Gospel Story Finder

It was summertime, right in the middle of haying season. A lot of hay was down, and my neighbor Frank Rees waited eagerly for the dew to come so he could get started. It was a Saturday night when the conditions were finally right, so Frank drove to his field and started baling his hay.
As he baled he noticed the headlights of his friend and neighbor across several fields. He too was taking advantage of the favorable conditions and was baling his hay. Several years before, Frank had made the decision not to work on the Sabbath, and he knew he would stop on this night just before midnight to honor that commitment. He wondered what his neighbor would do. It would be such a temptation to continue baling under these favorable conditions with so much hay down and ready.
As the hours passed he continued to notice his neighbor’s headlights and knew he was still baling. A few minutes before midnight Frank shut off the baler and drove the tractor to his truck. In the quiet darkness he noticed that his neighbor had also chosen to honor the Sabbath and had quit baling.
After telling this story in sacrament meeting, Frank looked over his shoulder to his neighbor, now the bishop of their ward.
“Do you remember that?” he asked.
Bishop Munns nodded and said, “I didn’t have a watch. I was watching you.”

A few years ago, at the outset of 2011, I introduced to my family an idea that had been on my mind for some time. My brainstorm, received by some of my family with joy and excitement, and by others with a little anguish and trepidation, was to plan an excursion to backpack into the High Uinta Mountains in Utah and ascend Kings Peak. The High Uintas are a beautiful and rugged mountain range with plentiful opportunities for hiking, backpacking, and fishing. Unfortunately, each year some, who underestimate the rugged nature of this wilderness, get lost. Many are rescued after a few scary nights spent wandering the hills. Others experience serious injury, and in some cases lives are lost if the appropriate care is not taken. These are mountains that demand respect and will punish those who do not give it.

Kings Peak sits atop this range and stands supreme as the highest peak in the state of Utah. It is only accessible to those willing to pay the price of an arduous outdoor adventure. I had on multiple occasions stood at the top of Utah and looked over the miles and miles of spectacular views and thought that the moment had been perfect, only to realize that the one thing that would have improved that moment would be to have my wife and children with me. That was the origin of the adventure we would embark on during the summer of 2011.

As the sun rose on August 7, so did we. We ate breakfast, broke camp, and prepared for the day. I checked with each individual, balanced the loads, and adjusted backpacks. Satisfied, we gathered at the trailhead, prayed, took this picture that I love, and then departed. It was a glorious day; there was a brilliant blue sky, the temperature was perfect, and spirits were high. This was to be an incredible trip.

We made great progress for a while, but as the miles began to pile up enthusiasm began to wane. Charlie, for example, our youngest hiker, began to realize how long this day really would be. Discouraged, he slowed, and we slowed with him. I realized we were falling behind schedule and that I needed to do something to motivate him. To this day the kids tease me about the story that I made up as I held Charlie's hand and hiked, side-by-side with him for probably five miles. Somehow, ideas came to my mind and I weaved a tale of intrigue, aliens, explosions, betrayals, and surprises.

With Charlie distracted, our momentum increased. We made great progress for several miles and eventually we arrived at Henry's Fork Basin. Not long after, we came to our next obstacle. We had to cross a swelling Henry's Fork River. The bridge, constructed from trees and some rope, was safe, but crossing it tired and with the weight of the backpacks created some fear in a few of the team. After some coaching and motivation, everyone successfully forded the river.

At this point, the trail slopes into a significant ascent that would be our most challenging climb of this first day. Not long after we began to climb, we were faced with our next challenge; Doug, our son-in-law, began to suffer with respiratory problems. The closer we got to timber line, the altitude where the oxygen is too thin for trees to grow, the more serious Doug's problems became. Finally, after his courage and determination were overcome by his biological need for air, we were forced to stop again. After a prayer and a priesthood blessing, it was decided that Doug would leave his pack and begin walking. I hiked as fast as I could to the top of the ascent, dropped my pack and returned to carry Doug's to the top of the hill. From there we regrouped and moved forward to our camping spot at Dollar Lake.

That night, surrounded by my family in this beautiful place, we sang, told stories, and talked until one-by-one the kids and my wife retired to their sleeping bags. As is usually the case with me, I found myself sitting alone by a fire with an incredible sky full of stars and plenty of time to think. As I reflected on the day that had passed, I admit that a little pride set in as I mused at what a great leader I was. After all, during that day I had been presented with challenges of discouragement, exhaustion, fear, and even physical problems. In each case I had used my leadership toolkit to overcome the problems, and now, here we were. Not only that, but how awesome was it going to be to stand on top of Kings Peak with my loved ones. And how great was it going to be to send that picture out as our Christmas card to all my friends. That was going to be an accomplishment I would be proud of.

Well, there's a funny thing about pride; as soon as we begin to be puffed up in our own superiority and accomplishment, God has a knack for teaching us a lesson. The next day He took full advantage of that opportunity and taught me lessons I will never forget.

