Gospel Story Finder

Young men and women, you can be a great influence for good in your homes as you help to achieve worthy family objectives. I shall never forget the family home evening, years ago, in which the name of each member of our family was placed in a hat. The name you picked from the hat would be your “secret friend” for the week. You can imagine the love that filled my heart when I came home that Tuesday after work to sweep out the garage, as I had earlier promised, and found it cleanly swept. There was a note attached to the garage door which read, “Hope you had a good day—your secret friend.” And on Friday night, as I turned down my bed, I uncovered an Almond Joy, my favorite candy bar, wrapped carefully in scotch tape and plain white paper, with a note: “Dad, I love you a lot! Thanks, your secret friend.” Then to top it off, after returning home from a late meeting Sunday evening, I found the dining room table beautifully set, and written on the napkin by my place were the words “SUPER DAD” in big bold letters and in parentheses, “your secret friend.” Hold your family home evenings, for this is where the gospel is taught, a testimony gained, and the family fortified.

When President Monson was a young Bishop –only 22—he had 84 widows that he cared for and nurtured until he finally spoke at each one of their funerals. One of them was a former Primary president named Melissa. He went to see her when she was in a nursing facility. She was in the lunchroom, sitting all alone, staring at her plate of food with a blank look and touching nothing on the plate. He sat down and started to chat as he does so well. As he talked he took the fork and began to feed her speaking of their experiences in Primary where she showed such love for the boys and girls. From one of the other tables came a loud comment from one of the other residents. “Don’t talk to her,” the woman said. “She doesn’t know anyone—even her own family. I don’t think she has said a word in all the time she’s been here.”
President Monson was undaunted and continued his commentary. As he stood to leave, he took her hand, frail and aged in his, and said, “God bless you, Melissa. Merry Christmas.” And then, she looked up at him. “I know you,” she said. “You’re Tommy Monson, my Primary boy. How I love you.” She kissed his hand as tears ran down her cheeks.

The next part of the pattern is that "they met together oft both to pray and to hear the word of the Lord." You are so blessed as women and men to be able, here at BYU-Idaho, to have the opportunity to meet together every day in an environment that builds faith. Your professors and friends can speak freely about the gospel and testimony in your classrooms; you have religion classes where testimony is shared; your church meetings are close at hand. Not all people who attend a university have so supportive a situation. And someday, you, in all probability will not be in such a tightly-knit environment of people of your own faith. In some places that I have visited, just getting to church is very difficult and requires a great sacrifice of time and resources. A few years ago I met a woman in Texas who, with her husband, were living only on their Social Security check, and for her it took a lot of budgeting just to have the money each month to buy gas so that they could make the 80-mile round trip to church each week. And yet, they did.

One morning soon after we first arrived in New Zealand, our shepherd bishop gave us a wild sheep. He had caught the sheep while tending to his flock in the mountains around our valley. He thought we could use the sheep as our lawnmower. I think he also wanted us to learn how to take care of a sheep as part of our new experiences living in the country.

Later the same day, the sheep escaped his tether in our yard, scrambled under our gate, and escaped across the nearby paddocks. The bishop, my children, and other family members in the area helped us chase after the sheep. The poor animal was very frightened. As the sheep tried to jump across a ditch in a field, he suddenly collapsed and died. We were very sad to lose the sheep. We couldn’t understand why the sheep died. He was healthy, and he did not suffer any injuries in his escape.

Our bishop explained that the sheep became so frightened and distressed that its heart broke—it basically had a massive heart attack—and the sheep died. In his experience as a shepherd, he had seen this happen before.

Some years ago, while serving as a Scoutmaster, I learned the importance of this second principle. When I first received the calling, I felt honored and also excited by the prospects. My dad had been a Scoutmaster for 18 years, most of my summer vacations had been at Scout Camp, I was an Eagle Scout, I’d attended a National Scout Jamboree, and I’d worked on the waterfront at a Scout camp for several years as a teenager. But I quickly discovered that I had much to learn about boys and about my role as the Scoutmaster.

From my experience as a Scout, I knew that we needed to include in our Scouting program activities that were fun and exciting but that also gave the boys a chance to learn and grow, so they would have a sense of accomplishment, confidence in facing the challenges of life, and the needed preparation for additional Priesthood responsibility and service. I had always loved skiing, so one of the first activities I selected was to take the boys to the slopes and teach them how to ski.

