Gospel Story Finder

When my daughter, Oakley, was in kindergarten she loved swinging across the monkey bars. She would spend the entire recess swinging across and then back again and across again. One day, after days, weeks of going back and forth on the monkey bars, she came home in tears and showed us her hands.

One of the calluses she had developed on her palm tore off and she had a big fresh, open sore where the callus once was. She was sad and confused as to how her most favorite park activity could lead to such a painful consequence.

She didn’t realize that slowly, over time, her skin was trying to protect itself against the friction and pressure it was being exposed to with each swing on the monkey bars. As time passed the callus grew bigger and bigger until, finally, the skin was not strong enough to support the excess mass and it tore away.

However, that one broken callus didn’t take away from hours of strength training the inner muscles of her hands developed and once the wound healed, her hands–Oakley’s grip was stronger and better able to withstand the friction and pressure from the monkey bars and she was able to hold fast and firm to the bars.

As we come to understand the blessings of the Atonement of Jesus Christ and what He can do for us, we will find joy in repenting daily. [13] Yes, we will falter and fall often. But, as we put our faith in Christ and His everlasting and infinite atonement, strive to repent and keep our covenants, every time our grip loosens and we fall, He will lift us back up onto the bars and walk with us to make sure He catches us when we fall again and again. Over time as we continue to put our trust in Him with all our hearts [14] our grip will become tighter, and our weaknesses will become strong in Him. [15] We will be able to press our way forward, continually holding fast to the rod of iron, until we come forth and fall at His feet [16] and He will say, “…Well done thou good and faithful servant:” [17]

When I was first in Kosovo, I didn't speak the language, and I was in these classes with 100+ children in them, and I honestly didn't know if they were coming to learn music or to watch this American lady make a fool out of herself while trying to teach them. A twelve year old girl approached me and asked if she could translate for me, and I said, "Sure, that would be great." So she started translating all of my classes that summer. Well, the next summer I came back, and instead of translating for me, I said, "Why don't you help me teach?"

And so she started helping me teach the children, and then her friends started coming to me, saying, "Could we help teach?" ”and their friends started coming. Now we had 40 of these teenagers in Kosovo who have made our program so much better. They run every aspect of our program: they teach all of our classes, they write lesson plans, they write reports, and they have gone from being victims to being the people that are changing their country. They're not teenagers that are thinking about themselves and how horrible their lives are. They are thinking about what they can do to help the children. They are changing their country.

After graduating from college in 1964, I was commissioned an officer in the United States Army. I volunteered for training as a U.S. Army Ranger. Ranger training is a grueling course in commando and elite infantry tactics. The goal is to produce highly skilled officers and noncommissioned officers.
My Ranger training included a series of “confidence tests,” as the Ranger cadre called them, which were intended as challenges to physical strength, stamina, and courage. Challenging obstacle courses, scaling and rappelling sheer ice-covered rock faces of 100 feet (30 m) or more, night swamp slogging amid alligators and poisonous snakes, and a night compass course across 10 miles (16 km) of rugged terrain—these are just some of the tests we endured. One purpose of these confidence tests was to teach Rangers that in the difficult and trying circumstances of combat, we were capable of doing more than we thought we could do. Our leaders taught us to have confidence in ourselves and in our own training. More than once during the fiery trials of my combat experience, I drew reassurance from the lessons of those Ranger confidence tests.
Years have passed now since that challenging season in my Ranger training. Mortality’s currents have swept me far downstream from the confidence tests of my soldiering days. But their memory and their lessons linger. We are capable of weathering the storms of life and doing so more effectively than we might have thought. It is just a matter of always remembering what we know.

A family consisting of my grandmother, my mother, and two or three of the younger children were seated before an open door, watching the great display of nature’s fireworks as a severe thunderstorm raged near the mountain where our home was located. A flash of chain lightning followed by an immediate loud clap of thunder indicated that the lightning had struck very close.
I was standing in the doorway when suddenly and without warning my mother gave me a vigorous push that sent me sprawling on my back out of the doorway. At that instant, a bolt of lightning came down the chimney of the kitchen stove, out through the open doorway, and split a huge gash from top to bottom in a large tree immediately in front of the house. If I had remained in the door opening, I wouldn’t be writing this story today.
My mother could never explain her split-second decision. All I know is that my life was spared because of her impulsive, intuitive action.
Years later, when I saw the deep scar on that large tree at the old family home, I could only say from a grateful heart: Thank the Lord for that precious gift possessed in abundant measure by my own mother and by many other faithful mothers, through whom heaven can be very near in time of need.

