last year, and it failed miserably.” Reading the Book of Mormon began to feel impossible, so I said a prayer.
A calm feeling washed over me, and I realized then that gaining a testimony isn’t a “yearly” thing—you can’t set a huge goal to “gain a testimony” and then just expect it to come by the end of the year. Conversion happens day by day and week by week, not year by year.
So I set a smaller, more manageable goal. Every Sunday, I would reflect on my week, setting short-term goals to help read the Book of Mormon and improve my testimony, and realigning myself with my end goal, which was serving a mission.
Most of my goals were really small, like reading earlier in the day to be more attentive or changing the way I marked my scriptures. But I saw an impact in my life. I am still not perfect at reading my scriptures—far from it—but I am blessed with the motivation to keep trying. I can see the blessings of the gospel in my life, and I have the assurance that I can become who Heavenly Father wants me to be.

On special occasions some of the family members may take a few minutes out from a pedaling excursion to ride the elevator to the top of the Washington Monument. From the observation deck of the 555-foot pillar, it’s possible on a clear day to see all the way to Kensington, Maryland, where the Washington Temple raises its spires in solitude through the trees. “Lots of people know where the temple is,” Jeff said. “It’s really becoming a landmark, too. A lot of people have found out about the Church because of the missionary work members have done inviting people to the visitors’ center.
“The temple symbolizes a lot of things to me,” David said. “The way it rises out ot the woods reminds me of the goals the gospel puts into our lives, things like going on a mission. A goal like that towers over things that might seem important without the influence of the Church.”

“The old steam-powered threshing machine would usually come in midsummer, and it was quite a spectacle—like having the circus come. We kids had a goal to work on it someday, and when I was older, I spent two summers working on the threshing machine.”

Illustrations by Mark Jarman
Amelia walked through the front door after school, a worried look on her face. She found her mom in the kitchen making an after-school snack.
“Mom, Chloe and I are really upset.” Chloe was Amelia’s good friend and lived just next door.
“What’s wrong?” Mom asked.
“It’s Ryan,” Amelia sighed. “The kids on the bus are bullying him again.”
Mom put her arm around Amelia.
“Mom, we are so tired of seeing how sad Ryan looks when kids say mean things to him.”
Amelia remembered that when she was baptized, one of the things she had promised Heavenly Father was that she would bear others’ burdens. She and Chloe had always been kind to Ryan. They talked to him on the bus and even invited him to a group activity. But today Amelia knew she wanted to do something more—something special to make Ryan’s burden lighter.
“Mom, we want to do something to make Ryan feel better.”
“What do you have in mind?”
“Well, Chloe and I thought we’d make his favorite treat and leave it on his doorstep.”
“That’s a good idea, Amelia. Why don’t I call Ryan’s mom and ask her what his favorite treat is.”
“OK, Mom, but don’t let Ryan know. We want to surprise him.”
Mom nodded and picked up the phone to call Ryan’s mom. Mom explained the girls’ idea and found out that Ryan loved lollipops. She also found out when Ryan would be home that afternoon so the girls could drop off the treat.
Amelia called Chloe and invited her over to make lollipops for Ryan. The girls laughed excitedly as they made the lollipops, imagining Ryan’s face when he opened the door. Then they got out a piece of paper and wrote a note telling Ryan all the things they liked about him. They signed it, “The Bully Busters.”
The girls ran up the street to Ryan’s house with their bunches of lollipops. They carefully placed the treat and note on the porch and rang the doorbell. Then they raced behind some bushes to watch. Ryan opened the door and looked around in surprise to see who had left the treat.
Amelia and Chloe waited until Ryan closed the door. Then they burst into giggles. They skipped home, happy to have done something to cheer Ryan up.
Later that evening Ryan’s mom called Amelia’s mom. She said that Ryan had been praying for others to be kind to him. When he saw the treat and note from the Bully Busters, he told his mom, “I knew God would answer my prayers!”
The next day on the bus, Ryan had a big smile on his face. Almost as big as the smiles on the faces of the Bully Busters.

