Gospel Story Finder

In 2002 I learned an important lesson about problems. While in Asunción, Paraguay, I met with the city’s stake presidents. At that time, Paraguay faced a terrible financial crisis, and many Church members were suffering and unable to make ends meet. I had not been to South America since my mission and had never been to Paraguay. I had been serving in that Area Presidency for only a few weeks. Apprehensive about my inability to give guidance to those stake presidents, I asked them to tell me only what was going well in their stakes. The first stake president told me about things that were going well. The next mentioned things that were going well and a few problems. By the time we got to the last stake president, he mentioned only a series of vexing challenges. As the stake presidents explained the magnitude of the situation, I grew increasingly concerned, nearly desperate, about what to say.

Just as the last stake president was finishing his comments, a thought came into my mind: “Elder Clayton, ask them this question: ‘Presidents, of the members in your stakes who pay a full tithing, pay a generous fast offering, magnify their callings in the Church, actually visit their families as home teachers or visiting teachers every month, hold family home evening, study the scriptures, and hold family prayer each day, how many have problems they cannot address on their own without the Church having to step in and solve their problems for them?’”

Responsive to the impression I had received, I asked the stake presidents that question.

They looked at me in surprised silence and then said, “Pues, ninguno,” meaning, “Well, no one.” They then told me that none of the members who did all of those things had problems they were incapable of resolving on their own. Why? Because they lived in the finest homes. Their faithful living provided them the strength, vision, and heavenly help they needed in the economic turmoil that surrounded them.

Illustrations by Scott Greer
Dani looked up but still couldn’t see the top of the beautiful cathedral. People who belonged to a different church came here. Dani didn’t understand why her family was visiting this church on a Friday, but Dad said they were going to something called Evensong.
“What’s that?” Dani asked.
“It’s a meeting where people sing, read scriptures, and pray together,” Dad said. “Like a big family at the end of the day.”
Dani liked how that sounded. She and her family were visiting England. Last Sunday they went to a ward in a city called York. In Primary all the kids knew the same scriptures and songs Dani did. She knew the ward she visited was part of Jesus’s true Church, just like her ward at home.
But this cathedral was very different from what she was used to. She noticed a small table filled with candles. Dani watched a boy light a candle.
“Why are you lighting candles?” Dani asked him.
The boy smiled. “I light a candle when I pray for special things. As long as the flame burns, I hope the prayer will continue to be heard by God.”
They looked like regular candles to Dani. She was a little confused, but she wanted to be polite. She smiled at the boy.
Dani and her family sat down, and soon Evensong started. She saw the same boy a few rows away. Then she realized she didn’t know any of the songs everyone was singing. When they prayed, they read out of a little book. Everything seemed different than what she was used to.
But the music was beautiful, even if it wasn’t familiar. Then a man got up to read the scriptures. He was wearing robes, instead of a suit and tie like Dani’s bishop. But as he started reading, Dani realized she knew this story! He was reading about Jesus healing the 10 lepers.
“Dad,” Dani whispered, “I love this story.”
Dad smiled. “Me too.”
Then the man in robes said a prayer. He asked God to bless those who were sick and in need. Just like Dani did! He also asked a special blessing on leaders of his church. Dani remembered how her family always asked Heavenly Father to bless President Thomas S. Monson and his counselors.
A warm feeling came into Dani’s heart. She knew Heavenly Father was telling her He loved all His children and heard all their prayers, even if they went to a different church and didn’t have the fulness of the gospel.
As they got up to leave, Dad checked his phone. He looked sad as he read his messages. “Sister Monson passed away,” he said.
“Oh no!” Dani said a quick prayer in her heart that President Monson would be OK.
“Are you all right?” someone asked. It was the boy from before. He had heard Dani, and he seemed worried.
“Sister Monson passed away,” Dani said. “She was the wife of our prophet, President Monson.”
“I’m sorry,” he said kindly. “I’ll light a candle for him.”
Dani smiled and thanked him. She thought it was nice of the boy to say a special prayer for President Monson. She knew Heavenly Father would hear the prayer she said in her heart and the prayer the boy said too.

The doctrine of repentance allows us to correct or fix defects, but it is better to focus on meeting God’s standards than to plan on invoking the principle of repentance before the Judgment. I learned this lesson when I was young.

As a teenager I spent my summers working on my grandfather’s ranch in Wyoming, USA. It was a sheep and cattle ranch of more than 2,000 acres (810 ha), plus additional rangeland. The ranch operation required a lot of equipment. Because the closest repair center was far away, my grandfather taught us to carefully maintain the equipment and to inspect everything before we left the ranch house. If we had a breakdown, it was usually miles from the ranch house, and that meant a long walk.

It didn’t take long for me to learn the law of consequences. It was always better to avoid problems than to take a long walk. The same is true with the commandments of our Heavenly Father. He can tell the difference between someone who truly is striving to become like Him and an individual who is pushing the edges but trying to stay just inside the acceptable limits.

