Gospel Story Finder

Holiness to the Lord in everyday life looks like a young returning missionary who learned to let God prevail in his life. Earlier, when asked to bless someone who was very sick, this missionary said, “I have faith; I will bless him to recover. Yet,” the returning missionary says, “I learned in that moment to pray not for what I wanted but for what the Lord knew the person needed. I blessed the brother with peace and comfort. He later passed away peacefully.”

I grew up a member of the Church in Belize, but I wasn’t always a faithful follower of the Lord. My family was among the first members in Belize, but we had many trials. My father left us, leaving my mother jobless with three kids.
My mother’s faith in the Lord allowed us to overcome our trials. My mom worked hard to support us and to bring us to the Lord, but I had to gain a testimony for myself. For a time I chose wrong paths, mainly because of the company I spent my time with. They influenced me to draw away from—rather than near to—the Lord.
My turning point was when I started to spend most of my time with youth of the Church. I witnessed the marvelous spirit they had. It brought an unusual joy in my life. Seeing my friends going out to serve the Lord on their missions brought an even greater spirit.
Serving a mission was the last thing on my mind until I decided to turn to the Lord in prayer to find out if this was the way for me. As I prayed I felt the Holy Spirit’s power bursting in my heart. I have never before witnessed such marvelous power. It led me to know that a mission was right for me. I talked to my branch president, prepared spiritually and financially, and later served a full-time mission.

Elder Shumway, age 62, is the son of Wilford Jennings Shumway and Mabel Whiting Shumway. He was born on 8 May 1940 and grew up in Saint Johns, Arizona, where he first met Dixie Ann Jarvis. Their parents were close friends, and the two casually dated during high school. When Elder Shumway returned from a mission to Uruguay, her parents encouraged her to give the good family friend a chance. She did, and they were married in the Mesa Arizona Temple in 1963. They have 8 children and 20 grandchildren.

Like most priests, Steven P. was looking forward to sleeping in during his summer vacation. But then his bishop invited every temple-worthy member in the ward to do as many proxy ordinances in the temple during the summer as their circumstances would allow. Steven’s whole family decided to go to the temple early on two or three mornings each week.
Waking up at 5:00 a.m. was challenging at first, but after several trips “it became like clockwork,” Steven says. And he kept going back. By the end of summer, Steven had performed over 400 baptisms and confirmations. “It made me feel good to go to the temple to be baptized and confirmed for those who aren’t able to do it.”
For Steven, being with his family was an important part of going to the temple. “I feel the Spirit a lot stronger when I am with people I am familiar with,” Steven says. “We’re pretty close as a family as it is.” After attending the temple together frequently, “I feel we got closer as a family.”

Many years ago I had an experience with personal revelation that would forever change my life. I had recently graduated from college and was working for a good company. Everything seemed to be going well for me, but I had the unsettled feeling that something was missing. And I had many questions for which I could not find answers. I never thought that an invitation from my friend Imable to “meet the Mormons” would lead me to find answers to my questions—indeed, that it would have transcendent consequences for my life.
When Imable and I arrived at the meeting that Sunday in August 1974, the Church members—particularly the youth—greeted us with enthusiasm, as if we were old friends. We listened to a speaker who had great faith in what he was saying. When he finished I was surprised at the warm feeling I experienced.
Two days later I found myself in the home of one of the members, listening to the missionaries teach the gospel. Unfortunately my family would not allow the missionaries into our home because of our strong religious traditions and because they were afraid. I could understand their feelings; nevertheless, I needed to know the truth for myself, no matter what the consequences. And so I studied it out in my mind (see D&C 9:8) and prayed to God for wisdom and knowledge.
One day, as the missionaries taught me about the First Vision, the Holy Spirit testified powerfully to me that the Prophet Joseph Smith had indeed seen the Father and the Son. I said to Elder Dennis Lamb, “It is true! I know it is true!”
That night I followed the missionaries’ counsel to pour out my heart to God and ask Him if the Book of Mormon was also true. Again I experienced that peaceful and joyful feeling I had felt earlier. I was grateful for the new life the Lord was offering me through the missionaries. My mind and heart were illuminated “by the Spirit of truth” (D&C 6:15), and I knew the sweet reality of a divine Father, who loves us and extends His arms to us through His servants.
The blessings soon followed. Two months after my baptism, I baptized my youngest sister and brother. And a year later I began my service as a full-time missionary in southern Chile. My mother was baptized while I was in the field, and I was able to baptize my father when I returned home. My two sisters and my brother also served honorable missions. Months after I returned from my mission, I met my sweet wife, Adriana, and we were sealed in the temple. We were blessed with three children born in the covenant. All of this is because I listened to the quiet promptings that testified to me of the Prophet Joseph Smith and the restored Church. How grateful I am for the gift of personal revelation!

