Gospel Story Finder

One Sunday two years ago I was attending sacrament meeting in my ward. That’s a rarity. There were three priests at the sacrament table, with the young man in the center being somewhat handicapped in movement but particularly so in speech. He tried twice to bless the bread but stumbled badly each time, no doubt embarrassed by his inability to give the prayer perfectly. One of the other priests then took over and gave the blessing on the bread.
During the passing of the bread, I thought to myself, “I just can’t let that young man experience failure at the sacrament table.” I had a strong feeling that if I didn’t doubt, he would be able to bless the water effectively. Inasmuch as I was on the stand near the sacrament table, I leaned over and said to the priest closest to me, pointing to the young man who had experienced the difficulty, “Let him bless the water; it’s a shorter prayer.” And then I prayed. I didn’t want a double failure. I love that passage of scripture which tells us that we should not doubt but believe.
When it was time to bless the water, that young man knelt again and gave the prayer, perhaps somewhat haltingly but without missing a word. I rejoiced silently. While the deacons were passing the trays, I looked over at the boy and gave him a thumbs-up. He gave me a broad smile. When the young men were excused to sit with their families, he sat on the row between his mother and father. What a joy it was to see his mother give him a big smile and a warm hug, while his father congratulated him and put his arm around his shoulder. All three of them looked in my direction, and I gave them all a thumbs-up. I could see the mother and father wiping tears from their eyes. I felt impressed that this young man would do just fine in the future.

That was when the first miracle happened. It started with one young man who had a strong desire to be closer to Jesus Christ and be baptized, and he shared it with a friend, and they shared it with another friend. These three young men were the start of the new growth in this area of the Lord’s vineyard. But the elders knew they needed families to lay a solid foundation and establish the Church in Guaymate, so they fasted and prayed to be led to a family ready to learn about the gospel.
One day they felt impressed to go to the farthest part of the town, out along the edges of the sugarcane fields. As they walked down the street, they saw two men sitting on their porch, and they stopped to talk with them. This was the first time they met Julian and his son, Victor. Julian immediately invited them in to have some yuca with butter and listened to the message they had to share. He was interested and asked them to come back and teach him more.
The following day the elders were in the town center doing street contacting when they met Carmen, Julian’s partner. As they started talking with her, they learned that Julian had told her all about what he had learned the day before. The elders returned that afternoon and taught Julian and Carmen how families were part of God’s plan. They learned that the couple had been together for over 30 years, with children and grandchildren, but had never gotten married. The elders asked what they thought about getting married. At first, Carmen was eager, and Julian was hesitant. Two weeks later, when they were married, he was emotional about finally being married to the woman of his dreams.
We met Julian and Carmen a few months after they were baptized when we visited their home with President Chaverri and the same missionaries who had taught and baptized them. We sat on their front porch, listening to their amazing conversion story as the rain sprinkled around us.
The Spirit was strong as Julian retold his story. Shortly before their baptism, Julian told the elders about a dream he had the night before that first day they met. In his dream, two young men in white shirts walked down his street. When they passed his house, he went out to invite them in and fed them yuca. He thought the dream strange but forgot about it until he saw these young men in their white shirts walking down his street just as they had in his dream. As he learned about the gospel of Jesus Christ, he knew the dream was a significant sign from God, and he felt grateful he had followed the prompting to invite them in for yuca.
Today, Julian, Carmen, and their family are part of the new Guaymate group that is meeting in an apartment below where the elders live. This little group is evidence that the Lord is involved in the details of all our lives. He loves us and wants us to make eternal covenants with Him.

Shortly after Nikki joined the Church, she was watching general conference and a talk by Elder David A. Bednar titled “We Will Prove Them Herewith,” moved her to pay closer attention to what the Lord’s Apostle was saying.
The part regarding food storage particularly caught Nikki’s attention. After conference, she was prompted to phone her family in the Philippines to share what she had learned with them. Her family are not members of the Church and weren’t at all happy when Nikki wanted to join the Church. In fact, they were so upset about it that they wanted her to return to the Philippines.
However, her father, who Nikki said, is a very organised man and strives to be prepared, was particularly interested in what his daughter was saying.
Nikki said that during their previous phone conversations he would always ask her “How’s your ‘go to’ bag?”, “Do you have enough batteries?” and similar questions.
What Nikki was sharing with her family was therefore of great interest to her father.
Nikki said he acted immediately and began to buy the items they talked about and those listed on a Church food storage information sheet which she sent him.
About three weeks later, a series of typhoons ravaged their region. The people of their village could not get out of their homes for about four days and their phone lines were cut off.
Nikki was extremely worried about her parents and sister during this time and became frantic when she couldn’t contact them. Not knowing whether they were alive and safe was taking its toll on her.
When Nikki was finally able to get in contact with her family, she was incredibly relieved to know they were all safe.
Nikki was also humbled and brought to tears when she heard that her family had heeded her words regarding food storage and her mother and father, who lived on a farm, not only had enough for their needs but were also able to help their neighbours with the food storage they had accumulated in that short time.
Nikki’s sister who lived by herself on the top level of a two-story house was also caught up in the storm. The people who lived on the ground floor were seeking refuge because their home had been completely flooded.
Not only was Nikki’s sister able to provide them with safe shelter in her first-floor apartment but she was also able to feed them with the food storage she too had built up thanks to Nikki’s inspiration to share with her family what she heard from an Apostle of Jesus Christ.

