Gospel Story Finder

One day following my shift at the Idaho Falls Idaho Temple, I volunteered to take two brethren to their car, which had stalled on the highway just south of Idaho Falls, Idaho, USA. A kindly couple had stopped during that bitter-cold December day and brought Brother Thompson and Brother Clark the remaining distance to the temple.
Brother Thompson was convinced that his car needed a new battery. I took him to purchase the battery at a nearby automotive shop, and because I had tools in my car, I agreed to change it.
Fortunately I had brought a new pair of gloves and my winter jacket. Pulling the car’s hood up, I prepared to remove the dead battery and replace it with the new one.
To change the battery, I had to disassemble and move several car parts, including the windshield washer reservoir. I soon found that my tools would not fit all of the metric-sized bolts and several screws would not even budge. I used different tools and tried different positions, but nothing moved. The temperature outside was around 5 degrees Fahrenheit (-15°C), and the semitrucks whizzing by created wind gusts that were bitter cold. I had reached a cold, frustrating impasse.
I turned to the only help available. I prayed earnestly, explaining my need to Heavenly Father and asking if He would either loosen the bolts and screws or help me find a way to do it. Finishing my prayer, I again grabbed a pair of pliers and grasped a resisting screw. It was already loose! Silently and fervently expressing thanks, I removed the screw and continued.
Soon I found a frustrating, resisting bolt deeper in the car. Again, completely stymied, I prayed more earnestly for help, doing so with growing trust. This time I felt directed to remove some deeper bolts first and then twist the battery brace, which I did. The resisting bolt moved easily. In a few moments I pulled out the old battery.
I slid the new battery in and with numb fingers reassembled all the parts as best as I could. I then reattached the electrical cables. Brother Thompson turned the key and smiled broadly as the engine started. I gratefully closed the hood. I had been outside for about an hour, and my lower legs and feet were numb as I stiffly stumbled into my car.
I followed Brother Thompson and Brother Clark home to ensure their safe arrival. As I drove, my car’s heater felt lovely, and my legs and feet slowly warmed. I thanked Heavenly Father profusely for His help. In return I was impressed to know that He had answered the prayer of these brethren by sending me as His servant. In His wonderful way He had provided for their need and reaffirmed my faith.

Brothers and sisters, several years ago while I was speaking in general conference, the sight in my left eye was suddenly compromised by something called macular degeneration, which subsequently worsened and has left me without useful vision in that eye.
As I have dealt with this challenge, I am ever more thankful for other kinds of vision, including hindsight vision. As I have looked back over my life, I have been able to see certain experiences that made a significant difference. One of those experiences is how my full-time missionary service as a young man in England blessed my life and shaped my spiritual destiny.
I have reflected on how the economic challenges associated with the Great Depression in the 1930s led to an unfortunate turn for my parents and our family. My father became so involved in saving his automobile dealership and supporting a family during this difficult period that for a time my parents did not attend church.
Although we did not attend church services as a family, that did not prevent me from attending occasionally with my friends.
In those days, going on a mission was in the back of my mind, but it wasn’t something I talked about with my parents.
While attending college, several friends and I decided to serve missions. Visiting with my bishop, I filled out my missionary application while my parents were out of town. When my parents returned, I surprised them with the news that I had been called to serve in Great Britain. I am grateful for their enthusiastic support of this decision and for good friends who helped me decide to serve.
My missionary service prepared me to be a better husband and father and to be successful in business. It also prepared me for a lifetime of service to the Lord in His Church.
In the April 1985 general conference, I was assigned to speak in the priesthood session. I directed my remarks to the young men. I spoke about preparing to serve as a missionary. I said, “Of all the training I have received in my Church assignments, none has been more important to me than the training I received as a nineteen-year-old elder serving a full-time mission.”
The Lord knows you. When you are serving your mission, you will have experiences that will help you come to know Him better. You will grow spiritually in serving Him. In His name, you will be sent on errands to serve others. He will give you experiences with promptings from the Holy Ghost. The Lord will authorize you to teach in His name. You can show Him that He can trust you and can rely on you.
Just over five months ago, Elder Jeffrey R. Holland and Elder Quentin L. Cook, who had also served as missionaries in the British Isles, joined me in visiting with members and missionaries in that beautiful land. While there, I reflected on my experiences as a young missionary. I testify that my mission is where I came to know that my Heavenly Father and my Savior, Jesus Christ, know and love me.
I was blessed to have two wonderful mission presidents, Selvoy J. Boyer and Stayner Richards, along with their dedicated companions, Gladys Boyer and Jane Richards. Looking back, I can see even more clearly that they trusted me and loved me. They taught me the gospel. They expected a lot from me. They gave me many challenging assignments and leadership responsibilities to help me to grow and prepare for a life of service.
I have also reflected on being called by President Spencer W. Kimball to preside over the Canada Toronto Mission with my dear wife, Barbara, and our children at our sides. President Kimball called us to serve in April 1974, shortly after he gave his inspired missionary message titled “When the World Will Be Converted.” In that message President Kimball explained his vision for how the gospel would be taken to all the world. He called for many more missionaries from around the world. He reminded us of the Lord’s expectation “that every man should … lift a warning voice unto the inhabitants of the earth.” President Kimball’s teaching about the expectation for young men to serve a mission became a topic of conversation in homes around the world. That expectation has not changed. I am grateful that President Russell M. Nelson also reaffirmed the Lord’s expectation this morning.
It has been almost 10 years since President Thomas S. Monson announced the lowering of the missionary age for young men and young women. In my view, a primary reason for this change was to give more of our youth the life-changing opportunity to serve as a missionary.
As an Apostle of the Lord Jesus Christ, I now call upon you young men—and those young women who desire to serve a mission—to begin right now to talk with your parents about serving a mission. I also invite you to talk with your friends about serving a mission, and if one of your friends is not sure about serving, encourage them to talk with their bishop.
Commit to yourselves and to your Heavenly Father that you will serve a mission and that from this time forward you will strive to keep your hearts, hands, and minds clean and worthy. I invite you to gain a solid testimony of the restored gospel of Jesus Christ.
Fathers and mothers of these wonderful youth, you have a vital role in this preparation process. Begin today to talk with your children about missionary service. We know that the family is the most profound influence in helping our young men and young women prepare.
If you are still in the age range for missionary service but have not served yet due to the pandemic or other reasons, I invite you to serve now. Talk to your bishop, and prepare to serve the Lord.
I encourage you bishops to help all young men and young women who are close to missionary age to prepare to serve, and I also encourage you bishops to identify those who are old enough but who have not yet served. Invite each young man to become a missionary, as well as each young woman who desires to serve.
To the missionaries currently serving, we thank you. Your mission has been during a worldwide pandemic. As a result, your mission experience has been unlike my mission experience or the experiences of any missionaries who served before 2020. I know it has not been easy. But even during these difficult times, the Lord has had a work for you to do, and you have done it wonderfully well. For example, you have used technology in new ways to find those who are ready to learn about the Restoration of the gospel of Jesus Christ. As you have served diligently and according to your abilities, I know that the Lord is pleased with your effort. I know that your service will bless your life.
When you are released from your mission, remember that you are not released from activity in the Church. Build upon the good habits you learned on your mission, continue to strengthen your testimony, work hard, pray, and be obedient to the Lord. Honor the covenants you have made. Continue to bless and serve others.
I pray that you young men and young women and your parents will see and know how missionary service will forever bless your life. May you know in your minds and feel in your hearts the power of the invitation the Lord gave to the great missionary sons of Mosiah. He said, “Go forth … and establish my word; yet ye shall be patient in long-suffering and afflictions, that ye may show forth good examples … in me, and I will make an instrument of thee in my hands unto the salvation of many souls.”
May God bless the youth of the Church to desire to prepare and serve Him is my humble prayer, which I offer this morning in the sacred name of the Lord Jesus Christ, amen.