Black clouds piled up in the west as I fastened my seat belt and Mom started the car. My mood was as dark as those clouds. Why did Mom always tell people I would play a musical number on the piano whenever anyone asked me? I was only 12, but I was often asked to play for church programs and in other wards. Bishop Bowen had asked me to play a musical number in his ward’s sacrament meeting this evening. We used to live in his ward.
“Why do I have to play?” I asked Mom. “I like to practice at home, but I don’t like to play in public. Some of my friends will be there and they’ll make fun of me. They all know I play the piano and they tease me about it.”
“You have a special gift for music, Kent,” Mom said. “You need to share your talent.”
I dug my hands deeper into my pockets and didn’t say anything else.
When we got to the church, Mom parked the car. The wind was blowing hard as we hurried into the building.
Sitting in the chapel, I flattened my hands over my shaky knees to quiet them. Mom patted my shoulder and smiled at me. I pulled away and swallowed hard.
After the sacrament, Bishop Bowen announced the rest of the meeting. He said who would be the first speaker, and then he said, “We’re so happy to have Kent back with us this evening. He will play a musical number for us.”
A lady sitting behind us leaned forward and patted my shoulder and smiled. “Why do my friends tease me so much, but the adults always like to hear me play?” I wondered.
I heard the wind howling outside. My throat was dry. Too bad I couldn’t get a drink of water. My fingers were stiff so I rubbed them.
The first speaker finished his talk. Ready or not, it was my turn. My stomach churned as I stared at the keys. I felt like striking them with all my strength. Too bad I wasn’t playing my favorite song, “The Storm.” A storm raged inside me as well as outside.
A minute passed as I sat there trying to compose myself, but it felt like an eternity. Finally, I raised my hands and let them fall gently on the keys. The soft chords dropped from my fingertips and quieted the storm inside me. I pictured a bright moon in the sky making a stream of light on ripples across a lake. My fingers rippled over the keys like the moonlight over the water. I felt like I was playing at home. I loved every minute of it.
When I finished, I slipped into the pew beside Mom. She put her arm around my shoulders, and I heard rain spattering against the windows. A sudden flash of lightning jarred the quiet congregation.
The second speaker stood up to give his talk, but I could only hear the rumbling thunder and the pounding rain outside. A sudden blinding flash seemed to almost come right into the building, followed by a loud crash. All the lights went out in the chapel! The speaker continued his talk even though it was hard to hear him without the microphone. Babies cried. Kids wiggled. Everybody was whispering.
When the speaker finished, Bishop Bowen stood up and spoke loudly. “Our meeting is finished except for the closing prayer. But we surely can’t go out into this storm. Kent, will you please play your musical number again?”
I was shocked. How could I quiet all that confusion and fear? I felt my way to the piano bench in the darkness and found middle C. Then I knew I would be all right. I had never felt such peace as the memorized notes blended into each other. The nervous confusion in the chapel stopped and everyone seemed to be concentrating on the music.
The congregation was silent as the last tones died away. The storm outside had calmed down. Someone offered the closing prayer, and then everyone began to leave, finding their way carefully in the dark. Some of my friends were waiting for me in the foyer.
“Hey, Kent, how did you do that? Your music took away the scare,” one said.
“I wish I could play like that,” said another.
No one made fun of me. What a relief! A woman touched my elbow and said, “Tonight you used music for a great purpose. You gave us calmness over panic. I’ve never felt more uplifted and I couldn’t hold back the tears. Please don’t ever stop playing.”

