Gospel Story Finder

Scritchy-scratchy, scritchy, scritchy-scratchy.
Jimmy awoke with a start. “What is that noise?” he asked out loud.
“It must be Kitty,” he cried, jumping out of bed. He ran through the hall and out the front door to find Kitty.
Jimmy ran around the house, and there he saw Kitty lapping milk from a saucer on the back porch.
Kitty licked the milk off her whiskers and stared at Jimmy a moment. Then she quietly returned to her milk. Lap, lap, lap.
Jimmy shook his head. If it’s not Kitty, it must be Spotty, he decided. And away Jimmy ran to find his dog.
Spotty was burying a bone near the shrubs. “Woof,” he barked. His paws made a soft poosh, poosh sound as he dug into the wet ground.
“It’s not Kitty and it’s not Spotty. Maybe it’s Baby Brother,” Jimmy said to himself as he ran into the house.
Mother and Baby Brother were in the kitchen. Baby Brother was sitting in his high chair. Bang! Bang! went the spoon as Baby Brother hit the tray. He waved his arms and wiggled.
Ker-sploosh! Down went his cereal bowl. Clatter! Bang! Plop!
“You make a lot of noise,” Jimmy said, “but it’s not a scritchy-scratchy sound.”
Mother picked up the cereal bowl. “Jimmy, why are you running around in your pajamas and bare feet?”
“I’m trying to find what woke me,” Jimmy answered.
“Maybe it was the sun shining in your window,” Mother suggested.
Jimmy shook his head. “The sun doesn’t make any noise.”
“What kind of noise did you hear?” Mother asked.
“It was sort of like Kitty scratching on something, but Kitty is lapping her milk,” Jimmy replied. “And it was a little like Spotty when he is scratching, but Spotty is burying a bone in the soft ground.”
Mother smiled. “Let’s go back in your room. Maybe I can help you find it.”
So Mother lifted Baby Brother out of the high chair, and they all went to Jimmy’s bedroom.
“Sh-h-h,” said Mother.
“Sh-h-h,” said Jimmy.
They listened quietly. Soon they heard the noise.
Scritchy-scratchy, scritchy, scritchy-scratchy.
“That’s it,” whispered Jimmy.
Mother smiled. “Come look out the window.”
Jimmy tiptoed to the window.
“Look up under the eaves of the roof,” Mother whispered.
Jimmy looked and he saw a little bird building a nest.
Jimmy and Mother and Baby Brother watched the bird fly away. Soon it returned, carrying dry grass and a twig in its beak. The scritchy-scratchy sounds began again as the bird worked at building the nest.
Jimmy smiled happily. “Will there be eggs in the nest?” he asked.
Mother nodded. “Tiny speckled eggs.”
“And will there be baby birds?” Jimmy questioned.
“With their mouths wide open, waiting to be fed,” Mother told him.
“I can hardly wait!” Jimmy exclaimed. “That will be great! I have Kitty and Spotty and Baby Brother, and now I’ll even have baby birds to watch. I have just about everything!”

Some years before he was called as an Apostle himself, Elder Robert D. Hales recounted an experience that demonstrated his father’s sense of that holy calling. Elder Hales said:

Some years ago Father, then over eighty years of age, was expecting a visit from a member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles on a snowy winter day. Father, an artist, had painted a picture of the home of the Apostle. Rather than have the painting delivered to him, this sweet Apostle wanted to go personally to pick the painting up and thank my father for it. Knowing that Father would be concerned that everything was in readiness for the forthcoming visit, I dropped by his home. Because of the depth of the snow, snowplows had caused a snowbank in front of the walkway to the front door. Father had shoveled the walks and then labored to remove the snowbank. He returned to the house exhausted and in pain. When I arrived, he was experiencing heart pain from overexertion and stressful anxiety. My first concern was to warn him of his unwise physical efforts. Didn’t he know what the result of his labor would be?

“Robert,” he said through interrupted short breaths, “do you realize an Apostle of the Lord Jesus Christ is coming to my home? The walks must be clean. He should not have to come through a snowdrift.” He raised his hand, saying, “Oh, Robert, don’t ever forget or take for granted the privilege it is to know and to serve with Apostles of the Lord.”

I think it is more than coincidence that such a father would be blessed to have a son serve as an Apostle.