Clay, Ron, and Dean proved themselves to be young men of action and compassion as they rescued a young woman from her burning car.
Returning home from a movie, the trio discovered the burning, wrecked car on the freeway exit. The driver was seriously injured, unable to move, and calling for help. Bystanders were doing nothing.
Ignoring personal risk, Clay approached the car and was forced back. “I backed off once,” he said. “I was afraid it was going to blow up. She was kind of groggy and she said, ‘Help me, please, someone help me.’
“The second time, I just said to myself, ‘It’s for her good. If it blows up on me, that’s it.’” With that thought, Clay helped the badly injured woman out of her car. With a compound ankle fracture, she relied on Clay to carry her to the curb.
Meanwhile, Ron used the fire extinguisher from his car to attack the flames. When that and another extinguisher provided by a bystander failed to completely douse the fire, Ron and Dean ran to a pay phone and called for paramedics. Arriving police and firemen completed extinguishing the fire.

“Following the martyrdom of the Prophet Joseph and his brother Hyrum in 1844, the Quorum of the Twelve, with Brigham Young as quorum president, presided over the Church for the next 3 1/2 years.
“Then, on the banks of the Missouri River in Winter Quarters on December 5, 1847, the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles met in council. … Brigham Young, President of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, was unanimously sustained by members of that body as President of the Church. … This action created a new First Presidency, which was later sustained by the unanimous vote of the Saints. …”

James Hutchinson Western was born in Deseret, Utah on 1st May 1898 to loving parents, Samuel Winsborough and Mary Alice. James was the sixth of twelve children. At the age of 22, Elder James H. Western set sail for the British Isles to serve a full-time mission for the Church.
On arrival in February 1921, Elder Western was assigned to the Liverpool Conference. He was transferred to Wales in March 1922, and though just 23 years old he was set apart as the president of the Welsh Conference, under the direction of President Orson F. Whitney (1855-1931), Apostle and president of the European Mission.
This was a time of dedicated service for President Western, one to which he gave his whole commitment, sharing his leadership skills and gospel experiences, providing training to both local leaders and missionaries in developing branches. He also continually cared for and encouraged the full-time travelling missionaries throughout the district, giving guidance and direction in spreading the gospel to many areas of south and west Wales.
After a very busy and gospel-promoting period, Elder Western was honourably released as president of the Welsh conference. He arrived in Salt Lake City on 20 January 1923.
Sadly, on Saturday 17 February 1923 surgeons operated to remove a tumour on James’ spinal cord, but to no avail. He died the following Wednesday with his parents at his side. Their beloved son, not yet 25 years old, had served his country and served a mission for the Church. Now they had to part with him again until they reunite in the eternities.
President David O. McKay (1873-1970) wrote, “Sorrow made heavy every heart in the Welsh conference last Monday, when the announcement was received of the death of Elder James H. Western. . . .
“His labors were characterized by zeal, courage, and indefatigable effort; his daily life, by sincerity, undeviating integrity, dignified humility, and an earnest desire to make better and happier all who came within the radiance of his life. . . .
“As a true servant of Christ, he has won the welcome:
“‘Well done, good and faithful servant: thou hast been faithful over a few things, I will make thee ruler over many things: enter thou into the joy of thy Lord.’”1
Though young, he accepted the mantle of leadership and with all diligence and commitment fulfilled his calling with love, dignity, and an ever-faithful heart to the gospel of Jesus Christ and the people he loved so dearly.

A temple dedication committee came up with two ideas—a poster and a rug—that would help the children feel that this was their temple. Primary children were given posters with a beautiful picture of the San Diego Temple. Underneath the picture, the children wrote down their goals in preparing for the dedication. Angela Pedroza, who lives in Ensenada, Mexico, was excited to write down her goals: saying her daily prayers, beginning to read the Book of Mormon, respecting her parents, and taking friends to see the temple. Writing these goals on the poster helped Angela as well as many other children remember the importance of the temple and what they could do to prepare to go to the Lord’s house.

When I was 17, my grandmother said something that completely changed the way I viewed marriage.
We were chatting and making dinner for a large family gathering while my grandfather was out getting last-minute supplies. At one point, Grandfather called to discuss something errand related. Their exchange was quick and ordinary, and I didn’t think much of it. But after Grandmother ended the call, she turned to me and said in her matter-of-fact way, “He’s a wonderful man. I really like him.” Then she turned back around to keep working on dinner.
Rarely have words struck me that deeply, and I still think of them often.