I saw again the power of keeping covenants through a chance conversation with a man I sat down next to on a trip. I had never met him before, but apparently he had seen me in the crowd because his first words after I introduced myself were, “I’ve been watching you.” He told me about his work. I told him about mine. He asked about my family, and then he told me something about his. He said that his wife was a member of the Church and that he was not.

After he came to trust me, he said something like this: “You know, there is something in your church you should fix. You need to tell your people when to quit.” He explained that he and his wife had been married for 25 years. She had been a member of the Church since childhood. In their years of marriage she had only once stepped into a building of the Church, and that was to tour a temple before its dedication, and then only because her parents had arranged it.

Then he told me why he thought we ought to make a change. He said that in those 25 years of married life, in which his wife showed no interest in the Church, visiting teachers and home teachers had never stopped coming to their home. He told of one evening when he went out to walk his dog alone only to find the home teacher happening by with his dog, eager to visit with him.

He told, with a touch of exasperation, of another night when he came home from a long business trip, put his car in the garage, and then came out to find his home teachers standing there, smiling. He said to me something like, “And there they were, right in my face with another plate of cookies.”

I think I understood his feelings. And then I tried, as best I could, to tell him how hard it would be to teach such teachers to quit. I told him that the love that he had felt from those many visitors and their constancy over the years in the face of little response came from a covenant they had made with God. I told him about the baptismal covenant as Alma described it in the Book of Mormon. I didn’t quote these words, but you will remember them as Alma asked those he had taught whether they wished to be baptized:

“And it came to pass that he said unto them: Behold, here are the waters of Mormon (for thus were they called) and now, as ye are desirous to come into the fold of God, and to be called his people, and are willing to bear one another’s burdens, that they may be light;

“Yea, and are willing to mourn with those that mourn; yea, and comfort those that stand in need of comfort, and to stand as witnesses of God at all times and in all things, and in all places that ye may be in, even until death, that ye may be redeemed of God, and be numbered with those of the first resurrection, that ye may have eternal life” (Mosiah 18:8–9).

Those home teachers and visiting teachers understood and believed that the covenant to be witnesses and to love were intertwined and that they reinforced each other. There is no other way to explain what had happened. My new friend recognized that the visitors had genuine concern for him and for his wife. And he knew their caring sprang from a belief that impelled them to come back. He seemed, at least to me, to understand that those visitors were driven from within by a covenant they would not break. As we parted I think he knew why he could expect that there would be more visits, more evidence of caring, and more patient waiting for the opportunity to bear testimony of the restored gospel. As we parted, I realized that I had learned something too. I will never again see home teaching or visiting teaching as only programs of the Church. Those faithful teachers saw what they were doing for what it really was. Such work is an opportunity, not a burden. Every member has made the covenant in the waters of baptism to be a witness for God. Every member has made a covenant to do works of kindness as the Savior would do. So any call to bear witness and to care for others is not a request for extra service; it is a blessing designed by a loving Heavenly Father and His Son Jesus Christ. They have provided such calls as well as other settings, sometimes without a formal call, all for the same purpose. Each is a chance to prove what blessings flow from being a covenant people, and each is an opportunity for which you agreed to be accountable. Each is a sacred responsibility for others accepted in the waters of baptism but too often not met because it may not be recognized for what it is.

It wasn’t necessarily easy when, in December 1945, President George Albert Smith chose Elder Benson to serve as president of the European Mission. This was not just any mission assignment. World War II had only been over for a few months, and the Saints in Europe had largely lost contact with the Church during the war. Many of them had been scattered from their homes, had lost everything, and were in desperate need of welfare supplies. President Benson’s assignment was to locate members of the Church throughout Europe, get welfare supplies to those in need, and generally reestablish order in the Church organization there.

This was a demanding, even dangerous assignment. He knew he would be in Europe for at least one year. He could not take his family with him. Food was in short supply and being rationed in many parts of Europe. Bridges, roads, and buildings throughout the continent had been destroyed, and transportation was difficult to obtain. Even housing was hard to come by. Almost everything about his assignment was unusual and challenging. Aware of the odds he would face when he got there, Elder Benson headed for Europe with the belief that if he worked his hardest, even when things got difficult, the Lord would assist him.

Throughout the ten months he spent in Europe, Elder Benson encountered one difficult situation after another. Again and again he was faced with tough assignments that seemed impossible to perform, and repeatedly he found ways to get the job done.

By the time Elder Benson returned home he had accomplished a great deal. In a little over ten months he’d traveled 61,236 miles by plane, train, ship, automobile, bus, jeep and droshky, a two-wheeled, horse-drawn conveyance. He had located thousands of Saints throughout Europe and distributed tons of welfare supplies to those in need. Mission presidents were functioning in most European missions, and missionaries were proselyting in many countries. And the Saints had a renewed spirit of hope.