Dear New Era:
I have always been touched by the stories in the New Era, but over the past year it has been a backbone in my life. Last year, I applied to be a foreign exchange student in Germany. The month before my final interviews, the New Era had two stories about foreign exchange students! I have been chosen to go to Germany, and I am looking forward to seeing how the New Era will help me while I’m there.
Love,Trina SwansonSalisbury, Maryland

But no team’s members will be more loyal to each other, their coaches, and their fans than the priests quorum of the Kagiso Ward, Soweto South Africa Stake, even though they won’t be playing for the World Cup. A little over a year ago, six of these young men were introduced to the Church by their football coach, who is himself a recent convert. Now they are at the heart of another “team”—their priests quorum—and working with another “coach”—their bishop—as they live the gospel day by day and prepare to serve as full-time missionaries.
Like many people in South Africa, 29-year-old Solomon Eliya Tumane loves football. He spends tireless hours each week coaching the Hurricanes Football Club. He loves his players and rejoices in their successes. They love and respect him in return. So when Coach Solomon joined The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, his players were curious.
“He would come to practice straight from his institute class,” says McDonald Siyabulela Manyakanyaka, 17. “We could see the scriptures and Church magazines in his bag, so we started asking questions, and to answer, he would read to us,” says Thapelo Benjamin Sesinyi, 17.
“I was eager to teach these young ones because I love them so much,” Coach Solomon says. “I want them to go in the right path. I told one of them, ‘You would do well if you read the scriptures,’ so they all started reading the scriptures. They enjoyed it, so then I taught them about prayer. Then one day they surprised me. I got to practice early, and I was taking a nap when they woke me and said, ‘Coach, we need to visit your church.’ That was a day I will never forget, because I knew then that they were on the right path.”
But the coach wouldn’t go further without parental approval. He went to each player’s home, one at a time, to ask if it was all right to invite the players to church. The parents agreed. “We came to church three weeks in a row,” Thapelo remembers. “We wanted to learn more and more.” So the coach again asked parents for permission, this time for the players to study with the full-time missionaries. Again the parents agreed.
“The missionaries gave us each a copy of the Book of Mormon,” McDonald says. “They told us to read it and pray about it because it is true, so we did. I prayed and read and found the Book of Mormon to be true.” So did other players, who were then baptized and confirmed. Five of the team members are now Latter-day Saints.
Most teams set goals for a winning season, but these five young Hurricanes are also shooting for another goal in the not-too-distant future. With the guidance of Bishop Bongani Mahlubi, a man they consider a spiritual coach, they are preparing for full-time missionary service.
“They are a great strength in our ward,” the bishop says. “And they are part of that great priesthood team of Aaronic and Melchizedek Priesthood holders all over the world. These young men do everything together—they walk to school together, play football together, go to seminary together, and serve in the priesthood together. If I call one young man to ask if he can help, I get all five.” McDonald says the priests quorum also studies regularly from Preach My Gospel, and Thapelo says that in addition to inviting friends to church, quorum members seek out those who no longer attend. “In many ways, we are learning to be missionaries now,” he says.
“We often hear from these young men in testimony meeting,” the bishop says. “They often promise Coach Solomon that they will go on full-time missions.” Nothing would make their football coach happier. “I can’t wait for them to serve,” Solomon says.
Unity, gospel knowledge, and an orientation toward service—those are all part of a solid training regime for prospective missionaries. And in addition, these young men have already developed a great desire to work together to do good. Just like the football teams competing for the World Cup, they depend on each other, on their coaches, and on their fans (including ward members, families, and friends) to get them through to their “championship.” With that kind of team spirit, their goals will be achieved.

Gift of memories. My parents were struggling to start a new business the year I was 15, and money was scarce in our family. They believed in making the best of difficult circumstances, so we took a day trip to the land my dad was leasing to cut an evergreen desert bush for our Christmas tree and to enjoy a winter picnic together in the snow with homemade chili and hot chocolate.
My two sisters and I decided to put our money together to buy Mom and Dad something to lift their spirits. We bought a photo album and supplies, went home, and filled it with family pictures, starting with their wedding portrait. We had a wonderful time laughing and reminiscing together as we put our favorite photos in the album.
We each had one small present to open on Christmas morning, but it didn’t matter when we watched our parents’ eyes light up as they opened their gift. It was a memorable Christmas filled with love, laughter, and unity.Sally O., Utah

Not long ago we went to a wedding and saw the parents of a girl I knew a number of years ago—a girl who had been a great inspiration to me. I asked these parents, “How is Barbara doing?” They said, “She is doing just fine.” Let me share her story with you in her words, which appeared in the Instructor a number of years ago. Barbara was a student at BYU at the time this incident occurred.

It was just a normal, ordinary day. . . . We were driving home from California. It was raining, and the roads were slick. The driver lost control. I remember the sensation of the car turning over and over, shutting my eyes, being tossed about with no control, the banging of my head and arms, the pain and confusion, and then the final, awful silence—it was over. When I opened my eyes it was to a new and frightening world—to the reality of being paralyzed from the waist down.

Once I might have thought of paralysis only as a terrible tragedy, but after it became a part of my life I discovered it could also bring blessings. My paralysis introduced me to a whole new way of living, to many wonderful people, to a new assemblage of problems, adjustments, frustrations, tears, laughter, and joy. [I gained an] appreciation for myself as a person and as a child of God, appreciation for other people, and especially a love and appreciation for my Father in heaven.

