Gospel Story Finder

I am a Boy Scout. At one meeting, a boy in my patrol wanted to bet me a dollar that I would not make a hoop on my next shot. I know betting isn’t good, so I told him that I don’t bet. Lucky for me, he didn’t call me a chicken or anything. Also lucky for me that I didn’t bet. For one thing, I would have had a guilty conscience. I would also have felt embarrassed because I would be one dollar poorer than I am today!
Sadek Sabbah, age 11Chandler, Arizona

Elyssa also loves her tata (grandpa). When Elyssa was a baby, Tata would play the guitar for her. Later they sang together. Tata was with her a lot because he developed a serious disease and couldn’t go to work. Each day, he picked her up after school and took her to eat at a place of her choice. When Pixie was missing one stormy night, Tata comforted Elyssa, prayed with her, and kept searching until her beloved pet was found safe several days later.

The power and influence one person can have is enormous. It was one Sarah Ann Meeks who paid what seemed to be her ultimate sacrifice as she stood alone on the doorstep of her home in far-off England nearly a century and a half ago. Her father met her there with a small bundle containing a few of her belongings and with these words, “You join that church and you must never set foot in my home again.” Unfortunately that was the last she saw of her family. Alone? Very much alone! She could have bowed to that impossible, heart-wrenching rejection. But no—she loved the Lord. She had been touched by the Spirit and knew that the gospel of Jesus Christ had been restored to the earth in its fulness. She knew that she must stand as a witness to the truthfulness of this message. She knew that she could make a difference.
From that one stalwart woman has sprung a progeny of faithful Latter-day Saints difficult to number. Literally hundreds of her descendants have stood as witnesses all around the world testifying to the reality of the Restoration of the gospel—the same message she embraced as she stood alone. One of those descendants now stands here as an especial witness of the Savior Jesus Christ, bearing solemn testimony to all the world that God the Eternal Father lives, that Jesus is the Christ, the Savior of the world, and that leading The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints today is a living and loving prophet of God, serving with all the meaning that sacred title implies.

My father’s a soldier and is fighting in a war a long way from us. But Mother and I get letters regularly that help bring him home for a while. First, we read my letter and laugh at the funny things he writes. When my mother opens her letter, however, she sits by the window and reads it alone. Once in a while she reads me part of it, but mostly she reads it silently, then stares out over the fields for a quiet time.
Once I even saw Mother cry, and I knew she must really be missing him. That was only for a minute, though, and I pretended not to see. Then she wiped her eyes on her apron, folded the letter, and put it into a box. When she stood up, she smiled. “We must keep busy, Carrie,” she said as she smoothed my hair with a gentle hand. “Would you like to pin the pattern for me so I can cut more material?”
I like to work with Mother. We talk about many things, like Father and the war or school; and before I even know it, time has passed, and I am hemming one apron as she is sewing the seams of the second.
One day as we worked, a heavy knock sounded at our door and I jumped up from my chair to see who it was. “Hello, Mr. Briggs,” I said as I swung the screen door wide. “Will you please come in? Mother is sewing, but I’ll get her for you.”
He nodded and stood with his hat in his hand, waiting.
“Mother!” I said excitedly. “Mr. Briggs has come to see you.”
She smiled and smoothed her hair, then untied and removed her apron. With her head held high, she went to greet our visitor. “May I offer you a lemonade, Mr. Briggs?” she asked.
“No, thank you, ma’am,” he replied.
I left them alone and stood by the front door, looking at his motor truck parked beyond the front fence, with BRIGGS EMPORIUM emblazoned on the side of it in bold red letters. After only a few minutes, Mr. Briggs came out onto the porch with Mother.
“I’m sorry,” he was saying quietly. “If you’d like, I can keep the aprons and see how business is in Clarion County. The agreement will be the same, Mrs. Clancey. But with times as they are, well …” He shrugged and waited for my mother’s reply.
She nodded and folded her hands, then forced a halfhearted smile. “Yes, do that, Mr. Briggs. It’s the only way they’ll have a chance of being sold. And you did sell quite a few in Nelson last month. Maybe Clarion County will be a better territory.”
Mr. Briggs quickly nodded and said, “I certainly hope so, Mrs. Clancey, for both of us. But may I give you an advance?” he offered. “Just a little, to help you get by? I’m bound to sell some, you know.”
Mother raised her chin slightly and shook her head. “Thank you, but no,” she replied. “If they don’t sell, I’d only have to pay it back. I’ll just wait and see. Now, how much do I owe you for thread?”
After they settled their account, we stood on the porch and waved good-bye as Mr. Briggs and his traveling emporium drove down the dusty lane. Then Mother seemed to slump ever so slightly against the porch railing. She reached into her pocket and drew out some change.
“He could only sell three aprons, Carrie,” she said with a sigh. “It paid for the thread, and that’s about all. What’s left is for tithing. Would you please put it in the jar for me, dear?”
I took the change and frowned. “Maybe you should have taken the advance Mr. Briggs offered, Mother. We’re running out of a lot of things.”
“Mr. Briggs would not have minded, dear, but I would have,” she said with a smile. “Now do as I say. Put the money in the tithing jar, then fetch the pail. We’ll forget about aprons for a little and weed the strawberries.”
I knew we were out of flour and low on soap, but mother was always firm about God’s portion, so I did as I was told. Then I grabbed the pail and joined her on the back porch. She rolled up her sleeves and talked as we walked toward the strawberry patch. As we came closer, we could see white blossoms on the stems, but the nearer we got, the more red dots we saw among the lush green plants. The strawberries were ripe!
She clasped a hand to her mouth in surprise. “Oh, look, Carrie!” she gasped. “Aren’t they lovely? And they’ve gotten ripe without our noticing them at all.”
The aprons were gone from her mind as we knelt to pick the sweet ripe fruit. As I plunked them into the pail, I thought about the aprons, however, and how hard we had worked on them. Then, without considering, I asked, “Do you mind very much that we’re poor, Mother?”
She looked up in shock and quickly brushed back her hair. “Poor … ? Carrie, do you really think we’re poor?”
I was sorry I had spoken in such a thoughtless manner. “Well,” I stammered. “The aprons … I mean, Mr. Briggs sold only three.”
She rubbed the back of her hand against her forehead, then threw back her head and laughed. “Darling, darling, daughter! Where did you ever get the idea that being without money means that we’re poor? Have I made you think that way? If I have,” she said with a smile, “let me explain something. Making and sewing aprons while your father’s away is useful. We make a little extra money and keep busy. But your father sends money home, and we have a roof over our heads, clothes on our backs, food in our stomachs, and we owe no one anything!” Still smiling, she grabbed my hand. “Besides all that, how can you think we’re poor, when we’re sitting in the middle of God’s good strawberries with the juice staining your mouth?”
She pulled me closer and put her arms around me tightly. “Look at that blue sky, Carrie,” she said, pointing heavenward. “Feel the warm breeze. And don’t you realize the amount of love your father and I have for you? All of those are riches—not riches that can be spent—but they’re riches of a far deeper, more lasting kind. They’re blessings from God. What more in all the world could we possibly want—or need?”
I looked at the sky, then smiled and asked a playful question. “Well, how do we tithe our strawberries, Mother?”
She laughed again and replied, “That’s easy, Carrie. We simply find someone to share them with. In fact, after dinner when it’s cooler, we’ll walk down the lane to Mrs. Fremont’s and give her a basketful of strawberries!”
I not only loved mother—I liked her too. She had an answer for everything, and I learned many things at her side. Maybe one of the most important things I learned was what she told me that day. For I began to look for and appreciate all I received, because I finally realized that God’s blessings don’t always come in the way or manner we expect. But somehow they always come—just when they are needed most.

