Gospel Story Finder

When I was nine months old, my parents—a young couple, with three children and pregnant with another—were caught in a magnitude-7.5 earthquake in Argentina. As our house began to fall down, my father and mother grabbed us and ran. After checking to see that we were OK, they looked around at the devastation. My father quickly assessed the damages and losses, and realized that we would have no clean water from the public network. There wasn’t even enough water to wash off the dust from the crumbling houses!
When the shock wore off, my father grabbed his bicycle and went to check on his mother, who lived a few blocks away. When he arrived at his mother’s destroyed house, he walked around back where she was sitting with only a few scratches.
My grandmother asked my father to save some things from the debris, and while he was doing so, he found two demijohns (glass containers in which 5 to 15 gallons [20 to 60 L] of wine were sold) filled with fresh drinking water. They were undamaged.
A few months before the earthquake, President Spencer W. Kimball (1895–1985) had instructed the Saints throughout the world to store food and water. My grandmother, a recent convert, had listened. From those two demijohns, we were able to supply our family’s needs for a couple of days until emergency assistance arrived.
This example of my grandmother’s obedience was a testimony to my father, who later converted to the gospel. Our family has since been sealed in the temple. I am so grateful for my grandmother’s faith and obedience to the call to be prepared.

In 1989, when I was called to the Philippine Islands to serve a mission, the main language of the Philippines—Tagalog—was not taught in the Provo Missionary Training Center. I arrived in the Philippines to a warm welcome by an English-speaking Filipina companion but understood virtually nothing that was said in Tagalog.
Although she translated the discussions for me and each thing I said, I was eager to learn the language. I asked her questions about the language over and over, and she never hesitated to help me. I gradually began to understand and speak a little Tagalog. About eight months into my mission, I could understand almost everything said in Tagalog, but I still spoke mainly English with a little Tagalog in nearly every sentence.
My companion and I visited a new convert, Sister Salvation, who, like many other converts, had become converted through her love of the Book of Mormon. She had eight children, with two still at home. She had lived through multiple typhoons that had destroyed or damaged her palm-leaf hut each time. She was a widow and over her lifetime had experienced the loss of three husbands.
One day we stopped by her home during a difficult time in her life. As she spoke in Tagalog, my mind was filled with answers to her concerns, all passages from the Book of Mormon. These were passages I had not previously memorized but had impacted me and now were coming to my mind word for word. The more she spoke, the more I longed to be able to communicate in Tagalog directly to her rather than through my companion. She finished talking, and I found myself talking to her, in fluent Tagalog, saying everything I had thought and felt prompted to say.
Tears flowed freely from her and my companion, in part because they knew they were witnessing a miracle. I spoke for about 20 minutes, nearly all my words coming word for word from the Book of Mormon in answer to her concerns. Words cannot describe what we felt that day.
After we left Sister Salvation, I reflected on what had just happened. I had been asked to speak in church that coming Sunday and thought, “I’ll just say some of what I said today now that I can speak Tagalog and quote passages from the Book of Mormon.” I recalled what I said but found that I couldn’t remember the passages word for word or the language! It was then that I realized how the Lord had given me “the gift of speaking with tongues” (Omni 1:25).
In the weeks that followed I continued to have similar experiences, though on a smaller scale. The language came to me more rapidly, and about 10 months into my mission I could speak the language fluently. I found that as I taught the gospel, passages of the Book of Mormon would come into my mind and heart to share with the people, in fulfillment of President Ezra Taft Benson’s powerful vision of missionary work (see sidebar).