What you have done remarkably well together is to cherish, watch over, and comfort each other. I was a witness of that threefold miracle just one month ago in your service to one sister. As her father, I thank you and I want to extend my thanks to God, who guided one visiting teacher.
Our daughter Elizabeth, who lives in another state and time zone from us, was at home with her three-year-old daughter. Her other child was in her first week of kindergarten. Elizabeth was six months pregnant and looking forward to the birth of her third child, which the doctors said would be another girl. Her husband, Joshua, was away at his work.
When she saw that she was passing blood and that the flow was increasing, she called her husband on the phone. He told her to call for an ambulance and that he would meet her at the hospital, which was 20 minutes from her home. Before she could place the call, she heard a knock at the front door.
At the door she was surprised to see her Relief Society visiting teaching companion. They had no appointment for that morning. Her companion had simply felt she ought to come by to see Elizabeth.
She helped her into the car. They arrived at the hospital minutes before Joshua arrived from his work. The doctors decided in less than 20 minutes to take the baby by surgery to save Elizabeth and her baby. So a tiny girl came into the world, crying loudly, 15 weeks ahead of schedule. She weighed one pound, eleven ounces (765 g). But she was alive, and so was Elizabeth.
The words of Lucy Mack Smith were in part fulfilled that day. A faithful member of the Relief Society, prompted by the Holy Ghost, watched over, cherished, and comforted her sister in God’s kingdom. She and the tens of thousands of others who have given such inspired service over the generations have not only the thanks of those they helped and their loved ones but also of the Lord.
You remember His words of appreciation to those who receive little recognition for their benevolence: “And the King shall answer and say unto them, Verily I say unto you, Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.”5
But the miracle of one Relief Society sister arriving to help just in time is multiplied through the power of a unified society of sisters. Here is just a part of the message Elizabeth’s bishop sent to Elizabeth and to Joshua at the hospital hours after the baby was born: “The Relief Society president has everything under control. We are already building a future plan to assist with your girls at home so Elizabeth can travel back and forth to the hospital while the unnamed cute baby remains there. We’ve done it before, long term, and [our] people jump at the chance.”
The bishop went on to say, speaking for himself and the ward: “We’ve even come to the hospital and sat with kids in the playroom when moms didn’t want to leave them somewhere else.”
And then: “We won’t execute our plan without coordination and concurrence from you, of course. Just wanted to let you know not to worry about the things we can [and will] do.”
What they did for my daughter made it possible for her to have a precious moment when she held, for the first time, her tiny daughter.
And then the bishop closed his message to Joshua and Elizabeth with one that sisters send out of their commitment across the earth to serve others for the Master: “Keep the faith.”

My bishop has helped me by encouraging me and giving me opportunities to strengthen my talents.
Knowing that I played the piano, he asked me one day if I wanted to learn how to play the organ. I had always thought it would be fun to learn, but my bishop was the one who really encouraged me to start. He helped me get in contact with the ward organist so she could help me get started, and it’s been going really well! Every time my bishop sees me practicing, he compliments me and asks about the next time I’ll be playing in sacrament meeting.
I know my bishop sees my potential, and I’m grateful for his constant encouragement. He has helped me learn and grow in ways I would not have been able to on my own.
Aubrey B., California, USA

It is sometimes amazing to see the difference this peace can have in the lives of those who accept it. While I was presiding over the Canada Toronto Mission many years ago, our missionaries began teaching a family that was in spiritual darkness. They were poor, uneducated, and their personal appearance reflected a lack of appreciation or concern for normal hygiene and grooming. But they were good, honorable people—among the honest in heart that we always pray for our missionaries to find—and they responded spiritually as they felt for the first time in their lives the peace the gospel offers.
When we learned that they were going to be baptized, Sister Ballard and I attended the baptismal service. I happened to be standing next to the bishop of the ward when the family arrived. In all honesty, I must tell you that they were quite a sight. They looked unkempt, unclean, and somewhat scruffy. Because he had been out of town for a period of time, the bishop had not yet met the newest members of his ward; so this first impression was, to say the least, unimpressive. As they walked away, I thought I could feel his knees begin to buckle.
I put my arm around this good bishop to give him my support—physically as well as spiritually. I felt prompted to say to him: “Bishop, isn’t this wonderful? We will make good Latter-day Saints out of them!”
He looked at me, and he smiled. I just couldn’t tell if he was smiling because he agreed with me, or if he thought that I might be just another overenthusiastic missionary.
The baptismal service proceeded, and the family was baptized. The next day, we decided to attend that ward to make sure the family was well received when they came to their meetings as new members of the Church.
As the family came into the chapel for sacrament meeting, I was sitting on the stand next to the bishop. The father was wearing a clean white shirt. It was not large enough for him to fasten the top button at the neck, and he was wearing a tie that I could remember seeing on one of my elders. But his face radiated with happiness and peace. The mother and daughters looked like they had been transformed from the previous day. Their dresses were not fancy, but they were clean and lovely. They, too, had that special gospel glow. The little boys wore white shirts that were several sizes too large for them, even with the sleeves rolled up. And they were wearing ties that almost extended down to their knees. It was obvious that the missionaries had put their own white shirts and ties on these little boys so they could come to sacrament meeting appropriately dressed.
They sat with their missionaries, and the light of the gospel literally shone from them. Alma describes this as “[receiving God’s] image in your countenances” (Alma 5:14). I leaned over to the bishop again and said: “See, Bishop? We will make Saints out of them!”
Of course, that overnight physical transformation was merely superficial when compared to the overwhelming, more significant spiritual transformation that took place in that family as the gospel entered their hearts and lives. Through the instruction of the missionaries and the subsequent fellowshipping of their good bishop and the ward members, this entire family emerged from spiritual darkness into gospel light and truth. In that light the family was warmed, refreshed, and revitalized by the peace that comes from knowing the Lord Jesus Christ lives. The light of the gospel truths restored to earth through the Prophet Joseph Smith began to show this family the way to the temple, where one year later they received their eternal blessings.