Although the sun is bright, the air is decidedly crisp. The mountains reigning over Provo, Utah, are robed in red and gold. It’s fall 1985, and the weather is perfect for a hayride, a mug of apple cider, a football game. On an emerald-green practice field, I watch a quarterback wearing a blue jersey take a practice snap from his center, drop back with his arm cocked, and hurl a football. He throws it over and over and over again.
And then he throws it some more—even though he won’t actually play this Saturday afternoon when the stadium streams with thousands of screaming fans.
I watch the quarterback take another snap, throw another ball. I know how much he wants to be his team’s starter, and I know how hard he works to make that dream a reality. I’m impressed. But I’m more impressed by how well he has played the demanding role of second-string quarterback.
Say hello to Blaine Fowler—husband, dad, college student, public speaker, stand-up comic, and Brigham Young University quarterback. Blaine likes to munch chips and salsa, dreams of taking a trip to Europe with his wife, Brenda, and their son, Kellen, and says he wouldn’t mind being Dr. J. because “basketball is my favorite sport.” He insists strangers confuse him with Kermit the Frog, although friends know him better for his dead-on imitations of Mutley the Dog and other Hanna-Barbera cartoon characters. He likes to fish, ski, play the guitar, and read (his favorite books are Huckleberry Finn and The Lord of the Rings trilogy). And, of course, he just loves to throw the football.
Maybe you’ve heard about Brigham Young University’s football team. In 1984, they were named national champions, the number one team in the United States. And if you’re really a sports fan you probably know a thing or two about the great quarterbacks the school has produced over the years. Gifford Nielsen, Marc Wilson, Jim McMahon, and Steve Young all went on to play professional football after their years at BYU were over. And now there’s Robbie Bosco, one of the best ever. In the past two years, Robbie has won more games than any of the team’s previous quarterbacks.
While Robbie continues to break NCAA records on the field, Blaine waits on the sidelines, perpetually ready for action.
Blaine, of course, is disappointed, and he frankly admits his frustration: “I would much rather be playing, and I would be happier if I were.” And, in fact, he had no reason to believe he wouldn’t start at quarterback when he entered college. At his old high school in Elmira, New York, Blaine played as a freshman on the varsity football team. (He was only the second freshman in the history of his school to do so—his cousin was the first.) As a sophomore, junior, and senior he started at quarterback on a team that won the league championship all three years. As a junior and senior he made all-state. As a senior, he was named the state’s most valuable player. He was recruited to play football by Pittsburgh, Penn State, Boston College, Purdue, and Wake Forest but chose to go to BYU because he felt “really comfortable” there.
But things didn’t work out exactly the way he wanted them to. Yet, in spite of his personal disappointment, Blaine doesn’t pout, doesn’t sulk, doesn’t bear a grudge. He seems to realize that although he cannot make a choice about playing on Saturday afternoons—that choice is made for him by other people—he can choose how he will react to the situation. His example can teach us all how to be the best supporting players we can.
When I didn’t realize my dream of starring in school plays, I became extremely critical of the drama department. I criticized the productions and the people involved with them frequently and loudly. “Well,” I’d say, “everyone knows Mr. Bound has favorites.” Occasionally I attacked the intelligence of the participants: “Don’t you know they all have noodles for brains?” I’d ask. Contrast my feelings with Blaine’s: “It is not the end of the world that I’m not playing football. My dad has always said that football should be played for the fun of it. It’s not a business, and if it ever becomes that then you shouldn’t play it anymore. So I’ve always taken that attitude toward it. If I’m having a good time, I’m not going to worry about things. And I’ve had a good time at BYU.”
Many people have commented on Blaine’s positive attitude, including a former English instructor who says that “Blaine is certainly no Pollyanna, but he does meet challenges happily and head-on.” Fellow teammate, Glen Kozlowski notes that “Blaine has always worked hard, kept his spirits up, and stayed ready to play whenever called upon.
His positive attitude is perhaps best demonstrated by this advice he gives for New Era readers: “Always strive to be good at something. Don’t let others tell you you’re too small, too slow, too dumb, too ugly, or just not good enough to accomplish great things. The only one standing between you and greatness is yourself.”
It would have been easy for Blaine to just give up. But he didn’t. He works hard, giving 100 percent of himself all the time. Robbie Bosco, who calls Blaine a “friend, competitor, and teammate,” says that “Blaine is always ready to play.” BYU’s head football coach, LaVell Edwards, praises Blaine as both a person and an athlete, calling him an “unselfish player” who is dedicated to the welfare of the team as a whole. Quarterback coach Mike Holmgren is even more specific in his praise: “Blaine has sacrificed his own individual glory for the sake of team success. Blaine could have been the starter at a number of eastern universities but chose to stay at BYU, to compete for the quarterback position, and to contribute in any way that he could. His role is not easy, but it is essential to our team’s success.”
Coach Holmgren is not being merely gracious when he says Blaine’s role as backup quarterback has been critical to the team’s success: any athletic team is only as good as its second- and third-string players. These athletes are the ones who push the starters in practice, who give them a run for their money, who force them to give their best all the time. It’s unlikely that Robbie or any of the starters would be as good as they are if players like Blaine weren’t pushing them from behind.
Choose to remember the things that really matter. Perhaps both of the previous choices are made easier by knowing which things matter in the long run and which things do not. Football is not the most important thing in the world, and Blaine knows it. He says, “I realize that the family I have now is much more important than any football career I could have, and I realize that the Church is more important, too.” Blaine gives his father, Kirk Fowler, credit for his ability to put things into perspective. Of his father, Blaine says, “He always put his family first.”
The practice is coming to a close now. The players begin taking off their helmets, shaking their heads. It makes no difference if they are first or second or third string—they’re all sore, they’re all tired. And in a very real sense, they’re all winners.