Oh, what a self-image I used to have! I used to feel self-conscious wearing glasses; and now I had to “wear” a wheelchair. I used to be embarrassed if I did a clumsy, awkward thing . . .; and now clumsy was my middle name. I used to think people stared at me before, but now! . . . I had to learn to laugh so others would feel at ease around me and I wouldn’t feel so self-conscious. It may seem strange, but I appreciate myself more now than before I was paralyzed.

I used to take so many things for granted, things like showering, kneeling for prayers, dressing in a minute, getting places quickly. Now it is a challenge to do these once-simple things. (Just try getting out of a bathtub without using your legs.) I guess it took losing the use of my legs to make me start appreciating the physical body I have. Now I became very grateful for a clear mind with which to think, ears to hear, eyes to see . . ., hands that could do so many things.

Although I can’t dance, hike, play volleyball or basketball anymore, I have found there are still many things I can do from a wheelchair. I can drive a car, swim better than before, play doubles in tennis, bowl, play catch in softball (nobody dares try to slide home), cook, sew . . ., and do many other enjoyable things.

Since that eventful day [of my accident], I’ve realized the world is full of special people. How grateful I have become for a family who loves me—for parents who have stood by without a complaint, without a moment’s hesitation, willing to give unselfishly of their time, money and love.

Going back to the Brigham Young University put me in a position where I had to rely on people to pull me up stairs, open doors, reach books, push me through snow, etc. I became indebted to my understanding, patient, helpful, loving roommates and friends. . . . I was also fortunate to have . . . professors who [helped] me when the physical facilities . . . limited my accomplishments. These instructors encouraged me when I was discouraged, helped me achieve in my studies, and were especially supportive while I worked to earn my degrees and my teaching certificate.

Later I was blessed to meet Mr. Alma Edwards, who gave me the opportunity to [be a physical education instructor] at West Lake Junior High School in Salt Lake City. Here at last I proved to myself and others that I could do a useful, productive job in society.

Because so many have done so much for me, I have learned how important it is to serve anyone in any way I can.

Perhaps the greatest blessing which came from my “tragedy” was the love and appreciation I developed for my Father in heaven. Without the gospel . . . , this life in a wheelchair would be hard to bear. After my accident I had to depend completely on the Lord for the first time in my life. He became a real person with whom I could talk and who would help me to solve the problems and make the adjustments that were to come. Without my understanding of God as my . . . loving, concerned Father, I would be in the same rut I have seen so many others in—that of blaming God for my misfortune.

If I had to choose the one thing that has helped me most in my adjustment it would be what Elder Harold B. Lee said in a blessing he gave me one Sunday in the hospital.

“Barbara, the Lord loves you,” he said. With this knowledge what more did I need (what more does anyone need!) to keep trying, . . . to find reason and purpose in my life, to be happy, joyful and grateful for life, even in a wheelchair!

I am happy to report that Barbara Richards served for many years as a girls’ physical education teacher, instructing and influencing for good hundreds and hundreds of young women. She has continued to set goals for herself. She wanted to get a Ph.D., so set the goal and achieved it. Being in a wheelchair presented weight problems. She needed to lose forty pounds. She set the goal and achieved it.

Barbara is now teaching at the University of Utah. Her story teaches us so many lessons.

I was the youngest child, and my mother decided that she and I would walk across a mountain range separating the two countries. I remember that she packed a lunch as if we were going for a hike or a picnic in the mountains.
We took a train as far as we could and then walked for long hours, getting ever closer to the West German border. The borders were tightly controlled, but we had a map and knew of a time and a place where it might be safe to cross. I could sense my mother’s anxiety. She observed the area intensely to see if we were being followed. With each step, her legs and knees seemed to become weaker. I helped carry her heavy bag filled with food, vital documents, and family photos as we climbed up one last, long hill. Surely, she thought, we had passed the border by now. When she finally felt safe, we sat down and started to eat our picnic lunch. For the first time that day, I’m sure, she breathed more easily.
It was only then that we noticed the border sign. It was still far ahead of us! We were having our picnic on the wrong side of the border. We were still in East Germany!
Border guards could show up any moment!
My mother frantically packed up our lunch, and we hurried up the hillside as quickly as we could. This time we didn’t dare stop until we knew with certainty that we had reached the other side of the border.
Even though each member of our family had taken very different routes and experienced very different hardships along the way, eventually all of us made it to safety. We were finally reunited as a family. What a glorious day that was!

The sun was just going down behind the mountains when Annie and her two brothers set out for the sheep pasture. Since the sheep hadn’t been in for water that day, Dad was worried that something had happened and they were lost. Annie and her brothers were often asked to follow the fence along the pasture and check for any holes that would allow the sheep to escape. This time was the same as any other time, except that night would soon be upon them.

“I wonder if the sheep went through the same hole in the fence as last time,” Annie said.

“I doubt it,” Karl told her. “Dad fixed it really good. I know because I helped him.”

“Then did they make another hole?” Lewis asked.