“That old man’s a regular puzzlement, isn’t he?” Nathan blurted out to his six-year-old brother, B.J., who walked beside him down the dirt road toward home.
“What old man?” B. J. asked without looking up as he stomped his already muddy feet in the December rain puddles along the wagon-rutted road.
“You know,” Nathan returned, “the one who moved into the Kelsay place six months back. Josiah Potts. It’s less than three weeks until Christmas, and he’s just as bad tempered as ever.”
“You mean because he never smiles?” B. J. asked, jumping like a frog over a dirty puddle.
Nathan stopped to stare at the sod [turf] house nestled in a tangle of dogwood trees just off the road. He leaned against the rickety fence that bordered the little yard. “I guess so,” he said barely loud enough to hear. Thunder boomed and jagged flashes of lightning cut through the damp air like the sights and sounds of the war his father had gone to fight and had never come home from.
A very cold wind tugged at B.J., and he squinted up impatiently at his twelve-year-old brother. “Don’t worry about it, Nathan. Mr. Potts is just an irritable old man.”
Nathan nodded, still gazing intently at the house. “Maybe Mr. Potts lost somebody in the Civil War, too, B. J. Maybe that’s why—”
Nathan stopped abruptly as Josiah Potts appeared on the little warped porch in front of his house. His long, ghostly white beard whipped every which way in the stiff wind, and his deep-set eyes seemed every bit as dark and foreboding as the sky above. Nathan jumped back from the fence, his sleeve catching on a rotting picket and breaking it loose.
“Well,” the old man yelled, “just what are you staring at?”
Nathan swallowed hard. “Nothing in particular, sir.”
“Since when am I ‘nothing in particular,’ boy?”
“Didn’t mean to be rude, sir,” Nathan uttered meekly.
“Then get away from my fence,” Mr. Potts growled. “I lost enough during the war without some young mischief-maker coming by here and breaking my fence.”
Nathan couldn’t keep from asking, “Did you lose anything besides property, Mr. Potts? Family, maybe?”
Gray, wiry brows came together over Josiah’s eyes in tired pain. “My wife and boy, if it’s any of your business—which it isn’t!”
Nathan fidgeted uneasily. “My brother and I lost our father in the war.”
“You two had best get on home before you get caught in the rain,” Mr. Potts muttered, adding, “The heavens have a way of dropping a heavy load on a fellow’s shoulders without warning and of leaving him staggering.”
Nathan sensed the old man’s despair. Maybe Mr. Potts doesn’t know what B. J. and I know, Nathan speculated, about how families can be forever. He doesn’t know about—
“Well?” Josiah’s voice interrupted Nathan’s thoughts. “What are you loitering for?”
As soon as Nathan had hauled wood and taken the lids off the rain barrels back under the roof to catch the runoff so his mother would have water for the next washday, he hurried into the house. He hid something under his arm and was on his way out the door when his mother stopped him. “Where are you off to in such a hurry, Son?” she asked.
“I just want to give something to Mr. Potts.” Nathan revealed a little worn Bible under his arm.
“Your Bible? What on earth for?” his mother asked.
“I’ve read it twice,” Nathan explained. “Maybe it will help Mr. Potts as much as it did me. Besides, I still have the Book of Mormon father gave me when he got home from his mission before the war, and we have our family Bible that I can use.” Nathan eyed the scriptures in his hands. “There’s something in here I want Mr. Potts to read. See, I marked the pages.”
B. J. looked skeptical. “He’ll probably just throw it away.”
Nathan sighed. “Maybe. But it’ll give me some peace of mind. I’ll be able to walk by that old man’s place and say that at least I tried to mend his hurt, and it won’t bother me so much any more.”
His mother looked at him a long moment, her eyes misting. “I’m seeing more and more of your father in you every day, Nathan. We could use another good Mormon missionary right here in our own town.”
When Nathan reached Mr. Potts’ house, he paused, talked himself into going up the steps, and almost knocked on the door. Instead he decided to write a note on the inside of the Bible’s cover. When he had finished, he placed the book on a chair on the porch and left as quietly as he had come.
Two days later, as Nathan was passing Josiah’s house, he heard Mr. Potts call, “Hey, boy!” The old man was standing just behind the screen door. “Why did you give me the Bible, boy?” He stepped out onto the porch for an answer.
Nathan took a deep breath. “It’s … it’s almost Christmas, Mr. Potts. It’s … a gift.”
The old man stared at Nathan, a ragged smile starting to push at the edges of his sadness. “Why would you want to give me a gift?”
“I thought you could use one,” Nathan answered.
Josiah’s knotty, leathery hand brushed a wad of unshorn hair from his unblinking gaze. “You marked a place in it that says, ‘He that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live.’
“‘And whosoever liveth and believeth in me shall never die.’
“I take it that means that a body’s loved ones who have passed on are waiting somewhere for those still alive in the flesh?”
Nathan nodded. “That’s right, Mr. Potts.”
Tears spilled down the old man’s face. “I’d give anything in the world to believe like you do, boy. Anything.”
Nathan thought he would burst inside as he said, “Well, for starters, Mr. Potts, how about an hour of your time this Sunday? Would you come to church with us—with mother, B.J., and me?”
“I think I’d like that,” Josiah answered slowly. “Yes, I do believe I would.”
A few minutes later as Nathan continued on his way, rain started to fall. Unusual, Nathan thought as he walked along, it sure feels warm.
That year, on Christmas day, Josiah Potts was baptized in Cold Water Creek by Bishop Nephi Cole. When he came up out of the water, Nathan saw him gaze toward the heavens in a way he never had before.