A little girl was critically ill. She needed a special kind of blood for a transfusion to save her life.
Her brother had the same type of blood. The doctors asked him if he would be willing to give his blood so his sister might live. Without hesitating, the young boy answered, “Sure!”
After the blood transfusion was completed, the brother turned to the doctor and asked softly, “Now, sir, when will I die?”
It took only a moment for the doctor to realize the young boy had thought that giving blood to his sister would kill him. But he was willing to die for her.

In the late 1980s, Elder Carlos A. Godoy had just been released as bishop. He had also graduated from college, was working for a successful company, and thought life couldn’t get better—until an old friend came to visit.
That friend congratulated him but then asked a question that left him unsettled: “If you continue to live as you are living, will the blessings promised in your patriarchal blessing be fulfilled?”
Elder Godoy realized that he needed to make changes if he wanted to receive all his promised blessings. Despite his contentment, he decided to pursue a master’s degree. He quit his job, sold everything he owned, and, with his family, left the familiarity of Brazil to attend school in the United States.
Elder Godoy, named to the Presidency of the Seventy on March 31, 2018, said this experience taught him a lot about trusting in the Lord’s plan and being willing to leave his comfort zone.
“I know that the Lord has a plan for us in this life,” he testified in the October 2014 general conference. “He knows us. He knows what is best for us. Just because things are going well does not mean that we should not from time to time consider whether there might be something better.”