Can you remember the last time you wore your old snow boots, the ones that are now a size or two too small? How about those cross-trainers you bought and then decided that you really needed running shoes instead?
Youth in Coeur d’Alene, Idaho, knew that there were plenty of perfectly good pairs of shoes in the closets of the members in their stake, shoes that were going to waste. So they requested donations from each ward and were overwhelmed when 1,200 pairs of shoes arrived at the stake center. But after the initial shock wore off, the youth got to work cleaning, polishing, and disinfecting the shoes for people who might otherwise go barefoot.
“The most enjoyable thing was to think that we’re sending these shoes to someone who really needs them,” says Paula Williams, a Laurel from the Lakeland First Ward.
The shoes are now being distributed to orphans in Romania and other countries. Shoes and boots were also donated to local charities in the Coeur d’Alene area.

I think of Elder Neal A. Maxwell and some of the challenges he faced during his teenage years. His parents were very poor. It was embarrassing to him that early on they did not have indoor bathroom facilities like so many of his friends. He raised pigs, and that didn’t gain him a lot of popularity at high school either. He suffered from severe acne that challenged his confidence and sense of self-worth. He wondered if he would ever be socially acceptable to others.
He was intensely interested in athletics—particularly basketball—and was good enough to be able to play on the team as a freshman. But in later years, he was cut from the team and the sport he loved. Consequently, as he described it, “I turned to the world of words.” That became an immense blessing for him in his political, university, and educational assignments and to all of us he now serves as one of the Lord’s prophets, seers, and revelators.

Robert M. Veylupek II, a Latter-day Saint from San Gabriel, California, has earned the distinction of being one of the youngest Eagle Scouts in the United States. When he became a Boy Scout at age 11, Robert set the goal of obtaining the award by his 13th birthday, the youngest age at which the Eagle Scout award may be given. Robert, the senior patrol leader of San Gabriel Troop 268, completed the Eagle Scout requirements by earning his 24th merit badge more than 6 months before he turned 13.

During a visit to a Church meetinghouse, President Kimball noticed some paper towels on a restroom floor. He threw them away and then cleaned the sink. A local leader was so impressed by this example of care and respect that he subsequently taught others to show more reverence for Church buildings and other sacred things.10

When I was attending Brigham Young University, I learned what it truly means to be a queen. I was given a unique opportunity, along with a small group of other students, to meet the prophet, President David O. McKay. I was told to wear my best dress and to be ready to travel early the next morning to Huntsville, Utah, to the home of the prophet. I will never forget the experience I had. As soon as we entered the home, I felt the spirit which filled that home. We were seated in the prophet’s living room, surrounding him. President McKay had on a white suit, and seated next to him was his wife. He asked for each of us to come forward and tell him about ourselves. As I went forward, he held out his hand and held mine, and as I told him about my life and my family, he looked deeply into my eyes.

