Gospel Story Finder

Many years ago I had the opportunity to deliver a commencement address to a graduating class. I had gone to the home of President Hugh B. Brown that we might drive together to the university where he was to conduct the exercises and I was to speak. As President Brown entered my car, he said, “Wait a moment.” He looked toward the large bay window of his lovely home, and then I realized what he was looking for. The curtain parted, and I saw Sister Zina Brown, his beloved companion of well over fifty years, at the window, propped up in a wheelchair, waving a little white handkerchief. President Brown took from his inside coat pocket a white handkerchief, which he waved to her in return. Then, with a smile, he said to me, “Let’s go.”

As we drove, I asked President Brown to tell me about the sign of the white handkerchiefs. He related to me the following incident: “The first day after Sister Brown and I were married, as I went to work I heard a tap at the window, and there was Zina, waving a white handkerchief. I found mine and waved in reply. From that day until this I have never left my home without that little exchange between my wife and me. It is a symbol of our love one for another. It is an indication to one another that all will be well until we are joined together at eventide.” Yes, a model to follow, “an example of the believers.”

Later, as a teenager, I visited the Sacred Grove. It was a beautiful summer evening and a quiet setting. It seemed to be the perfect occasion. I prayed for some sort of confirmation of what I believed. I prayed very sincerely for a very long time and nothing happened. Disappointed, I gave up and walked back to the town of Palmyra where I was staying. I asked myself, “What did I do wrong?”
The spiritual confirmation I was searching for came a month or two later when I was at home. I was reading the Book of Mormon by myself, and I was overcome with a very powerful spiritual witness of the truthfulness of the Book of Mormon and the calling of the Prophet Joseph Smith—basically, the kind of witness I was hoping to receive in the Sacred Grove.
I’m glad the Lord didn’t respond when I was praying in the Sacred Grove because it taught me that you don’t have to be in any special place to receive a witness. I was at home, in my bedroom, and the Lord found me there.

I’ve moved a lot in my life. A few years ago, we moved to Dubai for a short time. When I unpacked my suitcase, the last thing at the bottom was my scriptures. I thought that I should read them. I did, which is kind of unusual because I’m not always great at following promptings. But I started from the very beginning, and I think I read five or six chapters.

Later, I was asked to give a talk in church. I was impressed to talk about the importance of scripture study. I wrote my talk and thought, “Wow, I should really read the scriptures more.” It also kind of became a competition between me and my dad. He was in Alma, and I wanted to catch up to him. I started reading my scriptures every day—sometimes 10 or 15 chapters!

I started to notice a lot more spiritual experiences. When you’re reading that much, it makes room for you to have personal revelation. I was really creating time for the Lord.

I started keeping a spiritual journal. In one entry, I wrote, “I was reading 3 Nephi about how Jesus Christ came down to the people and all the wonderful things He did. I felt so close to Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ today.”

I was really surprised how many experiences I had, especially when I was looking for them. I was like, “Wow, God is really talking to me a lot.”

Studying the scriptures really helped me, especially with all the mental stress of moving so much. The scriptures are Christ’s words. He speaks to us through them. Through His words, I am able to draw closer to Him.

Brother Bob Layton, a news reporter for a local radio station, produced a two-part documentary on Si. It is the station’s policy to never play a documentary more than once, but the listener response to the Si Peterson story was so overwhelming, that they had to repeat it many times. Eventually the soundtrack from the documentary was combined with a series of photographic slides to form a sight and sound presentation. Brother Layton has, on request, taken this presentation to firesides, schools, and community organizations many times. The letters of response, many from school children, are evidence that Si has truly been an instrument of bringing people to God. One girl wrote, “Your faith and your acceptance of your accident help me to believe too.”