As we roused ourselves the next morning, we were excited to get moving. We were already behind schedule when we left, but I knew of a shortcut that would get us to the top quicker. As we arrived at the top of Gun Sight Pass, where a slight deviation would lead us to the shortcut, the spirit whispered, nay yelled at me, that it was not a good idea to take the shortcut. We obeyed and decided to take the longer trail considering that we could still make the top and get back down by midafternoon.

As we descended the back part of the pass, and subsequently began to climb, the rough terrain began to take a toll on my family. Over and over we rested and restarted. I started feeling anxious about our slowed progress. As we proceeded, our pace reduced even more. I began to move past anxiety to genuine worry as we were already into the afternoon hours and were not yet close to the peak. In my mind, we simply needed to move faster, so I continued to push.

We arrived at the base of the Anderson Pass. This pass marks the final ascent to the peak, an ascent that is very difficult as there is no path to speak of. From this point on it is a steep and tough climb over huge boulders. After a series of climbs and breaks, I arrived at another resting point and took a moment to look over my flock. It didn't look good. It was already deep into the afternoon, and with the exception of my wife and two daughters, the crew was moving slowly. I was becoming more and more worried and I began to come to the realization that my goal to have all of these people on top of this peak was dwindling away. We gathered in a family council to make a decision that would ultimately require the sacrifice of my badge of honor.

It became clear that getting all of us to the peak, was really not an option, so the question in front of us was whether or not we should split up to allow those still in good shape to make the peak while the others began the descent, or whether everyone would sacrifice the victory and descend together. During this council, I looked at our son Tim, then fourteen years old, and I saw the tears beginning to flow out from underneath his sunglasses. Tim has always had a tender heart and has enjoyed a special relationship with the Spirit. When I asked what was wrong, he replied, through his sobs, "we need to stay together." I was the experienced backpacker, he was just a child. In my confidence, I discounted his council.

We decided that I would turn around and help those who could not make it and still leave enough time to hike back to our camp before dark. My wife and two daughters would continue on to the peak and immediately follow us down to the camp. Yes, we were disappointed to come that close and not be able to attain the goal. It was hard to watch my wife and daughters scurry up the rocks towards the peak.

Anyway, down we went, and much to my worry, our pace had not sped up. In fact we were moving slower than ever. With time ticking away, I began to feel concerned and worried as I realized that there were no lights in any of the bags. After all, we had planned to be back at camp by midafternoon. I began to be even more worried as I arrived at the base of Gunsight Pass and looked back and saw, off in the distance, my wife, Jaime, and Maddie, following the wrong path, off into Painter Basin. This was a big problem, as it would quickly take them in the wrong direction to a very remote and unfamiliar territory with night quickly approaching.

At that moment, I began to question the decision to leave our flashlights at camp. I began to question our decision to split up. And I began to question how well I had prepared the team to navigate in the Uintas.

After a quick prayer, I made a decision, to send the crew I was with up the pass and I turned around and began to sprint back across the expanse of the valley. Once I got to the other side of the valley, I could see my girls afar off, after all they were hiking quickly to catch up with us, only they were still on the wrong path. I tried desperately to yell and wave in hopes that they would see, but at that moment, I had a serious problem. On the one hand I had the crew who were exhausted and struggling headed up Gun Sight Pass. On the other hand, although they were in good shape, my girls were headed the wrong way.

All the time, the day was turning into night. At that very poignant moment, all disappointment at not making the peak, and any other petty worry left me. I was completely helpless. The feelings of confidence and pride that I had enjoyed the night before were completely vacant.

It was at this moment that I realized that our successful reunion would be entirely out of my hands and that I was dependent on the Lord. The prayer I offered was brief but intense as I asked for guidance. I poured everything I could into it, expressed my willingness to submit to God's will, and waited for an answer.

My answer came. It was to turn around and get back with the part of my family struggling to get up Gun Sight Pass. I was not in a place to question the Lord so I turned, wiped the tears from my eyes and again sprinted back across the valley and scurried, as fast as I could up the pass. I caught up with my kids near the top and discovered that things were not going so well. Everyone was exhausted and discouraged. To top it off, my oldest daughter had a severely sprained ankle.

With determination, and after a prayer, asking the Lord to protect our family, we slowly but determinedly moved toward our camp. As we arrived, I was aware that the sun had gone down, darkness was creeping across the world, and the girls were still lost. I was terrified. After getting everyone settled, I grabbed a bag full of flashlights, enjoyed a brief drink of water, and headed back up the trail. I didn't know what to expect, but I knew I needed to go back. I was listening to the Lord at this point.

As I hiked, I cried. I rethought the day and the decisions that lead us to this point. While I knew I was doing what the Lord was telling me now, I could see the things I had done wrong previously in that very long day and realized that the price of my mistakes might be catastrophic. By now, it was dark. The light was gone. I was very worried and offered another prayer.