In April 1847, Sam Brannan and three other men left San Francisco Bay in search of Brigham Young and the main body of the Saints. They did not know exactly where to find them, but most emigrants followed the same trail west. If Sam and his small company headed east along the trail, they would eventually cross paths with the Saints.
After stopping briefly to pick up supplies at New Hope, the men trekked northeast to the foothills of the Sierra Nevada mountains. People who knew the Sierras well had warned Sam not to cross them so early in the year. The mountain pass was still choked with snow, they said, which meant the journey could be a two-month ordeal.
Yet Sam was sure he could cross the mountains quickly. Urging their pack animals forward, he and his men hiked for hours up the mountains. The snow was deep but tightly packed, making it easier to find footing along the trail. The mountain streams ran high, however, forcing the men to risk dangerous swims or hazardous alternative routes.
On the far side of the mountain range, the trail led them along hulking granite crags to a view of a beautiful pine-wooded valley with a lake as blue as the sky. Descending to the valley, they found a few abandoned cabins at a campsite littered with human remains. Months earlier, a wagon train bound for California had become stranded in the snow. The emigrants had built the cabins to wait out a bad winter storm, but low on food and unprepared for the cold, many of them slowly starved or froze to death, while some resorted to cannibalism.1
Their story was a grim reminder of the dangers of overland travel, but Sam refused to let their tragedy frighten him. He was captivated by the wilderness. “A man cannot know himself,” he exulted, “until he has traveled in these wild mountains.”2
By mid-May, Brigham Young and the advance company had covered more than three hundred miles. Each morning, the bugle awoke the camp at five o’clock, and travel began at seven. Sometimes delays slowed the company’s progress, but most days they managed to travel between fifteen and twenty miles. In the evening they circled their wagons, gathered for evening prayers, and extinguished campfires.3
The dull routine was sometimes broken by buffalo sightings. The large, shaggy animals traveled in massive herds, rumbling across hills and bottomlands so fluidly that the prairie itself seemed to be moving. The men were eager to hunt the animal, but Brigham counseled them to do so only when necessary and to never waste the meat.4
The company traveled along an existing trail that other westbound settlers had blazed a few years earlier. With each passing mile, the grassy prairie slowly gave way to desert meadows and rolling hills. From the top of a bluff, the landscape looked as rough as a stormy sea. The trail followed the Platte River and crossed several creeks that provided water for drinking and cleaning. Yet the ground itself was sandy. Sometimes the company spotted a tree or a patch of green grass along the trail, but much of the land was stark and forbidding as far as the eye could see.5
Sometimes, a member of the company would ask Brigham where they were going. “I will show you when we come to it,” he would say. “I have seen it, I have seen it in vision, and when my natural eyes behold it, I shall know it.”6
Every day, William Clayton estimated the company’s mileage and corrected the sometimes imprecise maps that guided them. Not far into the journey, he and Orson Pratt worked with Appleton Harmon, a skilled craftsman, to build a “roadometer,” a wooden device that accurately measured distances through a system of cogs attached to a wagon wheel.7
Despite the company’s progress, Brigham was often frustrated when he saw the actions of some members of the company. Most of them had been in the Church for years, served missions, and received the ordinances of the temple. Yet many ignored his counsel on hunting or idled away their free time with gambling, wrestling, and dancing late into the night. Sometimes Brigham woke in the morning to the sound of men arguing over something that had happened during the night. He worried that their quarrels would soon lead to fistfights or worse.
“Do we suppose,” he asked the men on the morning of May 29, “that we are going to look out a home for the Saints, a resting place, a place of peace, where they can build up the kingdom and bid the nations welcome, with a low, mean, dirty, trifling, covetous, wicked spirit?”8 Each of them, he declared, ought to be men of faith and sober minds, given to prayer and meditation.
“Here is an opportunity,” he said, “for every man to prove himself, to know whether he will pray and remember his God, without being asked to do it every day.” He urged them to serve the Lord, remember their temple covenants, and repent of their sins.
Afterward, the men grouped themselves together in priesthood quorums and covenanted, by uplifted hand, to do right and walk humbly before God.9 The next day, when the men partook of the sacrament, a new spirit prevailed.
“I have never seen the brethren so still and sober on a Sunday,” Heber Kimball noted in his journal, “since we started on the journey.”10
While the advance company traveled west, roughly half the Saints in Winter Quarters were outfitting wagons and packing provisions for their journey. In the evenings, after finishing their preparations, they often gathered together to sing and dance to fiddle music, and on Sundays they met to hear sermons and talk about their coming trek.11
Not everyone was eager to go west, however. James Strang and other dissenters continued to lure Saints away with promises of food, shelter, and peace. Strang and his followers had started a community in Wisconsin, a sparsely settled territory some three hundred miles northeast of Nauvoo, where some dissatisfied Saints were gathering. Already several families in Winter Quarters had packed up their wagons and left to join them.12
As the presiding apostle in Winter Quarters, Parley Pratt begged the Saints to ignore apostates and follow the Lord’s authorized apostles. “The Lord has called us to gather,” he reminded them, “and not scatter all the time.” He told them he and John Taylor wanted to send companies west at the end of spring.13
Parley had to delay the departure, though. Before the advance company left, the Twelve had organized several companies according to revelation. These companies were composed mostly of families that had been sealed by adoption to Brigham Young and Heber Kimball. The apostles instructed them to pack enough provisions for the coming year and to bring with them poor Saints and the families of the men in the Mormon Battalion. If people would not keep the covenant to provide for these needy families, their wagons could be confiscated and given to those who would.14
But Parley saw problems in carrying out the quorum’s plan. Many Saints in these companies, including some company captains, were not ready to leave. Some of them lacked the resources to make the journey, and without sufficient supplies they would be a heavy burden on others in the companies who barely had enough provisions for their own families. At the same time, there were other Saints who had not been organized into companies but who were ready and eager to go, fearing they would lose more loved ones to sickness and death if they stayed another year in Winter Quarters.15
Parley and John decided to reorganize the companies, adapting the original plan to suit the roughly fifteen hundred Saints who were ready to go west. When some Saints objected to the changes, questioning Parley’s authority to modify the Twelve’s plan, the two apostles tried to reason with them.
In Brigham’s absence, John explained, the apostle with the most seniority had authority to direct Church members. Since Brigham was not in Winter Quarters, John felt it was Parley’s responsibility—and right—to make decisions for the settlement.
Parley agreed. “I think it is best to act according to our circumstances,” he said.16
As Wilford Woodruff traveled west with the advance company, he often reflected on its sacred mission. “It should be understood,” he wrote in his journal, “that we are piloting a road for the house of Israel to travel in for many years to come.”17
One night, he dreamed that the company arrived at the new gathering place. As he gazed upon the land, a glorious temple appeared before him. It appeared to be built of white and blue stone. Turning to some men standing near him in the dream, he asked if they could see it. They said they did not, but that did not diminish the joy Wilford felt in beholding it.18
By June, the weather turned hot. The short grasses that fed their cattle turned brown in the dry air, and timber was harder to find. Often, the only fuel for fires was dried buffalo dung.19 The company, however, remained diligent in keeping the commandments as Brigham instructed, and Wilford saw evidence of God’s blessings in preserving their food supplies, animals, and wagons.
“We have had peace and union in our midst,” he wrote in his journal. “Great good will grow out of this mission if we are faithful in keeping the commandments of God.”20
On June 27, the advance company encountered a well-known explorer named Moses Harris on the trail. Harris told the Saints that neither the Bear River Valley nor the Salt Lake Valley was good for settlement. He recommended that they settle in a place called Cache Valley, northeast of the Great Salt Lake.
The following day, the company encountered another explorer, Jim Bridger. Unlike Harris, Bridger spoke highly of the Bear River and Salt Lake Valleys, although he warned them that cold nights in the Bear River Valley would likely prevent them from cultivating corn. He said the Salt Lake Valley had good soil, several freshwater streams, and year-round rain. He also praised Utah Valley, south of the Great Salt Lake, yet he cautioned them about disturbing the Ute Indians who lived in that region.21
Bridger’s words about the Salt Lake Valley were encouraging. Though Brigham was unwilling to identify a stopping place until he saw it, he and other members of the company were most interested in exploring the Salt Lake Valley. And if it was not where the Lord wanted them to settle, they could at least stop there, plant crops, and create a temporary settlement until they found their permanent home in the basin.22
Two days later, as the men in the advance company were building rafts to cross a fast-moving river, Sam Brannan and his companions walked into the camp just before sunset, surprising everyone. The company listened raptly as Sam entertained them with stories of the Brooklyn, the founding of New Hope, and his own perilous journey across mountains and plains to find them. He told them the Saints in California had planted acres of wheat and potatoes to prepare for their arrival.
Sam’s enthusiasm for the climate and soil of California was infectious. He urged the company to claim the San Francisco Bay area before other settlers arrived. The land was ideal for settlement, and important men in California were friendly to the Saints’ cause and ready to welcome them.
Brigham listened to Sam, quietly skeptical of the proposal. The allure of the California coast was beyond question, but Brigham knew the Lord wanted the Saints to establish the new gathering place closer to the Rocky Mountains. “Our destination is the Great Basin,” he declared.23
Just over a week later, the company turned off the well-beaten trail they had been following to take another, fainter trail south to the Salt Lake Valley.24