The teacher nurses a knife wound in her back. Gladys Saiah is not much older than her students. She and her sister were running an errand for their mother in an unfamiliar part of town when she was attacked and stabbed by a group of men. Gladys and her sister were fortunate; they were allowed to leave without further injury.
“As my sister and I began walking home,” she says, “I told Ellen we must first thank Heavenly Father for sparing our lives. We did, and then, arising from our knees, I asked Ellen, ‘Now will you please clean my back?’”
Though life in Soweto can sometimes be dangerous, the dangers are pushed into the background once the opening hymn and prayer start seminary. Class begins with scripture mastery, and each student recites a scripture word for word.
“And the Lord called his people Zion, because they were of one heart and one mind, and dwelt in righteousness; and there was no poor among them” (Moses 7:18).
“But the Lord said unto Samuel, Look not on his countenance, or on the height of his stature; because I have refused him: for the Lord seeth not as man seeth; for man looketh on the outward appearance, but the Lord looketh on the heart” (1 Sam. 16:7).
Soweto seminary students know the Lord helps them through the scriptures. Lucky Ndhiela knows his faith spared him a severe beating.
“One day our school teacher was very angry with our class,” says Lucky. “He said he had explained a science principle to us, and the other students said he had not. A still, small voice whispered in my ear, ‘You know it, Lucky—the teacher did teach us that.’
“So I raised my hand and said in front of the whole class, ‘You did teach us that.’ I felt so happy to say it.
“But the whole class shouted, ‘He did NOT!’ The teacher became very angry and started hitting them all, one by one. I sat near the back of the class, and while he was busy punishing the students in front, I bowed my head and began to pray.
“I remembered my scripture mastery, Proverbs 3:5–6 [Prov. 3:5–6], and said to myself, ‘Trust in the Lord with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding. In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy paths.
“When the teacher came to my desk, his voice changed. His face changed. He said, ‘Lucky is praying to his God. I forgive him.’ He did not punish me, nor any others that day. That is how I know it is important to apply the scriptures in my life. My prayer was answered!”
Studying the Old Testament together had great impact on Soweto’s seminary students. Scenes like this one, described by a teacher, Leadh Vilakazi, are not uncommon:
“When we got to the story of Moses, everyone wanted to know everything concerning him. It was a wonderful feeling, as if Moses were among us.
“But the sad moment started when Moses was told he would not be allowed to enter the promised land, after all he had been through, and the faithful heart he had, and his hard work in leading the Israelites.
“‘Oh, what a painful and upsetting thing,’ my students grieved to me. And it was even a greater blow when the scriptures said Moses died. Everyone’s heart was moved, as if Moses had departed from us, and it was silent for a moment.
“When I looked at the students’ faces, tears were about to fall. Some of them looked down—they could not look at me. I heard one of the students say, ‘We now know that we had such a wonderful leader.’
“Another said, ‘Why don’t we sing “We Thank Thee, O God, for a Prophet” ?’
“Then came another voice. ‘Oh, yes—just to thank our Heavenly Father for our beloved prophet for the last time.’ And so we sang, with our tears.”
Seminary student Girly Mbuli explains how her faith and love of the scriptures saved her from a terrible situation.
“One day my friend Tiny Gugu and I had to go to Zondi to take some books to another girl. On our way back we saw a gang of boys. Gangs here rape girls, steal cars, do everything horrible. We started to run, but it was too late.
“The boys faced us. They had weapons. They made us go up on a hill and meant to do awful things to us. On the way up the hill, I was saying a prayer to my Heavenly Father. I don’t remember which scriptures I tried to say, but I kept thinking of them. I asked for help to be calm and not afraid. I felt peace come into my heart.
“When you are on top of that hill, you can see everything. The boys looked down and asked where I was staying. I pointed to Jabulane, and something told me to say I was staying with my grandmother and my friend Lindiwe.
“The leader looked at me and said, ‘You are not afraid. Let them go!’ I later found out that the brother of my friend Lindiwe is the boss of this gang, and he stays in the house of my grandmother. That is why they let us go free.
“When I tell this story to people, they refuse to believe we survived. But I did, and I know why. It was because of my faith in Heavenly Father. I know that Isaiah 1:18 [Isa. 1:18] can be true for those guilty gang boys, if they will repent: ‘Come now, and let us reason together, saith the Lord: though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be white as snow.’”
Many people would be amazed at Girly’s charitable attitude. They would view Soweto as a terrible place. But Soweto is where these seminary students have received the gospel of Jesus Christ. Through study, prayer, and faith, they have found hope, confidence, courage, and love.
“I want to tell everyone not to forget their Heavenly Father, wherever you are,” says Girly. “He won’t forget you. He didn’t forget me.”