But none of it had been easy.

Despondent after her fiance broke their engagement, Abigail Morris found comfort in following President Ezra Taft Benson’s admonition to seriously study the Book of Mormon. As she read, she found that President Benson’s promises of finding “greater power” and “life in greater and greater abundance” came to pass.
“Regular scripture study also brought me many other blessings,” Abigail says. “My faith began to grow—not only in the gospel, but also in myself. I realized that God is a loving Heavenly Father who … has given us, his children, important roles to fulfill in his plan for our happiness.”

In the book Daughters in My Kingdom, we read about Sister Hedwig Biereichel, a woman in Germany who suffered much sorrow and deprivation during World War II. Because of her love and charitable nature, and even in her own great need, she willingly shared her food with starving prisoners of war. Later, when asked how she was able to “keep a testimony during all [those] trials,” she replied in effect, “I didn’t keep a testimony through those times—the testimony kept me.”

Institute Celebrates with Service Weekend
During a break in university terms, the three Hamilton stakes and the young single adult ward focused on enrolling for institute for the next semester. The theme for the institute weekend was “Joseph Smith and Young Adults—True to the Values.” Following a mix-and-meet opening activity, the activity turned toward service.
Project number one was at Hamon’s Bush, just west of the Temple View Community, where Elder and Sister Roger Hamon are serving as missionaries. The young adults planted native trees on what has come to be known as Institute Hill.
Project number two saw young adults mingling with other Temple View stake members in another tree-planting project for the Hamilton City Council.
The third service project involved making quilts and donating soft toys for the children’s ward at the Waikato Hospital. The young adults donated 29 quilts and 4 large sacks of soft toys to the hospital during this activity.
Spearheading the toy project was Amy Howard, who said recent stays with her son in the hospital made her want to do something to brighten it up for the young patients. The children will be able to play with the toys and take one of their favorites home with them after their stay.