As I was leaving a Young Women camp this summer, a sweet young woman handed me a note. In it, she asked, “How can I tell when God is trying to tell me something?” I love her question. Our souls long for a connection with our heavenly home. We want to feel needed and useful. But at times we struggle to distinguish between our own thoughts and the gentle impressions of the Spirit. Prophets, ancient and modern, have taught that if something “invites and entices to do good, it comes from Christ.”
President Russell M. Nelson has extended a simple, powerful invitation: “My beloved brothers and sisters, I plead with you to increase your spiritual capacity to receive revelation. … Choose to do the spiritual work required to enjoy the gift of the Holy Ghost and hear the voice of the Spirit more frequently and more clearly.”
My desire this morning is to speak to you from my heart about four ways to increase your spiritual capacity to receive revelation.
As you use your agency to carve out time every day to draw close to God’s voice, especially in the Book of Mormon, over time His voice will become clearer and more familiar to you.
In contrast, the distractions and noise that fill the world and our homes and our lives can make it more difficult to hear His voice. These distractions can so occupy our minds and hearts that we leave no room for the gentle promptings of the Holy Ghost.
The Prophet Joseph Smith taught that most often God reveals Himself “to individuals in private, in their chamber; in the wilderness or fields, and that generally without noise or tumult.”
Satan wants to separate us from God’s voice by keeping us out of those quiet places. If God speaks in a still, small voice, you and I need to draw close to hear Him. Just imagine what would happen if we were as intent on staying connected with heaven as we are on staying connected to Wi-Fi! Pick a time and place, and listen for God’s voice every day. And keep this sacred appointment with exactness, for so very much depends on it!
When you receive promptings and then act with intention, the Lord can use you. The more you act, the more familiar the voice of the Spirit becomes. You will increasingly recognize God’s guidance and that He is “willing … to reveal His mind and will.” If you delay, you might forget the prompting or miss the chance to help someone for God.
The prayer Heavenly Father seems eager to answer is our plea to be led to someone who needs our help. President Henry B. Eyring has taught us to seek revelation by asking God who we can help for Him. “If you ask questions like that, the Holy Ghost will come and you’ll feel nudges about things you can do for other people. When you go and do those things, you’re on the Lord’s errand, and when you’re on the Lord’s errand, you qualify for the gift of the Holy Ghost.”
You can pray and ask the Lord for an errand. As you do, He can use your ordinary skills to accomplish His extraordinary work.
My grandfather, Fritz Hjalmar Lundgren, emigrated from Sweden when he was 19 years old. He arrived in America alone, with a suitcase and six years of formal schooling. Unable to speak any English, he made his way to Oregon and worked there as a lumberjack and then later, with my grandmother and my mother, joined the Church. He never presided over a ward, but as a faithful home teacher, he brought more than 50 different families into Church activity. How did he do that?
After Grandpa’s death, I was going through a box of his papers and came across a letter written by a man who had come back to church because of Grandpa’s love. The letter read, “Brother Fritz’s secret, I believe, is that he is always on an errand for Heavenly Father.”
That letter was from Brother Wayne Simonis. Grandpa visited him and got to know each member of the family. In time, Grandpa told them that they were needed and invited them to attend church. But that Sunday, Brother Simonis awoke with a dilemma—he had not finished reroofing his house, and rain was expected that week. He decided that he’d go to church, shake hands with Grandpa, and then leave and go home to finish the roof. His family could attend sacrament meeting without him.
His plan was working just fine until, on the roof, he heard someone climbing the ladder. In his words: “When I looked up, … standing at the top of the ladder was Brother Fritz. He just gave me that big smile. At first, I was embarrassed and felt like a little kid getting caught for skipping school. Then … I felt anger. [But Brother Fritz just] took off his suit coat and hung it on the ladder. As he rolled up the sleeves of his white shirt, he turned to me and said, ‘Brother Simonis, do you have another hammer? This work must be very important or you wouldn’t have left your family, and if it’s that important, I want to help you.’ As I looked into his eyes, I saw only kindness and Christlike love. My anger left. … I laid my tools down that Sunday and followed my good friend down the ladder and back to the chapel.”
Grandpa had obtained his errand from the Lord, and he knew he was to seek out lost sheep. Just as when the four men who carried their friend with palsy onto a roof and then let him down to be healed by Jesus Christ, so too did Grandpa’s errand take him to a rooftop. The Lord sends revelation to those seeking to help others.
Recently, I read in the scriptures about another great missionary who obtained his errand from the Lord. Aaron was teaching the king of the Lamanites, who wondered why Aaron’s brother Ammon had not also come to teach him. “And Aaron said unto the king: Behold, the Spirit of the Lord has called him another way.”
The Spirit spoke to my heart: each of us has a different mission to perform, and at times the Spirit may call us in “another way.” There are many ways to build the kingdom of God as covenant-making, covenant-keeping disciples of Jesus Christ. As His faithful disciple, you can receive personal inspiration and revelation, consistent with His commandments, that is tailored to you. You have unique missions and roles to perform in life and will be given unique guidance to fulfill them.
Nephi, the brother of Jared, and even Moses all had a large body of water to cross—and each did it differently. Nephi worked “timbers of curious workmanship.” The brother of Jared built barges that were “tight like unto a dish.” And Moses “walked upon dry land in the midst of the sea.”
They each received personalized direction, tailored to them, and each trusted and acted. The Lord is mindful of those who obey and, in the words of Nephi, will “prepare a way for [us to] accomplish the thing which he commandeth.” Note that Nephi says, “a way”—not “the way.”
Do we miss or dismiss personal errands from the Lord because He has prepared “a way” different from the one we expect?
My grandpa was led to an unusual place—in a suit, on a rooftop, on a Sunday. Trust God to lead you, even if that way looks different than you expected or is different from others.
Latter-day Saints come in many shapes and sizes, but “all are alike unto God”—“black and white, bond and free, male and female,” single and married, rich and poor, young and old, lifelong member and recent convert. No matter who you are or what you’re dealing with, you are invited to the Lord’s table.
As seeking and doing the will of the Father becomes the cadence of your daily life, you will, of course, be led to change and repent.
The Church’s new program for children and youth is built on the foundation of learning to seek revelation, discovering what the Lord would have us do, and then acting on that direction. Each one of us, regardless of age or circumstance, can strive to seek, receive, and act. As you follow this eternal pattern ordained for our day, you will draw nearer to Jesus Christ—His love, His light, His direction, His peace, and His healing and enabling power. And you will increase your spiritual capacity to become an everyday instrument of His hands in accomplishing His great work. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