We made the needed preparations, and I enlisted the help of two other dads with skiing experience. The arrangements were to drive up to New Hampshire on a Friday evening, sleep in sleeping bags on the floor of a large rented condominium, and then take the boys skiing the next day before driving home on Saturday evening. As fate would have it, that week had been a particularly tough week for me at work, and I was exhausted by the time we arrived in New Hampshire and settled in at 10 PM that Friday evening.

While I was ready for a good night’s sleep, many of the 18 boys were not. They were excited and ready for a night of antics. By 1 AM, I was frustrated and even more exhausted. Each time I would fall asleep, some piece of clothing would come flying across the room, boys would start wrestling, or someone would need another drink of water or to use the bathroom. Two boys – brothers from a single parent home – had clearly picked up on my frustration and were making a game out of it. By 3 AM, when they finally dozed off, I’d had it. Then at 7 AM, they were up, waking the other boys, excited to have breakfast and get going.

In spite of the rough night, we had a successful day of skiing and all of the boys managed to learn the basics without getting hurt. We left the ski slopes, had dinner, and drove home, but I was dissatisfied with my negative memories of the night in the condo. I knew I needed some help and assistance or my tenure as Scoutmaster was not going to turn out well.

That Monday, I went jogging at noon with a close friend who asked me about the weekend ski trip with the Scouts. I told him what had happened and about my frustrations – especially with the two brothers – and then asked him for his advice. He thought about it and then asked a question which surprised me. He asked, “Do you love them?” I told him I thought I did, and he then asked, “Do they know you love them?” At that point, it struck me that, given the weekend’s experience, they might well conclude that I did not love them.

As I reflected repeatedly on my friend’s two questions, I concluded that he was correct. I would do much better, and so would the Scouts, if I really did love them and if I made sure they knew it. Over the next several weeks, I made a concerted effort to pray for greater love for my Scouts and to know how to show that love. While there were no major breakthroughs, there were lots of small wins, and over time as I got more dads and home teachers involved, we made great progress both with the Scouts and the Scouting program but more importantly in my relationship with each of the boys. We had many wonderful experiences, and I even had the pleasure of going as a leader with almost all of those same boys on a national Scout jamboree a few years later.

But I must admit that I was still never sure how much progress I was making with those two brothers. However, 10 years later, through a tender mercy, I learned that I had indeed made real progress. The ward had been split, and those two boys were no longer in our ward, but we continued to meet in the same building. One Sunday, I was in the foyer waiting to meet with the Stake President and the mother of those two boys happened to be speaking. She was talking about Priesthood holders that had made a difference in the lives of her boys. She related how she had overheard her son tell another friend that the only adult he felt he could trust was his Scoutmaster.

I was very grateful that day, both for a good friend who had pointed out the need to love my neighbor – in this case my Scouts – and for the gospel and the Holy Ghost for teaching me how to make real progress and to have it be apparent to those Scouts. The Lord desires that we willingly love others by understanding them, engaging with them, and letting that love guide our actions toward them.

President Dieter F. Uchtdorf, Second Counselor in the First Presidency
“Like many of you, I find that some of the warmest and most vivid memories of Christmas come from my childhood. Although I grew up in modest circumstances, my parents wanted Christmas to be a time of joy and wonder for their children. They went to great lengths to make Christmas a special time for our family.
“We children made gifts for each other. One year, I remember drawing a picture as a Christmas gift for my sister. It could not have been a work of art, but she treated it like a treasure. How I love her for that! Another year my brother, who is 12 years older than I, gave me a precious gift. He had found a wood stick in the park near our home and carved from it a small toy knife. It was simple, not fancy at all, but oh, how I cherished that gift because it came from him!
“Isn’t one of the joys of Christmas seeing the excited faces of little children as they take in their hands a wrapped gift that is just for them?
“This Christmas season and always, I pray that we will see the marvelous gift of the birth of the Son of God through the blessed eyes of a child. I pray that in addition to giving good gifts, we will strive to become good and grateful receivers. As we do so, the spirit of this season will enlarge our hearts and expand our joy beyond measure.”2

The second, and perhaps more important, component in my progressive enjoyment of educational pursuits that I will mention began shortly after my trauma with comparative anatomy. By then, Sharon and I were engaged and had planned our marriage over the Thanksgiving holiday so that we could have a little honeymoon without the necessity of missing school. I was the student; she was teaching school. I had a compelling problem and decision to make, and Sharon supported me fully in my general quest to be a serious student and even in the specifics that I will describe.