After we had finished, he leaned back in his chair and reached for his wife’s hand and said, “Now, young women, I would like you to meet my queen.” There seated next to him was his wife, Emma Ray McKay. Although she did not wear a crown of sparkling diamonds, nor was she seated on a throne, I knew she was a true queen. Her white hair was her crown, and her pure eyes sparkled like jewels. As President and Sister McKay spoke of their family and their life together, their intertwined hands spoke volumes about their love. Joy radiated from their faces. Hers was a beauty that cannot be purchased. It came from years of seeking the best gifts, becoming well educated, seeking knowledge by study and also by faith. It came from years of hard work, of faithfully enduring trials with optimism, trust, strength, and courage. It came from her unwavering devotion and fidelity to her husband, her family, and the Lord.

On that fall day in Huntsville, Utah, I was reminded of my divine identity, and I learned about what I now call “deep beauty”—the kind of beauty that shines from the inside out. It is the kind of beauty that cannot be painted on, surgically created, or purchased. It is the kind of beauty that doesn’t wash off. It is spiritual attractiveness. Deep beauty springs from virtue. It is the beauty of being chaste and morally clean. It is the kind of beauty that you see in the eyes of virtuous women like your mother and grandmother. It is a beauty that is earned through faith, repentance, and honoring covenants.

We have been taught that “the gift of the Holy Ghost … quickens all the intellectual faculties, increases, enlarges, expands and purifies all the natural passions and affections. … It inspires virtue, kindness, goodness, tenderness, gentleness and charity. It develops beauty of person, form and features.” Now, that is a great beauty secret! That is the beauty I observed in the home of a prophet. That day I learned that the beauty I saw in Sister McKay was the only beauty that really matters and the only kind of beauty that lasts.

A few days later the missionaries came to my uncle’s door. When I saw them I told them to go away. But one of them said, “We have a great message for you. A boy just like you saw your Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ.” I couldn’t resist because I had been praying and seeking Heavenly Father just a few days before. So I said, “You can have 10 minutes. Come in.”
The missionaries taught me the beautiful and sacred story of Joseph Smith. And I was touched. I really felt the power of the Spirit. The missionaries asked me to pray and ask Heavenly Father if their message was true, and then they taught me how to pray. I prayed that evening. Even now I remember exactly how I felt that day.
I asked the missionaries to come back almost every day after that. I believed what they taught me. I believed that Joseph Smith saw Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ in the Sacred Grove. But before I could be baptized, I needed to get permission from my mother. I called her and said, “Mother, I’ve found a wonderful church. I need to get your permission to join.”
She said, “No. I lost my husband; I don’t want to lose my son.” She was afraid that if I joined the Church I would leave her.
I said, “I’m not going anywhere.” And then she hung up.
The missionaries fasted and prayed for me, and I did too. I called her again and said, “Please don’t hang up on me until I’ve really explained it.” She suggested that I study more and take some more time to decide. But I felt strongly that now was the time I should be baptized.
Finally she told me, “Son, if you are going to quit right in the middle, don’t do it. But if you will stay with it all the way through, then you have my permission.” That caused me to always take my membership in the Church very seriously.

Events of the next few days and nights, however, seemed to negate that prophecy. Storms struck again: “strong gale; great swell on the water; ship rolling very much; many of the passengers sick. … Things rolling about.” Outside the elements were at war, but within the Spirit was at work. After one preaching meeting where “Brother Finch gave a brief and lucid explanation of the first principles,” five converts were baptized. On April 1, the unfavorable winds continued, but at a testimony meeting, which many sailors attended, three more baptisms occurred, including the ship’s carpenter, the first crew member to convert. The next day found food rations reduced. But that evening three more sailors and one passenger were baptized at the testimony meeting.

How is someone baptized aboard a sailing vessel? Sometimes large barrels filled with salt water or a platform improvised by the side of the ship were used. On the International, according to one who was baptized there, the ordinance was performed on deck “in a large round vat holding probably 2,000 gallons of water.” Why the vat was on board we can only surmise. But filled with sea water it served well as a convenient font.

While the International sped west toward port, the Mormon ranks continued to grow as predicted in Captain Brown’s dream. Just before the April 6 festival, the captain’s cook was baptized. On April 8 President Arthur’s sixteen-year-old daughter, Mary Ann, and a Negro crewman were baptized. The second mate, three sailors, and Christopher Arthur, Jr., were baptized the next day. As the International slipped between Cuba and Florida a week later the first mate joined the Church, as did three sailors and one emigrant the next day. Even 110° heat on April 17 did not squelch the Spirit, for the Saints held “first-rate meetings during the whole day; in the evening the ship’s carpenter, captain’s cook, and two sailors bore testimony to the truth of the work.”