I am grateful for the 2025 Area Priorities introduced by the Philippines Area Presidency. The emphasis on ministering under the first priority “Come Unto Christ” reminds me of a letter I received from a bishop a while back.
“One Sunday, a poor mother of eight children came to see me at my office. She was nine months pregnant with her ninth child. She was worried that her husband did not have the money to pay for the delivery of her baby. He worked as a security guard with a meager salary. So, she came to me, her bishop, to ask help.
“I brought the matter to my stake president to ask for his counsel. To my surprise, the stake president told me not to help her because pregnancy takes nine months so the couple should have prepared for it. Perhaps you remember how this policy was effective back then. But the pregnant DATELINE PHILIPPINES The True Essence of Ministering wife obviously did not have the mentality and training to prepare so she came to me to ask for help.
“Again, I asked the stake president if we could extend food assistance. He said no because “the church has extended food to that family multiple times already and yet the father remained less active because of an offense he could not forgive.” I then responded, “what about the pregnant wife and the children who are actively participating in church? We shouldn’t let them suffer, should we?” He responded back, “Let the sufferings of the family be a curse to the father who is unfaithful.” This counsel left me deeply troubled. I could not understand then why I left that conversation feeling so hurt and bothered.
“The poor mother delivered the baby, but my hands were tied. I could not help with the hospital bill. I did not have the authority, and the stake president told me he will not support any request for financial assistance. The father took out two months’ salary in advance from his company to pay for the bill. This left the family without food to eat.
“I decided to convene the ward council to discuss the matter. I decided to provide the family with food. Using up the amount I could disburse in my capacity as a bishop, I asked the Elders Quorum President to buy 50 kilos of rice and asked the Relief Society President to buy groceries including the needs of the baby and the mother. I then asked the council what time the husband usually gets home from work. They said, 8:30 pm. So, I went to visit the family at 9:00 pm.
“The house was small, dark, and in the middle of a field. There was no electricity. But, to my surprise, the Elders Quorum and Relief Society Presidents with their counselors were there ahead of me. They introduced me to the father. He could not believe that a young bishop like me could be called and that I came that night to his house.
“I peeked through the window and saw the children lying side by side on the floor, sleeping and cramped. In one corner was the mother with the newborn baby lying on the floor.
“The father told me he is so embarrassed to receive food from the Church because he’s been less active for a long time. But his family needed it, and he was grateful. I told him we did not come to buy his church activity. I did not know him, so why should I even care. But I said to him, “someone knows you. He knows your family’s needs. He is your Father in Heaven. He sent us here to let you know He cares and loves you.
“The father cried. He sobbed like a little child in front of us. We were all touched by his emotion.
“I then told him that on Sunday, he should not come to church. Not even next week or next month. I warned him that I cannot control people’s remarks and perceptions. Perhaps he may hear someone say he showed up only because he received help from the Church, and it may hurt his feelings. But if he’s interested in coming regardless of what people might say, especially if he recognizes the spirit inviting him, he’s welcome to come to church anytime.
“I looked for him on Sunday, but he didn’t show up. Neither did he show up in the few weeks that followed. Two months later, as I was conducting the sacrament meeting, I saw someone walking up to the sacrament hall. It was the father, sneakily entering and sitting down in the last row. But he was surprised and later became very emotional to hear the stake president announce my release as a bishop. He said he dreamed several times of serving with me in any capacity in the ward. But he agreed to do it with his new bishop.
“Six months later my previous counselor informed me that the brother is the most diligent home teacher the ward has ever had. “This experience taught me a great deal about ministering. I thought I’d share this with you. But I wonder how many bishops today have received the same counsel from their leaders, followed it, and had the charity in their hearts extinguished in the process. I hope there is none. If there is one, I hope he repents and recovers.”