Grandma smiled gently. “Did I ever tell you about the summer Grandpa and I moved?”
“I don’t think so,” Savannah said.
“I was sad all the time,” Grandma said. “I wanted to be happy, but I just didn’t care about anything. I felt so lonely.”
“But you had Grandpa and my mom.” Savannah looked down at her shoes. “Why would you feel lonely?”
“I couldn’t figure out what was happening,” Grandma said. “I had never felt that way before. I eventually went to the doctor.”
“What happened?”
Grandma put an arm around her. “I learned I have depression.”
“Oh, so you just felt sad?” Savannah asked.
“No, depression is more than just feeling sad,” Grandma explained. “My sadness didn’t seem to go away. I struggled to do all the things I normally did. And I had a hard time connecting with other people, even my own family. I really needed help.”
Savannah looked up. “What kind of help?”
“The doctor explained what was wrong, and we made a plan together to help me feel better,” Grandma said. “But sometimes I still felt sad. I spent a lot of time praying. When I was lonely, I imagined the Savior sitting beside me. I felt better thinking about Him.”
Savannah looked at the snow outside and shivered. “I feel sad a lot too. I try to feel happy, but sometimes I just can’t, and then I’m mad at myself for feeling that way.”
“I know, honey.” Grandma gave Savannah a hug. “That’s how I feel sometimes too. But you’re not alone. I love you, your parents love you, and Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ love you. They understand your pain and will never leave you.”
Maybe Grandma is right, Savannah thought. I’m not alone. The weight in Savannah’s stomach didn’t feel quite as heavy.
“I think I should talk to Mom,” Savannah said. “She wants to help me too.”
“That’s a great idea.” Grandma took Savannah’s hand.
Savannah smiled and leaned on Grandma’s shoulder. She didn’t feel quite so cold and lonely anymore.

After college my sister Grace and I worked for a company with several other Latter-day Saints. Our employers were not members of the Church. When my sister became engaged, our employer planned a surprise bridal shower for her. I hoped she would respect our standards, but instead she ordered liquor, a male dancer, and a scandalous video.
Before the bridal shower, I felt the whispering of the Holy Ghost within me encouraging me to remind my boss of our standards. I grasped my Young Women medallion and thought of all the effort and sacrifices I had made when I was in Young Women to complete my personal progress. I prayed that I would be guided to stand a little taller at this time. I texted my employer my concerns, thinking that she might become offended. Nevertheless, my greatest desire was to please Heavenly Father.
When the party began, my boss didn’t talk to me or even smile at me. However, she did cancel the dancer and the video.
In the days following the party, my boss didn’t talk and laugh with me like she had before the party. However, I felt comfortable because I knew God was pleased with what I had done. About a week later, my relationship with my boss went back to normal. I know God softened her heart and helped her realize that I lived what I believed.
Lemy Labitag, Cagayan Valley, Philippines

Elder James E. Talmage, a man who is remembered for his doctrinal teachings, showed great kindness to a neighbor family in distress. They were complete strangers to him. Before he was an Apostle, as a young father he became aware of great suffering at a neighbor’s home whose large family was stricken with the dreaded diphtheria. He did not care that they were not members of the Church; his kindness and charity moved him to act. The Relief Society was desperately trying to find people to help, but no one would because of the contagious nature of the disease.
When he arrived, James found one toddler already dead and two others who were in agony from the disease. He immediately went to work, cleaning the untidy house, preparing the young body for burial, cleaning and providing for the other sick children—spending the entire day doing so. He came back the next morning to find that one more of the children had died during the night. A third child was still suffering terribly. He wrote in his journal: “She clung to my neck, … ofttimes coughing [germs] on my face and clothing, … yet I could not put her from me. During the half hour immediately preceding her death, I walked the floor with the little creature in my arms. She died in agony at 10 a.m.” The three children had all departed within the space of 24 hours. He then assisted the family with the burial arrangements and spoke at the graveside services. This he did all for a family of strangers. What a great example of Christlike kindness!