I remember how the shrill scream of a siren gave me goose bumps whenever an ambulance went rushing by. Oh how I wanted to be at the wheel of that machine, rushing to the aid of sick and injured people. As I grew older, my dream became a reality. I took first-aid classes, human science classes, and finally, an emergency medical technician training course.
I was fresh out of high school when I got my first job as an ambulance attendant for a private ambulance, and I progressed rapidly in my knowledge of emergency treatments. I learned many things about life that most people never learn until their 20s. I was also exposed to many trials and temptations that I’d never come across before.
I worked in a non-Mormon atmosphere. It was the type of atmosphere that my church leaders always had warned me about, but at the time, I thought I wouldn’t have to worry about it. My work began conflicting with my church attendance. I started asking myself questions and often wondered about my future. I could see myself progressing into higher fields of medicine, and it seemed that nothing stood in my way. Then, on my 19th birthday, I made my way to California and applied to a hospital paramedic program. I was accepted and could enter in the fall semester. I knew then that was exactly what I wanted to do.
Suddenly it dawned on me. What about a mission. Oh sure, I always told my friends and family that I would go. I even told my employer I was planning on a mission. But all of that seemed unimportant now. All I could see was personal satisfaction, and I didn’t care what kind of spiritual development I’d surely miss. The voice of the prophet still echoed in my mind, “Every young man is to fulfill a mission.” But the thought always came back, “In two years’ time, look how far you could be as a paramedic.”
I didn’t know what to do! I knew deep down in my heart that a mission was the right thing, but I was so terribly blinded by worldly greed. The decision to go or not to go was constantly on my mind. I thought about it from the time I got up until the time I went to bed at night. Because we worked 24-hour shifts, I had lots of time to think.
One night right after I had gone to bed, I was awakened by the ring of the telephone. The highway patrol was calling for an ambulance to respond to a car-truck accident on the freeway, and soon I was at the scene of a two-car accident. A small car had run into the back of a semitrailer loaded with wooden fence posts. The badly mangled car had two occupants—a young couple that had recently been married. The husband, who was driving, had been killed instantly. His wife was critically injured. We worked desperately to save the slowly fading life of that beautiful nineteen-year-old woman. I thought to myself, How could something so terrible happen to this fine couple and totally destroy their future plans and happiness?
We rushed her to the hospital, where a team of highly trained doctors and nurses were waiting. Soon a helicopter arrived to transport her to a hospital in Salt Lake City, where she could receive special treatment for a severe head injury.
After I calmed down from the shock of such a terrible accident, I remembered talking to the highway patrolman who would be responsible for notifying the next of kin. I’ll never forget the solemn look on his face, and the glaze of tears in his eyes as he drove away. I thought to myself, What a horrible assignment! What if they were my parents being notified? Then another thought came to my mind: What will be the look on my face when I give an accounting to the Savior of the time I spent here in mortality?
The night air was chilled with a late frost. As I gazed up into the night, I noticed how clear and calm the sky looked. Tears ran freely down my cheeks, and I found myself pleading with the Lord for that young woman’s life. At that moment, when my heart actually seemed to swell painfully with love and compassion, I finally began to understand. Doctors and nurses and paramedics were wonderful, but they could only treat the body. They couldn’t heal the deeper wounds, the ones that would keep us from going home to our Father. Only one Physician could do that, and I was denying myself the chance to be his helper. I made a decision. I would do all I could to further the work of the Master Healer. I would serve a mission!
The days came and went. Finally, one month later, I learned my prayers had been answered. The young woman was released from the hospital, completely recovered. How I thanked our Eternal Father for that answer. But now came the biggest step of all, my mission.
As I prayed and prepared myself, the Spirit confirmed the fact that I was to serve my Heavenly Father in the mission field. I’ll never forget that calm, sweet feeling that came as the words fell from the lips of our stake patriarch, when he pronounced that blessing upon me. And I’ll never forget that same feeling as I opened the letter from a prophet of God, calling me to serve in the Pennsylvania Harrisburg Mission. Even as I served in Pennsylvania, as a representative of Jesus Christ, I had that special calm feeling, knowing that I had made the right choice.
Before I left for the mission field, I thought there was no feeling in the world like knowing someone was walking again because of your help, but I was wrong. There is no greater feeling in the world than knowing you helped someone in their search for true joy and happiness found in the gospel of Jesus Christ.

The next story that I would like to share with you is related to the first, and demonstrates the power of faith and hope when building Zion even when we don’t immediately see the fruits of our labor.

In 2004 my oldest daughter was called to serve in the Utah Provo Mission and she was assigned to the St. George Temple Visitors’ Center. At one point in her mission she remembers pleading with Heavenly Father to help her understand why she got called to the Utah Provo Mission.

One day shortly after she and her companion were knocking on doors in a retirement community in St. George, an elderly gentleman opened the door and invited them in. He introduced himself and my daughter and her companion introduced themselves. He was pleasantly surprised when he found out that my daughter was from Fiji and began speaking to her in Fijian. He told her that he served his mission there many years ago. After a few minutes of conversation, my daughter realized that this was Elder Abbott, the same missionary who with his companion Elder Harris organized the church in Fiji and called my mother, Emma, to be the first Relief Society president in 1954. He quickly went and got his missionary Book of Mormon to show my daughter. He had the names and signatures of the 14 members of the church that attended the first meeting in Fiji. He then told my daughter that while on his mission he never had one convert baptism – and it was hard for him. All these years he felt his “mission” was unsuccessful. My daughter saw the sadness in his eyes.

It was at that precise moment that it became very clear to her that one of the reasons she was sent to the Utah Provo Mission and assigned to the St. George area was for this elderly man who felt that his mission was unsuccessful. My daughter noticed four names on the list in Brother Abbott’s Book of Mormon and she pointed to them and said the following:

“Brother Abbott: This person, Emma Lobendahn is my grandmother. These two people – Brian and Elliott Lobendahn are my uncles. This person, Irene Lobendahn is my mother. I am her eldest child.”