“Probably,” Karl said. “Maybe they were chased through the fence by that pack of stray dogs that has been running loose.”

The threesome said nothing more as they hurried around the fence. Annie was sure that her two brothers were thinking the same thing she was: It would be dark soon, and if the sheep hadn’t gone through the familiar hole, it could take a long time to find where they had gone. Stray dogs could have chased them far away by now.

At the old hole in the fence, their fears were realized. It was patched well, and there were no tracks showing that the sheep had escaped that way.

“We won’t have time to find them tonight,” Lewis said. “We better go tell Daddy.”

“If we go back without having any idea where they are, it could take Dad a long time to find them. We better finish walking by the fence and see if we can find where they escaped,” Karl said.

As Annie walked near the fence behind her brother, a Primary lesson she once had came to her mind. It was about Jesus and His sheep. Her teacher said that Jesus would look for even one of His lost sheep. Maybe He would help them with theirs.

“Hey!” Annie exclaimed. Her two brothers jumped at her sudden outburst. “Why don’t we pray and ask Heavenly Father to help us find our lost sheep like Jesus finds His lost sheep?”

“Why would He want to find our sheep?” Karl asked.

“He looks for lost sheep all the time,” Annie told him. “He can help us find our sheep.”

“He looks for sheep?” Lewis asked with a confused look on his face.

Annie nodded. “My Primary teacher told me that He does. And if we pray, He will help us find our lost sheep.”

The two boys agreed, and the children made a tiny circle and bowed their heads in prayer. As soon as the prayer ended, the children heard the sound of a bleating sheep.

“It worked!” Annie cried happily. “Heavenly Father answered our prayer!” The children rushed toward the sound, barely finding their way in the growing darkness. Karl began calling for them, and soon the sheep crossed through a hole in the fence and hurried back to the water trough.

“How did you find the sheep?” Dad asked the children when they arrived home. Annie explained how she remembered her Primary lesson on Jesus being the Good Shepherd and that Heavenly Father helped them find their sheep, just like Jesus looks for His sheep.

“And do you know who His sheep are?” Dad asked.

Annie shrugged her shoulders.

Dad chuckled, but his eyes filled with tears. “All of Heavenly Father’s children are Jesus’s sheep,” he explained. “If there are any that are lost or hurt, He does all He can to bring them back to the flock where it’s safe.”

“You mean Jesus’s sheep aren’t really sheep?” Annie asked in surprise.

Dad nodded and a tear slid down his cheek. He sat in a chair and lifted Annie onto his lap. “Jesus used this parable about sheep to teach us about caring for others. You had great faith that Heavenly Father would help you find your sheep. And now you might know a little bit about how Jesus feels when one of His sheep is lost.”

Annie sat on Dad’s lap thinking about what she had just learned. After a while, she said, “Daddy, I want to help Jesus find His sheep too.”

“I know you do, sweetie,” Dad said. “We all want to.”

“How can I?” she asked.

Smiling, Dad explained, “Pretty much the same way you found our sheep today. You have to look for them and lead them to water.” At her questioning look, he continued, “Jesus is the Good Shepherd, but He is also called the Living Water because He feeds us spiritually. By sharing your testimony with your friends, and living as a good example, you can lead them to the Savior.”

Annie clapped her hands. “I get it now. That’s what my Primary teacher meant when she talked about the sheep following Jesus to green pastures and pure water.”

“Yes,” Dad agreed. “The scriptures say, “‘He shall feed his flock like a shepherd.’”*

“He who sees all things, whose love is endless, … knows what the sheep need at every moment. By the power of the Holy Ghost, He can tell us and send us to them.”Elder Henry B. Eyring of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, “‘Watch with Me,’” Ensign, May 2001, 39.

When I was a young man serving my mission in the Southern Far East Mission, I was assigned to the Taiwan Zone. For over a year, I was the Branch President of the Hualien Branch on the East Coast of Taiwan. One day while riding through the rice paddies, I saw an old red brick traditional Chinese farmhouse set among some tall bamboo groves and with the mountains in the background. I said to myself, I've been here before. I thought and thought until it dawned on me that I had actually seen the exact same scenery in a dream when I was in elementary school. I didn't remember that dream, until I was actually seeing it first hand. I felt a tingling feeling within me and I knew that this was where the Lord wanted me to serve my mission. I learned the value of personal revelation.