My husband and I lived in Hong Kong for ten years with our children. The Hong Kong mission president and his wife, the Lowes, were close friends. Sister Lowe told the story about one of the missionary sisters. We also knew this sister as she had come to our home before, but I can't quite remember her name. In Hong Kong the missionaries usually teach the investigators at church because the apartments are small and the buildings have guards that keep people out who don't live there.

This sister missionary and her companion were teaching a young woman whose mother refused to give her permission to be baptized. They had never met her mother. One day they were getting off a crowded bus and saw a woman struggling to carry a heavy bag (we called them amah bags-old ladies use them often and they are red and white in color, water proof and light-I love these bags! In Hong Kong I never left home without one of them!)

The sisters offered to help this older woman carry her bag home and then said good-bye. The next day the investigator called them full of excitement and told them that her mother had given her permission to be baptized! She said her mother was impressed by the missionary sisters as they had helped her carry her bag! The missionaries did not know it was her mother. You must know that Hong Kong has over seven million people and is very crowded and the odds of meeting someone you know by accident are very low. That one act of service produced results that could not be foreseen.

Illustrations by Alyssa Tallent
Steven rolled up his tie right under his chin as the rest of the Primary kids practiced the new song. Nope, no way was he going to sing this song.
The father of our home leads our family …
Steven looked out the window and up at the ceiling. He moved around so much in his chair that he was almost dancing. He couldn’t sing even if he wanted to. Something big and uncomfortable was stuck in his throat. The rest of the Primary kept singing, learning the new words one line at a time.
With wisdom’s light in all that’s right;
My father’s good to me (“Fathers,” Children’s Songbook, 209).
Steven felt a tap on his arm. His mum, who had been quietly watching from the Primary room doorway, tugged gently on his arm. She led him out into the hall. Away from his friends in Primary, Steven couldn’t stop the tears from falling. Mum pulled him close into a warm, strong hug.
“It’s OK to be upset,” Mum said, patting his back. “I know hearing and singing that song is hard.”
Steven nodded, then wiped his eyes. “I don’t want to sing at Father’s Day because I don’t have a dad.” Steven’s eyes burned, and he bit his lip. “I don’t want to call him Dad anymore. I haven’t seen him in ages, and he doesn’t even want to be my dad.”
Steven tried really hard to not cry—but he could still hear them singing. That song just made him hurt deep inside. Just like when his dad wrote and said he and his new wife had decided that he wouldn’t see Steven or his brother anymore.
Mum pulled him in for another hug, and Steven let a few more tears soak into her shirt. “I’ll talk to the Primary president. You don’t have to sing if you don’t want to. But hey—I have an idea.” Mum looked straight into his eyes. “This year we won’t celebrate Father’s Day—we’ll celebrate Future Father’s Day!” She smiled, and he stared back.
“Huh? Celebrate what?”
“Future Father’s Day—we’re going to celebrate how amazing you and your brother are going to be as dads someday. We’ll have presents and a cake and your favorite soft drink!”
Mum kissed his forehead and then tried to fix his mangled tie. “You, Steven, are going to be a brilliant dad—I can tell already. Because you are already thinking about what you are going to do with your kids and planning what kind of dad you’ll be.”
The more Steven thought about it, the bigger his smile grew. He hugged Mum and went back to Primary feeling much better.
Two weeks later Steven stood in front of the mirror, straightening his cool new bow tie. Mum had given it to him that morning for his first ever Future Father’s Day! Steven picked up his scriptures and walked to the front door to head to church.
He smiled at his mum.
“Happy Father’s Day, Mum.”
Mum grinned. “Happy Future Father’s Day, Steven.”

When my mission ended, all those experiences helped me stay hopeful in the chaotic and superficial world back home. I returned home at a very difficult time for my family and my country. There were many political and economic problems, and many families were emigrating to other countries because of the lack of employment and education opportunities. I couldn’t believe that things had changed so much in such a short time, even within my own family. Some of my loved ones and friends had also passed away. I felt so overwhelmed with all the difficulties surrounding me.
One day, feeling discouraged, I took out my study notebook and began to write about the feelings in my heart. I thought of the many experiences I had had while serving others on my mission. Recalling those special experiences was exactly what I needed to lose myself even more in His work, to serve and continue to develop the gifts that He has blessed me with. That day a very special phrase that my mission president’s wife always repeated to us stood out to me: “You can do hard things.” I have tried to remember that continuously, including while learning to use a prosthetic hand and trying to live a normal life.

During our service at Brigham Young University–Idaho, Sister Bednar and I frequently hosted General Authorities in our home. Our family learned an important lesson about meaningful prayer as we knelt to pray one evening with a member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles.

Earlier in the day Sister Bednar and I had been informed about the unexpected death of a dear friend, and our immediate desire was to pray for the surviving spouse and children. As I invited my wife to offer the prayer, the member of the Twelve, unaware of the tragedy, graciously suggested that in the prayer Sister Bednar express only appreciation for blessings received and ask for nothing. His counsel was similar to Alma’s instruction to the members of the ancient Church “to pray without ceasing, and to give thanks in all things” (Mosiah 26:39). Given the unexpected tragedy, requesting blessings for our friends initially seemed to us more urgent than expressing thanks.

Sister Bednar responded in faith to the direction she received. She thanked Heavenly Father for meaningful and memorable experiences with this dear friend. She communicated sincere gratitude for the Holy Ghost as the Comforter and for the gifts of the Spirit that enable us to face adversity and to serve others. Most importantly, she expressed appreciation for the plan of salvation, for the atoning sacrifice of Jesus Christ, for His Resurrection, and for the ordinances and covenants of the restored gospel which make it possible for families to be together forever.