One such dear friend of mine had limited experiences with God. But he longed to be with his departed wife. So he asked me to help him. I encouraged him to meet with our missionaries in order to understand the doctrine of Christ and learn of gospel covenants, ordinances, and blessings.
That he did. But he felt the course they advised would require him to make too many changes in his life. He said, “Those commandments and covenants are just too difficult for me. Also, I can’t possibly pay tithing, and I don’t have time to serve in the Church.” Then he asked me, “Once I die, please do the necessary temple work for my wife and me so that we can be together again.”
Thankfully, I am not this man’s judge. But I do question the efficacy of proxy temple work for a man who had the opportunity to be baptized in this life—to be ordained to the priesthood and receive temple blessings while here in mortality—but who made the conscious decision to reject that course.

Anthony peered out the window of his pretend time machine. It was actually a cardboard box that he had decorated with markers, foil, and other things. For several days he had had lots of fun playing in it. Now he was imagining a strange-looking object in front of him. It was like a car, but it had wings. It was big enough for him to take a ride in, and that was what he wanted to do. But as he began to climb out of the time machine to do that, a real-life voice spoke to him: “Time to get ready for bed, Anthony.”
“Aw, Mom,” he said, flopping down on the floor in disappointment. “I was just going to take a ride in a flying car.”
“Well, you’ll have to do that tomorrow,” Mom replied. “Right now you need to get ready for Book of Mormon time and bed.”
Anthony reluctantly dragged the box into the corner where they kept the toys, then went off to his room. In a few minutes everyone was sitting in the living room with a Book of Mormon in hand.
Dad said, “Tonight we’ve come to the part where Nephi tells us about the words of a prophet named Isaiah. He’s the same prophet Isaiah who’s in the Bible.” Father showed them where the book of Isaiah was in the Bible, then where Isaiah was quoted in the Book of Mormon. He began to read what Isaiah had said.
Anthony found the right page and tried to follow along, but after a few minutes his eyes started to close. The next thing he knew, his mother was waking him up, telling him that it was time for bed.
The following night Anthony had taken another imaginary ride to the future. When his mother called, he was pretending to talk to some creatures from Pluto who had come to earth to live. Slowly he climbed out of the box, went to his room, got ready for bed, then sat down for scripture time.
But he didn’t understand what Dad was reading, and he kept wriggling and squirming. That made his brother and sister wriggle and squirm, too. When Anthony’s mother reminded them all to sit still and listen, Anthony tried to, but the words all sounded strange. “Isaiah is too hard,” he said when Dad finished for that night.
“Yes, his words are difficult to understand,” Dad agreed. “But if we read slowly and you listen carefully, you might be able to understand.”
“And,” Mom added, “we can ask Heavenly Father to help us understand.” As she offered the prayer that evening, she asked for help in understanding Isaiah.
The next night, Anthony was dragging his box to the corner again when Dad stopped him. “Wait, Anthony. Leave your box there for now. I want to do something different for our scripture reading tonight.”
When everyone was settled, Father began, “Tonight I thought that we should learn more about Isaiah and his teachings. That way we might be able to understand a little better when we read his words.
“Isaiah was a prophet who lived a long time ago, even a long time before Jesus was born. But he prophesied, or told about, things that would happen many years later. When we read his words, it’s like listening to someone who had traveled in a time machine.”
Anthony sat up tall. “Did he travel to the future?”
“No,” Dad answered. “But with Heavenly Father’s help, he saw visions of things that would happen in the future, and he told about those things.”
Dad had the three children climb into Anthony’s time machine. “When we read Isaiah,” Dad said, “it’s like we are traveling in a time machine with him. We can listen to his words and imagine that we are there, seeing the things that he saw.”
Anthony and his brother and sister were excited. They wanted to ride in the time machine with Isaiah.
Father went on. “In the Bible, we learn about things that happened while he was actually alive. One of those stories is about a king named Hezekiah. One time King Hezekiah was very sick and was about to die. He prayed and asked the Lord to let him live longer. The Lord told Isaiah what Hezekiah should do to get better, and He told Isaiah to tell Hezekiah that he could live for 15 more years. As a sign to Hezekiah, the Lord turned the sun back 10 degrees. Another time Isaiah helped King Hezekiah win a battle and save Jerusalem.”
The next night they read about things that Isaiah saw would happen in the future. They climbed in the time machine and pretended that they were with Isaiah when he saw a vision showing Mary and Joseph and Baby Jesus. They listened to the prophet’s beautiful words: “For unto us a child is born, unto us a son is given.”
The children next listened to Isaiah’s words about the sad time when Jesus died: “But he was wounded for our transgressions, he was bruised for our iniquities.”
Then they pretended to travel ahead many more years and listened to Isaiah telling about the coming of the Book of Mormon: “Thy voice shall be, as of one that hath a familiar spirit, out of the ground, and thy speech shall whisper out of the dust.”
Each night that week at Book of Mormon time, they climbed into the time machine and pretended to travel with Isaiah. One night Anthony asked, “Has everything that Isaiah saw already happened?”
“No,” Dad answered, “not everything. Isaiah saw things that would happen in our very own day, and he saw things that are still in the future, in a time called the Millennium, when Jesus will come and live on earth again.”
“Isaiah was so lucky,” Anthony’s little sister said. “He saw so many things.”
“Yeah,” Anthony agreed as he climbed back into the time machine. “But we’re lucky, too—we can go with him and see them, too, when we read the scriptures.”*