“Do we have time before dinner for our walk?” said Mr. Knight (names have been changed) from his wheelchair.
“Of course,” I responded, “I always have time for a walk.”
As I rolled my 90-year-old friend through the front door of the nursing home and across the street, we talked about skiing, slopes, and snowdrifts. Mr. Knight had been on ski patrol until an accident forced him to retire at age 86.
On our walks, I’d pour out my senior-year problems, and Mr. Knight would tell me stories several decades old, giving me courage to face the mountains of life that he had already conquered.
“So,” Mr. Knight asked, “did you have a date last night?”
“Yep,” I responded, dreamily thinking of the good-looking guy I had gone out with.
“Well, how did it go?”
“Great! He is so cool! I can’t believe he actually wants to date me!” I said, bubbling over with excitement. Brock was the star of the high school swim team. He was every girl’s dream boy. He wasn’t an active member of the Church and not exactly a good guy either, but he was incredibly good looking, and I was flattered he had asked me out. I thought as long as I didn’t do the bad things he was doing, I could still go out with him and have fun. Brock’s good looks hid many of his flaws.
I kept hanging out with him even though my parents weren’t crazy about the idea. I rationalized to them that his habits didn’t have any effect on me. Not surprisingly, they didn’t agree. When I told Brock this, he promised me he had quit drinking and smoking. But after a while, I could tell he was lying.
My parents taught me I should only date guys worthy to go on missions—guys who could one day take me to the temple. Brock was definitely not that type. Still, I had a hard time separating the excitement from the impending trouble.
As the weeks went by and I kept going out with Brock, I started lying to my parents about where I was going. And even though I wasn’t the one drinking or smoking, I knew I had crossed into a danger zone.
After going out with Brock one night, I sneaked into my house and headed to the bathroom to wash off my makeup. As I looked in the mirror I met a scrutinizing eye.
“Well, here you are,” scolded my reflection. “I see you finally made it home tonight.”
“Of course I made it home,” I countered.
“Surprising, though,” the girl in the mirror continued, “don’t you think? Brock was so drunk. It’s amazing he didn’t crash.”
I pictured myself mangled and bleeding in a coffin of twisted metal. The image seemed almost real, and I didn’t want to think about it.
I lashed back at the image in the mirror: “Quit overreacting! You’re starting to sound like my mother!” I slammed my fist against the light switch, and brushed my teeth and washed off my mascara in the dark.
After yet another week of sneaking around, fighting what I knew I should do, it was time to see Mr. Knight again. I tried to act natural, but Mr. Knight knew I was in trouble.
“You’re in a mess because you’re breaking the rules,” he said.
“What rules?” I asked, innocently raising my eyebrows.
“Your rules and God’s rules. When people go against the laws they know, they are sinning.”
If I had heard this from anyone else, I would have felt as if they had called me a sinner. Yet I knew Mr. Knight loved me and cared about my happiness, so I listened to what he had to say.
“You know that lying to your parents, even stretching the truth a little, is wrong. You know that lying to yourself is wrong. You know that dating someone who drags you down is wrong. You can’t expect to stand barefoot in the snow and not get cold.”
“Mr. Knight, I’ve lied so many times though. I don’t know how to start telling the truth. If I tell my parents the truth now, they’ll ground me until I graduate.”
I was afraid of facing the truth. I thought if I told the truth, I’d spend my senior year dateless and friendless.
“Mr. Knight, I’m not sure I can fix this mess.”
“Trust me, you can. Remember, you don’t have to do this all by yourself. You need the help of the Lord and His Atonement.”
“Hey, this isn’t a big enough problem that I need to repent. I don’t need the Atonement. Remember, I’m not the one smoking and drinking.”
“I know, but you still have things you need to change. Repentance means changing, and it’s possible because of Christ’s Atonement. You need to repent because you’ve broken God’s rules.”
I stopped pushing the wheelchair, realizing for the first time that I had offended God and not just myself. Now, instead of fearing my own face in the mirror, I was afraid of facing the Lord. I knew He was aware of everything I had done. I wanted to bury myself under a mountain.
Mr. Knight gave me instructions on how to get back to where I needed to be. I told my parents the truth about going out with Brock behind their backs. I knelt and told the Lord the truth. Still, a confession wasn’t enough. I changed my behavior. I quit dating Brock and only dated guys who lived Church standards. Lots of kids at school teased me, telling me I was stuck up, but I knew that what I was doing was right. Most importantly, faith and hope returned to my life, replacing the guilt and despair I had felt.
My fear of being friendless and dateless never happened. By being true to myself, I found friends who were true to me. Mr. Knight helped me see the need for the Atonement in my life so I could change and look at myself in the mirror. When I look to Christ and then look at myself, I am able to recognize in my reflection something of divinity and what He expects me to become.

I am reminded of an experience we had earlier this summer while conducting research off the coast of Oahu. We were using an autonomous underwater vehicle to survey coral reefs. It may be the closest analog to traditional voyaging’s dead-reckoning skills that we have, because when our robot is underwater, it does not have access to GPS, Wi-Fi, or any other geolocating capabilities. Instead, the robot takes thousands of readings per second to sense its own movement and location relative to the ocean floor and to where it started.

With faith in our engineering and in our daily prayers, we launched the robot in an unfamiliar area. It dove, and our crew waited. When it hadn’t surfaced on schedule, we put our acoustic communication underwater to see where the robot was.