I was enrolled in the embryology course that really was key to medical school admission. The kindly counselor who helped me put comparative anatomy in perspective was also my professor in this class. Therefore I absolutely needed to do well! I’ve given my defense and now will share the offense for which I have received frequent ribbing for almost 39 years.

Sharon and I were sealed in the Salt Lake Temple on Wednesday morning. After the temple ceremony, the pictures, and the wedding breakfast, she and my brother drove me to the university campus, where I spent the afternoon in my embryology class and lab. I was on time for the wedding reception that evening!

A very good friend was the TA for the class, and he told the professor of my circumstances because on the very next Monday a major exam for the class was scheduled. I had been doing well to that point, and the professor was compassionate. He told my friend that we could probably disregard that upcoming test if I did well on all the others. I, of course, knew nothing at that time of this agreement.

Monday came, we were home from the honeymoon, and I took the test. I didn’t fail and, in fact, got 100 percent correct! I had prepared well—but I emphasize only before the wedding—and was finally convinced that advanced, persistent preparation really does pay! Dr. Newby, the professor, called me in and said he was tempted to ask specifics about the honeymoon but wouldn’t. He did say that clearly, in my case, marrying the right girl was the most important correct decision I had ever made. I have recalled often the truth of that statement. She did, and does, make me a much better student, even in the face of my obvious limitations.

A great example in my life of unselfish service is Sister Victoria Antonietti. Victoria was one of the Primary teachers in my branch while I was growing up in Argentina. Each Tuesday afternoon, when we gathered for Primary, she brought us a chocolate cake. Everyone loved the cake—well, everyone except me. I hated chocolate cake! And even though she would try to share the cake with me, I always turned down her offer.
One day after she had shared the chocolate cake with the rest of the children, I asked her, “Why don’t you bring a different flavor—like orange or vanilla?”
After laughing a little, she asked me, “Why don’t you try a little piece? This cake is made with a special ingredient, and I promise that if you try it, you will like it!”
I looked around, and to my surprise, everyone seemed to be enjoying the cake. I agreed to give it a try. Can you guess what happened? I liked it! That was the very first time I had enjoyed a chocolate cake.
It wasn’t until many years later that I found out what the secret ingredient was in Sister Antonietti’s chocolate cake. My children and I visited my mother each week. On one of these visits, Mom and I were enjoying a slice of chocolate cake, and I related to her how I came to like the cake for the very first time. Then she enlightened me with the rest of the story.
“You see, Cris,” my mom said, “Victoria and her family didn’t have a lot of resources, and each week she had to choose between paying for the bus to take her and her four children to Primary or buying the ingredients to make the chocolate cake for her Primary class. She always chose the chocolate cake over the bus, and she and her children walked more than two miles [3 km], each way, regardless of the weather.”
That day I had a better appreciation for her chocolate cake. More important, I learned that the secret ingredient in Victoria’s cake was the love she had for those she served and her unselfish sacrifice in our behalf.