Chase and Heston watched as Sister Lind interrupted their Primary lesson by placing an empty chair between them.
“President Benson has a family saying about chairs. Have any of you heard it?” she asked, glancing at the extra seat. When no one held up his hand, she gave the answer herself: “‘no empty chairs!’ What do you suppose President Benson means?”
When still no one responded, Sister Lind help up a picture of Jesus holding a lamb. Smiling, she continued, “Could it have something to do with our lesson on Jesus and His lost sheep?”
Sharla raised her hand timidly. “Is the chair missing a person, like Jesus was missing a sheep?”
Sister Lind nodded. “That’s it, Sharla. Just as Jesus brought back His lost sheep, we’re supposed to find our friends missing from Primary and bring them back to their empty chairs.” She placed her hand on the chair between Chase and Heston. “Now, who is missing from our class? Who needs to come back and sit in this chair?”
The whole class turned to one another and mumbled one name—“Charles.” No one dared to shout it out. They were all reluctant to talk about Charles because his mother had died only two months before.
Charles had loved Primary, especially singing time, but he hadn’t come to church for almost three months. The empty chair in the classroom suddenly seemed very lonely. Charles wasn’t in it, and the other children missed him.
“What can we do?” Heston asked.
“Well, Charles is what the rest of our lesson is about. We’re going to discuss what we can do for him, and then we’ll pray for help.”
The class had a lot of ideas: “Let’s ask him to play soccer!” “How about inviting him to the Primary talent activity?” “Isn’t it almost time for his birthday? Why don’t we do something for his birthday?”
Sister Lind checked the class roll and looked at the birthday list. “You’re right,” she announced. “His birthday is next Saturday.”
Jessica jumped up and suggested, “What if we took balloons and sang ‘Happy Birthday’ to him at his house?”
Heston and Chase pulled faces. “The balloons are okay, but do we have to sing?”
Sister Lind laughed. “Of course you’ll sing.” She smiled at Jessica and said, “That’s a fine idea.” To the whole class, she added, “I also think that while we’re there, he’d like to be invited to the Primary activity. Let’s meet at my house on Saturday at ten o’clock.”
When everyone agreed, Sister Lind looked at the empty chair again. “Before we have the closing prayer, I want to remind you to remember Charles in your individual prayers this week.”
On Saturday morning the children met at Sister Lind’s house and they all went to visit Charles. “Before we go in,” she said, turning to the children, “don’t forget about the talent activity.” She smiled at Chase and asked him to invite Charles to the activity. “The rest of you must show Charles that you really want him to come,” she told them.
The balloons bobbed gaily as the children walked to the door. Only Chase walked slowly—he was wondering how to invite Charles to the activity.
A dog ran out the door when Charles opened it. “Look who’s here, Dad!” he shouted with a surprised look on his face. “It’s Sister Lind and my Primary class!”
“Happy birthday to you,” they sang. “Happy birthday to you. …”
“Ar-rooo!” a strange voice joined in, unheard by all but Sister Lind.
“Happy birthday, dear Charles. …”
“Ar-rooo!”
This time they all heard Charles’s dog, Bowser, “singing” with them. He was sitting by the door with his head thrown back for a full-throated sound.
“Ar-rooo-ooo!” he finished the song for them, then gave them a big doggy smile, rolling his head to one side and watching the children and Sister Lind laugh.
“Charles, Bowser likes to sing, too,” Heston shouted.
“He sure does,” Charles said, hugging his dog tightly. “He loves music as much as I do.”
Chase saw his opportunity. “Then how about singing with us for the Primary talent activity?”
The class stopped giggling at Bowser and looked expectantly at Charles.
“Dad, can I?”
Charles’s dad was quiet. He just looked down at the floor. Their whole plan might have ended awkwardly right then if Heston hadn’t started giggling again. “Hey, Charles,” he laughed, “can Bowser sing with us for the show? Do you think he’d do it?”
Bowser loved the idea! He lifted his head high and sang his loudest “Ar-roo.”
Charles’s dad lifted his head, too, and watched the happy faces of his son and his son’s friends as they again broke into helpless laughter. “Sure,” he said softly. “Maybe I’ll come too.”
During the next few weeks Charles, Bowser, and the rest of the class practiced their special act at Sister Lind’s house. Bowser enjoyed certain notes more than others, so Sister Lind played through her music until they found the song that appealed the most to him.
On Primary Talent Night, everyone’s family and friends crowded into the cultural hall. After the opening prayer, the bishop announced, “And now for a very different opening act, Sister Lind’s Valiant A class will accompany Bowser, the singing dog!”
Charles and his classmates led Bowser onto the stage, and Sister Lind stood below them. “Look across the room and tell me what you see,” she whispered.
The children looked out at the hall filled with people. Charles waved when he saw his dad sitting in the back, surrounded by Sister Lind’s family.
“No empty chairs!” Sharla told Sister Lind excitedly. “There are no empty chairs here tonight—or in our class, anymore.”
“That’s right!” Sister Lind gave them all a big smile and Bowser a pat, which made his tail wag with a thud on the stage. “Now let’s sing!”
The children’s voices rang, and so did Bowser’s. The room filled with laughter at the hound’s musical howls. Everyone—including the children and Bowser—was having a good time. And best of all, there were no empty chairs.