In President Russell M. Nelson’s talk “Let God Prevail,” he asked: “Are you willing to let God be the most important influence in your life? Will you allow His words, His commandments, and His covenants to influence what you do each day?” This reminds me of the tempting experience my wife, Uche, and I had. Uche was managing a cement retail outlet. In one of our trying moments when we depended on the income from the shop to pay bills, her sales gradually went low and later stopped completely. The family was troubled, our source of income had ceased to flow, and that became a great moment of test of our faith.
Then came this Sunday morning while participating in the Sunday School class, Uche received a message indicating that 30 bags of cement was needed by buyers who were waiting by the shop! As she showed me the message, I pondered over it and remembered how we both had covenanted to hallow the sabbath.
We both agreed that her phone be switched off in order to regain full concentration on the teachings in the Sunday School class. As we acted fast, we both felt relieved. His arm was sufficiently strong as we had done the will of God rather than ours. We were blessed with His strength, and peace filled our hearts. His love calmed our hearts beyond our comprehension in those trying moments.

At one point, Graydon and Donna, who had been bringing up the rear with their father, stepped into some quicksand—more accurately, water-saturated sand. Graydon quickly leaped free, but Donna struggled too hard and was soon in the bog up to her waist. Graydon and his father couldn’t pull her out, and the others were too far ahead. But Chris Jones, who had arrived later in the day and started the hike with a friend, caught up to them from behind like the Cavalry. Between the four men, a branch, and stepping stones that kept sinking in the mud, she was extricated, a little shaken after the half-hour ordeal. “Guess I don’t have to find those scissors to cut your legs off,” Chris laughed, trying to cheer her up.

There was an old man in our ward who was visually impaired and couldn’t come to church. He is good friends with my dad, and I felt prompted to help him.
One of my friends and I got permission from my bishop to take the sacrament to him every Sunday. While I was doing that, I realized that sometimes he needed someone to iron his clothes. Then I realized he wasn’t able to do Come, Follow Me or read the Book of Mormon, so I read aloud to him.
The more I tried to be aware of ways to serve, the more I found things I could do to make a difference. This man has now moved away to be with his daughters, but I felt peace when I served him.
When Christ came to earth, He came to serve. I know that by serving this man, I was getting closer to my Savior.

My sisters and I were talking about how well we did feeding our neighbor’s dogs. My mom said she would pay us for doing such a great job. Then my mom reminded us about tithing. I made a big fuss about that. Then my mom said I could either keep all my money or give tithing to the bishop. I knew that paying tithing was the right thing to do. I was happy I made the right choice, and I hope Heavenly Father was too.