In the parable of the lost coin, the coin was lost because of the neglect of the owner, and it is almost the total responsibility of the owner when he recognizes what he has done to “light a candle” (go right away) and search diligently until he finds that which was lost. I know of an instance where a young Latter-day Saint father, after the birth of his first child, bought a box of cigars to announce the happy event. Surely he was following the traditions of the world. Naively and with some innocence he offered a cigar to the bishop. The bishop accepted the cigar, and then realizing what it was, crumbled it up and threw it into the trash in front of the once happy father. This thoughtless act so offended the new father that he never came back to church. In fact, he has raised his entire family of children and grandchildren outside the Church.

In my opinion the bishop was partially responsible for the loss of this soul and had the responsibility to search until he had found this “coin” and returned it. It probably would not have been difficult if the bishop had done it right away. If he had “lighted a candle” (went immediately) and apologized for his thoughtless act, explaining what his feelings were when handed a cigar by a member of the Church, the new father probably would have returned and could have even been made stronger than before. From this parable we get the message that those who offend have the responsibility to make it right or search until they find that which was lost.

My wife and I have a daughter serving a full-time mission in Spain. That daughter spent her high school years in New Zealand, while I was serving as mission president. When she turned 21, she said, “Dad, Mom, I think I need to serve a mission.” Of course, we were pleased with this righteous decision, but knowing that it had been a sacrifice for her to move away from friends and family during her teenage years, I told her, “You’ve already served a mission.”
She smiled and said, “No, Dad, you have. Now I want to go serve the Lord.”
“OK,” I smiled. “You fill that mission. You follow that prompting to serve.”
Today I am elated that she is not only serving her Heavenly Father and His children in Spain but she is also following the impression she felt. She didn’t let even me—a well-meaning parent—convince her to do anything other than what she felt was right for her life and Heavenly Father’s plan for her.

Applying the doctrine of Jesus Christ in our lives begins with having faith in Him, believing Him, and trusting Him. At age 19, I was baptized a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and received the gift of the Holy Ghost. A year later, I was called to serve as a missionary and assigned to labor in the Alabama Birmingham Mission. I loved and enjoyed my mission experience, and it was the hardest thing I had done in my life to that point. As a new member of the Church and serving as a missionary, I did not fully comprehend the doctrine of Jesus Christ nor the history of the Lord’s restored Church. In about the fourth month of my missionary service, we taught a lesson to an individual who seemed to know more about the history of the Church than me. The lesson was not spirit-filled or spirit-led, as this individual made several accusations against the Church and its teachings. At this point in my membership, I had never heard such allegations. Please keep in mind this was before Facebook, Instagram, Google, and Wikipedia.