She told him that he was the missionary who gave her mother (me) a baby’s blessing; that he was the missionary who extended the call to her grandmother, and gave her a special blessing to help her fulfill her calling as the Relief Society President; and that she served faithfully in that calling for 23 years, long after he returned home from his mission.

My daughter told him how her father, my husband Brother Meli Lesuma, joined the church in 1973. He served a mission in 1977, and converted his whole family. His three younger brothers and now his four children have all served missions. She told him that Fiji now has a temple, four stakes, one district and many wards and branches. She told him that the church membership in Fiji is over 12,000. She then said,

“Brother Abbott, because of you and your work as the first missionary in Fiji, you accomplished many great things and I and my family will always be grateful to you. Your work has brought thousands of people into the church in Fiji.”

When my daughter finished sharing these details, Brother Abbott was in tears. He was grateful for my daughter’s timely visit, and no longer felt that his mission was unsuccessful.

My first reaction when I heard this story was to reflect on what a loving Heavenly Father we have, who knew to send help and reassurance to this man. I spoke with Brother Abbott on the phone, he said that when he called my mother to be the Relief Society President, he knew that she was the one the Lord wanted to help build Zion in Fiji, and that all she needed to do was to get rid of her fears.

Three weeks ago I was in New York City awaiting a flight to Europe. An employee of the airline left her place at the desk and came to where I was sitting.
“Two of my nephews have joined your Church,” she told me. “I can hardly believe the change that it’s made in their lives.” In our brief conversation I asked how her sister felt about her sons joining the Church.
“She couldn’t be happier,” she said, and explained how the family had had real reason to be worried about the young men. They were two of the wanderers that President Tanner has spoken about. “You wouldn’t believe how they’ve changed,” she said. “They’ve cut their hair and the whole bit,” as she put it.
Later, as I left to board the plane, she thanked me again and said, “I don’t know how you do it.”

Then, shortly before school was to begin, I was playing “see-who-can-leap-over-the-most-stairs” on the front porch with Polly and Philip, my ten-year-old brother. I took a wild jump and landed in a heap at the bottom of the stairs, my sparkly pink glasses shattered at my side.

But the real tragedy occurred when I went shopping for replacement glasses with my father and Philip. They had about as much fashion savvy as my mother in the second-hand store. And even if I’d had a little savvy of my own, it wouldn’t have made much difference because I couldn’t see without my glasses.

I only knew I was tired of sparkly pink frames. This year I would wear sophisticated black. The frames I selected had wings curving elegantly upward on both sides. Cocking my head to achieve an air of mystery, I glanced at my fuzzy reflection in the mirror.

“How do you like them, Daddy?”

“How much do they cost?”

“On sale this week,” the saleslady said.

“In that case, they look terrific.”

Two weeks later we returned to pick up my cosmopolitan frames. I was trembling with anticipation. But as my face appeared in sharp focus in the optician’s mirror, I stared in horror. The longer I stared, the sicker I felt. The curving black wings that had seemed so sophisticated in my hands looked garish on my thin face. They threatened to leave me and fly around the room. I wished they would.

Mom gave Dad a hard look when we got home but told me I looked nice. Nobody else said anything until Polly came flying down the stairs.

She stopped abruptly and gaped.

“You look like Catwoman on the Batman show!” (For the next two years, I was Catwoman.)

Finally, school started. I had dreamed about the new friends I would meet. But I spent the first few weeks of junior high curiously surveying the school and waiting for classmates to befriend me. The other seventh-grade girls seemed so much older and superior. They wore nylons, earrings, makeup. Some of the rowdy ones smoked and had boyfriends.

Weeks went by, then months. A few kids said hi and asked what it was like to live in Hawaii, but no one seemed interested in being my friend. I was puzzled. Was it my clothing or my personality? In Hawaii we had always been friendly to the new kids.

Still, life was such an adventure that I didn’t have time to feel sad. Each day after school I’d explore the house and the yard. On weekends, my parents packed all of us into our cream-colored station wagon and took us on journeys of discovery.

One weekend we visited the Ford plant and watched cars being assembled. Another weekend we discovered the Kellogg’s cereal factory in Battle Creek and saw them make Fruit Loops and Corn Flakes. Another time we had a picnic in Kalamazoo.

On Saturdays when we had to stay home, we thought up excuses to walk to Bolgos Drugstore a mile down the road, where we would squander our allowance on candy.

And of course there were other adventures all week long. With the heavier chills, our stately trees turned breathtaking crimson, yellow, and orange, just like they did in the books. It was a fascinating contrast to the perpetual green of the islands. No other home possessed such enthusiastic rakers. Naturally I tried jumping into the fresh piles, but all I did was hurt myself and get dead leaves stuck inside my clothes. The books had glamorized the experience.

And I woke up early to wander the brightly colored farmers’ market. Father could never get enough fresh produce. Bushels of Golden Delicious apples, orange pumpkins, and shiny gourds spilled from the booths. Bananas, coconuts, and guavas paled in the face of this display.

It was in the farmers’ market that I tasted my first pat of maple sugar. Wrapped in cellophane, the sugar was molded into fancy leaf and star shapes. I nibbled it slowly, reveling in its smooth texture and the way it melted in my mouth.

On some afternoons, we’d help my mother put up pears. The shimmering jars, pink from the tiny red cinnamon candies Mom dropped into each bottle, were beautiful.

Then one day it was cold enough to show off our winter clothing at school. The thrill was short-lived when I saw the other girls in their snappy, thigh-length coats and knee boots. Skinny, with the weirdest eyeglasses east of the Mississippi, I looked like somebody’s eccentric grandmother. Transparent galoshes and a bag lady coat didn’t enhance the image. Polly in her fuzzy red and I in our plaid were undoubtedly the misfits of Forsythe Junior High. We stared at each other in disgust, yet clung to each other for support.

Lunch period was the worst. Polly and I ate at different times, so we had to eat alone. It was also embarrassing to have to bring a sack lunch. Every day I sat by myself, reading a book so I didn’t have to look up.

One day a girl from one of the tough groups sauntered over on a dare from her friends. Her heavily made-up eyes jeered at me.