Just a few days after Joseph’s talk with Carlos in the woodlot, Alvin lay desperately ill. At the sound of a door opening, Joseph’s glance flew in the direction of the sleeping room where his oldest brother had lain for three days in pain and distress. “How is he, Mother?” he inquired anxiously as Lucy emerged from the sickroom.
“Not good, Joseph. Not good at all.” She pushed back a wisp of hair from her pale face and studied the strings of herbs hanging from the rafters as though to find a remedy that would heal her beloved firstborn. “The doctors have tried everything they know. But nothing helps, Joseph. Nothing!” She shook her head hopelessly, and for a moment hid her face in her apron. When she looked up, an ashen calm had settled over her. “Alvin has called for each of you to come to his bedside.” Her voice trailed away to a whisper. “He wants to say good-bye.”
Joseph thought he couldn’t bear to see Alvin so white and still. Alvin, whom they all looked to, whose great strong arms had felled huge trees and had gently lifted Baby Lucy high up to the rafters. Now his eyes burned feverishly, and his tired voice rose and fell in a last farewell to each loved one.
He asked Hyrum to see that the new house was finished for their parents and admonished Sophronia to take care of them in their old age. He talked to each one in turn—Sam and William, then Catherine and Carlos. Each brother and sister listened with tear-filled eyes and heavy heart.
Then, calling Joseph to his bedside, Alvin leaned forward. “My time is short, Joseph. Be a good boy and do everything in your power to obtain the record.” His voice became stronger, urgent. “Be faithful to every instruction and keep every commandment given you.” There were a few more words and then Alvin, sinking back upon the pillow, asked for Baby Lucy, his little playmate sister.
“Oh, Amby, Amby!” she cried again and again, her wet cheek against his and her tiny arms wrapped tightly around his neck as though to rouse his once-strong body.
But as quietly as a clock stops ticking, Alvin’s great heart stopped beating. Outside a star fell and the night was darker than before.
Everyone in the neighborhood grieved over Alvin’s death. “A noble young man,” they said. And in the family there was an emptiness that didn’t ease.
Joseph shivered in the December wind as he helped pile earth and straw against the foundations of their log house to keep out the winter blasts. Less than three months had passed since Joseph’s visit with the angel Moroni, but the world about him had changed from burnished leaf to barren bough, and soon a cold whiteness would cover the ground.
His world had changed too. Where before he had felt vibrantly alive, every sense sharpened and intensified, there was now an actual physical ache as though part of him had been amputated. If I had lost my leg long ago, it couldn’t hurt worse, he thought numbly.
Then one evening Father Smith ignored the tightening in his throat. “Maybe we should talk about it—about Alvin,” he said gently. “He was taken from us in the bloom of youth, but the Lord was good when he sent Alvin to our family.” He dabbed the moisture from his eyes. “Life does take up after trial and tribulation.”
“Alvin was the one who started the new house,” Sam began.
“He told me to be a good girl and to help Mother and Father,” added Catherine.
Joseph didn’t know if it were proper to tell about the time he and Alvin were in a crowd watching two Irishmen fight. He remembered that when one was about to gouge out the other’s eyes, Alvin took him by his collar and breeches and threw him over the ring. But aloud, he only said: “Alvin stood for the right. He was the strongest and bravest of all.”
Winter melted into spring. It was time to mend the fences and stone walls that marked the boundaries of the Smith farm. In the grinding labor of plowing, sowing, and cultivating, there was no time for Joseph to rest. But there was time for pondering the things the angel had taught him. He would resolve with every fiber of his being to become worthy of such a trust.
Joseph still longed to share his thoughts with Alvin. But gradually he discovered that though his yearning need to talk with him didn’t diminish, his grief subsided. As the shoots of pale green pushed up through the black earth, Joseph took comfort in a new closeness to God and his creations. Never had the violets seemed so velvety, the leaves so tender, the birdsongs so poignant. Laboring with his hands day after day, he felt himself growing in strength and power. And always there was the awareness of the high hill and the records and the angel Moroni. Four years seemed forever. Even one September to another was a lifetime.

On 24 January 1988, as her group is about to leave the Mexico City Missionary Training Center and enter their fields of labor, Sister Marilu Ramirez stands during a meeting to bear her testimony. Her jet black hair, pulled back and held in place with two blue hair clips, almost reaches her waist.
At the pulpit, she stands on a short stool in order to speak into the microphone. Her petite frame suggests that she might speak timidly, but her voice is powerful and her testimony is that of a mature disciple. “I have had to fight to get here,” she says with emotion, “and I have learned that without the Lord, I am nothing. But I have felt his infinite love for me, and I know in whom I have confided.”
The next day, as she meets her new mission president and his assistants, she again bears powerful witness of the Father’s love. “When I entered the temple for the first time a few days ago, I felt his Spirit and was overwhelmed by his love,” she says. “As I prayed to him, I asked, ‘Why do you love me so much?’ And I seemed to hear an answer: ‘Don’t you know I love all the world—all my children? I don’t want anyone to be lost.’ And I began to comprehend the great love he has for each one of us.” Her voice again fills with emotion. “I know that our Heavenly Father and his son Jesus Christ live and love us. I feel very honored to be a daughter of God and to serve him as a missionary.”