Although the path in front of me was illuminated by the light strapped to my forehead, there were three out there who were hiking in the dark. A few moments later as I hiked with all the energy I had left in my body, I saw the most beautiful sight I had ever seen. There they were, my wife and daughters, coming around the corner. I fell to my knees, exhausted and grateful. After a quick prayer of thanks, I ran to them and hugged them.

Back at the camp, I sat, surrounded by those people who are most important to me. Each of us, through the trials of the day had all the worldly concerns and pride stripped away. Although my wife and two daughters had reached the peak, my goal was not accomplished. That didn't matter, for I had gained something more valuable. I learned lessons of critical importance. The worldlypride of boasting that my family reached the peak had been stripped away and replaced by a contentment that I cannot describe. Oh how I rejoiced as we sat there in love with one another and feeling the joy of the Lord.

“As I watched the tray come down my row, I couldn’t help feeling embarrassed. This Sunday would be the first time in my life I hadn’t been worthy to partake of the sacrament. The tray was quickly coming closer to me, and I was drowning in feelings. What would my parents think when I didn’t take the sacrament? My little brother and sister? I was supposed to be their example.
“When the tray came to me, I quickly passed it on, bowing my head. I felt as if everyone in the chapel was looking at me.
“The week before, I had talked to my bishop. I entered his office and started crying in shame before I even sat down. As I told him everything I had done, I thought he would be angry with me or say I had no hope of being forgiven. Instead, I noticed he was crying too. He let me know he was very pleased I had come to him. It felt good to know that he had been called by the Lord to help me with my problems. It felt good to know that I had someone to talk to while trying to apply the principles of the Atonement in my life. I knew I could trust the bishop and I could share my feelings with him.
“When I finished talking with my bishop, he told me he loved me. ‘I am going to help you as much as I can to get through your problems,’ he said. At that moment I knew everything would eventually be all right.
“My first time not taking the sacrament was hard, and I have to relive that experience every Sunday until the bishop tells me I can once again partake. But I am grateful to have the blessing of repentance in my life. I know I can be clean again through the Atonement of Jesus Christ. Because of this experience and the struggles I am going through, I never want to be unworthy again. Not partaking of the sacrament is hard. But it has helped me more fully appreciate my Savior’s sacrifice for me.”

“Oh, no—my shirt’s ruined!” Emily cried. She pulled the still-warm shirt from the dryer. “Let me see,” her father said. He put down the pants he had been folding and took the shirt from Emily. “What’s wrong with it?” He held it out in front of him.
“Look at the stains, Daddy.” Emily pointed at the splotches of blue, green, and brown splattered across the front. “It’s ruined!”
“Well, it’s important to keep our clothes clean and spot-free,” her father agreed, “but it’s also good to have a ‘reminder shirt.’”
“A reminder shirt? What’s that?”
“A reminder shirt reminds us of everything we did on the days it was worn,” Daddy explained. “Do you remember when you wore this shirt, Emily?”
“Last Saturday.”
“Do you remember what we did that day?”
“Well, after lunch, I helped you paint the fence—with blue paint. That’s what those blue stains are!”
“I ended up with blue spots on my shirt, too,” Daddy said. “But we sure had fun painting that fence, didn’t we?”
“Yes! Later, you took me to the park, and you chased me until I fell down and slid across the grass on my tummy.”
“Grass stains.” Daddy pointed at the green streaks on the front of the shirt. “And then—”
“We went for ice cream! I had a double scoop of triple fudge. You had two scoops of mint. And you made me laugh so hard that I knocked one of my scoops off the cone.”
“So now you have chocolate stains.” Daddy handed the shirt back to Emily. “I think all the stains make the shirt better. Because of them, we’ll always remember the fun we had that day. That’s more important to me than any shirt.”
“Me, too, Daddy.” Emily slipped the shirt over her other shirt. “I’m going to wear my reminder shirt again.”
“You are?”
“Sure. I want to make some more memories. The mud in the backyard is wet and gooey today—just right for building mud castles! It will be a lot more fun if you’ll help me,” she coaxed.
“It sounds like I’d better put on my reminder shirt, too,” Daddy replied, allowing her to pull him toward the back door.
“Then our shirts will match even better! And that means that we’ll have had lots of fun together.”