Early in April Chauncey traveled to Salt Lake City with LeRoi, who had been staying with him. They took the train as far as Ogden, where Chauncey visited his cousin, his uncle, and other relatives, and went to the cemetery to see the burial spot of his father, who had been murdered in 1894. They then continued to Salt Lake City. The busy day was not over: “On arriving LeRoi C. Snow took me through the electric light works, business college, bicycle school, and Christensen’s Dancing Academy. … We then went to my aunt’s house.”
The next day, after a trip to the depot to get their baggage, LeRoi showed him ZCMI, the Deseret News building, and the natatorium, where they took a swim. On April 6 they went to see the City and County building:
“It is a fine, large, immense and beautiful structure in outside appearance, with a town clock and tower, in which we were favored with the privilege of ascending into. We went through the principal halls and some rooms, winding our way gradually to the top. We were in the clock and saw the four chimes that make known the time. At last we reached the high tower and could see all over the city, being up a height of 263 feet.”
After attending all of the sessions of general conference, they visited the Deseret Museum and Science Building at the University of Utah and attended a class in theology at LDS College. Later Chauncey visited the gymnasium and the public library.

Are there some specific things that you could use some help with right now? When my neighbor saw my broken fence and fixed it, he knew that I needed help. But other needs aren’t as easily determined without asking. Gently ask or suggest ways in which you might help. For example, I was concerned that the financial provisions for my family were in order, but didn’t quite know how to go about determining whether or not they were. One day my bishop, who is a certified public accountant, came to see me. “If you’d like me to,” he said, “I’d be happy to review your financial affairs with you and your wife.” I was grateful for his tact, and relieved to learn after his review that things were as we wished them to be.

I read with great pleasure the excellent article “Attack!” by Kathleen Lubeck in the October New Era. It was very timely and well done. One expression in the last paragraph of the first column reminded me of an incident I would like to relate to you. One day I was telling my former bishop how lucky I had been in some circumstance that I cannot now remember. I will never forget what happened next. He looked me straight in the eye and said very soberly, “No, Sister Knecht, you have been blessed.” Just a few simple words, but they had such an effect upon me that I have never since felt any way but blessed when good things have happened to me or when I have been spared some ill fortune that might have befallen me.
It has made a drastic change in my attitude toward my Father in Heaven It has made me much more aware of the good things that come from him and which cause my heart to swell with gratitude. When I am with other people, a silent prayer goes heavenward. I have told this experience to many people. Whenever I hear anyone say “I am lucky,” I just quietly say, “You are blessed.” The response has been universally the same as mine was. And many of these people have thanked me since for the “lesson I taught them,” as if they needed reminding who really taught them the lesson.
I am grateful to my bishop for these inspired words and to my Heavenly Father for my many blessings. I am a great-grandmother, but I thoroughly enjoy reading the New Era and find many inspiring articles therein.
Ora Lee KnechtLogan, Utah

Recently I met an intelligent young man with great potential. He was undecided about a mission. He has decided not to attend a university now. In his free time he only does what he likes to do. He doesn’t work because he doesn’t have to, and it would take time from pleasure. He passed seminary classes without much thought of personally applying the knowledge gained. I noted: “You are making choices today that appear to give you what you want: an easy life, abundant enjoyment, and not much sacrifice. You can do that for a while, yet every decision you make narrows your future. You are eliminating possibilities and options. There will come a time, and it won’t be too distant, when you are going to spend the rest of your life doing things you don’t want to do, in places you don’t want to be, because you have not prepared yourself. You are not taking advantage of your opportunities.”
I mentioned how everything I treasure today began to mature in the mission field. Missionary service is not something we do for ourselves, yet great growth and preparation for the future are gained from a mission. Missionaries focus outside of themselves on other people. They draw close to the Lord and really learn His teachings. They find individuals who are interested in the message but not sure of its worth. Missionaries try with every capacity—prayer, fasting, and testifying—to help individuals embrace the truth. A mission teaches one to be led by the Spirit, to understand our purpose for being on earth and how to accomplish it. I gave him a blessing. As he left, I prayed earnestly that the Lord would help him choose the right priorities. Otherwise, he will fail in life’s purpose.