“It’s great to combine learning a skill with fulfilling a Personal Progress project and serving a member of the ward,” said one of the young women of the Exeter Ward, Plymouth England Stake. The young women made a quilt for Sister Etta Cunningham, an aging ward member who was then suffering from cancer. The girls enjoyed the project as they learned a lot about piecing quilts. They also learned about having compassion for their elders.
Before Sister Cunningham passed away, she sent the girls a thank-you note, which they now keep in their Young Women book of remembrance.

I first heard the wonderful story of The Little Engine That Could when I was about 10 years old. As a child, I was interested in the story because the train cars were filled with toy animals, toy clowns, jackknives, puzzles, and books as well as delicious things to eat. However, the engine that was pulling the train over the mountain broke down. The story relates that a big passenger engine came by and was asked to pull the cars over the mountain, but he wouldn’t condescend to pull the little train. Another engine came by, but he wouldn’t stoop to help the little train over the mountain because he was a freight engine. An old engine came by, but he would not help because, he said, “I am so tired. … I can not. I can not. I can not.”

Then a little blue engine came down the track, and she was asked to pull the cars over the mountain to the children on the other side. The little engine responded, “I’m not very big. … They use me only for switching in the yard. I have never been over the mountain.” But she was concerned about disappointing the children on the other side of the mountain if they didn’t get all of the goodies in the cars. So she said, “I think I can. I think I can. I think I can.” And she hooked herself to the little train. “Puff, puff, chug, chug, went the Little Blue Engine. ‘I think I can—I think I can—I think I can—I think I can—I think I can—I think I can—I think I can.’” With this attitude, the little engine reached the top of the mountain and went down the other side, saying, “I thought I could. I thought I could. I thought I could. I thought I could. I thought I could. I thought I could.”

The apple went spinning to the ground. Clint was getting pretty good with his homemade slingshot. He had made it from a strong Y-shaped stick and a thick rubber band and had been practicing with it all day. Now his aim was good enough to knock an apple right out of a tree.
He saw a car coming down the road and wondered if he could hit a moving target as small as a taillight on a car. He closed one eye, pulled the rock back to his ear, and let it go. Crack! The sound of breaking plastic and glass was followed by the tinkle of pieces of glass and plastic hitting the pavement. Clint gasped. He’d actually hit the taillight of that car!
In a panic, he dropped his slingshot and scooted up the apple tree, hiding among the leaves. The car screeched to a stop, and a man jumped out. He walked around to look at his broken light, then glared straight at Clint’s hiding place.
“I know you’re up there!” he bellowed. “I saw you. You’d better get down here before I call the police!”
Clint didn’t move. He recognized the man. It was Brother Ernest, who always complained about how noisy the kids were when he went to church. Clint did not want to talk to him.
After a few minutes, Brother Ernest got back into his car and drove away. Clint waited a long time. It was nearly dark when he finally climbed down. He picked up his slingshot, pulled off the rubber band, then flung the stick into the bushes and walked slowly down the road, feeling worse with every step. By the time he got home, he was miserable, and it showed.
“What’s wrong?” Clint’s mother asked when he came into the house. Feeling that he could carry the burden no further, he blurted out everything. His mother put a hand on his shoulder. “What do you think you should do now?” she asked softly.
“I know what I need to do,” Clint said. “I just don’t want to do it.”
She nodded. “It’s hard to make things right when you’ve done wrong. But if you do your part, the Lord will take care of the rest. And you’ll feel good again. I’ll drive you to Brother Ernest’s house, if that will make it any easier.”
Without a word, Clint went out to the car. When they arrived at Brother Ernest’s house, he saw the car with its broken taillight in the driveway. He was relieved that there were no police cars.
The house was dark, and he had a glimmer of hope that maybe Brother Ernest wasn’t home. Clint slowly climbed the front steps and rang the doorbell. A dog barked. The porch light suddenly came on, and the door was flung open.
There stood Brother Ernest. “Ah-ha! You’ve come to pay your dues!”
“S-sorry about your car light, B-brother Ernest,” Clint stammered. “I’ll pay you for it.”
“You bet you will! I’ll send the bill to your parents, and if you don’t pay, I’m calling the police.” He slammed the door and turned off the light, leaving Clint standing alone in the dark.
It took Clint more than three months to repay his parents. It took all his allowance, all his paper-route money, plus anything extra he earned doing chores. But at last the bill was paid in full. And Clint discovered that his mother had been right. He did feel good again. He was glad that he had done the right thing. He was particularly glad the next time he saw Brother Ernest. …
It was Clint’s first Sunday as a deacon, and he and another deacon, Dan, were assigned to collect fast offerings. He was surprised when the second house they visited was Brother Ernest’s. It was shabbier than Clint remembered. The front step was warped, and the porch light was broken. Seeing the porch light brought back all those memories about the broken car light. He wondered briefly if someone had broken the porch light with a slingshot and hadn’t repaired it. Suddenly he felt sorry for Brother Ernest.
“This one’s yours,” Dan whispered, handing Clint the fast-offering envelope. Clint took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and rang the doorbell.
There was a sound of movement within the house. Then the front door opened slowly and Brother Ernest peered out. “What do you want?” he asked gruffly.
Clint swallowed hard. “We’re from the Church, Brother Ernest. We’re collecting fast offerings.”
“Don’t you people ever give up?” Brother Ernest grumbled. “Go away and stop bothering me.”
Clint was turning away when the front door suddenly opened wide, and Brother Ernest stepped out onto the porch. He peered closely at Clint. “Don’t I know you, boy?”
Clint stood up straighter. “Yes, sir.”
“Weren’t you that boy who—”
“Who bought you a new taillight? Yes, sir, I am.”
Brother Ernest stared at him in surprise for a few moments and then did something Clint had never seen him do before. He smiled. “You’ve changed, boy,” he said.
Clint shrugged. “When we do our part, the Lord takes care of the rest.”
Brother Ernest seemed to ponder Clint’s words a moment. He nodded. “You keep your envelope. I’ll pay my offerings next week at church. And I expect to see you there, too, young man. I don’t want to find you hiding in some apple tree.”
Clint smiled. “I don’t need to hide anymore.”