In summer 2017, the Page family participated in the British Pageant at the Preston, England Temple.
Preparations began early in January, with applications to be made, auditions to attend, and accommodations to organise. We were very excited to receive our phone call from Peter Trebilcock (the pageant director at the time). He told us that we had been accepted into the family cast. We were then set apart by our bishop, who said our children were the youngest he had ever set apart for a calling!
Our time at the British Pageant was very busy, with long days of rehearsing, many late nights, and makeshift meals. But it was wonderful— we made some new friends, grew through the expertise of all the directors and had many spiritual experiences and opportunities to give testimony.
One of the highlights was a visit from President M. Russell Ballard, an Apostle. My husband, Matthew, who was working on the security team, had the privilege of ferrying President Ballard around the site in a golf cart! We also had visits from President and Sister Kieron, and President and Sister McReynolds of the Manchester England Mission.
At the end of the performance each night, it was our privilege to speak with our visitors about their experience at the pageant. Many were not members of our Church, while others had not attended for a very long time. There were many positive stories of people feeling the Holy Ghost, as well as compliments as to the quality of the event.
The British Pageant is a truly worthwhile experience, and we wholeheartedly recommend getting involved!

Last year, the whole school was studying the nature of God and what He is like. Our teachers taught us that God the Father, Jesus Christ, and the Holy Ghost are all one being without “passion or form” (feelings or a body). We knew that that was not correct, and we talked about it with our parents. When it came time for me to take the test on what we had learned that week in Bible class, one of the questions asked was, “Name the three parts of God.” Although I knew the answer they wanted me to give, I refused to write it because I knew that God was not made of three parts and that I should not give an answer I did not believe.
Later in the day, my teacher called me to her desk and asked why I had left the question blank. I told her that our church teaches that God the Father, Jesus Christ, and the Holy Ghost are three distinct personages, that Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ both have bodies, and that the Holy Ghost is a personage of Spirit. She said that she would give me full credit for my answer because I know what I believe, even though it differs from what the school teaches.

Sister Kapp: Do you have a favorite scripture, Gail?
Gail: Yes. One that has really helped me is found in the Book of Mormon in Mosiah 4:27. It talks about man not having the need to run faster than he has strength, but that if he will be diligent, all things will come to him. That scripture helps me because I’ve always been really busy.
A specific incident with that scripture happened just a very little while ago. I was preparing to compete in a big speech tournament and was facing college entrance exams. I’d just been called to serve on our seminary council and was worried about responsibilities there. I also have one brother and six sisters whom I really care about, and I wanted to spend time with them. I read through that scripture and others like it which said that all I needed to do was to set a pace for myself and keep up with it. I felt that my Father in Heaven had answered my prayers in that scripture.
Sister Kapp: Gail, how have you made scripture study a habit?
Gail: I try to keep in mind three things. First, I’ve found that ten minutes of serious studying and concentration every day is much more meaningful and worthwhile to me than an hour of “hurried” reading once a week.
Second, I’ve found that it’s easier for me to make scripture reading a habit if I do it for a certain length of time and at a specific time of day, if at all possible. For me, it works best to read at least ten minutes a day, and I usually do that right after my prayers, before I go to bed. Some days are hard, and reading the scriptures every day helps me feel closer to my Father in Heaven and makes it easier to do what’s right.
Last of all, I’d say that scripture reading and prayer go hand in hand. A lot of times I don’t understand a scripture, but the feeling I get when I’m studying, reading, and praying can often bring answers to all kinds of questions and doubts.
Sister Kapp: How do you feel about having your own set of scriptures?
Gail: I love them. These scriptures that I have marked and studied have helped to increase my testimony so much. I’m only seventeen, but the principles and guidelines of the gospel that I understand and have learned to obey have really brought me closer to my Father in Heaven. From my study of His scriptures, I know that they are true.
Sister Kapp: Thank you, Gail, for your strong testimony. I know that they are true, too.