I would like to focus on the first trait that describes them: “valiant for courage.” To me, this describes the conviction of these young men to courageously do what is right, or as Alma describes, “to stand as witnesses of God at all times … and in all places.”2 The 2,000 stripling soldiers had countless moments to demonstrate their courage. Each of you will also have defining moments in your life requiring courage. A friend of mine, John, shared with me one of those moments in his life.
Some years ago, John was accepted at a prestigious Japanese university. He would be part of the international student program with many other top students from around the world. Some enrolled with a hope to deepen their understanding of the culture and language, others viewed it as a stepping-stone to an eventual profession and employment in Japan, but all had left home to study in a foreign country.
Soon after John’s arrival, word of a party to be held on the rooftop of a private residence spread among the foreign student population. That evening, John and two friends made their way to the advertised address.
Following an elevator ride to the top floor of the building, John and his friends navigated the single narrow stairway leading to the rooftop and began mingling with the others. As the night wore on, the atmosphere changed. The noise, music volume, and alcohol amplified, as did John’s uneasiness. Then suddenly someone began organizing the students into a large circle with the intent of sharing marijuana cigarettes. John grimaced and quickly informed his two friends that it was time to leave. Almost in ridicule, one of them replied, “John, this is easy—we’ll just stand in the circle, and when it is our turn, we’ll just pass it along rather than smoke it. That way we won’t have to embarrass ourselves in front of everyone by leaving.” This sounded easy to John, but it did not sound right. He knew he had to announce his intention and act. In a moment he mustered his courage and told them that they could do as they wished, but he was leaving. One friend decided to stay and joined the circle; the other reluctantly followed John down the stairs to board the elevator. Much to their surprise, when the elevator doors opened, Japanese police officers poured out and hurried to ascend the stairs to the rooftop. John and his friend boarded the elevator and departed.
When the police appeared at the top of the stairs, the students quickly threw the illegal drugs off the roof so they wouldn’t be caught. After securing the stairway, however, the officers lined up everyone on the roof and asked each student to extend both hands. The officers then walked down the line, carefully smelling each student’s thumbs and index fingers. All who had held the marijuana, whether they had smoked it or not, were presumed guilty, and there were huge consequences. Almost without exception, the students who had remained on the rooftop were expelled from their respective universities, and those convicted of a crime were likely deported from Japan. Dreams of an education, years of preparation, and the possibility of future employment in Japan were dashed in a moment.
Now let me tell you what happened to these three friends. The friend who stayed on the roof was expelled from the university in Japan to which he had worked so hard to be accepted and was required to return home. The friend who left the party that night with John finished school in Japan and went on to earn degrees from two top-tier universities in the United States. His career took him back to Asia, where he has enjoyed immense professional success. He remains grateful to this day for John’s courageous example. As for John, the consequences in his life have been immeasurable. His time in Japan that year led him to a happy marriage and the subsequent birth of two sons. He has been a very successful businessman and recently became a professor at a Japanese university. Imagine how different his life would have been had he not had the courage to leave the party on that important evening in Japan.3

by Ed Eaton
The huge Seattle Coliseum, built for the 1962 World’s Fair, proved too small for the 12-stake youth dance festival held there last spring. Nearly 2,400 young men and women from 96 wards filled the first several rows of the 14,000-seat coliseum as they awaited their turns to perform a variety of modern, folk, and conventional dances. The rest of the arena was packed with parents and friends who had first call on the free tickets.
When coordinator Susan Kinghorn of the Redmond Washington Stake and several ward specialists began planning the event, they anticipated about 800 youth, the number who had participated the last time such a large festival had been planned. But by opening night the number had swollen to 2,400 excited participants.
Elder James M. Paramore of the First Quorum of the Seventy addressed the youth during the first—and final—combined rehearsal. He spoke with them about personal commitment and pointed to the dedication President Kimball demonstrates in all he does.
“He decided early that his first commitment would be to the Lord,” said Elder Paramore. “There are no shortcuts.”
He also stressed President Kimball’s commitment to people, referring to the prophet’s frequent visits to the widows and the ill and the many letters he writes personally thanking people, “lifting them.”
“Commitment,” said Elder Paramore, “is doing what everyone else could do but doesn’t.”
Following the three-hour performance that night, Elder Paramore left his seat in the audience to join, arm-in-arm, with the youth as they sang, “I Am a Child of God.” It was an electric moment in the lives of the 14,000 members of the Church and their friends in the Seattle Coliseum.
Participating in the program were dancers from the Bellevue, Bremerton, Everett, Lynnwood, Federal Way, Puyallup, Mount Vernon, Redmond, Renton, Seattle, Seattle North, and Tacoma stakes in Washington.

I worked at Disney Interactive Studios for about 13 years as an artist and producer, and one day when I pushed the elevator button to go up to work, I felt that I wasn’t supposed to be there. Well, I put that thought on a mental shelf and continued to work. How could I leave a stable and desired career? How could I leave the good people I loved and had worked with for the last decade or so?

But it pressed upon me, and I knew this feeling wasn’t going to go away. I tried to put together a plan so I had something in place before leaving, but no matter how I tried, it didn’t materialize. So I left without a job or opportunity in place. I cried and had many deep, heartfelt discussions with my Heavenly Father during this time.

What I learned was the plan was not to have a plan. I learned who I was minus any title, career, or status. Though painful as this change was, it was an invaluable space for me to learn about me and my relationship with my Heavenly Father. Just two months after I left, that studio that I thought was stable shut down out of the blue and without warning.

Throughout my experience in leaving Disney, I pondered and searched this quote from President Spencer W. Kimball: “Security is not born of inexhaustible wealth but of unquenchable faith.”1 Our true security and peace is born of faith in Jesus Christ. That faith in Christ is a choice we can make. I’m grateful He let me choose Him.