When President Henry B. Eyring, Second Counselor in the First Presidency, studied physics and mathematics in college, he felt overwhelmed. His discouragement led him to stop studying and to think about quitting school.

But one night, he recounted that “help came as a voice, an actual voice in my mind. It was not my voice. It was a soft and loving voice—but firm. The words voiced were these: ‘When you realize who you really are, you will be sorry that you didn’t try harder.’”1

This insight led President Eyring to finish college, pursue graduate school, and later become a teacher. We may be content with where we are in our education or career, but God can see a potential in us that even we can’t always see. We lose nothing and gain everything by engaging in lifelong learning.

“Art time!” Miss Shirley said.
Brynn was excited. Art time was her favorite! They drew something new each class. Maybe today they would draw a slimy frog. Or a tall mountain. Or a pretty flower.
Brynn loved to draw!
“Art time will be special today,” Miss Shirley said. “We won’t all draw the same thing. You’ll each get to pick.”
Brynn smiled big. Maybe she could draw lots of different things!
“But there is one rule,” said Miss Shirley. “I want you to draw something you’re thankful for.”
What should I draw? Brynn thought. She reached into her backpack for her crayons. She was thankful for so many things! She was thankful for animals. And Mom and Dad. And the big, blue sky.
Then Brynn remembered something. It was something she learned in home evening last week. Mom said Jesus created the whole world. He made the oceans and mountains and flowers. He even made all the animals!
Then Brynn knew what she was thankful for most of all. She started drawing.
When they were done, everyone shared their drawings. There was an ice-cream cone. A family. A pair of skates.
Then it was Brynn’s turn. She walked to the front. She held her drawing up high.
“I’m thankful for Jesus,” she said.
Brynn had a warm feeling in her heart. It felt good to be thankful.

I wanted to visit Salt Lake City and surprise my good friends Elder Kimball and Brother Lamar Williams. Finally, in the spring of 1969, eight years after my baptism, I visited Salt Lake City and met with Elder Kimball. He was delighted and spent the rest of the day with me.
While in Salt Lake City, I went to a salon for a haircut. I shared my testimony with the barber, who was a convert himself. One gentleman, waiting for his turn, overheard me and told me about his travels to India. He paid for my haircut, invited me to dinner, and drove me to Brigham Young University. I was impressed by the campus. I mentioned that I wanted to continue my studies here but could not afford it. The man offered to pay $1,000 for my tuition. I was surprised and immensely grateful.

Have you ever been to a restaurant where some of the food items on the menu are unfamiliar? In 2018, my wife and I went to a restaurant in Osaka, Japan. The menu had many options, most of which were unfamiliar and strange to us. One person in our group chose calamari (squid). But I did not like calamari, so I chose something else. Everyone selected something different from the menu. We all enjoyed our meals because we each chose a dish that appealed to us.