One Christmas time my friends and I decided to secretly do the “Twelve Days of Sharing” for a special woman. She loved little children, served in the Primary nursery, and gave out cookies to children in the neighborhood. But she was alone in her home for Christmas.
On December 14 we gave her a small, decorated Christmas tree with little birds on it. We left it on her porch, then hid in the bushes so that we could see the look on her face when she saw it. She looked all around but couldn’t see us. We waited until she went back inside before we ran home.
The second night we gave her two silver bird whistles. The third night we gave her a gallon of apple cider. Each day we gave her something different, and each day we couldn’t wait to see the different expressions on her face. Sometimes she looked concerned about opening the door, but she was always happy to find something there for her.
One night it was so cold and snowy that we thought about not going. But we knew that she would be disappointed—and we would have been too. We climbed over the fence and headed toward the front porch. I had just put the plate of cookies on the step, rung the doorbell, and started to run to my hiding place, when I heard her door opening. I slipped and fell headfirst into the bushes. Although I was covered with snow, I was still surprised that she didn’t see me. I couldn’t keep from laughing as I headed home.
The Twelve Days of Sharing were special days to my friends and me. Later I overheard her say that that Christmas was one of the best she had ever had.

During stressful times, should missionary work go on? The Saints in Sierra Leone have a tradition. They continue to share the gospel no matter what.

"Rather than bemoaning our lot or remaining stagnant, we were encouraged to rally the Saints by calling branch missionaries to replace the full-time missionaries," explained President Bai Seasy of the Kossoh Town District. "We had no time to feel sorry for ourselves; we had the work of salvation to do. We paired returned missionaries with prospective missionaries and organized them into zones."

"Each branch mission leader was authorized to have a phone card for proselyting purposes. They must account for its usage, but it has helped the branch missionaries remain in contact with new investigators and recent converts alike, and staying in touch has made a huge difference," said Brian Robbin-Taylor, another special assistant to the mission president.

"We have ‘phone lessons’ with investigators and new converts," he continued. "That supplements weekly missionary lessons held at church. We have adapted to the needs of members and investigators who otherwise might have no contact, due either to quarantine restrictions or apprehensions about getting the disease."

Today convert baptisms in Sierra Leone are only slightly lower than when full-time missionaries were there, many less-active members have returned to activity, and growth of the Church is steady.

One of my good and bright friends left the Church for a time. He recently wrote to me of his return: “Initially, I wanted the Book of Mormon to be proven to me historically, geographically, linguistically, and culturally. But when I changed my focus to what it teaches about the gospel of Jesus Christ and His saving mission, I began to gain a testimony of its truthfulness. One day while reading the Book of Mormon in my room, I paused, knelt down, and gave a heartfelt prayer and felt resoundingly that Heavenly Father whispered to my spirit that the Church and the Book of Mormon were definitely true. My three-and-a-half-year period of reinvestigating the Church led me back wholeheartedly and convincingly to its truthfulness.”

If one will take the time to humbly read and ponder the Book of Mormon, as did my friend, and give ear to the sweet fruits of the Spirit, then he or she will eventually receive the desired witness.