Our family learned from that experience a great lesson about the power of thankfulness in meaningful prayer. Because of and through that prayer, our family was blessed with inspiration about a number of issues that were pressing upon our minds and stirring in our hearts. We learned that our gratefulness for the plan of happiness and for the Savior’s mission of salvation provided needed reassurance and strengthened our confidence that all would be well with our dear friends. We also received insights concerning the things about which we should pray and appropriately ask in faith.

María Isabel Parra de Uribe of the Villas de La Hacienda Ward, México City México Tepalcapa Stake, tells of an experience common to many who have sought blessings of healing. Five months pregnant, she was suffering intense pain. Tests showed she needed surgery immediately, and she was told she might lose her baby.
“My husband and I were confused,” she says. “We didn’t know whether to have the surgery or not. We decided to ask God if surgery was the right choice. After our prayer, we felt peaceful and calm.
“While I was waiting to be taken to the operating room, my husband gave me a priesthood blessing. When it was over, we felt not only calm but certain our baby would survive.
“After I came out of surgery, a nurse said, ‘Everything is all right. Your baby is fine.’ I smiled to myself, realizing, I already knew.”
The power of godliness had been manifest in her life.

Early one evening a little over four years ago, we were having dinner when the phone rang. When I answered it, I heard, “This is President Monson’s secretary. May I speak to Sister Pinegar?” Oh, my heart! She asked if we could set up an appointment when Brother Pinegar and I could meet with President Thomas S. Monson. The days preceding the appointment were spent in the agony of anticipation, in retrospection, and in feeling totally inadequate regardless of what I was going to be called to do. When the day finally arrived, President Monson was kind and gracious. He called me to serve as the Primary general president. He instructed me in my new responsibility and calmed my soul when he reminded me that “whom God calls, God qualifies.”

Last summer I climbed a mountain. A group of friends and I started at 1:00 a.m. at the base, with the goal of reaching the summit to watch the sunrise. The first four hours were miserable. We walked in the dark, plodding onward, one foot in front of the other. It was too dark to see the top of the mountain outline, our goal, so I kept my head down, using my headlamp to light the way.

As I climbed the mountain last summer, I experienced a gradual change. As the sun came up, my mood lifted. I could see more clearly; I felt more purpose as my goal came into view. When the sunlight finally fell directly on me, I felt like a changed person. The warmth reinvigorated me, and I found myself happy, talkative, joyful, and full of energy.

In a similar manner, dwelling on questions in the dark can sap our gospel energy. During the first half of the hike, I felt hopeless and exhausted. It seemed like I would never reach my goal. When I was walking in the light, I felt energized and optimistic, even though I still had a long way to walk. Choosing to search for answers while coming closer to Jesus Christ and moving into His light can fill us with His Spirit and help us remain hopeful as we move toward further understanding.

Almost three years ago in a Saturday evening session of a stake conference in New York, I listened intently to a young Hispanic sister bear her testimony. As a recent convert she bore witness of the promptings and feelings that occurred during her conversion. She stated:
When the missionaries knocked on my door, I saw the smiles on their faces and felt the firm grip of their handshakes. They said they had a message that would bring happiness into my life. At the conclusion of the first lesson they turned to Moroni’s promise in the Book of Mormon. I was surprised. They did not ask me to believe their words. Instead, the missionaries challenged me to find out for myself the truthfulness of the gospel through prayer and the Holy Ghost. Later, as I listened to the missionaries explain the plan of salvation, I suddenly felt a confirming witness that I was more than a speck in the universe. My life was important not only to me but to a loving Heavenly Father and his Son. They knew me! There was purpose to life, and God had a plan for me to achieve that purpose. I could never feel worthless again!
The truth of the young sister’s testimony burned within me that evening. I knew then and know now, as do you, that there is purpose to life, that God has a plan of happiness designed for all of his children.

Ailsa Marshall was in her second year at the famous Birmingham Conservatoire in England, and nothing seemed to be going right. She couldn’t sleep or eat properly, and her memory consistently failed during complex piano pieces.
She considered giving up, but her tutor persuaded her to enter the second-year piano competition—the David Brook Prize—an annual event sponsored by the former student’s parents after he was killed in a car crash.
“I didn’t expect to get through the preliminaries,” Ailsa explains. But the judges recognised a special quality to Ailsa’s music, and she was given a place in the finals.
The finals were to take place in the famous Adrian Boult Hall in Birmingham, but finding a time to practise in the hall was difficult. Ailsa’s teacher was finally able to find a vacant space, but it was on a Sunday.
“I’d rather not practise on that day,” Ailsa told her.
“Is it because of your church?”
“Yes.”
“Couldn’t you compromise just this once?” she persisted.
“I’d really rather not, thank you.” Ailsa was equally persistent.
To Ailsa’s relief, a Saturday slot became available just in time. “I didn’t feel I could ask for the Lord’s help and not keep his Sabbath holy,” she says.
As the big day approached Ailsa became increasingly nervous, and her eating problems returned. The family was very worried. Because of urgent commitments, Ailsa’s dad could not get down to Birmingham, so they did the next best thing.
“I drove down from Cleveland to stay with family friends and asked the head of their house, Brother David Cook, to give her a blessing,” Sister Marshall recalls.
David’s wife Jean remembers, “It was a most unusual blessing. Every bit of Ailsa that needed to perform well was mentioned—her fingers, her foot, her mind and intellect, and her nerves.”
“It left me with a feeling of complete composure,” adds Ailsa. The feeling stayed with her throughout the performance.
“Ailsa’s music was breathtaking,” comments Jean. “Her rendition of Rachmaninoff’s Prelude was incredible.”
When the results were summed up, Ailsa was awarded joint first prize. But perhaps even more special to Ailsa was the compliment David Brook’s father gave her. “I’m thrilled you chose those particular pieces of music. They were my son’s favourites, and you played them as he would have done.”