The Relief Society was organized by God’s prophet Joseph and has been led and is led today by a prophet so that we may become true followers of Jesus Christ. That is the answer to the question, “Why Relief Society?” That is why we participate and that is what it can do for us: instruct us more perfectly in our covenant obligations and promises to be disciples of our Lord Jesus Christ. Or, as Joseph Smith instructed those first sisters in 1842: “[This] … Society is not only to relieve the poor, but to save souls” (History of the Church, 5:25). What does it mean to save souls? Let me give one example of the many I have witnessed as I have visited among you. A South African sister once told me that when her husband died and she was left to rear their six children, she relied on the teachings of the Bible for direction. She often pondered the meaning of Proverbs 13, verse 24, which is interpreted widely as “spare the rod and spoil the child.” [Prov. 13:24] When she joined the Church she turned to the Book of Mormon, too, for understanding. There she found mention of another rod, the word of God which leads one along the path to the tree of life. Then she understood that sparing this rod would certainly spoil her children. Thus, she has learned to order her home, to bring the light of the gospel, to save the souls of her children.
I saw Sister Mavimbela again very recently when she received an award at Brigham Young University, and she has enlarged her sphere. In conversation she told me that by participating in her Relief Society in Soweto she has learned to apply its saving ways within her community. Using visiting teaching and welfare principles, such as those described in the Church’s manual Providing in the Lord’s Way, she has supervised more than a thousand children as they learn to garden and raise food for themselves and others. She has also enlisted more than 250 grandmothers in her community to help with the many tasks essential to the temporal and spiritual nurturing of children and the strengthening of families. Sister Mavimbela is saving souls. She is in the same mold as those great women, such as Eliza R. Snow, Phoebe Kimball, and Zina D. H. Young, who began to visit one another in Nauvoo for the purpose of feeding hungry families and shoring up struggling faith in difficult times. This is what Relief Society is for: to make of us women who can nourish body and soul, who can “succor [God’s children] according to their infirmities” (Alma 7:12). This is the work our Savior did, and it is the work to which he called us when he ordered this society under the direction of the priesthood.

My father and mother were sheep farmers in New Zealand. They enjoyed their life. As a young married couple, they were blessed with three little girls. The youngest of these was named Ann. One day while they were on holiday together at a lake, 17-month-old Ann toddled off. After minutes of desperate searching, she was found lifeless in the water.
This nightmare caused unspeakable sorrow. Dad wrote years later that some of the laughter went out of their lives forever. It also caused a yearning for answers to life’s most important questions: What will become of our precious Ann? Will we ever see her again? How can our family ever be happy again?
Some years after this tragedy, two young missionaries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints came to our farm. They began teaching the truths found in the Book of Mormon and the Bible. These truths include the assurance that Ann now lives in the spirit world. Because of the Resurrection of Jesus Christ, she too will be resurrected. They taught that the Church of Jesus Christ has once again been restored on earth with a living prophet and twelve Apostles. And they taught the unique and remarkable doctrine that families can be bound together forever by the same priesthood authority Jesus Christ gave His chief Apostle, Peter.
Mum instantly recognized truth and received a witness of the Spirit. Dad, however, wrestled for the next year between doubts and spiritual nudges. Also, he was reluctant to change his way of life. One morning following a sleepless night, while pacing the floor, he turned to Mum and said, “I will be baptized today or never.”
Mum told the missionaries what had happened, and they immediately recognized the flicker of faith in my father that would now be either lit or extinguished.
That very morning our family traveled to the nearest beach. Unaware of what was happening, we children had a picnic on the sand dunes while Elders Boyd Green and Gary Sheffield led my parents into the ocean and baptized them. In a further act of faith, Dad privately committed to the Lord that come what may, he would be true all his life to the promises he was making.
One year later a temple was dedicated in Hamilton, New Zealand. Shortly thereafter our family, with someone representing Ann, knelt around the altar in that sacred house of the Lord. There, by the authority of the priesthood, we were united as an eternal family in a simple and beautiful ordinance. This brought great peace and joy.
Many years later Dad told me that if not for Ann’s tragic death, he would never have been humble enough to accept the restored gospel. Yet the Spirit of the Lord instilled hope that what the missionaries taught was true. My parents’ faith continued to grow until they each burned with the fire of testimony that quietly and humbly guided their every decision in life.
I will always be thankful for my parents’ example to future generations. It is impossible to measure the number of lives forever changed because of their acts of faith in response to profound sorrow.
I invite all who feel sorrow, all who wrestle with doubt, all who wonder what happens after we die, to place your faith in Christ. I promise that if you desire to believe, then act in faith and follow the whisperings of the Spirit, you will find joy in this life and in the world to come.
How I look forward to the day I will meet my sister Ann. I look forward to a joyful reunion with my father, who died over 30 years ago. I testify of the joy to be found in living by faith, believing without seeing, but knowing by the power of the Holy Ghost that Jesus Christ lives. With all my heart and soul, I choose to follow Jesus Christ and His restored gospel. This blesses every aspect of my life. I know that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God, our Savior and our Redeemer. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

And all of the Thordersons know that being different because of their values is more than all right—it’s the way to set a good example for others around you. Kurt said, “While we were growing up, Eric and I were the only LDS students in our high school, and we were in a graduating class of about 650. And then when I went to Wayne State, the only other Latter-day Saints out of 30,000 people were Eric and Dad (he works as an administrator there). It was hard, but it also made me stand up for what I believe.”