“Whatcha readin’?” she said.

I could hear the laughter of her friends. My heart pounded. Maybe if I kept reading she would just leave.

“Is it good?” she tried again, turning to look at her friends. Loud laughter. I kept reading.

“Man, are you dumb,” she said as she walked away.

I was too embarrassed to mention the incident to my parents. I don’t think they ever realized I had no friends at school. I don’t know if it was just the clothes we wore or that we didn’t know exactly what to say or do to be like everyone else, but we never did feel like we fit in.

I wrote in my journal, “I don’t know what to wear. White socks and shoes are out in the winter, and I have the wrong kind of coat and boots. Styles are so different here!”

Church and home were the only two places where I felt accepted. The kids at church didn’t seem to care about my eerie eyewear or my outdated clothing. I loved activity nights. An industrious seamstress, I modeled several of my creations in an MIA fashion show. Another time I participated in an impromptu speech contest and did terribly, but no one seemed to mind. Virginia Webb became a good friend, but she attended a different junior high.

I began to live for weekends and the hours after school spent playing with my brothers and sisters. In Hawaii we had had scores of friends and rarely played together. But here my brothers and sisters became my closest friends. They were there when that long-awaited snow finally fell. We frolicked in it like kittens in catnip. We held our mouths open as it fell. Each flake was a miracle, every snowball another excuse to giggle.

Eventually it dawned on us that we were the biggest kids on the sledding hill across from our home. In Michigan sledding was only for kids. But Alan didn’t care. At age 16, he was six feet, five inches tall, and he loved sledding. Every day after school, he went sledding alongside the grade schoolers. They gawked at him, but since he was so much bigger, no one ever said a word.

The rest of us, still trying to fit in, bought used ice skates. I’d been a good roller skater in Hawaii and ice skating came easy. With all the ponds and lakes in Michigan, we never had to settle for endless circling in a stale old rink. I loved the exhilaration of skating hard and fast across a frozen lake.

In the middle of the winter, a package arrived from my Grandmother Marsh in Los Angeles. I caught my breath when Polly and I tore off the brown wrapping. Inside were two outfits, breathtakingly in style. Mine had a pink flowered top with knee socks to match. Polly’s was identical, except that it was blue. This was our big chance to show the kids at Forsythe Junior High that we weren’t such misfits after all. Boy, would they be surprised!

I was a little nervous about the color because this was no ordinary pink. It was a sizzling, shocking pink. But the outfit was so definitely “in” that I squelched my fear. I slowly hung my oversized plaid coat in my locker and wondered what the kids would think of me appearing in such style.

A sea of eyes followed my dazzling pink presence from my locker to my homeroom. Then the whispering began—but not whispers of envy or admiration, as I had secretly hoped.

“Look what she’s wearing.”

“Didn’t we already have Halloween?”

All day the laughter continued. Resentment and frustration built within me. If only I had a friend to walk with, it would be so much easier. If only somebody who knew what was acceptable would give me some hints. Repeatedly I had tried to fit in and failed. And now even Grandma’s outfit had betrayed me. After that I stopped trying to live by other people’s standards. I warned Polly, and she never even wore her new clothes.

I wish I could say that there was some magic turning point, that we discovered a key that made us popular, that we found friends at our school, and that we became leaders and trendsetters ourselves. Of course we didn’t. In a year the sabbatical was over, and we returned to Hawaii, our scores of friends, our waves and mountain fruit, our mild weather and perpetually green foliage. Never was I happier than when we returned to our beloved island.

And yet now, 20 years later, when I think of Michigan, I smile. With fondness I recall Alan running barefoot in the snow. I grin at the memory of Philip and me raking autumn leaves. My heart soars when I remember skimming across a frozen lake with Polly or strolling through the farmer’s market with my father. Tears come to my eyes when I think about the whole family piling into our cream-colored station wagon, off for a picnic in Kalamazoo.

It isn’t easy to move when you’re in junior high school. It’s even tougher when you’re poor and you’re exchanging a provincial paradise for a bustling college town. There were times when I was sure I would never make it.

But now, given some time and distance, I know what the secret was. I leaned on my family. And because of them I survived.

Several years ago, donations were made to create a fund for an endowed chair at the University of Utah. The chair was named the “Dr. Russell M. Nelson and Dantzel W. Nelson Presidential Chair in Cardiothoracic Surgery at the University of Utah.” It honors the pioneering contributions of President Nelson and the support he received from his late wife. The appointed faculty member holds the title of “the Nelson chair.”

The investiture ceremony happened in 2018. The ceremony included President Nelson, his current wife, Sister Wendy W. Nelson, the president of the University of Utah, and other dignitaries. The first person selected and appointed to this endowed chair and who thus carried the title “the Nelson chair,” was Dr. Craig H. Selzman. Dr. Selzman is a wonderfully accomplished cardiothoracic surgeon who is not of our faith.

The ceremony honored both President Nelson and Dr. Selzman. Both spoke about what this meant to them. President Nelson spoke modestly of a surgical career that had spanned decades and included pioneering work developing what is commonly known as a heart-lung bypass machine. When Dr. Selzman spoke, he surprised me. I had expected him to say nice things about President Nelson. He did so briefly, stating that what President Nelson had done in performing the first open-heart surgery in the state of Utah in 1955 using a heart-lung machine that he himself had built from scratch was “so bold, so ambitious, [and] so crazy.” Dr. Selzman added, “I think it said a lot about his character.” [2]

But then Dr. Selzman spoke about what it meant to him personally to be appointed to the endowed chair named after President Nelson. He said it gave him pause and planted in him a desire to change his attitudes and behaviors and become more like President Nelson. The two never practiced medicine together, separated by a generation or so, but President Nelson’s reputation and character clearly impacted Dr. Selzman.

Dr. Selzman related that earlier that week, on Monday evening, he went through the surgical intensive care unit after a long day in the operating room. He noticed that one of the patients he had operated on earlier was doing poorly and needed to go back to surgery. Dr. Selzman was disappointed. He was irritated because he would have to spend another long night in the hospital. In the past, he would have showered his frustrations on his surgical team. Everyone around him would have been aware that Dr. Selzman was unhappy because he let it show in his tone of voice, the sharpness in his manner, and in his general grumpiness.