Service has been a part of gospel teachings from the very beginning. From Adam to the present, we have been encouraged to serve our fellowmen. I had the privilege of witnessing a real fulfillment of Paul’s counsel to the Galatians when he instructed them, “by love serve one another.”
When our family was living in Massachusetts, we had our home in the little country town of Weston, about 13 miles west of Boston. It was a very quaint, sophisticated community with a population then of about 11,000 people. Weston had many picturesque, winding country roads lined with hand-fashioned rock walls. The small business section was completely deserted by 9:00 P.M. each evening. Yet for all its quaintness, Weston had its problems, especially with many of the high school and junior high students who used drugs and brought liquor into the dry town.
However, I would like to tell you about one Weston High School student who was too busily engaged in other pursuits to become involved with drugs or alcohol. This young man spent a lot of time on the ski slopes. Being an avid skier in New England is not unusual, but what this boy did with his talent is unusual. He was an expert skier and loved the sport. In fact, he was an instructor and spent even his spare time teaching others to ski. You could regularly see him coming down the mountainside very close to one of his pupils, who was oftentimes years older than he. They would start slowly but gather speed as they made graceful turns down the slope, all the time carrying on a conversation, laughing, enjoying the invigorating air and the sparkling sunshine. Observers would take note and follow the pair with their eyes until they reached the bottom, regarding them as just two more skiers having a great time.
What the onlookers did not realize was that one of the skiers was blind. This young Weston High School student was teaching the blind to ski. He did it free of charge. When he first had the idea, he discussed it with others and was advised by all to forget it. He was told over and over that it would simply be impossible.
But this young man had witnessed the hopelessness of some of the blind people and wanted to share with them one of the pleasures of his life. He wanted them to have a feeling of accomplishment and success. He wished to give them a new dimension to their lives. He wanted them to feel that they were real, whole individuals. He really cared. He cared enough to devote the time necessary to develop a rapport of love, encouragement, and understanding with these people to help them build faith in themselves and in their own abilities. Gradually mutual friendships blossomed.
These blind people placed their trust in this young man. He was their friend. He was the only one they would permit to put on their boots and snap them into their bindings. In their training, he said that helping them develop an attitude of trust and faith in themselves was the important thing. After that, the technique would come easily.
The last I heard, he had been successful in teaching 13 blind people to ski and was in the process of teaching more. He had even been requested to write a manual on teaching the blind to ski. He possessed then, and I am sure he still does, the confidence which comes with success. But more importantly, he has developed lasting friendships and has learned how to love and share through worthwhile service.
It is an eternal truth that the greatest satisfaction we find in this life is not that which is done for self but that which is given for the benefit of another. As this young man from Weston found fulfillment in his service to the blind, so each of us can find the rewarding satisfaction which comes when we “by love serve one another.”

In November 1961, in a stake leadership meeting, I, along with many others, accepted a challenge to take part in the every-member-a-missionary program which had recently been announced by President David O. McKay. At the invitation of Elder Spencer W. Kimball, then a member of the Quorum of the Twelve, I committed myself to set the example for members in my area by inviting nonmember friends into my home for the missionary lessons.
About two months later, Elder Delbert L. Stapley of the Quorum of the Twelve, at the request of Elder Kimball, asked in another stake leadership meeting how many had actually done anything about Elder Kimball’s invitation. Only three of the fifty or so present had even approached nonmember friends and only one had succeeded in setting up the lessons. Deeply ashamed to be among those who had not even tried, I concluded that the Lord really wanted those in that meeting to be member missionaries. After all, he had sent two of his Twelve Apostles to teach us and to commit us.
That evening, after telling these events to my wife, we began a list of nonmembers whom we knew well enough to approach. To our surprise, the number grew to about forty.
We came to realize that what had kept us from asking nonmembers about taking the missionary lessons was fear. We had been afraid that our friendship would be ruined and, as the word got around, the position of respect we had achieved in the non-Mormon community would be lessened. Such an outcome, we thought, would hurt the Church as well as ourselves. We were soon pleasantly surprised in all these aspects.