As my companion and I evaluated our conversation with this individual, I was informed that some of the things he mentioned were true. I had never heard that, in the past, priesthood and temple blessings were denied to Black members. I was shocked at first, later confused, and then I felt betrayed. I had felt I had been lied to by my teachers and leaders when I joined the Church. And thus, for the next two weeks, no significant missionary work was done. I continued to follow the daily schedule of missionary life and was obedient as best I could be to the mission rules. However, because of the resentment I was feeling towards God and my lack of trust for people, I did not recognize the Holy Ghost in my life. Because of these feelings, I did not want to speak to anyone, especially my companion. My companion recognized my frustration and feelings of unhappiness, and at the end of each night, he would say to me, “Elder Johnson, I love you.” He did not try to resolve my concerns, nor did he call the mission president. All he did was tell me that he loved me. And finally, after about two weeks, I started to believe him. His love softened my heart and gave me the courage to search the scriptures for answers that I desperately needed. I had stopped praying and reading the scriptures over these two weeks. I was lost, felt alone, and was confused.

Because I felt my companion’s love, I began to feel God’s love again. I was led by the Spirit to a place in the scriptures that I had never read before. The scripture is in Doctrine and Covenants 6:21-23 and reads as follows:
Behold, I am Jesus Christ, the Son of God. I am the same that came unto mine own, and mine own received me not. I am the light which shineth in darkness, and the darkness comprehendeth it not.Verily, verily, I say unto you, if you desire a further witness, cast your mind upon the night that you cried unto me in your heart, that you might know concerning the truth of these things.Did I not speak peace to your mind concerning the matter? What greater witness can you have than from God?[4]You may recall that these words were spoken through revelation to Oliver Cowdery in 1829. At the time, he served as the scribe during the translation of the Book of Mormon. Oliver, like me, may have been questioning his divine appointment. These few words spoken by Jesus Christ reminded me of the day that I had fasted and prayed to know if Jesus Christ was God’s own Son, if His words were found in the Book of Mormon, and if the Lord had called Joseph Smith as His Prophet. Alone in my college dorm room, I received a witness by the Holy Ghost of these sacred truths. I remembered. And as I remembered that experience in my missionary apartment in Alabama, I began again to recognize the Holy Ghost in my life; it had never left me.

Following this experience, I knelt to pray and expressed my gratitude and love to God. In doing so, I felt His love and His gratitude for me. My faith in Jesus was not only restored but deepened. I knew that I had not been betrayed nor had I been lied to, for God cannot lie. From that moment, I have tried to share with friends and family that God lives, Jesus is the living Christ and the Only Begotten Son of a living God, and His Church, even The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, has been restored on earth at this precise time to prepare you and me for the Second Coming of the Messiah. My friends, it is all true! And as we consistently and intentionally apply the doctrine of Jesus Christ in our lives, our faith in Him will deepen and we will recognize and receive His divine power.