“Come in, Thad!” said the bishop, rising from his chair in the tithing house, where he ran the affairs of the United Order of Orderville. “Thank you for coming.” On his desk was a very strange-looking machine—a combination of gears, spindles, and reels, with a handle to turn them—attached to a wooden base on which “Peerless Easy Rope Maker” was printed in gilded letters. I had never seen anything like it.
The bishop came around his desk and shook my hand. “We ordered it all the way from Philadelphia,” he said, nodding toward the machine. “If you’re willing, I’d like you to learn how to use it to make rope from the flax and cotton we grow that aren’t good enough for our cloth factory.”
I tried to look calm and grown-up, but a big grin spread across my face in spite of myself. I had been waiting a long time for a real assignment in the Order. “I’ll do my best, Bishop,” I said.
The bishop patted me on the shoulder. “Thad, I’m sure you’ll be a good worker, just like your brother.”
That hurt. Everyone was always comparing me to my twin brother, Theo, and I usually got the worst of it. He was bigger than I was, had no freckles, and at thirteen looked more like a man than I did. He had already been given many important assignments. This was my first chance. I had to make the most of it.
The bishop handed me the machine. “Take it over to the harness shop, and Brother Spencer will give you any help you need. You will work under his direction.”
The machine was heavy, and it was a hot day and a long way to the harness shop. When I finally got there, I felt as if my arms were stretching. And maybe they were—Sunday Mom complained that my good shirt’s sleeves were getting too short. Anyway, at the harness shop Brother Spencer put the machine in a wheelbarrow and told me to take it to the cabinet shop and have a stand made to mount it on.
The cabinet shop was part of the carpenter area of the Order and was a beehive of activity. The carpenters’ goal was to have a new two-bedroom home completed every six days all summer. The rest of the morning I helped Brother Carling find, measure, mark, and saw the boards into the correct length and size, and drill the holes needed to mount the rope-making machine.
That afternoon we loaded it and its stand on a wagon and took them to the blacksmith shop to be bolted together. Brother Worth, the blacksmith, was a powerful man with huge arms and shoulders. He loved to sing and could be heard singing Church songs as he heated and hammered iron. He was not singing when I arrived but was loading his tools into a wagon. “I have to go up to the factory to help fix a breakdown, Thad. Leave your things, and I’ll send word when we can work on your stand.”
The water in the irrigation ditch looked cool and inviting as I headed back to the cabinet shop. I knew that the swimming hole would be full of my friends keeping cool and having fun. I wondered if running a rope machine would be the end of having a good time.
“Go join the boys for a swim,” Brother Spencer said when I arrived. “Tomorrow we’ll start learning how to make rope.”
At dinner I told everyone about the Peerless Rope Machine and my new job. Theo jokingly said, “You won’t be able to make a rope good enough to hold up a bed.”
Everyone laughed until Dad said, “That’s enough. Let’s kneel down and have prayer.” How good it was to hear Dad pray that I would become a good rope maker.
That night I dreamed that all the horses in town were tied up with my ropes. They broke the ropes and ran away, and someone was calling me to go find them. But it was just the morning call to get up and do chores.
After breakfast I hurried over to the harness shop. By the side of the shop was bundle after bundle of flax and cotton made into short pieces of twine. The machine was still at the blacksmith shop. Brother Spencer picked up a piece of twine and handed it to me. “What does a spinning wheel do to the fibers to make them into thread or string?”
That I knew. I had watched lots of wool being spun. “It twists all the fibers in the same direction,” I answered.
“Right! Has that been done to the cotton and flax we have here?”
“Yes, but they’ve put so many fibers together that I’d call it twine, not thread or string.”
“You’re observant, Thad. But the pieces of twine are short, just leftover bits. How are you going to make them longer?”
I spoke without thinking. “Just tie them together with a knot.”
“Think again. Would that make a nice smooth rope?”
“How else could I do it?”
“Watch! You untwist each end, then lay them together and twist them back together to make a simple, twisted splice. When it’s pulled tight, it will be almost as strong as any other piece of twine. Let’s try it.”
Brother Spencer made it look easy. I tried and tried, but it took a long time to get mine to go together and stay, Finally I could make a good splice almost every time. It wasn’t long until I had a mixed-up mess of newly spliced twine scattered around me.
When Brother Spencer came out to check on me, he said, “Good work, Thad, but where is the end? Find it and start winding what you have connected together into balls. When you get the machine, you will put the twine on the spools as you splice it.”
Early in the afternoon Brother Spencer sent me back over to the blacksmith shop and said, “If you can’t help there with the machine, go ahead and go swimming.”
I went swimming. The boys asked, “Thad, can you make a rope that we can hang from a tree to swing out over the water?”
“Sure!” I said. “That will be a good place to test the rope to see how strong it is and how well it lasts.”
On my way home I went back by the blacksmith shop, and there was the machine, bolted to its stand.
Brother Worth said, “The next wagon that comes by will take it over to the harness shop.” All the way home I hummed the song I had heard him singing. Tomorrow I would make rope.
We took the rope-making machine from the blacksmith shop the next morning and we put it close to the harness shop door so that I could work outside but move it inside easily at night.
Brother Spencer took a spool off the machine and handed it to me. “Fill it with twine.”
Round and round I wrapped the twine. One ball was soon used and then a second, and the spool wasn’t even half full. “Can I put some on a second spool?” I asked.
“Sure.”
I put two balls on the second spool. Brother Spencer watched me. “Go ahead and try to make a two-strand rope. Can you see which holes to thread it through on the tightener?”
“Yes—the ones marked with a two. There are also three holes marked with threes and four with fours.”
“You’re a smart young man, Thad. Now pull both strands over the take-up roller and tie them to the big take-up spool.”
Following his instructions, I threaded the machine and began turning the handle. At first the twine kept breaking, but we kept resplicing it, making adjustments, and trying again. After several failures, we finally got it right, and I saw real rope emerging on the take-up reel. “It’s working! It’s working!” I kept turning. Just as I got the feel for how it should be done, one of the little feed spools ran out of twine. My first attempt at rope making had ended.
Brother Spencer unwound the finished rope and handed me one end. We stretched it out, and it was at least twelve feet long! We again each grasped an end and pulled against each other. We couldn’t break the rope.
“There you are, Brother Rope Maker,” Brother Spencer said. “For the rest of today, make rope with just two strands. Tomorrow you can make some of three strands, and the next day four. Be sure to save samples so that you can see if you’re getting any better. Take this first piece home to show your family. I’m proud of you, Thad.”
That night I sat a little straighter next to Theo at the dinner table. It felt good.
The next two weeks, I untangled lots of cotton and flax twine, joined it together, and made it into rope. We got a long plank and put it up on saw horses so that I would have a good place to join the ends together. The pile of short pieces of twine got smaller and smaller, and my pile of finished rope got bigger and bigger. On Saturday I loaded what was done into the wheelbarrow and hauled it to the tithing office. There I turned it over to the clerk, who wrote up a receipt that read: “One wheelbarrow load of assorted sizes and lengths of machine-made rope of both cotton and flax. Quality excellent.”

Zachary found the shiny star the Sunday before Christmas. He asked Mommy. “Where does it go?”
“I think I know,” she said. “You see if you can find where it belongs.”
Zachary looked at the Christmas tree, but the star at the top was still there. “Do you know where this star goes?” he asked Daddy.
“I think I know,” Daddy said. “You see if you can find where it belongs.”
Zachary looked at Mommy’s ears, then said to himself, “It’s too big to be one of Mommy’s earrings.”
He asked his big brother, Keith, “Do you know where this star goes?”
“I think I know,” Keith told him. “You see if you can find where it belongs.”
“OK,” Zachary said. He closed his eyes tightly and thought. But he couldn’t think where the star belonged. He went to play with the nativity scene while he waited for family home evening to start. As he tried to stand the angel on top of the stable, he had an idea.
When family home evening started, Daddy asked, “Who has something to share with us?”
“I do,” said Zachary. He put the star on top of the stable in the nativity scene. “Here is where the star goes—above Baby Jesus.”