November 1831: William E. McLellin listened intently as he sat in a Church conference with Joseph Smith and a few other elders. Just a few days before, Joseph had given him a revelation that answered five questions that William had shared only with God (see Doctrine and Covenants 66). Now the members at the conference had decided to publish the Prophet’s revelations in a compilation called the Book of Commandments (later called the Doctrine and Covenants).
The challenge: Some elders were not convinced that the revelations came from God. They thought the language was not refined enough. To answer that claim, the Lord issued a challenge: “Appoint him that is the most wise among you” to write something “like unto” the revelations. If one could do that, the elders could say the revelations were not true. If one could not, the elders needed to “bear record” that the revelations came from God (see Doctrine and Covenants 67:5–8).
The result: William, a former schoolteacher, took the Lord’s challenge and tried to write a revelation. He failed.1 William’s failure strengthened his testimony of Joseph Smith as a prophet. Along with other elders at the conference, William signed a statement declaring that he knew “through the Holy Ghost” that the revelations were “given by inspiration of God” and that they were “profitable for all men and are verily true.”2

I never knew that becoming a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints would negatively affect my relationship with family members. I joined the Church two months after getting a new job. My first day attending church was the day a friend invited me to help her with her baby as she was going to be baptized.
The moment I stepped into the chapel, I felt peace, comfort, and joy in my heart, and I knew that I belonged here and that the search for the right church had come to an end. I started reading the pamphlets from a friend and later booked appointments with the missionaries and I got baptized after a couple of weeks of learning with the missionaries.
However, because my family has been staunch Anglicans, I hid my new identity of being a member of the Church until I read a scripture in Romans 1:16, which says that “I am not ashamed of the gospel of Christ”. This scripture gave me a sense of direction, and I said to myself that I need not to be ashamed of the gospel if I have joined The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I started changing everything on my social media accounts to say that I am a member of the Church. Even though people contacted me about what they were seeing on the accounts, I proudly replied to each one that I have joined the Lord’s church and that I love it and I know that it is true.
Not long after, it was time to serve a mission. I received my call to the Ghana Cape Coast Mission. I proudly shared the news with my family, and they were happy for me, and I thought all was well with the family about my decision to serve. But a few days before mission, my family was still opposed to my decision and requested that I postpone my mission instead of leaving in December 2019, to go in 2020. It became evident that my family was unhappy with my decision to go on a mission. I knew that the God I serve lives, He knows me, and He had called me to serve Him and that the time is now or never.
I needed to make a choice between my family and my mission. I was stuck, but I prayed fervently and amidst all that was happening, I stood firm with unwavering and unshakable faith knowing that He can see me through those trying moments.
The Lord comforted me at that time, and I knew that I was not alone, and He was there for me. I felt at peace even though things had not been settled between me and my family and with less than 24 hours left, the family accepted my decision to go and serve and I was able to leave for my mission. My family has embraced my service and I am happily serving my mission with love and a cheerful heart, knowing that all things are possible with God if we look unto Him in every thought, fearing not and doubting not with faith that whatever you ask you will receive.
You either stand with God and are condemned by man or stand with man and are condemned by God. If you know the truth and you put your faith first, you can find joy in your challenges because of the Atonement of Jesus Christ. I know that faith can move mountains and make the impossible possible.

As Dillon worked with the sound crew to record the songs, he struggled with one note. “I couldn’t hit it,” he says. “We rehearsed for hours.”
Finally, exhausted and discouraged, he went home that night, knowing that the next morning he’d have to record the song.
“I went straight to my room and prayed to my Heavenly Father to help me,” he says.
All he could think about was how important the soundtrack would be to the 50,000 members of the Church in Tonga, as well as thousands of others who speak Tongan around the world.
“It was one of the longest nights of my life,” he says.
After a long night of prayer and a little bit of sleep, Dillon walked into the recording studio and hit the note.
“Hallelujah,” he remembers saying. “I was happy.”

Frequently the profound influence one life has on the lives of others is never spoken and occasionally little known. Such was the experience of a teacher of girls, even 12-year-olds in the Beehive class of Mutual. She had no children of her own, though she and her husband dearly longed for children. Her love was expressed through the devotion to her special girls as she taught them eternal truths and lessons of life. Then came illness, followed by death. She was but 27.
Each year on Memorial Day, her girls made a pilgrimage of prayer to the graveside of their teacher. First there were seven, then four, then two, and eventually just one, who continued the annual visit, always placing on the grave a bouquet of irises—a symbol of heartfelt gratitude. That last girl later became a teacher of girls. Little wonder she is so successful. She mirrors the reflection of the teacher from whom came her inspiration. The life that teacher lived, the lessons that teacher taught, are not buried beneath the headstone which marks her grave but live on in the personalities she helped to shape and the lives she so selflessly enriched. One is reminded of another master teacher, even the Lord. Once, with His finger, He wrote in the sand a message. The winds of time erased forever the words He wrote but not the life He lived.