When I was in high school, I had the same thoughts as you do. I did poorly and was close to failing. I dropped out in my junior year. I thought I was miserable in school, but it was worse in the working world. Employers are biased against those who don’t hold a high school diploma. Most better-paying jobs require a college degree. If you hate high school now, how will you adjust to college? It’s no fun to work low-paying jobs and not be eligible for better employment. The best thing you can do is to stick it out. It’s a small investment of your time. Pray to our Heavenly Father for the strength and patience to finish high school. If you pray with a sincere heart he will help you.
I am currently in prison. I wish I had the words to tell the hardships I have encountered by dropping out of high school. Not all dropouts end up here, of course, but I’d say at least 80 percent of the population here are dropouts.
Name withheld

As Brett Baker turned his blue 79 Mustang up the highway and headed for Island Park, the snow, which had been falling most of the day, came down in large, heavy flakes that stuck tenaciously to the windshield and frustrated the wipers’ attempts to keep the glass clean. With Christmas just a week away, it was obvious that dreams of a white Christmas would soon be a reality. This storm had already dumped several inches in the valleys, and much more had fallen in the mountains where he was headed. He wished that the Mustang’s rear tires had more tread.
The car’s headlights strained to pierce the cold, white night but managed only to reflect off the millions of flakes seeming to fire into the car like so many tiny missiles. The constant bombardment made Brett feel a little dizzy as the car pushed through the storm. He squinted over the steering wheel and leaned forward to improve his vision. Suddenly another set of headlights flashed dimly around a bend ahead. Brett realized he was too far to the left, almost straddling the middle of the road. He reacted suddenly, pulling the steering wheel to the right. The back of his car began to slide. He jerked the wheel again to correct the spin, and suddenly he was in the deep snow along the side of the road. The taillights of the other car disappeared into the night. Brett shifted down and attempted to pull back onto the road, but as soon as he released the clutch, he knew he was stuck.
“Who’s going to be out on a night like this,” he muttered to himself as he wet his lips and gunned the engine again, listening and feeling his rear wheels spin in the soft snow next to the road. He glanced at his watch—seven-fifteen.
Suddenly out of the blackness came the muffled grumble of a snowplow with its yellow lights flashing. The huge truck with the hungry blade in front stopped next to Brett’s Mustang. The driver rolled down his window and called out to Brett, “You need some help?”
Brett nodded and shouted up, “Yeah.”
“I’ve got a chain.”
Moments later Brett was stomping his feet next to his car, which was now on the road and pointed up the hill again. “Thanks, Mister. I’d have never made it without your help.”
“This is one mean night to be out on the snow. Why would anyone be out in this kind of weather if he didn’t have to be?” the driver of the snowplow growled at Brett as he picked up his chain and threw it into the cab of his truck. “You don’t live up here, do you?”
“I promised a friend I’d drop by tonight.”
The driver shook his head. “If it were me, I’d call on the phone.”
“It’s not the same thing.”
The man shook his head again.
“Thanks for getting me out,” Brett mumbled.
“You still going up the mountain?”
Brett nodded.
The older man smiled. “Pull in behind me then. You can follow me to the summit.”
The rest of the way Brett kept his eyes focused on the taillights of the snowplow ahead of him. It was slow going, but he felt more secure.
Just beyond the summit, a small cafe and service station were still open. The snowplow pulled in. Brett pulled up next to the truck, climbed out, and called to the man, “Thanks again. I wouldn’t have made it without you.”
“Probably not,” the man grinned. “You staying the night here?”
Brett shook his head. “I just came for a visit. I have to be in St. Anthony before midnight.”
“You’re a glutton for punishment. Going down is going to be worse than coming up.”
Brett shrugged.
The man laughed and nodded, “Yeah, I know, you have to visit a friend.” He squinted against the onslaught of snow. “Well, I’ve got some work to do up this way. I’m planning to be back here at the cafe around nine-thirty and get a bite to eat before the place closes. I’m going to pull out of here a few minutes before ten. If you want to follow me down the hill then, you be here. I won’t wait for you.”
“Thanks,” Brett called out, feeling relieved. “I’ll try to make it.”
It was another three miles to Jeff’s place. The going was slow and a bit hazardous, but Brett was determined. He drove slowly and steered his car over the snow-covered roads. His muscles were stiff and tense as he gripped the steering wheel and fought to keep the Mustang on the road. He knew if he slid off the road now, there would be no one to rescue him. The strain of the last two hours of slow driving had taken its toll. A dull, pulsing pain was beginning to hammer in the back of his head.
Brett spotted the mailbox first and then saw the dim lights from the house up the driveway through the trees. One look told Brett that he would never get the Mustang up that driveway. He parked the car along the road, pulled his coat around him, and then pushed out into the night’s storm. He trudged through the snow the 200 yards to the Bakers’s front door.
By the time Brett reached the front steps, huge flakes of snow clung to his clothes and hair. He stepped up onto the small porch, stomped his feet, and knocked firmly on the front door.
Within moments the door flung inward and Jeff’s mother was standing in the doorway. “Brett!” she gasped. “Come in out of that weather. You look like the abominable snowman.”
Brett grinned sheepishly, stomped his feet again, and stepped inside. Sister Baker closed the door behind him. “Let me take that coat and then you get in there in front of the stove. You must be half frozen. How in the world did you get here? I thought they might close the road.”
Brett handed Sister Baker his coat and moved into the family room in front of the wood-burning stove that was glowing warmly. Brother Baker was there watching TV, and Jeff’s two sisters came in from the living room and said hello.
“I can’t believe you came in this storm,” Sister Baker exclaimed when she had hung up his coat. “Nobody thought you’d come tonight. Not with the snow and all.”
“Nobody but Jeff,” Brother Baker corrected. “He said you’d come.”
Brett smiled wanly and ducked his head. He swallowed at a lump in his throat and felt a mist form in his eyes. The Bakers were like family to Brett. When they had lived in St. Anthony, Brett had spent almost as much time at their place as at his own. Those visits had become more infrequent since Brother Baker had returned to his old job with the forest service at Island Park, but distance had not diminished Brett’s feelings for these people.
“How’s Jeff?” Brett asked gently, afraid of the answer.
There was a moment of silence, and then Sister Baker spoke softly. “Oh, he gets real tired. He has his good days and bad, but somehow he manages to keep his spirits up.”
“What does the doctor say?”
Sister Baker avoided Brett’s eyes. She straightened some magazines on the coffee table. “He isn’t too encouraging,” she said, just above a whisper. “But we keep hoping.”
“Things will work out,” Brett insisted.
“That’s what we keep telling ourselves.” Sister Baker heaved a sigh. “You will stay the night, won’t you?”
“Can’t. I promised Mom and Dad I’d be in St. Anthony before midnight.”
“You can’t drive in this kind of weather.”
“I drove here. Besides, once I get down the mountain I’ll be all right. The guy driving the snowplow said he’d wait for me at the cafe if I’d be there before ten. I can follow him down. I shouldn’t have any trouble.”
“You’re more than welcome to stay. We’d love to have you.”
Brett nodded. “Is Jeff so I could see him?”
“He’s in his room. I’m sure he’s waiting for you.”
Gingerly Brett tapped on the bedroom door. There was a weak call to come in, and Brett pushed the door open. The only light in the room came from a small reading lamp perched on a small nightstand next to the double bed. On the other side of the bed was a bookshelf, crammed with books and magazines. The walls of the room were covered with posters and pictures.