Our student said, “It is thirty meters (one hundred feet) down and parked. Is that normal?”

In case you are wondering, no, that is not how we planned it. When we reviewed the footage from our onboard cameras, we pieced together what had happened. As the robot was following the terrain three meters (ten feet) above the ocean floor, an outcropping formed by a long-ago lava flow loomed in front of the vehicle. It sensed the obstacle, but the robot was moving too fast to navigate over the rock and clipped the top. With that glancing blow, the sensor that helped the robot know its distance above the seafloor temporarily went offline; the robot lost the ability to sense its location, so it dove, nosed up against a rock, and parked. Fortunately our brilliant engineering colleagues had programmed in a fail-safe—literally a way to safely fail. After a full minute of trying to push through the rock, the robot backed up and surfaced, and we recovered it.

I have spoken here of heavenly help, of angels dispatched to bless us in time of need. But when we speak of those who are instruments in the hand of God, we are reminded that not all angels are from the other side of the veil. Some of them we walk with and talk with—here, now, every day. Some of them reside in our own neighborhoods. Some of them gave birth to us, and in my case, one of them consented to marry me. Indeed heaven never seems closer than when we see the love of God manifested in the kindness and devotion of people so good and so pure that angelic is the only word that comes to mind. Elder James Dunn, from this pulpit just moments ago, used that word in his invocation to describe this Primary choir—and why not? With the spirit, faces, and voices of those children in our mind and before our eyes, may I share with you an account by my friend and BYU colleague, the late Clyn D. Barrus. I do so with the permission of his wife, Marilyn, and their family.

Referring to his childhood on a large Idaho farm, Brother Barrus spoke of his nightly assignment to round up the cows at milking time. Because the cows pastured in a field bordered by the occasionally treacherous Teton River, the strict rule in the Barrus household was that during the spring flood season, the children were never to go after any cows who ventured across the river. They were always to return home and seek mature help.

One Saturday just after his seventh birthday, Brother Barrus’s parents promised the family a night at the movies if the chores were done on time. But when young Clyn arrived at the pasture, the cows he sought had crossed the river, even though it was running at high flood stage. Knowing his rare night at the movies was in jeopardy, he decided to go after the cows himself, even though he had been warned many times never to do so.

As the seven-year-old urged his old horse, Banner, down into the cold, swift stream, the horse’s head barely cleared the water. An adult sitting on the horse would have been safe, but at Brother Barrus’s tender age, the current completely covered him except when the horse lunged forward several times, bringing Clyn’s head above water just enough to gasp for air.

Here I turn to Brother Barrus’s own words:
“When Banner finally climbed the other bank, I realized that my life had been in grave danger and that I had done a terrible thing—I had knowingly disobeyed my father. I felt that I could redeem myself only by bringing the cows home safely. Maybe then my father would forgive me. But it was already dusk, and I didn’t know for sure where I was. Despair overwhelmed me. I was wet and cold, lost and afraid.
“I climbed down from old Banner, fell to the ground by his feet, and began to cry. Between thick sobs, I tried to offer a prayer, repeating over and over to my Father in Heaven, ‘I’m sorry. Forgive me! I’m sorry. Forgive me!’
“I prayed for a long time. When I finally looked up, I saw through my tears a figure dressed in white walking toward me. In the dark, I felt certain it must be an angel sent in answer to my prayers. I did not move or make a sound as the figure approached, so overwhelmed was I by what I saw. Would the Lord really send an angel to me, who had been so disobedient?
“Then a familiar voice said, ‘Son, I’ve been looking for you.’ In the darkness I recognized the voice of my father and ran to his outstretched arms. He held me tightly, then said gently, ‘I was worried. I’m glad I found you.’
“I tried to tell him how sorry I was, but only disjointed words came out of my trembling lips—‘Thank you … darkness … afraid … river … alone.’ Later that night I learned that when I had not returned from the pasture, my father had come looking for me. When neither I nor the cows were to be found, he knew I had crossed the river and was in danger. Because it was dark and time was of the essence, he removed his clothes down to his long white thermal underwear, tied his shoes around his neck, and swam a treacherous river to rescue a wayward son.”