You do not need to eat calamari unless you like it. (By the way, after sampling excellent Japanese calamari, I have come to like it.) You can choose to invite others to learn about the gospel of Jesus Christ in ways that are comfortable and natural for you, using your own talents and abilities. Over time you may find that the range of things that are comfortable expands.

Every December, Katie helped Grandpa decorate his Christmas tree.
First, they put string through their needles. Then they made long popcorn chains.
Next, Grandpa got some cranberries, and they made cranberry chains too.
After that, Katie helped him mix peanut butter and birdseed together. She made bumpy round balls with her hands.
“Now it’s time to decorate,” they told each other. They put on their coats, boots, hats, and mittens and went outside.
Katie brushed the snow from Grandpa’s fir tree. She helped him twirl their popcorn and cranberry chains around it. They hung the peanut-butter balls from lots of branches.
When they finished, they hurried inside.
“This is my favorite part,” Katie said as they peeked out the window and watched the birds come to eat the tasty decorations.

Alex looked around the fabric store. There were tons of colors and cool patterns. He saw a few that would be perfect.
“Hey, Mom,” said Alex, pointing to some fabric with colorful geckos on it. “Do you like these geckos?”
“I like cute, fluffy bunnies better,” Mom said.
Alex laughed. “You know what I mean! Would this be good for the scarves?”
“I think your friends will like it.”
Alex was going to make scarves for his friends. He would use the soccer-ball print for Josh, the rocket-ship print for José, and the gecko print for Mike.
Soon they were heading home with the fabric. As they left the parking lot, Alex saw a man holding up a cardboard sign to ask for help. He knew the man probably didn’t have a job or a home. And he looked really cold! He only had a thin jacket. Alex had a thick winter coat, but he still got cold walking to school in the mornings.
When they got home, Alex’s mom showed him how to lay the fabric out straight and measure how much he needed to make one scarf. He carefully cut the fabric with his scissors. Then he cut slits along the ends to make a fringe. Before long, Alex had six brightly colored scarves. There was also a big pile of extra fabric.
“Can you think of anyone else you want to make presents for?” Mom asked.
“Not really,” Alex said. Then he thought of the man holding the sign. He had an idea.
That week for home evening, Alex taught his whole family how to make scarves. His mom measured them out. His dad cut the fabric. Alex and his sister made the fuzzy fringe. He liked making scarves with the gecko fabric. The geckos seemed to smile at him as he worked.
“Wow,” Alex said when they finished. “We made 14 scarves to share!”
“What do we do now?” his sister asked.
“I think we should put them in the car,” Alex said. “Then when we see someone who looks cold, we can give them one.”
“That’s a great idea,” Dad said.
Mom took a bag out of the closet, and they stacked the cozy scarves inside. “Maybe we can go on a family drive sometime to look for people who need scarves,” she said.
“Can we go right now?” Alex asked.
Mom looked out the window. “I don’t know. It’s kind of cold outside.”
“Isn’t that the point?”
His parents smiled. “I guess you’re right,” Mom said. “Just make sure to bundle up.”
Alex threw on his coat, but he hardly noticed the cold air. He knew his scarves might help someone, and that made him feel warm inside.

One Sunday when I was a deacon, I was in the foyer with a tray of water passing the sacrament when a woman walked into the building. Dutifully, I approached and handed her the tray. She nodded, smiled, and took a cup of water. She had arrived too late to receive the bread. Shortly after this experience, my home teacher, Ned Brimley, taught me that many aspects and blessings of the gospel of Jesus Christ are given to us in sequential order.
Later that week, Ned and his companion came to our home with a memorable lesson. Ned reminded us that there was order to how God created the earth. The Lord took great care in explaining to Moses the order in which He created the earth. First, He started by dividing the light from the darkness, then water from dry land. He added plant life and animals before introducing to the newly formed planet His greatest creation: humankind, beginning with Adam and Eve.
“So God created man in his own image, in the image of God created he him; male and female created he them. …
“And God saw every thing that he had made, and, behold, it was very good” (Genesis 1:27, 31).
The Lord was pleased. And He rested on the seventh day.
The sequential order in which the earth was created gives us a glimpse not only of what is most important to God but also why and for whom He created the earth.
Ned Brimley punctuated his inspired lesson with a simple statement: “Vai, God’s house is one of order. He expects you to live your life with order. In proper sequence. He wants you to serve a mission before you get married.” To this point, Church leaders currently teach that “the Lord expects each able young man to prepare to serve. … Young women … who desire to serve should also prepare” (General Handbook: Serving in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, 24.0, ChurchofJesusChrist.org). Brother Brimley continued: “God wants you to get married before you have children. And He wants you to continually develop your talents as you earn an education.” If you choose to live your life out of sequence, you will find life more difficult and chaotic.
Brother Brimley also taught us that through His atoning sacrifice, the Savior helps us to restore order to our lives made chaotic or out of sequence by our own or others’ poor choices.