This Monday evening, however, he had a quick but life-changing conversation with himself. In the moment, he thought, “On Friday, I will be appointed to the endowed chair named after Dr. Russell M. Nelson. During his surgical career, Dr. Nelson was known as a gentleman, someone who always kept his emotions in check, treated everyone with dignity and respect, and never lost his temper. He was kind and thoughtful of his team. Now that my name will be linked with Dr. Nelson’s, I need to be more like him.”

Dr. Selzman said he composed himself and intentionally changed his attitude. He went into that late-night surgery more complimentary of his staff and more understanding of their frustrations. His efforts to be more like Dr. Nelson created a different atmosphere in the operating room. His surgical team undoubtedly wondered what had happened to their old boss. Notably, Dr. Selzman liked who he was in the operating room that night.

My appreciation for Dr. Selzman’s remarkable experience was made even more profound five years later. In 2023, I attended another ceremony in which President Nelson’s professional papers were donated to the University of Utah. The donation included more than 7,000 operative reports, along with research papers and other professional writings that were compiled during President Nelson’s extraordinary medical career.

In attendance at this second ceremony were President Nelson, Sister Nelson, the President of the University of Utah, the Vice-President of Health Sciences, the Vice-Chair of the Board of Trustees, the Dean of the School of Medicine, the head of the Health Sciences Library, the Chairman of Surgery, and Dr. Selzman, the Chief of Cardiothoracic Surgery.

Several people spoke about the importance of the donation of President Nelson’s papers. The president of the University of Utah referred to President Nelson as its most distinguished alumnus. The last speaker was Dr. Selzman. Again, he surprised me.

Dr. Selzman began by mentioning that “Whenever you start talking about health care with [President Nelson], he gets a little twinkle in his eye.… It’s just amazing to see how energized he [gets] talking about all that stuff.” [3] But then, Dr. Selzman provided a follow-up on the effect of being “the Nelson chair,” not just on him, but also on members of his Division of Cardiothoracic Surgery. Referring to President Nelson’s initials, RMN, Dr. Selzman said, “There is an ‘RMN’ ethos that now pervades the Division of Cardiothoracic Surgery at the University of Utah. We know that we can’t live up to it, but it is aspirational.”

For those not familiar with the word ethos, it is used to describe the guiding beliefs or ideals that characterize a group. Dr. Selzman mentioned that in frustrating situations, when some choice words come into his mind, he remembers the RMN ethos. He continued, “I do what we now teach our trainees to do—focus, get over it, and do the best you can. This ethos lives in us every day.”

Dr. Selzman observed, “One of the most important things in my office is the medallion I received for the Nelson endowed chair. I remind myself every day of this ethos. We give lapel pins to every member of the division and new trainee. The pin has the University of Utah logo at its center with the words Cardiothoracic Surgery underneath the logo. Around the pin’s exterior are four things, three words ‘Teach,’ ‘Heal,’ and ‘Discover,’ and at the very bottom, the letters, RMN." The ethos that is characteristic of President Nelson’s life, Dr. Selzman said, “is foundational to our approach; we teach it to everyone.”

My wife and I are impressed by the effect President Nelson’s name had on Dr. Selzman. Not only has he tried to emulate President Nelson’s attributes, but he has also encouraged others to do the same. Dr. Selzman is striving to take on President Nelson’s characteristics because his name, Selzman, is now linked to President Nelson’s.

I remember coming to know Mr. Herb Cummings, of Phoenix, Arizona, and former owner and CEO of Sara Lee foods. Mr. Cummings was born in Canada to a Russian immigrant Jewish family.

When asked how he learned to become a great philanthropist, he told us that he first learned and practiced the principle of philanthropy in the home of his grandmother.

Every Thursday, his grandmother would contact all of the married children in their family and invite them to prepare for the Sabbath, by coming to her home on Friday night for Sabbath dinner. Herb said that he never remembered a Friday night, as they began their Sabbath, that his grandmother had not found a homeless immigrant Jewish man or woman on the streets of Saint John, New Brunswick, Canada and brought them home with her.

As she would contact her family for the Sabbath meal, she would ask one family for an extra pair of shoes, a shirt, pants, money, or for knowledge of where there might be a job.

She would feed, clothe, house and then find gainful employment for these immigrants. She sometimes cared for them up to eight weeks, as their self-esteem was built and made strong. Mr. Cummings saw hundreds of these people helped by his grandmother. "I just grew up understanding that I had a responsibility to take of my surplus and help someone else less fortunate." "I have just always practiced philanthropy."

Now Herb Cummings was very wealthy. He did wonderful things with his material wealth in the true spirit of philanthropy. What about the rest of us? Can we be philanthropists? What about his sweet grandmother? Was she a philanthropist - a lover of mankind?

Roswell Georgia Stake
The youth leaders in the Roswell Georgia Stake run a tight ship. Youth activities for the stake are planned well in advance and put on the stake calendar. Once an activity appears on the calendar, it doesn’t move or change. In fact, it’s sort of a joke that the only things that might change the schedule of activities in the Roswell area are “death and tornado.”
A natural disaster of any kind, however, was the furthest thing from anybody’s mind when the youth council planned a fun “mini-youth-conference” for a weekend in the spring. There would be speakers on a variety of interesting subjects, some fun activities, and a dance.
Then, three weeks before the mini-conference, the unthinkable happened. A tornado touched down in the Roswell area. Andrew Opp, a priest and a leader on the stake youth council in Roswell, and his sister, Emily, helped in the massive cleanup effort. After several days of helping his dad and other men in his ward and stake move trees and other debris from driveways, yards, and roofs, Andrew had an idea.
“I looked around and realized that even after a day’s work, we were hardly putting a dent in things,” said Andrew. Why not postpone the youth conference and have a day-long cleanup project instead? After all, it was on the list of reasons to change the stake schedule. After getting the leaders’ approval, they formulated a plan and announced the change.
“The youth in our stake are really great,” said Andrew. “Everyone always pitches in and gets the job done right.”
And they did. Guys and girls worked hard all day in neighborhoods that looked like war zones, lifting and clearing debris.
The tornado hit hard at Dagmara Walczak’s house. Dagmara is a Laurel in the stake, and her home is in a neighborhood that felt the full force of the tornado.
“I thought it was great that in a time of need people from our church came and helped out. It really makes you feel loved,” she said.
And what of the originally planned activity? Were the youth that excited to give up a day of fun for a day of hard work, sweat, and tree sap? You bet.
“This is fun because you can chat with your friends while you work,” said 17-year-old Ben Jarvis. “And besides, these people are our friends and neighbors; it gave us all a good feeling to help them out.”