When Vyacheslav and Zoya Gulko of Ukraine began investigating the Church, their 13-year-old daughter, Kira, wasn’t thrilled. She refused to participate in missionary lessons, and when she knew the elders were coming to their home, she “demonstratively shut the door of her room,” her mother remembers.
Brother and Sister Gulko, who decided to join the Church, suspected that if they could just provide an opportunity for Kira to feel the Spirit, her heart might be touched. Because Sister Gulko’s own testimony had begun when she attended another person’s baptism, she asked Kira to come to her baptism—just to help her change into dry clothes afterward. To Sister Gulko’s surprise, Kira agreed.
“It happened!” Sister Gulko remembers. “Heavenly Father was working in a very miraculous way.” Kira did feel the Spirit, and a week after her parents’ baptism, she agreed to meet with the missionaries. She began reading the Book of Mormon. A few weeks later, Sister Gulko noticed a piece of paper hanging above Kira’s desk; written on it were the words of 2 Nephi 2:25. Two and a half months after their own baptism, the Gulkos attended their daughter’s baptism. Now, 20 years later, Kira is married. She and her husband, Dave, have been sealed in the temple and are raising their two sons in the gospel. She has served faithfully in a number of callings and has remained active in the Church.

At Philadelphia, Elder John E. Page lost the spirit of the mission and Orson continued on to Jerusalem alone. During his travels Orson met many notable personalities, some of whom were amazed at and interested in his mission. He enjoyed his travels through Europe and while waiting for his visa in Munich, learned to write and speak German.
Tired and weary after several months’ travel of nearly 10,000 miles, Orson’s enthusiasm was revitalized as he finally arrived at the sacred city of Jerusalem. Here he carefully walked along a dark, narrow street, avoiding the heavily loaded camels that traveled toward him. In the early morning hour he passed through the ancient gate in the old decayed wall near the brook, Kidron. As Orson crossed over the small brook and climbed up the gentle slope of the hill, bright rays of sunshine encompassed the Mount of Olives. It was a magnificent sight as he gazed upon the surrounding countryside from the top of the mount.
There, alone, on Sunday, October 24, 1841, Orson wrote and offered the prayer dedicating Palestine for the return of the Jews and for the building of a temple in the future. For the first time in 1,800 years, an apostle stood again on the Mount of Olives. After his prayer Orson Hyde built two stone altars patterned after those of ancient Israel for memorials. The first memorial was on the Mount of Olives and the second on Mt. Moriah.

Tasha, Patrick, and Zach sat on the couch, staring at the big wooden box. They had found it when they were cleaning out the closet. Mom said it was Dad’s special treasure box. But they weren’t allowed to open it until Dad got home.
“I wonder what kind of treasures are in there,” Patrick said. “Maybe gold.”
“Or jewels,” said Tasha. “Maybe Dad will share his treasures with us!”
“It’s old,” said Zach, rubbing a finger on the wood. “It was made a long time ago.” He stared at the box and mumbled something about X-ray vision.
Just then Dad came in the door. “My box!” he said with a big grin.
Zach jumped up. “Can we open it now?” he asked.
“Hmm. Let’s save it for family home evening,” Dad said. “We’ll have a special treasure box night.”
They tried not to look at the box while they were playing, but they couldn’t stop thinking about it. “Couldn’t we just peek a little?” Patrick whispered after dinner was over. He slid over to the box but jumped back when Mom and Dad came into the room. Finally it was time.
Mom said the prayer, and then Dad started family home evening.
“My father made this box for me one Christmas,” he told them. “I started keeping all my treasures in it.”
“Are the treasures worth a lot?” Zach asked.
“They are to me,” said Dad.
“Let’s see them!” said Tasha.
Dad opened the box wide so everyone could see.
The treasures weren’t what they were expecting, but they still had fun exploring. Instead of pirate gold and rubies, they found old school papers, a yo-yo, a microscope, letters, certificates, and lots of photos from when Dad was a kid. His baby pictures made them laugh. As they looked through the box, Zach held up an old airplane ticket.
“Why is this in your treasure box?” he asked.
Dad took the ticket. “During my first year of college, my family sent me this ticket so I could fly home for Thanksgiving. I got a ride from some friends, but they couldn’t take me all the way to the airport.”
“Where did they take you?” Zach asked.
“They dropped me off at a street corner,” said Dad. “I didn’t know how to get to the airport from there. I was worried I would miss the plane.”
“Did you call someone on your cell phone?” Tasha asked.
“Cell phones weren’t invented yet!” Mom said with a laugh.
“So what did you do?” Patrick asked.
“I started praying,” said Dad. “I prayed hard that Heavenly Father would help me. Then I saw a car coming. It was my old bishop! He gave me a ride to the airport. I saved the ticket and put it in my treasure box.”
“Now I get it!” Tasha said. “It’s a treasure because it helps you remember that Heavenly Father heard your prayers.”
“Yep!” said Dad. “It’s the best kind of treasure. And I’m glad I could share it with you.”
“We should write that story down and keep it with the ticket,” Zach said. “It could be a treasure for our whole family!”
“And this could be our family treasure box!” Patrick said, pointing to the box in excitement. “We could all put treasures like that in here.”
“Best idea ever!” said Dad.
Tasha grinned. “I can’t wait to put a treasure in the box!”