“You made it!” Jeff’s weak voice called out as Brett stepped into the room. “I knew you’d make it.”
Brett froze momentarily, shocked by the sight. He smiled, but he felt sick as he saw his friend’s pale yellow, emaciated frame lying under the blankets. Most of his hair was gone, his eyes were large and sunken, his cheeks thin and wasted. He had never been able to picture Jeff as anything but vibrantly alive, and yet here he was a mere shell of his former self.
“How’s it going, Jeff?” Brett finally managed to stammer. It was obvious that he was shocked and taken back.
“Oh, I’m all right,” Jeff shrugged. “I don’t worry much about haircuts anymore.” He motioned for Brett to pull up the only chair in the room and to sit down next to him. “I’m sorry about the way I look. That’s what happens when you don’t play football.” He smiled faintly to ease his friend’s discomfort.
Brett fought to recover. “We’ll have to get you a ball and some pads and get you out on the field then.”
“I’d love it,” Jeff laughed.
For the first time, Brett realized how serious Jeff’s illness was. Oh, he’d been told. The deadly chances had been explained to him, but he had refused to accept anything so pessimistic. Jeff would pull through; he just knew it. When Jeff had been forced to forfeit his scholarship to Ricks, Brett had assured him that he’d still play. He just needed time to rest up. He could beat this illness.
“I missed you this fall,” Brett spoke, groping for something to say. “We had a good quarterback, but nothing like you. I couldn’t read his mind.”
Jeff reached for a scrapbook next to his bed and handed it to Brett. “You did all right for yourself,” he grinned. “Everything that was ever written about the Rick’s football team this fall is in this scrapbook. And your name shows up in nearly every article. I loved it.”
Brett thumbed through the pages, glancing at pictures and articles he’d never even seen before. “Where’d you get all this?” Brett asked amazed. He recognized some of the articles as those he had sent to Jeff himself, but many others were new to him.
“That was the only way I could be there with you,” Jeff answered simply. “It was a fair substitute. But now I want to hear everything from you. I want the good stuff, how you felt, what it was like to play college ball, all the stuff they don’t write about.”
“I could go on all night.”
“I want you to go on all night. I’m not going any place.”
For the next hour the two laughed, talked, reminisced, joked, and teased. As the minutes ticked away the two young men forgot the ominous, uninvited guest who haunted the room, who clung to Jeff Baker, slowly choking the life from his deteriorating frame.
“I brought something for you,” Brett finally said. “For Christmas.”
“You didn’t have to bring me anything for Christmas.”
“I tried to think of a Christmas present, something you could really use, but nothing seemed just right.”
“You didn’t have to bring me anything,” Jeff muttered, looking embarrassed. “Your being here tonight is all the gift I wanted.”
Brett shook his head. “I brought something else.” He pulled an envelope from inside the sweater he was wearing and handed it to Jeff. Jeff took one look at the return address, and his face exploded into a smile. “It came!” he burst out. “Your mission call came.”
Brett smiled broadly. “I’ve had it for almost a week now.” Brett’s cheeks colored. “I was going to wait until you filled out yours, you know, like we’d planned.” He shook his head. “Then I got to figuring that maybe I’d better get on out there and show you how things should be done.”
“Well, where you going? Why didn’t you tell me as soon as you came in?”
Brett grinned and shrugged.
Jeff glanced down at the envelope once more. He studied it a moment and then looked up at his friend. “You haven’t even opened it?” he suddenly rasped.
Brett nodded his head. “I couldn’t. Not without you. I figured that was something we had to do together.” Brett looked down at his hands. “At Thanksgiving when I was made an elder, I thought of you. I was wishing that you were there. I made up my mind then that when the call came, I wanted you to open it up. I wanted it to be your call too.”
Jeff smiled and handed the envelope to his friend. “Well, go ahead and open it then. I can’t wait to know where you’re going.”
Brett didn’t take the envelope. He shook his head. “No, I want you to open it.”
Jeff hesitated, studying his friend for a moment. “But you should open it. I mean, this is the biggest thing that’s ever happened to you.”
Brett nodded. “That’s why I wanted you to open it. I wanted you to have the very best.”
“Are you sure?” Jeff asked, his voice faltering just a little.
Brett nodded. “Positive.”
Jeff held the unopened envelope in his hand for a moment and then, carefully, he tore open one end of it and with shaking hands pulled the letter out. He looked up once at Brett before he studied the contents. Brett nodded encouragement to him. For several moments Jeff read; then he looked up and wet his lips.
“Where?” Brett asked with excitement.
“Would you believe you’re going to Bolivia?”
“Bolivia?” Brett asked, startled. Jeff nodded. “I’m not even sure I know exactly where that is. It’s in South America. That’s about all I know.”
“There’s an atlas on the desk. Grab it and let’s take a look.”
The two thumbed through the atlas until they had found the right map. They studied it with excitement, asking each other questions that neither could answer.
“I’d never thought of Bolivia,” Brett grinned. “I wonder what it’s like?”
“Probably the best mission in the world.”
“Bolivia!” Brett called out, laughing and jumping to his feet. “Hey, bud, I’m going to Bolivia. When do I leave?”
“March 3rd,” Jeff smiled, glancing down again at the letter.
“Hey, kid,” Brett laughed, “you’re going to have to get well soon. I may play football without you, but I won’t go on my mission alone. If you’re not out there within six months, I’m coming back for you.”
Jeff smiled up at his friend. “Thanks for letting me be part of it,” he said softly. “If I don’t get another thing, this will be my best Christmas. I couldn’t have asked for a better gift.”
“You’re going to get better, Jeff, you hear me?”
Jeff smiled up at his friend. For a moment the two didn’t speak, and then Jeff swallowed and said, “I used to pray all the time that some kind of miracle would happen. That’s about the best cure for leukemia, a good miracle.” He wet his lips and shook his head. “I used to be scared. I didn’t want to think about the future. And then I thought of both of us. I thought of all the crazy, fun things we’ve done together. We had some good times, and the best thing of all is that I’m not ashamed of any of that. We could have never done anything really bad. We were always sort of square with the Lord. Right now that means a lot to me. I’m not scared anymore, Brett.”
“Don’t talk like that, Jeff.”
“You have a lot of time to think when you’re laid up like I am. I used to worry about all the things I wasn’t going to get to do.”
“Jeff, I don’t want to hear it.”
“I want you to hear it. I want to say it. Because if I can say it, it isn’t going to be so hard to do.” He swallowed. “I’m square with the Lord, Brett. Thanks for letting me be part of your mission to Bolivia. But I know that Bolivia isn’t the only mission. And I figure that maybe we’re going to go on this mission together after all.”
For a long time the two friends were silent. Their eyes filled with tears, but there was a quiet, comforting calm in the room.
It was almost ten when Brett pulled into the small cafe at the summit. The snow was still coming down. The huge snowplow was parked out front, its engine running. Brett pushed open the glass door to the cafe and stepped in. The highway worker was at the counter finishing a piece of pie. He looked up as Brett stepped in. “You made it back. I was wondering if you would. It’s a beast of a night out there. You sure you want to brave that road?”
Brett nodded.
“It will be at least two hours to St. Anthony from here with the roads the way they are. I’ll bet you’re wishing you had chosen a different night to stop by your friend’s place.”
Brett shook his head. “No, I was just thinking that even if I had had to walk I would have come and not regretted it.”
The driver pushed his plate away from him and shook his head, perplexed. “That must be some friend of yours.”
Brett nodded slowly and turned for the door, and as he stepped into the snowy night, he thought of Jeff and he had no regrets.