Sister Fisher scared me. Whenever I saw her coming, I turned the other direction and hoped she wouldn’t see me.
The trouble had started three weeks ago. On my way to Primary, I stopped to play with the drinking fountain. The fountain wasn’t working right, and I knew it, but nobody else did. When ward members came by for a drink, I politely offered to press the button for them. Boy, were they surprised when the water overshot by about a foot and they got a face full of water!
Everyone fell for it but Sister Fisher. When I offered to hold the button for her, she whispered, “Hayley, don’t you think you’d better run on to Primary? You’re going to be late. Besides, I don’t want to be shot in the face by the drinking fountain.”
Red-faced, I ran to class. How had Sister Fisher known? I’d tricked everyone else.
But the fountain experience wasn’t the only thing different about her. Not only did she act scary, she looked scary. She had wild, frizzy hair that stuck out on the sides and was the color of a pumpkin. Honest—the color of a pumpkin! She wore thick, black-rimmed glasses and lots of smeared, red lipstick. And even though she was big and tall, her clothes made her look even taller. She always wore long skirts and high heels. She looked like she would fall off the heels, but she never did.
I knew I needed to get used to Sister Fisher’s odd looks, because she was my new Primary teacher! I couldn’t believe it—I’d gotten the scariest teacher in the whole Primary.
When Sunday came, I clung to my best friend, Marci. “What do you think of Sister Fisher?” I asked her.
Marci looked a little worried and said, “She’s strange. I’ve heard she wears a necklace with a real shark’s tooth on it. What do you think that means?”
“It means she’s weird,” I replied.
Just as I was going to tell Marci my ideas on why anybody would wear a shark’s tooth, class started. I sat up tall, determined to listen to every word. I was afraid Sister Fisher wouldn’t like me after the drinking fountain incident, so I thought it might help if I looked like I was interested.
“Good morning, boys and girls,” Sister Fisher said. “I’m happy to have you all in my class. We’re going to have a good time together.”
Easy for her to say, I thought to myself. We aren’t strange-looking.
Sister Fisher continued, “To start it off, let’s learn a little bit about each other. We’ll start with Hayley.”
Oh, no. Why does she have to start with me? I wondered. I just knew she was going to tell everyone that I was a mean girl who played tricks on all the grown-ups in the ward.
While I wondered what awful things she was going to say, Sister Fisher picked up a brown paper bag and pulled out a baby picture of me. “Here is Hayley when she was just six months old. Her mother told me that she was the happiest baby in the world. Wasn’t she cute?”
To my surprise, everyone agreed with Sister Fisher. I looked at the picture, and I had to admit that I had been a cute baby.
Next Sister Fisher brought out a picture of Jesus with the little children. It hung in my room because it was a picture of my favorite Bible story. “This is a beautiful picture, isn’t it, class? Hayley thinks so, and her parents told me that this picture helps her remember to pray. Hayley even reminds her parents to say family prayer. I could use someone like that at my house.”
I couldn’t believe it. Sister Fisher was saying nice things about me!
Sister Fisher reached in and grabbed the next thing—my pink piggy bank. “Hayley likes this bank because it’s her favorite color. She saves tithing in it, and her dad said that sometimes she even pays a little extra.”
Brian nudged me and wise-cracked, “Hey, Hayley-Whaley, next time why don’t you give your extra money to me?”
Everyone laughed, like they always do at Brian’s awful nickname for me. Sister Fisher calmly said, “Well, Brian, maybe she will. Hayley is a generous, kind girl.”
Sister Fisher knew just what to say to Brian. Amazing! Our last three teachers hadn’t known what to say to him.
She did Brian’s sack next and showed a raggedy, blue teddy bear, a soccer ball, and some pictures and said good things about him. After Brian’s sack, she showed stuff from bags and said nice things about each of the other members of the class. Marci’s bag even included a picture of the two of us, taken last year at summer camp.
Then Sister Fisher showed us her own bag! “This is a picture of my family,” she began. “I have two grown-up sons who live far away.”
Sister Fisher was a mother! I couldn’t believe it.
She showed other treasures from her bag. One was a dog-eared Book of Mormon she’d been given when she joined the Church four years ago. Another was an award she’d gotten for being the “Professor of the Year” at a college. And a shark’s tooth necklace!
The off-white tooth dangled on the end of a gold chain. It was huge! I’d have hated to see the shark it came from. It was pretty, if you didn’t know it was a tooth.
After she explained what it was, she said, “This necklace is special because my husband gave it to me before he died. He was fascinated by sharks. So whenever I look at this necklace, I think of him,”
Marci and I exchanged glances. I guess it wasn’t so weird, after all. Actually, Sister Fisher wasn’t so weird, after all, even if she had frizzy orange hair. And I guess she really needed the thick glasses. And maybe there were reasons for the other things I’d thought were weird. She didn’t seem to think what I wear and do are weird—she didn’t even tell on me about the water fountain. She was just a person, like everybody else. In fact, she was a nice person. She made me feel good.
When class was over, she hugged me and said, “Hayley, I’m happy I get to teach you.”
“Thanks,” I said. “I’m glad you’re my new teacher.” And I meant it!

On an afternoon a few months ago, Susan and I inventoried our food storage and emergency supplies. At the time, COVID-19 was spreading rapidly, and a series of earthquakes had jolted our home in Utah. We have worked since the earliest days of our marriage to follow prophetic counsel about preparing for unforeseen challenges, so “examining” our state of readiness in the midst of the virus and earthquakes seemed like a good and timely thing to do. We wanted to find out our grades on these unannounced tests.
We learned a great deal. In many areas, our preparatory work was just right. In some other areas, however, improvement was necessary because we had not recognized and addressed particular needs in timely ways.
We also laughed a lot. We discovered, for example, items in a remote closet that had been in our food storage for decades. Frankly, we were afraid to open and inspect some of the containers for fear of unleashing another global pandemic! But you should be happy to know that we properly disposed of the hazardous materials and that health risk to the world was eliminated.

Sam John could hardly wait until class was over so he could talk with Brother Murphy. He had a very special question to ask—one that he didn’t want anyone else to hear.
At first Sam had gone to Brother Murphy’s classes because he liked being with the older boys and girls who attended. Then he kept going because of the lovely music. Finally he found that more important than anything else was the feeling he had when he listened to the things Brother Murphy said.
Now he had to know if these things were really true!
Sam John waited patiently until almost everyone had left the class. Then he went up to the white-haired man and asked if he could talk with him alone. A bench under a spreading tree made a perfect place for Sam to ask his most important question.
“Brother Murphy,” he began, “are these things you have told us about Jesus and Joseph Smith really true?”
The man looked down, surprised that a boy only eight years old could be so serious and sincere. Then he took the boy’s hand, looked into his eyes, and asked a question too. “Sam,” he said, “do you think Sister Murphy and I and all the other missionaries who have come to these classes would spend money to come to Hawaii and take our precious time to tell you these things if we did not know they are true?”
Without hesitation, Sam answered, “I believe these things too, and I want to be baptized into your Church.”
Then Sam told Brother Murphy that his mother had been baptized when she was just a little girl, but that she didn’t understand much about the Church and had never been active in it.
“What would she think if you were baptized?” Brother Murphy asked. “And what about your father?”
Sam had to admit that he didn’t think his father would be very happy, but he promised to talk to him.
A few days later Sam John’s father, a Chinese-Hawaiian, went to the mission home. “What is this you have been teaching my son to affect him so much?” he demanded. “He even wants to become a member of your Church.”
“Mr. John,” the mission president answered, “I’m glad you’ve come to talk with me. There is nothing we’ve taught Sam that you should not also know, especially since your boy wants to be baptized.”
The next night Sam’s father went back to the mission home, and the next, and the next.
Sam could hardly believe it when a few weeks later his father suggested that Sam wait a little while to be baptized so that he and Sam’s older brother could be baptized.
Now we are united as a family, Sam thought after their baptisms, and it seemed as if his heart would burst with happiness.