Elizabeth wanted to be the best baby-sitter in the world. She knew how important it was to be reliable and responsible. A file box, just like her big sister’s, helped her keep track of important information. Each family she baby-sat for had a card. There weren’t many cards in the bright blue box yet, but there would be soon.
Early Saturday morning, Elizabeth took out the Burroughs’s card and scanned the information. “Two children—Billy and Kristi. Kristi likes picture books,” she read. Elizabeth remembered the little girl’s favorite book and put it and some other books in her box before leaving her house. She briskly walked the three blocks to the familiar yellow house and rang the doorbell.
“Good morning,” Mrs. Burroughs greeted her. “You’re right on time as usual. Billy’s spending the day at the zoo with John and some of his other friends. He’ll be home by five. You remember John’s mother, don’t you?”
“Sure. She brought Billy home when I baby-sat before.”
“She’s going to drive him home today too. If she invites him to spend the night with John, it’s fine. Just remind Billy to pack his toothbrush.”
“Did you leave me a note about Kristi’s lunch and dinner?” asked Elizabeth.
“It’s on the kitchen table. We should be back by seven if the traffic isn’t too bad. We’ll try to call you this afternoon to be sure everything’s OK.”
Elizabeth knew Mr. and Mrs. Burroughs were fixing up a mountain cabin. The cabin didn’t have a phone, so they usually called from a nearby store to check on things. She wasn’t worried.
After carefully locking the door when Mr. and Mrs. Burroughs left, Elizabeth slid the safety chain into position. She put the file card right by the phone. The card was an easy way to keep track of important details. It had the Burroughs’s address printed on it just in case Elizabeth couldn’t remember it if there was an emergency. Billy and Kristi’s pediatrician’s phone number was there too. Mrs. Burroughs had explained to Elizabeth that the doctor had a special permission form on file in case Billy or Kristi needed treatment and their parents couldn’t be reached.
Police and fire department numbers were printed in red so Elizabeth could find them in a hurry. She’d even made notes about what Mrs. Burroughs liked the children to have for snacks. “NO VISITORS” was printed at the bottom of the card.
There was one other thing Elizabeth wanted to do to prepare for an emergency. She and Kristi played the “creeping, crawling game.” Kristi loved it. She was much too young to realize that this was Elizabeth’s way of making sure she would be able to get the toddler safely out of the house if there was a fire.
“Hungry,” Kristi said later, when Elizabeth finished reading the last page of the picture book.
“How about some banana wheels?”
“Yes! Yes!”
Elizabeth peeled a banana and carefully sliced it into little wheels. Since Kristi liked to do things by herself, Elizabeth reached for a plastic plate. If the toddler dropped it, there wouldn’t be any sharp pieces to worry about.
“Yummy ’nana,” Kristi said.
Suddenly the doorbell rang.
“Who is it?” Elizabeth asked as she looked through the peephole. She didn’t recognize the long-haired man. Something about the bulge in his scruffy jacket made her shiver. Maybe he has a gun! she thought.
“I’m Ted Burroughs.”
Was he really Ted Burroughs? The last name was printed bold and black on the mailbox where anybody could read it. Elizabeth didn’t know if Mr. Burroughs had a relative named Ted.
Kristi was at the stage where any man she saw was “Daddy,” so she wouldn’t be any help. If only Billy were home …
Looking through the peephole again, Elizabeth couldn’t help staring at that bulge.
“Come on, honey. I’m much too tired to play games. Open the door.”
Instead of reaching for the chain, Elizabeth hurried toward the phone. She took a deep breath, forcing herself to calm down. Those bright red digits on the card made it easy to dial the right numbers quickly.
Elizabeth told the police dispatcher the exact address where she was baby-sitting. “There’s a stranger at the door. I’m not positive, but I think he may have a gun.”
“We’ll send an officer over immediately. Just keep the door locked. Give me the phone number there; I’ll call you right back on a nonemergency line.”
Elizabeth hung up and gathered Kristi in a big bear hug. “Everything’s going to be fine,” she promised.
Grabbing the phone before it rang a second time, Elizabeth felt better just hearing the familiar voice. The police dispatcher sounded so friendly, so calm. There couldn’t be anything to be afraid of—not really. Help was on the way.
The dispatcher kept talking until Elizabeth heard a car stop out front. “I think the officer is here,” Elizabeth told the dispatcher.
“Yes. We’re in radio contact. Just talk to me for a few more minutes until I get a report from the officer on the scene.”
Those few minutes seemed to crawl. Even though Elizabeth knew she was old enough to handle things the right way, she suddenly wished she were Kristi. It would be nice to have somebody hug you and whisper that everything was OK.
“Elizabeth, you can open the door now. Officer Jenkins just reported in.”
“Thanks for talking to me so I didn’t have a chance to get really scared.”
“You’re welcome. That’s part of our job. If you ever have trouble again, be sure to call us.”
Carrying Kristi to the door, Elizabeth slid the chain off the lock and unbolted the door. She couldn’t help shivering when she saw that the stranger was still there. At least there was a police officer right next to him.
“Elizabeth, this is Ted Burroughs. He’s the brother of the man who lives here.”
“I’m sorry—”
“Don’t you dare apologize!” Ted Burroughs interrupted. “You did exactly the right thing. I’m a night watchman. When I got off my shift, I decided to drop by for a visit. I’m sure my brother and sister-in-law will be pleased to know they have such a responsible baby-sitter.”
The stranger didn’t look nearly as scary when he smiled. Kristi smiled right back at him, extended her tiny arms, and yelled, “Daddy!”