Grandpa Max smiled at Scott. “A few months later I was living a very different life. My family had come to America, to New York City. We lived in an apartment building with more apartment buildings on both sides of us. On the bottom floor of most of the buildings were shops of all kinds. The street outside was always a busy place, filled with peddlers selling their wares, children playing noisily, and people doing their marketing. Women leaned out their windows and carried on loud conversations with each other.
“One hot, sticky morning I woke up to an unusual quiet. I knew that it was not the weekend, but the street was nearly empty. I heard no peddlers’ cries, no shouting or bargaining as on every other morning. The only sounds were those of a few children playing.
“As usual, I hurried through breakfast, anxious to go downstairs and join my friends. But when I bolted out the front door of our apartment building, I immediately stiffened, and my heart started to pound violently. I wanted to scream, but I couldn’t open my mouth. I wanted to run back inside, but my feet wouldn’t move.
“Attached to every shop front, hanging from dozens of windows, stuck into window boxes, and tacked onto mailboxes were hundreds of flags. I stood trembling with fear, waiting for the soldiers to appear and search our homes.
“Laughing and chattering, several children asked me to join in a game, and I numbly followed along. Soon men and women joined the children outside. They sat on the steps of their apartment buildings, talking and joking. Aren’t any of the men going to work? I kept asking myself. Why is everyone so happy? I thought that perhaps they were all just pretending, trying to keep each other cheerful.
“All day long I felt as if I were in a nightmare. By afternoon I was too miserable to even join my friends in their games. I just sat on the curb and watched and waited. At suppertime the men set up long tables on the sidewalk, and the women covered them with tablecloths and began bringing platters and bowls of food to be shared by everyone. I couldn’t eat anything at all.
“Just before dark, Mother took me up to bed. While she was tucking me in, she told me that she was going back outside and that I could call her if I needed anything. I started to cry.
“‘No,’ I yelled, ‘you can’t leave me here alone!’ All day I had tried to be brave, but finally I just broke down and sobbed.
“My father raced up the stairs. ‘I heard you crying clear downstairs. Why are you sad after this wonderful day?’ he asked.
“‘How can you say it’s a wonderful day,’ I cried. ‘How can you pretend, when the soldiers will be here any minute?’
“‘Soldiers?’ he asked. ‘What soldiers?’
“‘The soldiers everybody put their flags up for,’ I sobbed. ‘They’ll be here soon, and we don’t even have a flag!’
“‘Oh, my poor frightened boy,’ my father said softly. He sat me on his lap. ‘First of all,’ he explained, ‘there are no soldiers coming to search our home today or any other day.’
“I stopped crying and looked up at him. Then he told me the story of America’s birthday and explained that all the flags were for the celebration.
“I went back outside with my parents and watched the fireworks to end the big birthday party and thought and thought about what my father had told me, trying to understand it all.
“I did understand one thing, though. My father said, ‘Someday we will be able to buy a flag, and I will be very proud to fly that flag. In fact, I will be so proud that when I am an American citizen, I will want to fly it every single day. And I hope you will, too, Max.’”