Wind chimes filled the outdoors with music. Telephone wires whistled with each gust of wind. Leaves could not hold on to their branches but danced in the air before floating down to cover the backyard like a big, lumpy, calico quilt.
The wind was teasing everything. It lifted Allison’s hat off her head and pulled her ponytail out in front of her. It pushed at her one way, then shoved her another.
“Stop it!” Allison shouted at the wind. “You’re too rough!”
But the wind didn’t listen.
Allison bounced her ball, but the wind snatched it away. She tried to jump rope, but the wind tangled it under her feet.
“Wind,” shouted Allison, “you don’t play fair!”
Again and again the wind interfered. When Allison tried to roller-skate, the wind made her wobble. When she tried to pedal her bicycle, the wind wheeled her the wrong way.
Allison stopped and thought. “Wind,” she said, looking up into the sky, “I know something that we both can play.”
Allison went into her house and brought out her kite. As she let out some string, the wind pulled the kite little by little high into the sky. Up, up it went, higher than the houses. It kept going up, up until it seemed to be playing tag with the clouds and there was no more string left to unwind.
Allison tugged on the string. The wind pulled on the kite. Allison giggled. The wind whistled. All afternoon Allison and the wind played.
“Al—li—son,” called Grandmother from the porch.
“Wind, I have to go,” Allison said as she tugged harder on the end of the string.
The wind pulled back.
“I really have to go now.” This time she tugged with both hands.
The wind pulled back again, but more gently as it began to die down.
Little by little the kite floated down. Down, down, up, down, zigzagging below the clouds. Down, up, down below the houses. Down, carefully, below the trees. Whispering now, the wind set the kite at Allison’s feet, then brushed across her face like a feather.
“Oh, Allison,” called Grandmother once more. “Come over here and let me see those great big apples in your cheeks.”
Allison giggled. She knew that she didn’t have apples in her cheeks. She had just been kissed by the wind.

As a child, we often spent our summers visiting our relatives in the Salt Lake City area. The summer following my third grade year of school was no exception. This was cherished time with cousins, something I looked forward to every summer. My brother and I spent the first day of our Salt Lake vacation visiting our cousins Maya and John. In the warmth of the June sun, my brother, Jay, and cousin, John, ventured out to the backyard to play on the equipment my uncle, a skilled welder, had built. The play equipment was shaped like a half moon with bars for climbing and a chain that hung down from the bars. My brother, Jay, swung on the chain as my cousin, John, climbed across the bars at the top of the toy. As my brother began to swing higher, the play equipment tipped, landing on top of my brother. A nightmarish scene followed as my cousin called for my aunt who, upon seeing my bother laying in the grass, bloody and unconscious, fell to her knees to offer a short, soulful prayer. Towels were fetched from the house, neighbors gathered along the chain link fence as emergency personnel carefully cared for my brother, later transporting him to a nearby hospital for emergency surgery. With the innocence of an eight-year-old child, I looked at my aunt and told her Jay was going to die. Understandably, my aunt pleaded with me not to say that, but my eight-year-old heart knew differently. My father, working in Idaho, flew to Salt Lake City as doctors labored to save my brother's life before he slipped through the veil. Later that day, my parents took me to a private room in my grandmother's home and told me my brother Jay had died. That day I lost my brother and my friend. Because I had been prompted that my brother would die, this news was not shocking. I had been sheltered and prepared for this tragic loss, for which I am eternally grateful. I still remember traveling home and walking into the bedroom we shared. Jay's favorite bear, Benny, was still in our room waiting for the boy that would never return. And my bedroom, now filled with only me, was quiet. The greatest challenge, of course, was moving forward.

Thankfully, I was blessed with a mother that had a strong testimony and eternal perspective of life. This knowledge gave her strength and helped her to face the loss of my brother with courage. My mother taught me the plan of salvation. Through her I came to understand that we were an eternal family and that I would see my brother again. I also came to know that this was part of the plan for my brother's life, which had not ended, but was continuing with our Father in Heaven. That knowledge was so comforting to me! It brought peace and understanding amidst chaos and uncertainty.