Captain Brown’s spirit was troubled as the conversions continued. Some of his feelings were revealed when he gave landing instructions on April 18 and confessed his attraction to Mormonism: “He had crossed the seas many times,” one diarist reported in quoting him, “but never felt so happy with any people as he had with the Latter-day Saints.” He added that “his pride prevented him from immediately becoming a saint but he felt he soon should join us and come to Great Salt Lake City.” Following his remarks two more passengers were baptized. At testimony meeting the next evening six sailors bore testimony and afterwards one sailor was baptized.

The report credited the workings of the Spirit coupled with the Saints exemplary conduct for the remarkable number of conversions made on the high seas. He proudly wrote:

“I am glad to inform you, that we have baptized all on board except three persons [the steward and his wife, both staunch Catholics, and the third mate, ‘a very wicked fellow’—. We can number the captain, first and second mates, with eighteen of the crew, most of whom intend going right through to the valley. … The carpenter and eight of the seamen are Swedish, German, and Dutch. There are two negroes. … The others baptized were friends of the brethren. The number baptized in all is forty-eight, since we left our native shores.”

“We are going to sing in church next week,” Sister Hardy, the Primary chorister, announced. There were murmurs of excitement and surprise among the Primary children.
I raised my hand. “Why are we singing next Sunday?” I asked. “It’s not Mother’s Day or Father’s Day. Easter was a long time ago, and it’s not Christmas yet. It’s only November.”
Sister Hardy smiled. “I know it’s not a special occasion, Eliza, but I feel we should do this.” She turned back to the group. “We’ll be singing one of your favorite songs: ‘Latter-day Prophets.’”*
That was one of our favorite songs. Enthusiastically we practiced the song, holding up pictures of each prophet as we sang his name:
Joseph Smith; then Brigham Young;
John Taylor came third, we know,
Then Wilford Woodruff, Lorenzo Snow;
Joseph F. Smith, remember the F,
Heber J. Grant and George Albert Smith;
David O. McKay was followed by
Joseph Fielding Smith,
A mighty man was Harold B. Lee,
And now we’ve named past prophets, you see.
Our prophet today is loved by all;
He’s Spencer W. Kimball.
So many prophets! I counted the pictures. Ten, eleven, twelve in all! I knew that Heber J. Grant called my grandpa on his mission to New Zealand. I knew my mother met David O. McKay when she was a little girl.
I knew that Joseph Fielding Smith called my dad on his mission to Hong Kong, but it was President Kimball that I knew best.
President Kimball had been the prophet my whole life. I loved to hear his gravelly but kind voice when he spoke in conference, and I tried to do what he taught. My family had a big garden because President Kimball told us we should plant one. I was trying to keep a journal and memorize scriptures because that’s what President Kimball had done since he was a little boy. Because President Kimball received the revelation on priesthood, my good friend, Abdul, could be sealed to his family in the temple. I really did love President Kimball. He was my very own prophet, and I was glad my Primary could sing about him in church.
But during that week, something terrible happened. On Wednesday my mom came into my room with tears in her eyes. “I have some sad news, Eliza. President Kimball died last night.”
Suddenly there were tears in my own eyes. I felt lost. My very own prophet gone? Who would lead us now?
Mother knelt by my bed. “Let’s pray and thank Heavenly Father that we were guided by such a wonderful prophet for so long. And let’s ask Him to bless and comfort sweet Sister Kimball.”
We prayed, then we hugged each other and cried a little. It made me feel better.
“I’ll miss him,” Mom said.
“Me too,” I said. Then I remembered something. “Mom, we’re singing ‘Latter-day Prophets’ in church this Sunday. Do you think we’ll still do it? Or do you think Sister Hardy will pick another song for us to sing?”
Mother shook her head. “I think Sister Hardy was inspired to pick this song. It will be a special tribute to President Kimball. I’m sure you’ll sing it very well.”
My mother was right. We did sing it on Sunday, just as it had been written. And even though President Kimball was no longer “our prophet today,” he was still “loved by all.”
As I sang I felt comforted. I knew that Heavenly Father would never leave us without a prophet to guide us and show us the way. Just as eleven prophets had come before President Kimball, many others would follow after him. Each prophet would be called of God, and each prophet would be loved by all—just like my very own prophet, Spencer W. Kimball.