Once there was a man and his wife who were very happy living in their big house. But one evening as the man read his newspaper while his wife did her knitting, she looked up and said, “We have a lovely house with many nice things, but don’t you think something is missing?”
The man folded his newspaper and said, “Yes, something is missing. Our house is too quiet. Maybe we need a dog.”
So the man and his wife went to the pet shop and bought a cute little soft and cuddly puppy.
One evening as the man read his newspaper while his wife did her knitting and the puppy lay sleeping on the floor, the woman looked up and said, “We have a lovely house and many nice things. We have a cute little puppy, but don’t you think something is still missing?”
The man folded his newspaper and answered, “Yes, something is still missing. Our house is much too quiet. Maybe we need a kitten.”
So they bought a playful little kitten. The kitten liked its new home, and the man and his wife and their little puppy liked the kitten.
One evening as the man read his newspaper while his wife did her knitting and the puppy and kitten chased each other, the woman looked up and said, “We have a lovely house and many nice things. We have a cute little puppy and a playful kitten, but don’t you think something is still missing?”
The man folded his newspaper and said, “Yes, something is missing. Our house is still too quiet. Maybe we need a bird.”
So they bought a pretty canary that sang beautifully. The canary liked its new home, and the man and his wife and their little puppy and playful kitten liked the canary.
One evening as the man read his newspaper while his wife did her knitting and the little puppy and playful kitten chased each other and the canary sang, the woman looked up and said, “We have a lovely house with many nice things. We have a cute little puppy and a playful kitten and a pretty canary that sings, but don’t you think something is still missing?”
The man folded his newspaper and said, “Yes, something is still missing. Our nice house is too quiet. Maybe we should get a parrot.”
So they bought a parrot that talked and squawked. The parrot liked its new home, and the man and his wife and their puppy and kitten and canary liked the parrot.
One evening as the man read his newspaper while his wife did her knitting, the little puppy and playful kitten chased each other and the pretty canary sang beautifully and the parrot talked and squawked. The woman looked up and said, “We have a lovely house with many nice things. We have a cute little puppy and a playful kitten and a pretty canary that sings beautifully and a parrot that talks and squawks, but don’t you think something is still missing?”
The man folded his paper thoughtfully. “Yes,” he said, “something is still missing. Our house is still too quiet. Maybe we need to adopt a baby to come and live with us.”
“Oh, yes,” said his wife.
“Arf,” barked the little puppy.
“Meow,” agreed the playful kitten.
“Tweet, tweet,” sang the pretty canary.
“Squawk, indeed,” replied the noisy parrot.
And so one day the happy man and his happy wife welcomed a tiny baby girl into their house.
Then the little puppy was happy.
The playful kitten was happy.
The pretty canary was happy.
The noisy parrot was happy.
And the beautiful little baby girl was happy too, for now the big house was a home full of love.

One story I like to share is when many years back, a missionary serving in the Honolulu Hawaii Mission, called us to see if he could come meet my parents. He shared that his mother was once the girlfriend of one of my Dad’s coaches in Canada. She often came to practices and games and would see my father’s interactions with my younger brother and me.
She knew we were members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and admired our family relationship and how my father had different standards from other players. Later in her life, missionaries happened to knock on her door and she remembered what she saw and felt with our family and she welcomed the missionaries in her home. Obviously, she joined the church and raised her sons to serve the Lord.

Tim moved closer to the glass aquarium to watch the red velvet swordtails chase each other. He had received the aquarium last week for his birthday. Each night Tim was responsible for feeding the fish and checking the filter that cleaned the tank to make sure it was working. This afternoon as he watched, all the fish swam over to the corner where he usually fed them and poked their mouths out of the water.
“You must be extra hungry today,” said Tim. “I’ll give you a little food to hold you until tonight.” The fish quickly took in the food.
That night Tim fed them again. And they ate most of that too. Whenever Tim saw them at the feeding corner, he gave them more food.
By the end of the week Tim noticed the tank had a bad odor. The water looked cloudy, and the swordtails didn’t swim around as much or as fast as they did before.
“Dad,” he called. “Come look at my fish.”
Dad put down his newspaper and looked at the aquarium with Tim. “Looks like the filter isn’t working, Tim,” said Dad. “The water isn’t getting clean.”
“No, Dad. The filter works. Look at the bubbles. I check it every night.”
“It’s bubbling all right,” replied Dad. “But something’s wrong.”
“What’s that black stuff at the bottom?” asked Tim.
His father examined the patches of black on the orange rock. Tim saw the fish in the feeding corner and got out the food.
“It’s not feeding time yet, Tim,” Dad said.
“I know. But I feed them whenever they come to their feeding corner. And they sure get hungry a lot.”
“Then I know what that black stuff is, Tim, and also what that strange odor is we’ve been smelling. You’ve been feeding the fish too often. When you give them food several times a day, they don’t clean it all up. That excess food is rotting and making your fish sick.”
Tim was sad. He had thought he was being extra nice to the fish, but he was really hurting them.
Dad continued, “Remember when you asked the other day why Heavenly Father doesn’t give us everything we pray for?”
Tim nodded his head.
“Here’s a good example,” his dad continued. “We’re a little like these fish, always asking for more. Our Heavenly Father knows what and how much of everything is good for us. At times He tells us no, or not yet, just like you’ll have to do to these fish when they keep coming up to the corner for more food than they need.”
“The man at the pet store told me how to clean out the tank,” said Tim.
“I’ll help you,” Dad said. “While you take out the rocks, I’ll get the bucket and siphon hose.”
Tim pushed up his sleeves and put his hand into the tank to take out the largest rock. “All right, you guys,” he said to the fish. “I’m sorry I made you sick. You’re not going to like the cure, but for your own good, I’m only going to feed you once a day from now on.”