My family and I were on our way to attend my dad’s high school class reunion in Park City, Montana, when the accident happened.
Halfway to Park City, my parents decided to stop and camp for the night. My dad asked my two older brothers, Bob and Dan, to gather wood and start a fire. He gave each of them a couple of matches. When Dan scraped his match against a stone, the flaming tip broke off and hit his eye, burning it badly before bouncing away. He cried out in terrible pain. My dad tried to comfort him, and my mom held ice on his eye to stop the burning.
When my brother had calmed down, my parents looked at his eye. Their worst fears were confirmed when they saw that the color of Dan’s eye was no longer brown, but completely white. They covered his eye and made him as comfortable as possible.
We climbed into the car and headed for Helena, the nearest town, where my brother was immediately taken to an eye specialist. After the exam, the specialist told my parents that Dan was blind in the damaged eye.
He gave Dan some medicine to put in his eye and a patch to keep the eye clean and protected. He told my parents to go to the class reunion and then bring Dan in for another exam on the way home.
After we received the bad news, my dad gathered us together and announced that our family would fast the next 24 hours for Dan’s full recovery. The day went by quickly as we concentrated on Dan and his need for comfort and healing. I believed that whatever the outcome, the Lord loved Dan and would help him.
My dad had tears streaming down his face when he gave Dan a priesthood blessing. It was the most beautiful blessing of healing I have ever heard. My dad told Dan that the Lord loved him and had many things for him to do in this life. He also told him he would need both of his eyes to complete his mission on earth, that his eye would heal, and that his vision would be fully restored. During the blessing, we all felt the Spirit and knew that God was mindful of us, especially of my brother during this trial.
When we returned to Helena, the eye specialist invited us into his examination room, where he again looked at Dan’s injured eye. He asked my parents if they were sure that this eye was the injured one. He said the eye he examined had to be the wrong eye because it was perfectly normal. Perplexed, he then checked Dan’s other eye. It, too, was normal. The specialist told my parents that it was impossible for an eye to heal like that. He had no explanation for it.
But we knew what had happened. The power of the priesthood, coupled with fervent prayer, faith, fasting, and an acceptance of the Lord’s will, had brought down the blessings of heaven.

That is how I came to find out about Juana Cancel, one of my father’s grandmothers (and one of my great-grandmothers). She was born in Vega Baja, Puerto Rico in the year 1880. I wrote and recorded the following information about her, which I learned from my father. “Juana Cancel was a very beloved grandmother of my father. She would protect, love, nurture, and spoil him. She safely kept his Life Magazine collection for him. Her husband, Jose Hilario Martinez, died eighteen years before she did. That meant that she had to continue administering and working their farm by herself after his death. She then used to sleep with a half a cue stick, an iron bar, and a hatchet underneath her bed, in case somebody tried to break into her home. She also used to smoke cigarettes. She said that she smoked in order to repel the mosquitoes! She passed away from a metastatic cancer of her cervix. My father remembers her going to receive treatments in the oncologic hospital in San Juan. I love her very much, because it is quite clear to me that my father nearly worshiped her.”
I could not rest until the temple work was done for her. It was a moving labor of love to have all of her vicarious ordinances performed. Family history and temple work are truly the “most glorious of subjects belonging to the everlasting gospel” (D&C 128:17).