When I was a child growing up and learning about life, I did not have the security of my father and mother telling me who I was, how I could find lasting happiness, and what would happen to me if I were to die. My parents did not have the gospel of Jesus Christ, so my childhood was very uncertain in many ways and often full of fear.
But in all the memories of my childhood, there is at least one of peace and joy. This is the memory of Christmas.
Christmastime was celebrated in the traditions and customs of my home country of Germany, and it was specifically for the children.
Four Sundays before Christmas Day, preparations for something holy and beautiful could be felt in our home. A little wreath with four candles on it was placed on the family table.
On the first Sunday, the first candle was lit. As a family we sat around the table, singing Christmas songs and preparing little gifts that each of us would give to each member of the family.
On the fourth Sunday, the last candle was lit, and expectations for the coming joyous events were growing extreme.
A Christmas tree did not appear in our home until December 24. On that day, we children had to stay outside, go on errands, and play by ourselves. I still remember how time seemed to not pass at all.
We children were taught that the Christmas tree and all of its glory and beauty, along with presents and food and cookies, came from the little Christ Child.
This lack of logic did not bother us children. We believed that there was a Christ-child person of a supernatural existence who cared for us in such a way that once a year He would come in person to fulfill all of our hopes and dreams.
In preparation, we cleaned the rooms where we slept. We put on our best clothes. We had our gifts ready to give. When the sun started to set on that special day, we were invited to get ready to enter the living room.
As was the custom, the doors to the living room had been locked because we children were not to go into that room. It became a place of great mystery. Once in a while we heard some rustling of papers, and once in a while the more courageous of us tried to peek in the keyhole—only to learn that the key was in it from the inside and the door was locked.
When Mother finally decided that we were clean, orderly, dressed, our hair groomed, and had our rooms in order, we were asked to listen carefully. Suddenly we heard a little bell ringing, and our hearts beat close to explosion. This was it! This was the moment when the doors were unlocked and we were allowed to go into the living room. And there it was—a Christmas tree standing from the floor to the ceiling! We became aware of its beautiful, fresh-cut smell and that it was glowing with candles. Our father, who happened to be already inside the room when we walked in, was watching it carefully so that nothing caught on fire.
The Christmas tree had many decorations that we as children would see only at Christmastime. In the center of the tree was a wax sculpture of a little Christ Child surrounded by glowing angels of gold paper and silk.
Our family gathered around the tree and sang four or five Christmas songs. Then we children were invited to find our own corner of presents, which had been covered by a blanket.
This Christmas Eve tradition developed in us powerful feelings of holiness, joy, love, gratitude, and security. These feelings, radiating from the symbols of the little wax figure of the Christ Child, which we saw only at Christmastime, had a great influence on all of us.

I served in the Hungary Budapest Mission. When I returned home early, it was hard because all my companions were still out on their missions and I missed being a missionary. I also feared that other Church members would judge me, but fortunately, everyone treated me with love and understood my situation.
As time passed, I felt better. I read an article in the Liahona about early-returned missionaries that helped me feel better because I didn’t feel I was the only one anymore (see Destiny Yarbro, “Home Earlier Than Planned,” Liahona, Jan. 2018, 44–47). And I also took to heart what my aunt said: “Missionary work continues wherever we are.”
Lucas Ludwig Saito, São Paulo, Brazil

Over 100 years ago, in the Samoan Islands of the Pacific Ocean, a young man named Tom Fanene was an important help during a life-and-death situation for members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
Tom lived in a village called Sauniatu, which had been founded by Latter-day Saints in the area as a place for them to gather and make a community. Just like Saints of God in other times and places, they experienced trials as well as miracles as they worked to build God’s kingdom together. One trial came in 1918, when an influenza pandemic reached the village.
As soon as the illness arrived, it was devastating, and it spread quickly. Nearly every one of the roughly 400 villagers was bedridden because of it. Only a couple of them were well enough to get around: an older man and 12-year-old Tom.
During the 1918 influenza epidemic, Tom exercised faith as he worked hard to care for the people of the village. “Every morning I went from house to house to feed and clean the people and to find out who had died,” he said.
He fetched buckets of water from a spring and brought water to every house. He climbed coconut trees, picked coconuts, husked them, and opened them to collect the juice to bring it to the sick. He also killed all of the chickens in the village to make soup for each family.
The 12-year-old Tom Fanene helped nurse his village to health during a pandemic.
Illustration by James Madsen
During this pandemic, around one-fourth of all of the people in Samoa died of influenza. Some of the people in Tom’s village died as well. Tom helped dig graves and bury more than 20 of them, including his own father, Elisala.
But thanks to Tom’s hard work and loving care, many people in his village survived. He made a big difference to those people and to the building up of the Lord’s kingdom in Samoa. He was “laying the foundation of a great work.”
The 1918 influenza pandemic hit them hard. But Tom helped many to survive. Children went back to school, and villagers again formed the Sauniatu Branch Band (above).