Our youngest son was called to serve as a missionary in the France Paris Mission. In preparation to serve, we went with him to purchase the usual shirts, suits, ties, and socks, and an overcoat. Unfortunately, the overcoat he wanted was not immediately in stock in the size he needed. However, the store clerk indicated that the coat would become available in a few weeks and would be delivered to the missionary training center in Provo prior to our son’s departure for France. We paid for the coat and thought nothing more of it.
Our son entered the missionary training center in June, and the overcoat was delivered just days before his scheduled departure in August. He did not try on the coat but hurriedly packed it in his luggage with his clothing and other items.
As winter approached in Paris, where our son was serving, he wrote to us that he had pulled out the overcoat and tried it on but found that it was far too small. We therefore had to deposit extra funds in his bank account so that he could buy another coat in Paris, which he did. With some irritation, I wrote to him and told him to give the first coat away, inasmuch as he couldn’t use it.
We later received this email from him: “It is very, very cold here. … The wind seems to go right through us, although my new coat is great and quite heavy. … I gave my old one to [another missionary in our apartment] who said that he had been praying for a way to get a better coat. He is a convert of several years and he has only his mom … and the missionary who baptized him who are supporting him on his mission and so the coat was an answer to a prayer, so I felt very happy about that.”6
Heavenly Father knew that this missionary, who was serving in France some 6,200 miles (10,000 km) away from home, would urgently need a new overcoat for a cold winter in Paris but that this missionary would not have the means to buy one. Heavenly Father also knew that our son would receive from the clothing store in Provo, Utah, an overcoat that would be far too small. He knew that these two missionaries would be serving together in Paris and that the coat would be an answer to the humble and earnest prayer of a missionary who had an immediate need.

After his mission, he studied sociology at Villareal University in Lima. But his first love was the performing arts, so he studied those too. In fact, his study of performing had begun much earlier, at age six. He faithfully attended religious instruction classes in the church to which he then belonged because afterward there were old movies for the youngsters, and he was enthralled by the silent film comedy of Buster Keaton, Charlie Chaplin, and Harold Lloyd. Cesar was nine when missionaries brought the gospel to his family. By eleven, he was performing in his LDS branch’s talent shows.

After studying at Villareal University, Brother Aedo wanted to go to Europe for more advanced schooling in political science. He worked his way through several South and Central American countries performing as a mime until he had saved enough money to fly to Europe. “I went to Europe on my talent, nothing more,” he recalls.

A series of events he considers providential prevented him from enrolling immediately. He spent several weeks in late 1979 and early 1980 visiting with his sister in Geneva, Switzerland—long enough to determine that instead of political science he wanted to study mime with the man who is widely recognized as the master. Brother Aedo knew that through his faith it would happen, if he persevered. So he returned to Paris and was persistent enough that he was finally able to see Marcel Marceau and become one of his pupils.

He spent three years studying with Monsieur Marceau—not only the art of mime, but also dramatic art, classical and modern dance, acrobatics, and fencing. He was one of the few pupils able to earn his tuition and expenses through weekend performances and summer touring. Now he is studying with the man who taught the master, Monsieur Marceau’s eighty-six-year-old mentor, Etienne Decroux. He is also continuing his study of classical dance.

Comedy is a major part of his art. One of his distinctive sketches depicts a traveler who cannot leave because his overloaded suitcase will not budge. The suitcase hangs at the end of the mime’s arm, all the exertions of his body seemingly unable to move it—until he opens the bag and throws out one handkerchief!