Then one day my father dropped another bombshell. He’d decided to leave BYU—Hawaii to take a position at the University of Wisconsin. My heart began to thud. How could he? How could he be so cruel as to take me to a state only a lake away from Michigan? There wasn’t a dry eye among us when we boarded the plane.
But here I was in Wisconsin—my sobs and pleas had fallen on deaf ears. I shot the mirror another grim glare and turned away resolutely. No, this time I wouldn’t start a new junior high with secondhand clothes and expectant smiles. I’d grown up a lot since Michigan and knew better than that.
My ploy worked. I didn’t look or act like a nerd and found friends instantly—of the wrong variety. This was the crowd who had an ever-present cigarette on their lips and an expletive to fit every occasion. They were happy to draw me into their circle.
“Wanna drag?” became a phrase I was to hear repeatedly that year as someone in the crowd lit up and offered to share their nicotine.
Did I want a drag? Of course I did. More than anything in the world I wanted to fit in and be a part of this crowd. But I couldn’t—I was a Mormon. And that made me mad. It wasn’t cool to be a Mormon. There were only three Mormons at my junior high, including myself and my brother. I was okay, but in my estimation, the other two didn’t have a chance of being accepted. I didn’t want to be connected with either of them in any way. I kept my religion squashed as far under a bushel as I could. When kids offered me a cigarette I didn’t say, “No thanks, I’m a Mormon and we don’t smoke.” I said, “No thanks, I don’t smoke.”
“Why not?” they often asked.
“I don’t know,” I’d mutter uncomfortably. “It’s bad for your health, I guess.”
“You’re smart,” they’d respond thoughtfully, happily continuing to puff. I looked on in misery.
This crowd loved dancing to the music of Jimi Hendrix and “The Doors” and so did I. They also liked having parties in kids’ basements when their parents weren’t home. The lights were dimmed, the cigarettes glowed, and kids paired off. I wandered around pretending to fit in.
How I longed to do what the others were doing so I could truly belong. I clung to the memory of those happy years in Hawaii, marching barefoot down Moana Street to the beach with a slew of friends surrounding me. In Michigan it was different. I hadn’t fit in because my clothes were outdated and I looked like Popeye’s Olive Oyle in cat glasses. But that wasn’t the problem here. Now I was an identical clone of my Wisconsin friends, and I still wasn’t one of them. Outwardly we looked alike, but inside we were miles apart. I was like one of those Idaho Spud candy bars my dad loves so much—dark and rough on the outside, but full of fluffy, white, squishy marshmallow on the inside. I was a good kid trying to look bad. It wasn’t much fun.
I didn’t want to give up my friends, but how was I to fit in when I didn’t smoke, drink, swear, or pair off? Although I wanted to participate, I could never bring myself to that point. Something always stopped me. Still, the daily contact with these friends took its toll.
My parents watched me change from a cheerful, studious eighth grader to a belligerent, hostile ninth grader. I refused to attend early-morning seminary and Mutual activities—when I could get away with it. In our family, missing Sunday meetings wasn’t an option, or I would have done that, too. Because I was exposed to so much crude language, swear words came involuntarily to my mind each time something bad happened.
Like a brand, I carry the memory of the day one of those words found its way out of my mouth. I was strolling home from school with several friends when a male acquaintance snuck up behind me and playfully yanked my long hair. Shocked and angry, I whirled around to face him. The word popped out before I had a chance to think. Everyone used that word in such situations, but my friends stared at me in disbelief. I tried to pass it off, but inside I was terribly ashamed and made sure it never happened again.
My report card suffered when I figured out it wasn’t cool to get good grades. I’d always been very competitive and at the top of my classes. Now it was an embarrassment to admit I’d earned an A on a test. I became lazy and sloppy.
I don’t like to think what might have happened if my father hadn’t dropped another of his now famous bombshells—this time a happy one. He’d taken a position in higher education in the San Francisco Bay area, and we would soon be on our way to California! It wasn’t as good as announcing that we were returning to Hawaii, but the prospect of becoming one of those California girls the Beach Boys were always singing about appealed to me. I had no regrets about leaving Wisconsin. I was growing weary of the pretense. I’m not sure how much longer I could have kept that scowl on my face and in my heart without snapping.
It was a good move, and I found friends both in and out of the Church with solid values and morals. I’ve reflected many times since on that year in Wisconsin. I’m grateful I’ve never again been so sorely tempted and wonder what kept me from becoming as dark and rough on the inside as I was on the outside.
Maybe it was the 15 years of gospel teachings I’d internalized at home and church that I knew deep down were true. Maybe it was knowing how disappointed my parents would be if they found out I’d done something wrong. Maybe it was because I knew they trusted me. Maybe it was their righteous and sincere prayers in my behalf. Maybe it was because somehow I always knew I wasn’t like those kids.
I’m not proud of my behavior and attitude, but in any case, I weathered the year without any terribly serious mistakes.
Meanwhile, I’ve decided that while living the gospel can seem at times a chore and a bore, if I can hang on and trust what I’ve been taught is true, I’ll be grateful—sometimes rather quickly. In my case I’ve found I don’t have to wait until I die (like I used to think) to be glad I made good choices.
A year later, away from the influence of those friends, I was profoundly grateful I hadn’t given up important gospel standards. In fact, I’ve been grateful all my life.