I have always enjoyed the tale of Beauty and the Beast—not only because it is set in France or because I can easily relate to Lumière’s lovely accent but because of the beautiful truth it illustrates.
Belle is taken prisoner in a haunted castle by a fearsome and repulsive beast—who is, in fact, a young prince trapped by a spell in the body of a terrifying monster. Rather than judging him by his appearance, Belle learns to see beyond it. She comes to understand that the Beast’s bitterness, rude manners, and sudden anger are only a facade, hiding a wounded soul yearning to love and be loved.
Through Belle’s patience, personal kindness, and loving care, an astonishing transformation begins—one that starts deep within the Beast’s soul and ultimately changes even his outward appearance. The spell is broken, and the young prince is restored, bringing great joy to all who gather to celebrate their new king and queen.

It was a beautiful day. Toklat, the grizzly bear cub, stretched. When he stretched, his jaws opened wide in a great yawn. His pink tongue curled back, but straightened quickly when his jaws snapped shut again.
Testing the wind with his ever inquisitive nose, Toklat smelled something strange. He was four months old now and had smelled many things. He knew the spicy scent of spruce trees on the hill across the creek. He had sniffed the pungent odor of new pussy willows, and he was familiar with the sharp odor of wild grass. But this scent was different. It was warm and animal. Some strange creature lurked nearby, and Toklat’s curiosity set him on the trail.
Leaving his two brothers dozing next to their mama, Toklat followed his nose through some trees into an open field. A hungry hawk whirled in the blue sky above the field. Its yellow eyes were searching the land below for food.
Toklat hesitated at the edge of the field. His nose told him that what he smelled was just on the other side in a thicket of willows. He had learned from experience that crossing open fields could be dangerous. Enemies like the lynx and wolf could see him. They would gladly have taken him home for supper as the main course.
Toklat sniffed carefully. His eyes were not good, as is the way with bears, but his nose told him much. There were no dangerous odors, so off he trotted toward the new and interesting scent.
He arrived at the willows and stopped, sniffing cautiously. Then, quite suddenly, he saw a creature. It was a rabbit, crouched into a small bundle. Its brown eyes were on Toklat. The rabbit’s pink nose twitched, and its long ears wiggled as Toklat stared. He had never seen anything like the rabbit before.
From high in the sky, a hawk also saw the rabbit. The bird’s keen eyes had no trouble picking it out in the willows. What a nice supper! he must have been thinking. Swiftly, the hawk began a long, slanting dive. Its yellow eyes did not leave the rabbit for an instant. They saw Toklat, too, but the cub was too small to be a threat, and the hawk came down quickly. The bird’s sharp talons were set to make a grab.
Toklat didn’t hear or see the hawk. He had no idea of the danger overhead, and he ambled playfully toward the rabbit. Does that creature with the long ears want to play? he wondered. When the little bear stuck out a tentative paw, the rabbit burst into a fury of action. It leaped into the air and when it landed again, its hind legs were still pumping. The rabbit wanted nothing to do with Toklat, who was much larger. Off it went, hopping with great speed. In seconds, the rabbit was out of sight, leaving Toklat puzzled. The creature obviously didn’t want to play.
At the instant the rabbit sped off, the hawk dove straight down, but its talons clutched empty air. The bird’s supper was gone. With a screech, the hawk zoomed into the sky again and circled over Toklat, still screeching, its yellow eyes blazing. Then it dove at the cub.
Toklat saw the furious bird coming, and uttering a frantic Youwp, he dove into the willows. Once again the hawk clutched empty air. Then it shot straight up into the sky, where it circled while searching for the cub.
But Toklat knew better than to show himself. He remained hidden until the hawk finally flew away in search of other food.
When he was certain that his enemy had gone, Toklat returned to his mother. His brothers were still dozing next to her large, comfortable body. With a sigh of contentment, Toklat settled down between them. He’d had enough excitement for a while. And besides, it was nap time.

In the year 2015, the institute teacher Brother Suresh Natrajan asked the class, “How many went to temple?” As I had visited the temple in 2014, I raised my hand proudly. Then immediately he asked another question, “Do you remember how many covenants you have made in the temple?”
The first time I visited the temple in 2014, I had focused only on some things. After all these years, I recognized that I have forgotten the covenants that I made in the temple. At that very moment, I took a decision to go to temple for the second time, and this time to pay attention to and remember the covenants and other things that are essential for my salvation.