At last it was the day before Christmas. Manuel’s mother smiled as she took the little box of Christmas money down from the shelf. “Do you know how much we have saved, Manuel?” she asked.
“Enough to buy a big fish for two people, I hope,” Manuel replied.
Manuel’s mother smiled, but then the smile quickly faded. “We have enough money to buy a big fish for four people,” she said softly. And Manuel knew she was thinking of his father, who was dead, and of his brother Tomás, who had been away in the army for many months.
Mamá smiled again as she wrapped all the coins in a handkerchief. “Manuel, my son,” she said, “since we only need a fish for two, there will also be enough pesos (money) to buy yourself a Christmas present. You have been wanting a pocketknife, no?”
Manuel’s heart soared at her words. He felt as he did when he chased the gulls in the sunny foam along the beach. “Thank you! Thank you, Mamá!” he shouted. “Feliz Navidad” (Merry Christmas)!”
“Feliz Navidad!” added a familiar voice behind him.
Manuel and his mother both jumped in surprise. “Tomás! Tomás!” shouted Manuel. And he ran to hug his brother.
“How did you manage to come home, mi hijo (my son)?” asked Mamá, her black eyes shining with sudden tears of happiness.
“I have been ill,” answered Tomás. “So I was given a little rest holiday. I have three more days.”
“Manuel, hurry!” said Mamá. “Go down to the central market and bring back our Christmas fish. This is truly a time to be joyful.”
Manuel took the knotted handkerchief from the table and ran down the cool dark hall to the door. Outside, his sandals smacked on the stones—slippety-slap, slippety-slap! Then suddenly Manuel stopped, for all at once he thought, If I buy a fish big enough for three people, there will not be enough pesos left for a knife. And I cannot buy a fish too little, or Tomás will not feel properly welcomed. What am I going to do?
When Manuel got to the marketplace, he had not yet decided. Silently, miserably, he drifted amid the cheerful crowd. He watched people buy bananas at the fruit seller’s, peppers at the vegetable stand, cookies at the bakery stall, and ribbons at the cloth vendor’s shop.
Finally he wandered down a narrow aisle and stood staring into the case where Señor Fernandez kept his pocketknives.
“Hola (hello), Manuel, are you thinking of buying that knife for Christmas?” asked Señor Fernandez. The shopkeeper knew just which one Manuel wanted because he had often let him hold it.
“I don’t know,” replied Manuel. Then he turned to look at the fish seller’s stall that was not far away. An old man was piling gleaming fish of all shapes and sizes in big tubs filled with ice. And as Manuel watched, the old man picked up a big fish from the basket he was unloading.
“Aayy!” he exclaimed in distress. “What kind of a fish is this? It looks like somebody stepped on the tail of this beautiful fish and now it is ruined. Some of its tail is gone. How can I sell a fish like this?”
Manuel knew what he could do. The fish had a good flavor, and it was a much bigger fish than he or his mother had ever planned to buy.
“Señor!” Manuel called as he ran to the fish vendor’s stall. “Señor, do not feed that fish to los gatos (the cats). I will buy it from you. I will give you ten pesos.”
“Ten pesos!” shouted the man. “Why this fish is worth three times that amount!”
“But you just said that it does not have all its tail,” replied Manuel. “And it is getting late. How many people will want a fish with only part of its tail on Christmas Eve?”
“Very well, very well,” grumbled the old man and he pushed the fish into Manuel’s bag.
After buying the fish, Manuel visited other stands in the market, where he bought several more fine things to eat. For once he had made up his mind to spend all the money on a real Christmas feast, he did not stop until it was gone.
The evening breeze had started to come in off the sea by the time he hurried up the sandy lane to his house.
“Manuel!” exclaimed his mother when he came inside. “Where have you been? I was getting worried.”
“Shopping, Mamá,” explained Manuel. “I had to get us a Christmas fish.”
“But what are all these other packages?” asked Tomás.
“You must open them and see,” answered Manuel. Then he watched while Tomás and Mamá, with much laughter and contentment, unwrapped his purchases. And Manuel felt his heart swell within him, like the times he watched the sun sink into the sea.
“Feliz Navidad,” he said softly, to no one in particular. “It is so good to be happy at Christmastime.”