It was the Saturday night following a wonderful Thanksgiving holiday. I lived in off?campus housing about a 10?minute walk from Brigham Young University, and few students were around. I didn’t have much to do that night, so I was flipping through channels when I came across a movie that had just started. It took a few minutes to realize that the movie was less than appropriate, and for a minute I thought, “What’s the big deal? No one is around. After all, it is on TV, so all of the worst parts must be edited.” However, the Spirit nagged me a bit, and I finally relented and decided to turn off the TV and read a book.
About half an hour later I heard a knock at the door. It was one of the other students from my student ward who lived in the neighboring apartment complex. He told me that one of the girls he home taught was sick and needed a blessing. He had spent the last 30 minutes calling members of the elders quorum and knocking on doors, trying to find someone who was both home and able to help give a blessing. Finally he had come to my door. I agreed to help, quickly got changed into Sunday dress, and then walked with him over to the girl’s apartment.
When we arrived at the apartment, it was readily apparent that things were not well. Immediately we went over to the ill girl lying on the couch and prepared to administer a blessing.
As I addressed the girl by name and prayed on her behalf, I found myself making promises of restored health and providing words of comfort that were not my own. I closed in the name of Jesus Christ, and as we opened our eyes, I saw a huge smile on the ill girl’s face. She thanked me for the blessing. She soon recovered from her illness and was able to get back to her studies and finish the semester.
As I reflect back on that experience, I feel a great deal of gratitude for the priesthood and the opportunity to be a priesthood holder. I am grateful for the promptings of the Spirit, who knew that I would be needed and helped me remain spiritually ready by making the right choice. I know that as we remain worthy, we will have the Spirit to direct and guide our path, that we might be ready and able to serve those around us.

Though all of us have to do things we do not like, it is important that you ultimately enjoy your work. If you can’t stand to be indoors, maybe you had better try to find something that you would like to do outside. One high school senior loved to fish and camp, and consequently he became very knowledgeable about nature. He got in touch with two prominent naturalists and they hired him. His job? To help study the habits and life of the grizzly bear in Yellowstone National Park.

In October 2019, Abraham returned to the United States. One Sunday, he was teaching a lesson at church. There was a man in the class that got up and went out. Unknown to Abraham, this man was a doctor and had called an ambulance. He recognized that Abraham was exhibiting signs of a stroke. The family is so grateful their father went to church that day and that the doctor was there too. Even though he is currently down with a stroke and uses a wheelchair, he still sees himself as blessed and he’s forever grateful to Heavenly Father.

On 15 May 2020, I asked myself if there really was a God.
On 13 May 2020 our lives changed dramatically. Luke was taken into hospital having suffered a stroke. In the accident and emergency room I was asked for my permission to give Luke a clot-busting drug. I consulted with John who had been waiting outside; I had been allowed in because Luke was unable to speak and understand what the doctors were saying to him. We gave permission for the drug to be given to him. Despite COVID-19 restrictions, thankfully we were allowed to be with him throughout his stay in hospital because of his special needs.
On the evening of 14 May, a doctor approached me and said they needed to operate urgently on Luke and remove part of his skull as his brain had swollen, probably due to the drug he was given. We had been told there could be side effects but without it he probably would not have lived for long. John and I sat in a very small room for about four hours during that night until a doctor came and told us that the operation had gone well.
On 15 May, having been moved to a different ward, he started having seizures and went back into critical care where we were not allowed to be with him, because of COVID-19 protocols. That is when I asked the question, “Is there really a God?” How could this happen to this special child of God who had come to earth to teach his parents and others what the gospel was about. The thought only lasted a few seconds. I had had so many spiritual experiences during my life that I couldn’t deny that God existed, but the question of why this was happening to such an innocent soul plagued me.
However, over time we have learned that we have been taught many lessons through this experience that have drawn us closer to God and closer as a family. My only wish is that we could have learned this in a way that did not affect Luke, as it has been a real challenge for him at times trying to understand the additional limitations he now has. Our children have been wonderful, and the experience has brought us all closer to each other. Church members and special friends have been great, helping us in many ways with their generosity. One thing is sure, we have come to know our Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ even more, and the Holy Ghost has been our companion bringing comfort and guidance to our souls.
At the time of writing, Luke needs to be in a wheelchair; having lost the use of his right hand and arm, plus weakness in his leg. There are several things he cannot do any more, but his fighting spirit pushes him do as much as he can for himself. Do I wish it hadn’t happened? Of course. Was there any other way that I could have learned the lessons I am learning now? I don’t know, but I do know that when Luke, John and I pass through the veil, all things will be made clear. I will bow down with tears in my eyes and thank the Lord for sending this special child to live with us, so that we could learn from him how to be more Christlike in our lives.