A true story from Canada.
Crunch, crunch, crunch.
Katie’s shoes softly crunched through the snow as she walked to the workshop. When she opened the door, the familiar smell of oil and grease came from the tractor her dad had been fixing.
“How’s my Katie?” Dad asked as she stepped inside.
“I’m freezing!” She stomped the snow off her boots. “What are you making?”
He turned to his workbench. Bits of wood were scattered around a doll cradle. Katie sucked in a big breath. Could it be for her? Maybe it was for her younger sister, Jane.
“It’s so cute,” Katie said. “Is it for Jane?”
Dad shook his head no. “Do you remember Mr. Roy, the man who worked with us during harvest time?”
Katie nodded.
“He and his family found a house to rent, but they’re going through a hard time,” Dad said. “He’s worried his three little girls won’t have much of a Christmas this year. But your mom and I have some special gifts for them.”
Katie walked over to the little cradle and rocked it back and forth.
Dad smiled. “If you were a little girl, would you like this cradle?”
She laughed. “I am a little girl!”
Then Katie realized who the cradle was for. It was for Mr. Roy’s daughters!
“Can I help?”
“You can help me paint,” Dad said. His eyes sparkled.
Dad had made three cradles, one for each girl. He opened some paint cans, and Katie got to work. She painted them soft pink, baby blue, and pale yellow. With each stroke of her brush, she felt more excited.
She turned to her dad. “When I saw the first cradle, I hoped it was for me. But helping is so fun. I hope the girls love the cradles as much as I love painting them.”
On Christmas Eve, Katie and her family went to the Roys’ house.
Tap, tap, tap. Katie knocked on the door and waited. When the door opened, she saw a girl about her age with white-blonde hair and a thin yellow dress. Two younger girls peeked around her.
A moment later, Mrs. Roy appeared in the doorway too.
“Merry Christmas,” Mom said.
Katie and her family carried in the cradles, three wrapped dolls, and a big box full of Christmas food. Mrs. Roy watched, tears glittering in her eyes as each of the girls chose a cradle. Slowly the girls overcame their shyness. With faces full of wonder, they wrapped their new baby dolls in the cozy quilts Katie’s mom had made.
Katie sat by the oldest girl. “What’s your name?”
“Flossie,” the girl said.
“I’m Katie. Do you like the cradle?” she asked.
Flossie smiled big. “It’s the prettiest thing I ever had.”
“I’m glad you like it. I helped paint it!”
“Thank you,” she whispered as she wrapped her small arms around Katie.
Dad closed the door as they left the Roys’ house. He squeezed Katie’s shoulder. “What do you think the best part of Christmas is?”
Katie looked up at her dad with a smile. “I used to think it was getting a gift, but now I think maybe it’s giving a gift to someone else.”
“We all can be instruments in the Lord’s hands and act compassionately toward those in need, just as Jesus did.”
Elder Ulisses Soares, “The Savior’s Abiding Compassion,” Liahona, Nov. 2021, 14.
Illustration by Melissa Manwill Kashiwagi

I had an experience like yours. I wanted so much to be able to tell the bishop, but I thought he would have little respect for me as a member of his ward. I prayed about it for a long time. I was finally comforted enough by the Spirit to be able to tell the bishop about my problem. After I told him what I had done, he let me know that what I had done was wrong but that he still loved me and so does my Heavenly Father. He let me know that there is a way back and that is by repentance. Repentance is such a wonderful process. I beg you to give it a try. The Lord is waiting for you!
Name withheld

Nearly all 147 youth in the Logan Utah Central Stake signed their names to a scroll, committing to read the Book of Mormon in a six-month program started by the stake. The scroll was sent to President Benson, who replied with an encouraging letter.

Several ward and stake events were held to motivate and encourage the youth committed to reading. There were ward reading marathons, Book of Mormon bowls, and special speakers. Yet with all the fun, hard work, laughs, and catch-up reading, something extra began to happen. Solid testimonies of the Book of Mormon were being built, along with a lifelong habit of reading the scriptures.

At the completion of the reading program, the youth gathered at the stake center to bury a time capsule. Among the items included were letters written by the youth to future generations. The youth couldn’t help think about how Moroni must have felt as his words to future generations were etched in the plates and buried. The letters by the youth spoke of their testimonies and encouraged future readers to try out Moroni’s promise about the Book of Mormon for themselves. The Logan Utah Central Stake youth found out that Moroni’s promise does work after they did their part: reading, pondering, and praying.