During the Arab-Israeli Six-Day War of 1967, a midnight patrol of Israeli soldiers along the shore of the Sinai Peninsula spotted a faint green light hovering in the waters of the Red Sea just beyond a coral reef. Thinking that they had surprised a team of enemy frogmen, they fired explosive shells into the glowing area. The result, however, was not a spoiled enemy mission, but a beach strewn with the bodies of many small dark fish, from whose heads shone pairs of strange green lights.
What had fooled the Israeli soldiers was a school of flashlight fish, little known inhabitants of dark underwater caves and crevices that come to the surface of the sea on dark, moonless nights to forage for small organisms on the reef’s edge. Their sources of light are packets of a very unusual type of bacteria, billions of them in each packet, that give off a steady green glow. Located just under their eyes, they are used quite effectively by the fish as “headlights.” In fact, the fish can even turn them on and off by either blinking to cover them with an “eyelid” or by rotating them into protective pockets like the headlights of some automobiles.

This stone plaque with the photo and narrative of the life of Charles Callis, sits in St Audoen’s park near the centre of Dublin. Elder Callis is the only person born in the Emerald Isle to become a member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles in this dispensation. His service in the apostleship lasted from 1933 until his death in 1947.
The plaque tells of some of the events of his early life. The second child of John Callis and Susannah Charlotte Quilliam. At the death of his Father, and while Charles was still a small boy, his mother moved the family to Liverpool, where they became Latter-day Saints. In 1875, the family emigrated and joined the main body of the Church in Utah.
The plaque goes on to describe Charles Callis’ “distinguished professional life, practising law and serving in several political positions, including… city councilman and county attorney in Coalville, Utah.”
However, his formal working life began in the coal mines at age 16, and his later success was due to the determined course of self-education undertaken in his spare time, focusing particularly on the law.
From 1893 he served for two years in the British Mission, spending most of his time as president of the Irish Conference. In 1902 he married Grace Pack, and four years later she accompanied him when he was called to serve in the southern United States. He would serve as mission president there for twenty-five years. The Church was still very unpopular in the southern states at the time, but through his eloquence and knowledge of the law, Callis was able to win great respect for the Church in that region.
Charles Callis testified: “From my earliest recollections to the present time I have always had an abiding and intense love for my Savior. I cannot read the story of His sufferings and crucifixion without shedding tears.”
The memorial plaque in Dublin was dedicated by Elder Neal A. Maxwell in 1989.

When I came home for a quick weekend visit, I asked Todd about his adventure. He was kind of quiet until he started talking about his mission and the money he’d saved. When I asked him about his job, I was surprised at his answer.

“The fun house? Oh, I quit that.”

I felt a little let down. So much for the new-and-improved Todd who was sticking to hard jobs.

“How come?” I asked.

“Well, I was working a lot of Sundays, and I realized my priorities were out of whack. I mean, Jolene only ever looked at me like I was a reflection of one of those fun house mirrors, you know, with eight-foot legs and no body or a giant forehead and hardly any face. And I was like that. I was only thinking about entertaining myself, not about anyone else.”

I smiled. It was the new-and-improved Todd.

“I guess my nursery kids taught me about being concerned about others and sharing. I should have figured this out years ago. Guess I’m a slow learner,” he said, grinning at me.

I said, only half sarcastically, “Todd, who knew you were such a lovely human being?” I punched him in the shoulder.

Some years ago, as our youngest son, Clark, was approaching his twelfth birthday, he and I were leaving the Church Administration Building when President Harold B. Lee approached and greeted us. I mentioned to President Lee that Clark would soon be twelve, whereupon President Lee turned to him and asked, “What happens to you when you turn twelve?”
Clark, without hesitation, said to President Lee, “I will be ordained a deacon!”
That was the answer President Lee had sought. He then counseled our son, “Remember, it is a great blessing to hold the priesthood.”