As a small boy in grammar school, I had a teacher who made King Arthur and the knights of the Round Table come alive. She caused me to become so obsessed with stories of knights that I played and dreamed that I was one.
One evening I dreamed that I was a white knight on a white horse riding over the greens of England. Suddenly, without warning, a knight dressed in black armor and mounted on a black horse appeared at the edge of the forest. We measured each other carefully, lowered our lances, and charged at full gallop. The lances struck target and both of us were knocked off our steeds.
I scrambled to my feet knowing that swords would be drawn and that hand-to-hand combat was imminent. Fear gripped my heart as I saw my opponent rushing toward me flashing a long, gleaming sword. Instinctively, I reached to my side and drew forth from the scabbard my weapon. That is when the dream turned into a nightmare! For in my hand was a small, dinky dagger—not a long, gleaming sword. I woke up in a cold sweat screaming for help.

After some flooding earlier this year, the Mudgeeraba Showgrounds—a fairground and park in Mudgeeraba, Gold Coast, Australia—was covered with piles of debris. The Mudgeeraba Show Committee asked the wider community to help clean up, paint and repair.
On 27 February, the Mudgeeraba Rural Fire Brigade, community volunteers and 130 members of the Gold Coast Australia Stake worked together to restore the grounds.
Ella Parsons, the Mudgeeraba show president, said, “We are extremely grateful to everyone for their efforts. It was a massive accomplishment. We are grateful to have The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints as part of our community. It’s been years since we have been able to get this much work done.”
“Because there were so many volunteers it made the work seem a lot lighter,” said Marina Taulepa, a Church member from Robina Ward. “We are glad to be able to contribute to our community.”

The man a few desks from Steve had laid out his work on two of the desks and worked steadily, ignoring the noise around him, writing on an order form, stopping occasionally to add up figures on his pocket calculator.
"Excuse me," Steve asked, "do you have any aspirin?"
"Sure do, my friend. Carry them all the time." He gave Steve two.
"You sure work hard."
"Got to stay ahead of the competition."
"What do you do?"
"Sales representative for Mity Fine Foods. I travel half this state visiting grocery stores."
"Why can’t you just take the orders over the phone?"
"I have to see how our products are being displayed, make sure Mity Fine has good shelf locations. People don’t buy from the bottom shelf, you know."
"Oh," Steve said.
"There’s a war going on and I bet you don’t even know it."
"What?"
"Yes sir, it’s a war all right. Last Memorial Day weekend, the man from Eat More Foods covered up my catsup with his signs. If I hadn’t been on the road that weekend, he’d have gotten away with it too, but I found out and ripped his signs up. Yes sir, it’s a war. But I’m staying one step ahead."
"Are you married?"
"Not any more. My wife couldn’t take my being gone all the time."
"Why didn’t you just quit your job?"
"A man my age can’t just quit any time he feels like it. Besides, I’ve got a lot built up with the company. Mity Fine has been good to me."
The man returned to his order form.
"What do you usually do on Christmas?"
"I’m staying at a motel—I get winter rates. On Christmas everything’s closed so I have this little hot plate in the room and I heat up a few cans of soup, Mity Fine, of course, and have some crackers. Then I might watch a little TV and work on New Year’s specials. We’ve got a good buy on chip dip and eggnog this year."
...
Within the hour, the preparations were done, including a Christmas tree provided by one over-eager trucker who merely chopped down the tree in front of the school. Some of the truckers went out to their rigs and brought in case lots of canned foods. The salesman from Mity Fine went to his station wagon and brought in his sample assortment of potato chips. Many of the parents went to their cars and brought in Christmas presents originally intended for family and friends at the end of their trip, and they put them under the tree. And the wives went into the school kitchen and began opening cans of ham and vegetables for the meal.

One of my ancestors, Isaac Bartlett Nash, joined the Church in Wales and crossed the Atlantic and the plains before joining the Saints in Salt Lake City. After his arrival he heard one of the presiding elders of the Church denounce the use of tobacco in these words: “There are Elders in this assembly who now have tobacco in their mouths, though even a hog would not chew the vile weed.” Isaac, with a chew of tobacco in his mouth, quietly slipped it out, dropped it to the ground, and said to the tobacco, “Now stay there until I come for you.” He never did.3

The churches, castles, and inns of thirteenth-century England are the setting for this dramatic story of Robin. Robin’s father, a great lord, was off to the wars, and his mother, a lady, was called to help care for the Queen, as there was a plague raging in the city of London. Robin is to go to a castle in the north of the land to begin serving as a page in preparation for knighthood. The plague overcomes the household staff. Robin becomes ill and is left unattended. How Robin eventually gets to his castle and how he learns there are different ways in which to serve make for exciting reading.