Authenticity also implies an attempt to speak in a situational language our audience can understand. A few years ago I had the opportunity to role-play with English-speaking MTC missionaries. I chose to play a husband who had just lost his wife. I decided to go easy on the missionaries, and after welcoming them to my “home,” I spoke about my grief at the loss of my imaginary spouse and my sincere need to understand her whereabouts. I felt I had given them an obvious approach to take. “Man,” I thought to myself, “I wish I had seen such a golden investigator on my mission.”

Their fresh young faces looked up at me, and they opened their scriptures and began to enthusiastically launch into what was their most comfortable vehicle: the story of the Restoration. “In the spring of 1820 in upstate New York . . .”

I stopped them. “Now elders, listen to what I just asked and see if there is a more comforting approach.” I repeated my deep yearning for knowledge about the state of the soul after death.

With even brighter smiles they began again: “In the spring of 1820 in upstate New York . . .”

And this time I just let them talk. You see, to them the story of the Restoration is so central, so relevant, that it was of course the answer. We would all agree that the words of Alma about the Resurrection that I wanted them to quote or the messages about the sealing power that I was hoping for would not be ours without the Prophet Joseph, but they were just a little too ready to use their new MTC squirt guns to squirt the gospel on me and feel that they had done their job. I wanted them to also take responsibility for the absorption of that message. Their testimonies of Joseph Smith would be critical to my understanding as an “investigator,” but they were out of place in messaging hierarchy. If these elders had caught my situational questions and affirmed that their message had the answer I was seeking about my dear departed, I would have been happy to wade through any lesson on the Restoration, even in questionable Finnish or Tagalog or Swahili. Likewise, as we strive for authenticity, we need to listen and construct a message hierarchy.

To the west of our home was our garden plot. Part of the garden was in potatoes. One day my father said to my sister and me, “There are more potatoes than we can use. If you would like to sell some, you may do so.” My sister Alice and I dug some up and hauled them down to a hotel and sold them. When we showed the money to our father, he asked what we were going to do with it. We said we would divide it before buying some things we wanted. Then he questioned, “What about your tithing?” He said, “The Lord has been good to us. We planted and cultivated and harvested, but the earth is the Lord’s. He sent the moisture and the sunshine. One-tenth we always give back to the Lord for his part.” My father made no requirement; he merely explained it so convincingly that we felt it an honor and privilege to pay tithing.

When I was almost 17, I was baptized into The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and felt a desire to serve the Lord on a mission. When my mission call arrived a few years later, I was called to leave Peru and preach the restored gospel in Salt Lake City.
Even as I thought about the great blessing of serving a mission, many things that I was going to need weighed on my mind: documents, passport, visa, clothing, and, of course, money. I was working but wasn’t making enough. I felt desperate! With a month and a half before I was to leave, I found I had only a small part of the necessary funds. All I could do was go to the Lord in prayer.
Because I didn’t make very much money, the tithes I paid each month were meager. But I soon realized that the Lord doesn’t care about the small amount: He cares that we pay the 10 percent He has asked. I felt a conviction and assurance that if I continued to pay tithing, the Lord would provide what I needed.
Everything began to come together. I got two additional jobs and obtained my documents. Many members of my ward, especially the Relief Society sisters, helped with other necessities. And the members of my stake offered their help as well. I left on my mission with what was required.
As a full-time missionary, I taught the law of tithing and its promises (see Malachi 3:10) with gratitude and testimony.

An important unburdening came into my own life largely as the result of a battle with cancer several years ago. Because of an extremely heavy work schedule, I really didn’t have time to pay much attention to the tumor. On the day that I had surgery I asked that it be done early in the morning under a local anaesthetic (my surgeon was marvelous and did that for me) so that I could teach a class here at 12:00, another at 2:00, and catch a plane at 4:00 to Texas because I had to give a paper at a conference. But, besides all that, the realization that I might be approaching the end of my earthly journey made me take stock of all the wonderful blessings that I had received, principally that I had been able to be with my children through schooling, missions, temple marriages, and other major events in their lives. I had even been able to enjoy several grandchildren. My own father had passed away when I was 10 years old, so I could really appreciate these wonderful gifts from Heavenly Father, and the feelings of regret, fear, anger, or depression that are normal under those circumstances simply were not there. They were washed away in a flood of gratitude that let my spirit say “Thy will be done” and really mean it. Since then, I am able to consider each goal that my children reach, each trial that they overcome, each joy I share with them, and each new baby that arrives in the family an enormous bonus, and I only pray that I might deserve these extra years that I have been granted.

I have always loved the story of the son of King Louis XVI of France because he had an unshakable knowledge of his identity. As a young man, he was kidnapped by evil men who had dethroned his father, the king. These men knew that if they could destroy him morally, he would not be heir to the throne. For six months they subjected him to every vile thing life had to offer, and yet he never yielded under pressure. This puzzled his captors, and after doing everything they could think of, they asked him why he had such great moral strength. His reply was simple. He said, “I cannot do what you ask, for I was born to be a king.”12