We had completed all the forms for a full-time mission just before the world shut down with COVID-19. We didn’t want to get to the mission field and be sent right back home, so we met with our stake president and the Arcadia California Mission president, where we lived, to see if we could serve locally. We were immediately called to be the housing coordinators.
Just a few weeks after we began, planeloads of missionaries returned from around the world, either to be released from their missions or reassigned in the United States. The number of full-time missionaries in the Arcadia mission grew from 180 to 250. We scrambled to find housing for everyone, but the Spirit guided us.
Life experiences seem directed by the Lord to prepare us for service opportunities. Because of Relief Society, I knew sisters in the surrounding stakes who could help with zone conference luncheons. When a homeless girl appeared on the steps of the mission office, I knew the local resources that could give her aid. My husband, Mike, also had connections in the area to find solutions to seemingly unsolvable problems, from finding swimming pools for outdoor baptisms to fixing dishwashers.
Mike and I serve because we promised to devote our time and talents to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. It was a blessing to love our 250 missionaries, and we are grateful for the opportunity. Service has brought us closer to Christ (see Moroni 7:44–48).
Debra and Mike O’Neil, California, USA

When I was about to enter ninth grade, my dad announced that our family was moving from Utah to Colorado. I was excited to make new friends and experience a different world, but my expectations changed after my first day at my new junior high school.
I felt lonely and miserable for a long time. Eventually, I shrugged it off and worked hard at school. For the first time since elementary school, I received straight A’s. I spent my nights at home reading. For the next four years, many of my Friday nights were spent with my parents.
Although I had a hard time making friends at school, I realized the love my parents had for me. My mom and my dad became my best friends.
My dad got up at 5:45 a.m. to take me to seminary. During those early-morning drives, I bonded with my dad. We talked about everything from the latest news to politics and money. Although my dad is not a talker, he would listen as I rattled on about my latest story for the school newspaper or a cute boy in one of my classes. Once in a while, he would get in a comment or two.
My mom wasn’t much different. I started spending time exercising and shopping with her. Every Saturday we would buy groceries and run errands together. I would talk endlessly while she grated cheese or prepared a roast for dinner.
In those early morning hours and on those Saturday trips, I found myself, and my testimony of the gospel grew. My parents’ love and support reminded me of my infinite worth. I didn’t have to go to dances or be student body president. I could be myself because I knew I was important, not only in my parents’ eyes, but in Heavenly Father’s eyes too. I still have hard times, but I have found that knowing the Lord loves me is miraculous and comforting.

When I was a boy, my mother had to go to work at Garfield Smelter and work like a man to help support the seven children. She worked the graveyard shift as much as she could, I’m sure to be with us during the day. I don’t know when the poor woman slept. One Saturday morning, she got off work about 7:00 or 8:00 A.M. She went to bed for a couple of hours and then got up. She had invited all her relatives to dinner. There must have been 35 or 40. She decorated the tables and arranged the chairs and put all the dishes and silverware out. She cooked and baked all day long. The dirty pots and pans and dishes stacked up.

Everyone came to dinner, and after dinner all the dirty dishes were brought into the kitchen. The food was cleared and stacked on the table and cupboards; then the kitchen door was closed and the family began to visit. It was about 8:00 P.M.

I remember standing all alone in the kitchen. In my young mind, I thought: My mother worked all night; she has worked all day to get this dinner. When everyone leaves, she will have to do the dishes and put the food away. It will take two or three hours, and that’s not fair. Then I thought, I will do them.

I washed the dishes, did the silverware, the glassware. We didn’t have an electric dishwasher; ours was a manual dishwasher, and that night I was manual. I used a half-dozen dish towels. I was drenched from head to foot. I put the food away, cleaned off the table and drainboards; then I got down on my hands and knees and scrubbed the floor. When I was finished, I thought the kitchen was immaculate. It took about three hours.

Then I heard the chairs shuffling, and everyone left. The front door closed, and I heard my mother coming to the kitchen. I was pleased and thought she would be. The door swung open, and even at the age of 11, I recognized that she was startled. She looked around the kitchen, looked at me, and then there was a look I didn’t recognize at the time. I do now. It was something like “Thanks. I am tired. I think you understand, and I love you.” And she came over and hugged me. There was a light in her eye and a warmth in my heart. I learned it is a wonderful feeling to turn on the lights in our parents’ eyes.