His art also has its serious side. “I have much faith in Christ,” he emphasized, adding that talent is given to us on earth to help others, as the Savior taught. Brother Aedo uses his talent to help in obvious ways, by bringing cheer to others and, he hopes, by portraying uplifting aspects of life.

He likes to dramatize some of the stories of the scriptures. Typically, he illustrates with a demonstration. First, he is the humble, saintly brother making his offering to God, and then he is the proud, jealous, cruel one. An observer can feel the piety of Abel and the wrath of Cain.

Cesar Aedo’s art has also helped others in some very tangible ways. Through performing, he has been able to support one of his brothers on a mission to Canada and to bring two other brothers to Paris for schooling.

“I have been able to help all my family. I don’t want to praise myself; I owe thanks to God that I have been able to do this.”

Now thirty, he attends the Paris Singles Ward. Though his life to this point has been full of work, study, and service to others, he looks forward to marrying and building a family.

“Ya viene,” is his expression, common in Spanish-speaking countries. “It will come.”

While studying at Brigham Young University as a young, single returned missionary, I attended a priesthood session of general conference in the Tabernacle on Temple Square. President Ezra Taft Benson, then-President of the Church, urged every returned missionary to take marriage seriously and make it a top priority in his life.7 After the session, I knew I had been called to repentance and needed to act on the prophet’s counsel.
Thus, I decided to go to my home country, Brazil, to find a wife. Before leaving for Brazil on a two-month internship, I called my mom and some friends on the phone and came up with a list of about 10 young women—each of them a potential wife.
While in Brazil, after much pondering and prayer, I met, dated, got engaged to, and set a date to marry one of the young women on the list. It was not record-breaking time for students in Provo, Utah, to date and become engaged, but it was fast by Brazil standards.
A few months later, I married Elaine. She is the love of my life and a choice blessing.

Alph and Lucette Passeraub of Lausanne, Switzerland, love to go walking together. One of their favorite strolls is along the shore of Lake Geneva, where the Alps tower over the inland sea. A couple of years ago on such a walk, the Passeraubs spent the evening reminiscing.
“Even as an adolescent, I was searching for the truth,” Alph, 78, said. “I always said to myself, If God exists, He must have a living prophet on the earth. I was preoccupied with that thought all the time.”
As Alph began his post–high school studies, a friend encouraged him to attend a free English class taught by LDS missionaries. After one of the classes, the missionaries invited him to church.
“The first time I attended, the Sunday School lesson was about the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost as three distinct beings,” Alph recalled. “The teacher said we know much about God thanks to the teachings of a modern-day prophet, Joseph Smith, and that there are living prophets today. I was amazed. They were talking about what had been in my heart for so long.” He soon joined the Church, “and every day since then, I rejoice that there are prophets on the earth.”
Lucette, 80, grew up as a child of World War II. “I had to go to work at 14 and never got to complete my education,” she says. “But I found that the Church gave me opportunities to keep learning.” After serving a full-time mission, she started dating Alph. They married in the temple, raised a family, and now look back at their journey that includes Lucette’s 14 years as ward Primary president, Alph’s 32 years on the stake high council, regular trips to the temple, visits with children and grandchildren, and always, always, gratitude for the truth they embraced when they were young.
“We have been blessed to walk side by side,” Lucette says. “And with each step, our faith has grown stronger.”

This summer I was invited to speak on the subject of the family to a gathering of United Nations diplomats. I agonized over what to say to such a diverse group. In the end I simply shared my personal experience. I explained that my parents had taught me as a child that personal virtue was essential for a happy marriage and family and that in my youth I had made promises to God that I would live a chaste life.

I then acknowledged that I was about to turn 50 and that, though I had not yet married, I had kept my promise. “It hasn’t always been easy to stay morally clean,” I admitted, “but it has been far easier than the alternative. I have never spent one second worrying about an unwanted pregnancy or disease. I have never had a moment’s anguish because a man used and then discarded me. And when I do marry, I will do so without regret. So you see,” I concluded, “I believe a moral life is actually an easier and a happier life.”

I worried about how this sophisticated audience would respond to a message about virtue and abstinence, but much to my surprise they leapt to their feet in applause—not because of me but because the Spirit had borne witness of the truth of that message.