John Newton was six years old when his mother passed away. She had raised him a believer, teaching and reading scripture with him. At age 11, his father, a sailor, took him to sea. Surrounded by profanity, blasphemy, and promiscuity, it did not take John long to drift from his faith. He would say, “I sinned with a high hand and made it my study to tempt and seduce others on every occasion.”
On one trip a storm suddenly came upon them. His crew began calling out to God to save them. At first, he mocked and scolded them, but when it became clear that their fate was inevitable, John cried out to the God his mother had taught him about.
He prayed something like, “God, if You are there, please save us. And if You do, I will dedicate the rest of my life to serving You.” The storm ceased, the waves calmed, and their lives were saved. True to his word, John dedicated the rest of his life to serving the Lord. He became a preacher, and as part of his ministry, he wrote poems. Many of these poems would be turned into hymns, such as his most famous one:
Amazing grace! (how sweet the sound!)
That sav’d a wretch like me!
I once was lost, but now am found,
Was blind, but now I see.
This hymn is John Newton’s story, but it is also our story, and it is likely your story. Each of us, in our own way and in our own moments of struggle, is seen by an omniscient Lord who, at just the right time, intervenes. He chastens us. He rescues us. He transforms us. And He creates in us an insatiable desire to live what Nephi once called “that life which is in Christ” (2 Nephi 25:27).

In the cold Alaskan winters, people need wood to burn in their fireplaces. For their weekly service, Elders Fjelsted and Leha’uli went to a local sawmill that has extra wood. They chopped it, piled it into members’ trucks, and delivered the wood to single mothers, older couples, people with disabilities—anyone who needed a little extra help. Those people always mentioned how grateful they were.

These elders also volunteered at a food bank, where they packed food for the needy, and at an elementary school, where they read to the children.

“Our service is making a difference in the community,” Elder Fjelsted says. “People are recognizing us and the Church for the good we do. It is also leading to some teaching opportunities that we hope will help build the kingdom of God in Alaska.”

Let me tell you of a young man who really understood these scriptures. He lives in Seoul, Korea. One day, when this young man was 15, his father received a call from a close friend who asked him if he were having financial difficulty. Being in affluent circumstances, he indicated “No, everything is fine.” He then wanted to know why his friend would ask such a question.
The man replied that he had seen his son selling newspapers on a street corner in Seoul.
The father couldn’t believe it because his son received quite a liberal allowance and would have no need to work for additional money. When asked if there couldn’t have been a mistake, the friend said, “No, I stopped and talked with him on the corner.”
When the son returned from school that evening his father asked him about the incident. The son said, “Yes, I was selling newspapers.”
“Isn’t your allowance sufficient to take care of your needs?” the father wanted to know.
“Yes,” he said, “but we had a lesson in seminary on the Good Samaritan, and I wanted to experience what it meant to be a Good Samaritan, not just learn about it. So I have taken my allowance and bought newspapers and asked some of my friends to join with me in selling them. We want to raise enough money to help one of our classmates, who is very poor, remain in school. Without the help, he would have to drop out.”
In addition to this, sometime earlier, this young man had asked his mother to double his lunch. She had done so without questioning him, thinking that as a growing teenager he was just extra hungry. He told his father that this other student would have to go hungry each day if he did not share half of his lunch with him.
This is what the Lord means when he encourages us to be doers of the word and to show our faith by our works. There are many experiences that would take on greater meaning if we made these scriptures a part of our lives.