Growing up, my family dynamic was complex. By the time I left on my mission, my mom and I were the only active members of the Church.
When my mission concluded, I felt like it was my responsibility to help my dad and two sisters find their faith again. I thought it would be just like teaching the strangers that had crossed my path when I was a missionary.
More than ever, I hoped to help my family feel the joy I felt from living the gospel. And most of all, I hoped we could finally be sealed as a family in the temple, something I had wished for since I was a little girl.
Instead, relationships in my family were tense. Contention filled my home as my expectations remained unmet and the comparisons I made to other families fueled feelings of guilt. I encountered overwhelming feelings of inadequacy, and both friends and family members were quick to point out my mistakes as a returned missionary.
I couldn’t see how my faithful service was helping my family at all. Was I doing something wrong?
After a while of wrestling with this issue, I had an epiphany about discipleship. I realized that the gospel is about much more than getting people to attend church; it’s about strengthening relationships and showing Christlike love. This change in perspective did not mean I had given up—instead, I was choosing to focus on love.
Sister Tamara W. Runia, First Counselor in the Young Women General Presidency, said, “While our families aren’t perfect, we can perfect our love for others until it becomes a constant, unchanging, no-matter-what kind of love—the type of love that supports change and allows for growth and return.”
I knew something needed to change. Instead of trying to make my family live the gospel, I focused on loving and strengthening my bond with them. I decided to love them not because of what they did or didn’t do but because I simply wanted to show charity for those I love most in this world.
Even with this shift in mindset, I have a lot of unanswered questions about how eternity will look for my family. I’m a planner, and it feels scary not to know what the future holds.
One thing that’s brought me comfort is my testimony of the plan of salvation. Even though I can’t see the future, God—who is perfectly wise, loving, and merciful—can. Although I still have questions about exactly how things will work out, I know that things will work out.
Elder Dale G. Renlund of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles counseled, “We can try to hold our questions about how and when for later and focus on developing faith in Jesus Christ, that He has both the power to make everything right and yearns to do so.” I can’t describe the relief that comes from giving all my uncertainty and sorrows to the Savior.
I know that “all that is unfair in life can be made right through the Atonement of Jesus Christ.” I believe God’s plan is perfect, and because we are His children, He wants us to be happy. Nothing has brought me more joy and security than living the gospel of Jesus Christ.
And nothing has allowed me to fill my heart with more genuine love for my family and friends than following Him.

Dusty the Cat entered our lives unexpectedly. He looked to be at death’s door. A filthy coat of long, matted hair hung on his boney frame, and dull eyes peered from his sad face. Dad decided to keep Dusty as a shop cat. Slowly the bedraggled feline regained his health. Matted fur became clean and beautiful.
But after several years, Dusty began acting funny. We took him to the veterinarian and found out that Dusty had gone blind.
Instead of confining Dusty to the safety of the shop, Dad installed a wire fence extending to the house and back. The small enclosure allowed Dusty to enjoy the outdoors without being in danger. Whenever Dad was near, Dusty would wander toward his voice until bumping into the fence. He would then move along the fence, getting closer to the familiar sound. At mealtimes, Dad would gently pick him up and carry him to food and fresh water.
When I first saw this, it reminded me of how we all come to our Father in Heaven, blind and in need. We are loved and comforted while being fed the bread of life and led to living waters (see John 4:6–14; 6:47–58). Our coats of sin are cleansed through the Atonement as we repent and live righteously. We can hear His voice through the Spirit and move toward our Father in Heaven without seeing Him. He will carry us gently toward eternal life.
The tenderness exhibited by my dad for Dusty may seem insignificant, but it illustrates part of the great love and mercy our Heavenly Father has for us.

Some heroes live in my Idaho Falls stake, like Syd and Jeanette Withers. Brother Withers has spent many years of his life offering service to the young women and young men, and part of it has been taking them on hikes for girl’s camp and scout camp. I was several pounds lighter and my heart was twenty years younger when I went with the young women on the Table Rock hike led by men from our stake, among them, Syd Withers.

The scenery was incredible, and the company was great. I thought I had prepared well enough for the hike, but it was a difficult one for me, and sometimes it seemed I couldn’t catch my breath, and I dropped further behind on the trail. Brother Withers noticed and tactfully checked to see if I was okay. Huffing and puffing, I was a bit embarrassed, but when he held out the end of his walking stick to me, I gratefully grasped it. I’m not sure how far he pulled me, but it was over the steepest area of the trail. Because Brother Withers listened to a prompting, I was able to reach a goal.

Some time later another family crisis occurred. My teenage daughter lost her contact lenses—both of them. There were feelings of self-accusation—“How could I be so stupid”—and some silent agreement by other family members. Again everyone scurried around looking everywhere for contact lenses. As I was doing my part in the search, I passed my daughter’s room. The door was slightly ajar, and I could see her kneeling by her bed and could hear her soft, pleading words asking if Heavenly Father would please, please, help us find those lenses. We all hunted for hours, but despite our best efforts, the contacts never appeared. My daughter was perplexed; she said, “After I said my prayer, I just knew we would find those contacts. After all, Grandmother’s prayer helped us find the keys. But we didn’t find the lenses, and I don’t understand why not.”

One day several of the guys were sitting on the deck gambling. One of them looked up at Raymond and said, “Milkshake! Say this curse word and you can have all the money in the pot.” I quickly counted the money and found the total to be two months’ pay. I figured since he and I were buddies, Raymond would give me half. But to my dismay, he would not curse. I pleaded with him, but he didn’t believe in that kind of talk. I knew then that to be a true Latter-day Saint was a sacred responsibility.