A significant moment in my personal journey to Jesus Christ can be traced to an invitation given by President Henry B. Eyring where he invited the audience to act.
He said, “I bless you that every day, if you will ask in prayer to be shown where the hand of God intervened in your life that day, I bless you that you will see that. It will be made manifest to you. That you will see that He is leading and guiding and lifting you, and that He knows you”. 1
This invitation, to consciously document the hand of the Lord in our lives every day, resonated with me.
I accepted the invitation and purchased a new pastel blue notebook that would become a precious personal record, capturing moments when I saw the hand of the Lord in my life. Little did I know how pivotal this little blue pastel notepad would prove, in my continuing journey to seek Jesus Christ.
In recollecting times where I have acknowledged the hand of the Lord in my life, I was reminded of a time when I was eleven years old. I had an accident that punctured my spleen. This required hospitalisation and, in advance of the operation, going without food and drink for what seemed like an eternity. I particularly remember being in a large room, feeling vulnerable and alone in the early hours of the morning. I silently prayed for help to ease my anxiety and discomfort. Within a very short period of time, a nurse came and offered me an ice cube wrapped within a cotton bandage to suck on. The relief and refreshment felt like a luxurious feast. More importantly, however, I recognised and acknowledged the hand of the Lord.
A scripture in Psalms was fulfilled in that hospital bed. That night “I sought the Lord, and he heard me, and delivered me from all my fears”.2 Though this may seem trivial, my attempt to ask and exercise faith was answered. And I had not only felt physical relief, but I also felt that He knew me.
Without relaying every experience I have documented in my pastel blue notepad, a consistent pattern has emerged. As I ask and believe, I will receive3 and in acknowledging Him, my relationship to Him is strengthened. This pattern has guided and continues to guide me through illness, trials, despair, and pain.
The 2022 For the Strength of Youth theme4 perfectly describes this pattern. My wife, Ailsa, and I had the privilege of being part of the Manchester Scotland session of FSY in 2022. We witnessed this pattern playing out in the lives of many participants. One young woman brought many difficult questions to FSY, with no expectation that they would all be answered. She recounted in joyful tears that, during this Christ-focused event, every one of her questions had been answered. She knew that He knew her. This young woman has recently been called to serve Him in the Frankfurt Germany Mission.
The Apostle Peter invited us to “be ready always to give an answer to every man that asketh you a reason of the hope that is in you.”5
I invite you to document the hand of the Lord in your life, starting retrospectively as far as you can remember. Continue daily to recognise, acknowledge, and receive the reach of the Master of healing, the Bright and Morning Star, He that is in all things, above all things, through all things, and round about all things.6
I love Him, I adore Him, I depend on Him, because I can recollect numerous times where I had a personal confirmation that He knows me and loves me.

When I got the call that I would be evacuated from my mission, I was upset and confused.
Several months before I was supposed to be released, the First Presidency decided to send me and several other missionaries home based on what I thought were only rumors of a possible international conflict. There wasn’t any evidence that anything was going to happen.
I didn’t think there was anything to worry about.
I had always wanted to serve a mission and had worked so hard to accomplish that goal. Money was tight, but I found a job that helped me earn enough to pay for my mission. When I opened my call, it felt so right, and I knew it came from God.
Then, because of the COVID-19 pandemic, I was reassigned to a mission in Utah for nine months before I made it overseas to my original assignment. I was relieved and overjoyed to finally be where God had originally called me to be.
Then, after just a few months of being there, I was suddenly whisked away from the people and country that I loved. I felt like everything was being taken away from me.
I felt betrayed. I sincerely questioned whether this was an inspired choice.
Begrudgingly, I flew home to Texas. My evacuation was so unexpected that my dad and siblings weren’t even at the airport to welcome me home.
Just a few days after I left my mission, I was shocked when a dangerous conflict broke out close to where I had been serving. In that moment, I realized that following the prophet had kept me safe in a very real way. I was overcome with gratitude for the prophet and his inspiration.
I made a promise to myself that I would always heed what the prophet said, even if it didn’t make sense in the moment.

When Joseph Smith was only seven years old, a bone in his leg became infected. The infection grew worse until the doctor decided that part of the bone must be cut out. There was no hospital, and no anesthetic, so the doctor offered Joseph a drink of brandy (a kind of liquor) to ease his pain. Joseph would not drink it. The doctor wanted to tie Joseph to the bed so that he would not move during the operation. Again Joseph bravely refused. His father held him tightly in his arms all during the operation, which was successful. Joseph began to get better, and he grew strong and healthy.

As John started down the hill toward home, fog mixed with smoke rolled over him in smothering waves. The frightened ten-year-old boy sat down to try to light the lantern Mr. West had loaned him to use in just such an emergency, but the dampness blew out the flame of the matches. John stood up, pulled his oilskin coat tighter about him, and tried to see ahead through the fog and darkness of the late afternoon.
Earlier that day John’s mother had sent him with a basket of food to the home of an old shepherd who lived alone about three miles northeast of Milnthorpe, England, where John lived with his family. It was the first time Mother had ever let John go on this errand alone, and he was both proud and excited. But he had stayed at Mr. West’s home too long, and when a dark cloud blacked out the sun before a soft rain started, John jumped up quickly and said goodbye to his old friend.
Mr. West offered to walk back with the boy to Milnthorpe, but John shook his head. “This is my first trip alone,” he explained, “and my mother wouldn’t let me come alone again if you had to take me home.”
Now John wished that Mr. West were with him. He imagined all kinds of strange sounds and movements in the fog that closed in thick around him. He had no idea where he was. Suddenly he came to a big iron gate that marked the end of the road, and from beyond the gate came the frightening growl of a dog.
John was almost paralyzed with fright. Then he remembered that his mother had told him that God was always near, even though he might sometimes think that he was all alone.
John dropped down on his knees and asked for help. As he did so, all his fear left; and he was not surprised a few minutes later to hear a voice call out of the mist, “Johnny, I’ve come to take you home.” It was Mr. West!
The young boy was John Taylor, who became the third president of the Church. Although he lived to be eighty years old, he never forgot the quick answer to his prayer as a frightened boy on that lonesome foggy evening.