The stars hung in the icy night like frozen teardrops above the Arizona desert mesa. Old mother moon rode high, clustering her starry children about her as if to warm their chilly faces. On the snow-crusted earth below, Danny Yazzi shivered in his worn jacket as he chanted a Navajo lullaby to the small band of sheep milling around him.
As Danny stamped his feet to keep warm, he thought of the mud hogan where his mother would be preparing mutton stew. His brothers and sisters would be playing about the black pot-bellied stove, turned a cherry red by the crackling fire, while his father pounded thin slices of silver into delicate bracelets and rings.
Danny whistled softly, and the white animals, shaggy with thick wool, began to move down the sloping side of the mesa, brushing against one another. Grazing time had ended for another wintry day, and now they turned homeward toward a corral.
As Danny began to move behind them, the sheep bells fastened about his waist jingled merrily. The sounds of the bells rang through the still night. Tonight the bells seemed to ring with a different tone. Even the animals seemed to listen to the new sweet sound of joy.
Danny’s thoughts went back to the day of his last Primary class. He and seven other Navajo children had sat before a tall slender missionary who told them the story of the birth of Jesus in a far-off land called Judea. Danny remembered Elder Johnson’s words and the way the young man’s eyes sparkled as he spoke. Danny also remembered how his heart had pounded with delight when the missionary told of the shepherds in the fields on that star-bright night long ago. Danny had thought about the story many times as he watched his own flock during the winter days of Christmas vacation.
Christmas! That word seemed so special to Danny now that he knew about Baby Jesus and that first Christmas night. The story of the Baby and the gentle shepherds who visited Him thrilled Danny as though he himself had stood guard that wondrous night. Danny shut his dark eyes, and the picture filled his mind—a manger, one bright star, the shaggy head of a donkey, a small newborn Child, and the white woolly curious sheep.
Suddenly the frantic bleating of a lamb brought Danny back to reality. He saw the small white animal struggling in the grip of a thorny cactus. The needles had thrust deep into the lamb’s wool and the animal was caught. Danny knelt beside the frightened lamb and gently began to remove the needles. It was slow work, but when the tiny lamb was finally freed, it rubbed its soft head against Danny’s knee in thanks. Then the lamb scampered off to join the flock already nearing the corral.
Danny’s moccasined feet moved quickly over the thin crust of snow as he saw the thick smoke rising from the small mud chimney. Soon he would be sitting in the warmth and light, and the chill of the night air would be forgotten as he snuggled beneath the heavy sheepskins on his bed.
The sheep bells jangled in time to Danny’s steady steps. Their Christmas magic took Danny back to the small classroom again, and he seemed to hear once more how Elder Johnson had finished the wonderful story. Danny could remember the tender words and the question that followed as the elder looked into the eager faces about him and smiled, saying, “Jesus loves you. How will you love Him?”
Danny sighed as he pondered those words for the hundredth time. What could he do to show the love and happiness that filled him when he thought of that first Christmas. He knew that money could purchase many gifts, but Danny had no money. “No,” he sighed to himself, “I have no money, and so I can give no gifts.”
Soon the sheep found their way into the protection of the corral and quickly began to bed themselves down. Danny closed the wooden gate and then paused for a moment. He looked carefully at the sheep, counting them to be sure they were all there. He knew that one lost sheep meant a return to the grazing grounds and a long search until the stray was found and returned.
The door of the hogan swung open, and Danny’s mother, dressed in her warm velvet blouse and long skirt, was watching for him. Her smile was gentle as she gazed out at her eldest child and waited for him as he entered the warm dwelling. With hands outstretched to the fire, Danny smiled at his younger brothers and sisters as they looked up from their play.
Danny’s father knelt in one corner of the small round room. His delicate hammers and chisels lay about him as he worked his skill on the silver and turquoise. Danny felt a thrill of pride as he watched the slender fingers molding and shaping the metal into beautiful jewelry.
But a pang of sorrow shot through Danny as he looked upon these faces that were so dear to him. What gift of love did he have to give?
“Danny,” his mother’s soft voice called. “It’s Christmas Eve. Your father and I met with some missionaries while you were away to school. What they have told us is good and feels right in our hearts.” She paused and glanced at Danny’s father.
The man stopped his work and looked up at his oldest son. The words he spoke were low and steady. “The elders have told us that you learned the story of the first Christmas while at school.”
The children stopped their play and gazed in admiration at their brother, who was learning many new things at the far-off school.
Danny felt a glow in his heart. He seemed to hear the joyous ringing of the sheep bells, and the picture of the manger and the gentle shepherds returned to him as he thought about the first Christmas. A voice seemed to whisper, “This is the gift of love you can give.” At last Danny knew what gift he could give to his beloved family!
Danny turned to his father, who gently smiled and then said, “We have been waiting for you. Come, my son, and tell us the story of Jesus.”