Samuel especially found it difficult to understand the condition and all that it entailed. Looking back, he says, “I wished that there had been a book I could have read that let me know everything was going to be okay! As a type-1 diabetic, my life was very different and explaining that to my friends was like talking to an alien. They just didn’t understand.”
Instead of feeling sorry for himself, Sam felt inspired to help others in a similar situation. He explains, “It was hard after I was diagnosed, but I felt that I wanted to help others to have hope as they experienced the same feelings that I had at that time. It was then that I first thought of writing a children’s book about an alien called Zegg. I wanted to give hope to children who were newly diagnosed. One of my favourite authors is Dr. Seuss, so I tried to write it in his style.”
Samuel then had to work hard to make his book a reality, which happened early in 2021. He has already gifted 50 copies of the book to the hospital that helped him and plans to donate books to other health trusts for children who are beginning their own type-1 journey.
Sam, who is now 13, will always require insulin, and still experiences highs and lows, but his life is full of adventure, joy, and hope.
He has been raising funds in lots of imaginative ways to get copies of his book printed. Anyone can help by donating money for copies of the book (see https://samuel-grant.co.uk). He eventually hopes to gift the book to NHS trusts across the whole of the UK, so they can distribute copies to as many diagnosed Type-1 children as possible. Samuel adds, “Every year, an average of 5,000 children’s lives are changed forever by a Type-1 diagnosis. I hope that this book will help teach and educate people about the disease—being aware of it and understanding it, may help families live and cope with it better. This is one way I have been able to kind of minister to other people during hard and dark times.”

It’s about 9:45 Sunday morning in Solo, 585 kilometers southeast of Indonesia’s capital city of Djakarta. Brother Suwarno leaves his home and gets on his bicycle. Three of his seven children get on the bicycle with him. Three other children balance on another bicycle pedaled by big brother Andi. They are going to Sunday School. After he has taught the Gospel Doctrine class, Brother Suwarno will attend priesthood meeting for ten minutes or so and then return home in time to bicycle his wife to sacrament meeting.

Once I was baptized, the Church was my world. What I loved best was to be at church with the other members. I remember many times being there on Saturdays with the deacons, cleaning the chapel and preparing it for Sunday. I also participated in the branch’s Mutual activities. From seeing the missionaries in Primary and at home, I decided early in my life to go on a mission. When I served my mission, I was very happy. I served two years in the west of Mexico.

When our son Eli was in fourth grade, his class set up a mock government where he was elected by his peers to serve as class judge. One day a sitting judge from the Utah Second District Court visited, put his official robes on Eli, and then administered an oath of office for their class. This ignited in Eli’s young, impressionable soul a passion for studying law and the Lawgiver Himself, Jesus Christ.
After years of diligent effort, Eli received an invitation for an interview with one of his top choices for law school. He pronounced, “Mom, I was asked 10 questions. The final question was, ‘Where do you derive your moral compass?’ I stated that throughout history humankind has derived systems of morality by patterning their lives from archetypes. The archetype of morality I strive to pattern my life from is that of Jesus Christ. I stated if all of humanity abided by the teachings of Jesus Christ in the Sermon on the Mount, the world would be a better, more peaceful place.” Then the interview ended, and he thought to himself, “There go my childhood dreams. No one in secular academia wants to hear about Jesus Christ.”
Two weeks later, Eli was admitted with a scholarship. Before committing, we visited the campus. The law school looked like a castle and was set high on a hill overlooking a beautiful lake. Remarkably, as we walked through the magnificent library and stately corridors, we found on banners and carved in stone attributes from the Sermon on the Mount.

I love the parables used by Jesus Christ to teach gospel principles. I would like to share a real-life parable of sorts with you this morning.
One day I walked into the cafeteria at Church headquarters to have some lunch. After getting a tray of food, I entered the dining area and noticed a table at which all three members of the First Presidency were seated, along with one empty chair. My insecurities caused me to make a quick detour away from that table, and then I heard the voice of our prophet, President Russell M. Nelson, saying, “Allen, there’s an empty chair right here. Come and sit down with us.” And so I did.
Near the end of the lunch, I was surprised to hear a loud crunching noise, and when I looked up, I saw that President Nelson had stood his plastic water bottle straight up and then flattened it and replaced the lid.
President Dallin H. Oaks then asked the question I wanted to ask, “President Nelson, why did you flatten your plastic water bottle?”
He replied, “It makes it easier for those who are handling recyclable materials because it doesn’t take up as much space in the recycling container.”
While pondering that response, I heard the same crunching sound again. I looked to my right, and President Oaks had flattened his plastic water bottle just like President Nelson. I then heard some noise to my left, and President Henry B. Eyring was flattening his plastic water bottle, although he had adopted a different strategy by doing it while the bottle was horizontal, which took more effort than with the bottle straight up. Noticing this, President Nelson kindly showed him the bottle-straight-up technique to more easily flatten the bottle.
At that point, I leaned over to President Oaks and quietly asked, “Is flattening your plastic water bottle a new recycling requirement of the cafeteria?”
President Oaks responded, with a smile on his face, “Well, Allen, you need to follow the prophet.”
I’m confident that President Nelson was not declaring some new recycling-based doctrine in the cafeteria that day. But we can learn from the prompt response of President Oaks and President Eyring to President Nelson’s example and President Nelson’s attentiveness to help teach those involved a better way.