We four missionaries had just left the home of a senior missionary couple when we waved down a bus to take us back to our areas.
We shouldered through a standing-room-only crowd and grabbed the metal bar above our heads. Standing, we soon had to lean our bodies over the seated passengers to make room for other passengers crowding in.
A middle-aged woman sat below me, her lap piled with shopping bags and boxes. Her dark eyes told me she was tired, and her long face spoke of her discomfort sitting in a crowded bus moving through the sticky, hot Panamanian air.
Closing my eyes, I imagined that I could smell the Chinese food my mom and sisters were preparing for Christmas Eve dinner. I also imagined that I could hear the Christmas music Mom always played. Those comforting thoughts soon washed away the heat and humidity, and I began to hum a Christmas carol. The eyes of the woman below me lightened a shade. I gained courage and started singing a Christmas hymn to myself in Spanish. Elder Glazier joined me, and then we fell silent.
“Please, don’t stop,” the woman said, her eyes tearing up.
Looking at my companions, I pulled out my hymnbook.
“Brothers and sisters,” I called out over the din of the bus. As my companions also grabbed their hymnbooks, I added, “We would like to sing some Christmas songs to share the spirit of Christmas with you—a small message from missionaries of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.”
We sang every Christmas hymn in the Spanish hymnbook. We weren’t a heavenly choir, but the power of the music and words about the Savior’s birth touched hearts. The excitement of serving in the mission field during Christmas filled the four of us elders with peace, joy, and light.
We sang until we reached our stop. The woman below me cheered and said, “Thank you, Christmas singers!”
After stepping off the bus, we waved goodbye to the crowded vehicle. Passengers applauded as the bus pulled away, and we climbed a hill into the tropical night. I always look back at that night with gratitude for the woman who gave us an opportunity to testify of the Savior through song.

I remember as a young missionary in New Zealand seeing men who stood way above the other people in that country because they had testimonies of the gospel and lived the way they should. One of them was a rugby player for the All Blacks (the equivalent of being an all-American football player in the U.S.). He had played rugby all over the world and told me that he always knelt down and prayed in the locker room before going out to play in any game. When I met him, his rugby career was over, but he was strong in the faith and a good, hard worker who could shear sheep with the best of the Maori men. He has always been one of my heroes.

First of all, Shawn Bradley is tall.
Not just the ordinary kind of tall.
Shawn is literally the tallest person most people will see in their lifetimes. His height simply astounds people.
But Shawn Bradley is more than a 2.26-meter-tall freshman college basketball player. His honest concern for others and wonderful attitude about life hint at depths that match his amazing size. But first of all, before anyone can come to understand that inner person, there is Shawn’s height.
“I intimidate people,” Shawn says half apologetically, “just because I’m so tall. It’s really funny how some people react when they see me.”
“Yes,” says Justin, Shawn’s 1.87-meter-tall, thirteen-year-old brother, “When we see another 2-meter guy, we don’t think he’s so tall.”
Sitting in the front room of his parents’ home, Shawn doesn’t seem extraordinarily tall while relaxing in a comfortable chair. But as soon as he stands up, the room’s normal 2.43-meter-high ceilings shrink. “I have to duck through almost every doorway in this house. It was built ten years ago, and Mom and Dad had no idea I would be this tall.”
The doorways cause problems when Shawn forgets to duck his head. He and Justin sometimes start wrestling and chasing each other as brothers will do. “When I get chasing Justin around, once in a while I’ll forget that I’m indoors,” says Shawn. “Then, bang! My head hits the doorway, and I’m flat on the floor. I almost knock myself unconscious.”
Shawn’s mother, Theresa, lists a few other adjustments they have had to make at home. “We had to extend the height of our mirror in the bathroom so Shawn can see. We’ve had to order him a 2.43-meter-long bed. He loves to come home after he’s been traveling with the basketball team and sleeping in hotel beds.”
“I have to sleep on the floor when I’m traveling,” says Shawn.
Friends and family are completely used to Shawn’s height, but they find it entertaining to go places with him and notice other people’s reactions.
“My family treats me horribly when we go to the stores,” Shawn says, in mock complaint. Justin and sisters Tasha, 15, and Adrianne, 9, just smile because they know what he is going to say next. “We’ll all be walking together, my family and friends, and I’ll look around and no one will be there. I turn around, and they are about six or eight meters behind me, watching everyone look at me. I’ll say, ‘Thanks a lot, guys.’”
His sister, Tasha, adds, “You can’t believe the looks he gets.”

President Grant was also known for his willingness to work on areas of his life where he felt he needed improvement. His example teaches us that in addition to developing the natural talents that are ours we can even strive to make progress in those areas where we don’t seem to be over-laden with talent.

There is a familiar story from his life when he determined he would learn how to sing. He was apparently not gifted in singing but practiced and practiced until he could sing some hymns. He tells of one instance when he was traveling with two other apostles.

Upon my recent trip to Arizona, I asked Elders Rudger Clawson and J. Golden Kimball if they had any objections to my singing one hundred hymns that day. They took it as a joke, and assured me that they would be delighted. We were on the way from Holbrook to St. Johns, a distance of about sixty miles. After I had sung about forty times, they assured me that if I sang the remaining sixty they would be sure to have nervous prostration. I paid no attention whatever to their appeal, but held them to their bargain and sang the full one hundred. One hundred and fifteen songs in one day and four hundred in four days, is the largest amount of practicing I ever did.[9]

President Grant eventually was able to sing some hymns, but never got good enough that he would have been invited to sing in the tabernacle choir. We too can make progress in areas where we don’t have much natural ability.

When I asked about their father’s sense of humor, one of the children offered this comment, “Dad has very poor handwriting and he readily admits it. He sometimes asks his office secretary to tell him what he has written on his calendar, because he can’t read it himself. President Lee called Dad’s handwriting, ‘unreformed Egyptian.’ One time when he was on the stand with President Kimball at a meeting, a message was delivered to Dad reporting that one of the Church school buildings in South America had burned. Father wrote a note to President Kimball, telling him about it. President Kimball looked at it for a long time, then sent a note back, ‘Do you mean burned or buried?’”

My colleague Cole Durham once told me of an important lesson he learned about such things from Lowell Bennion, who at the time was the director of the LDS institute of religion at the University of Utah. When Cole was growing up, his father suffered from multiple sclerosis. Cole’s father was able to provide for his family because he was a lawyer, but there were still some things his physical limitations prevented him from doing. On one occasion, when Brother Bennion saw that the Durham house was in need of a new coat of paint, he offered to perform the task, knowing that Cole’s father was physically unable to do so. After working long hours, Brother Bennion finished the job. As he was cleaning up, Cole’s father asked him, “How much do I owe you, Lowell?”
“You don’t owe me anything,” came the reply.
Cole’s father protested, “But we can afford to pay.”
Brother Bennion kindly responded, “But I couldn’t afford to do it for money.”