The oars lapped softly in the still water as Warren rowed his small boat through the marsh. The stars had disappeared, and a pale pink light showed on the horizon. Almost in unison the birds began their joyful crying and squawking, rising up from cattails and grassy patches of land, some circling above or soaring into the sky. The noise surrounded Warren. His skin prickled and his heart pounded with excitement as he watched the wild ducks and geese, a few gray herons, and some small marsh birds whose names he didn’t know yet.
Warren tried never to miss this moment of first light on the marsh. The excitement of the birds thrilled and fascinated him. And after he’d found a nest hidden in the tall grass along the far shore, the experience became even more exciting. Warren stepped out of the boat into the soft mud and pulled it up onto the bank. He stretched and looked around him, watching the ducks take off from the water into the sky.
Here in the marsh Warren didn’t miss his old friends too much. And it didn’t seem so important to him that he had made no new friends. His father managed the reserve where they lived. It was several miles out of town and in the six months that Warren had lived there he felt strange and different among the other kids. They had called him a sissy because he wouldn’t go shooting sparrows with them.
Warren loved all animals, but especially birds. He never tired of watching them. Now he turned and walked stealthily along the shore again, hoping to find the hen off her nest so that he could examine the eggs more closely. When he parted the tall grass, his heart was pounding. He knelt and studied the blue-gray eggs cradled snugly among the downy feathers the hen had pulled around them. She was nowhere in sight, so Warren relaxed and peered closely at the eggs, wanting to touch them but knowing he shouldn’t.
Suddenly the loud twang of a slingshot startled him. He jumped up and saw a small marsh bird spiraling out of the sky. It splashed softly into the water.
“I got one!” someone near Warren suddenly shouted. Then two boys splashed out of the high cattails. When they saw Warren they stopped, and Warren recognized them from school—Tom Jenkins and Steve Peterson.
“Do you think he saw us?” Tom, the smaller one, whispered.
“How could he help it? He’s right here. But if he knows what’s good for him he won’t tell anyone.”
“This is a game reserve,” Warren declared. “It’s against the law to kill birds here.” He moved closer to the nest, hoping they wouldn’t see it.
“Hey, look!” Tom called. “There’s a nest right there in the grass.” Both boys looked at the nest.
“So this is why you’re out here prowling around,” Steve said, smiling at Warren in a sneering kind of way.
“You’d better not bother those eggs, or you’ll be in even more trouble,” Warren warned.
“Smash them, Tom” Steve urged. Tom stepped around Warren and raised his foot above the nest.
“Don’t do that!” Warren yelled, “I won’t tell.”
Tom paused, his foot still in the air, and looked at Steve.
“Is that a promise?” Steve asked.
“Yes, I promise,” Warren answered.
“Come on, Tom.” The two boys turned and walked away from the shore toward town.
Warren stood for a long time looking after them, then went to his boat and rowed home.
All day in school, Warren thought about the nest and about Tom and Steve and the bird that had fallen into the water, dead. He knew he should tell his father, but he had promised not to. They still might come back and smash the nest anyway, he worried. At lunchtime he saw Tom and Steve in the hall, but they pretended not to see him.
After school, Warren walked very slowly up the dirt road from the bus stop, still thinking about what he should do. He wondered how long he’d have to wait for the day when he’d part the grass and see three tiny naked geese in the cloudy down of the nest or if it might never happen. Tom’s big ugly foot could crush the eggs with one smash. Warren didn’t like to think about it. He breathed in the moist spring smells all around him and heard small animals scurrying through the underbrush. He couldn’t understand why some kids wanted to destroy beautiful living things. If he told his father about Tom and Steve, they’d tell his classmates how he’d squealed, and everyone would hate him. Still, Warren knew he would eventually have to tell. If he didn’t, the bullies might be even more destructive. He couldn’t stand to have kids killing birds, especially here on the reserve.
Warren could see his father near the shed, squatting down with a pan in his hands. He was feeding a small animal. The boy was curious and began to run, but stopped when he saw the black and white fur of a skunk. He approached his father slowly, stopping a short way off. The skunk looked up at him, but when he didn’t move, it began eating again. “Dad, why are you feeding a skunk?” Warren asked softly. “He might spray you.”
His dad smiled. “He only does that to his enemies. I’m making him my friend.”
Warren looked at the skunk. Its thick black and white fur gleamed in the sunlight. It ate quickly from the pan and then ambled off toward the woods. His father stood up. “How was school today?”
“All right,” Warren said. He knew his dad was waiting for him to go on, but he didn’t know what to say. They began walking toward the house, Warren watching the shadows of the new aspen leaves on the dirt path. His father put his arm on his son’s shoulder. “Dad,” Warren began, “should you always keep your promises?”
“Yes, you should,” his father replied.
“Even if you’ve promised to do something wrong?”
His father was quiet for a minute. “I see what you’re asking now. No, I think that would be one time a promise should be broken.”
“I think I’d better break one then,” Warren said. “I saw two boys from school shooting birds in the marsh this morning.” His father looked at him sharply. Warren told him about the nest and about the boys’ threat to smash it if he told.
His father was silent again for several seconds. Finally he said, “You did the right thing to tell me, son. When you see someone breaking the law, you have an obligation to report it.”
“I guess I shouldn’t have promised not to tell,” Warren said.
“Probably not, but I can see why you did.”
“What will happen now?”
“I’ll talk to their fathers tonight, and they’ll be fined.”
“But what if they come back and smash the eggs?” Warren reminded him, shuddering. “The least they’ll do is beat me up at school,” he added.
“I think they’ll be afraid to come back into the reserve once they know that I know about them, but it’s true that they might want to beat you up. Maybe you can think of a way to turn them into friends,” Warren’s father suggested.
“Friends! I don’t want to be friends with guys who shoot birds and smash eggs,” Warren retorted. He felt angry that his dad would suggest something like that.
“Maybe they don’t understand about birds and animals the way you do. Maybe they haven’t had a reason to think about it much.” His dad smiled at him and squeezed his shoulder. “Let’s go in and eat.”
All through dinner and chores and homework, Warren thought about what his dad had said. He didn’t want the eggs crushed, and he didn’t want to be clobbered by two bigger boys either. He didn’t much want them for friends, but maybe it was the best choice if it could be done. However, it didn’t seem likely that they’d want to be his friends after he’d told on them.
Warren waited up for his dad to come back from seeing Tom’s and Steve’s parents, but when he came in all he said was, “I’m going up the canyons to stock the streams with trout on Saturday. You want to go?”
“Sure,” Warren answered. He usually went with his dad to stock the streams, and it was always exciting.
“Better get to bed now,” his dad said.
“But what happened at Tom’s and Steve’s?” Warren asked.
“Nothing much. They have a fine to pay. Good night, Warren.”
Warren stood for a minute as his father picked up the newspaper. Then he went up to bed. He lay awake for a long time, thinking about Tom and Steve and about how he might possibly make friends with them. He thought, too, about the fun of stocking the streams on Saturday and seeing hundreds of tiny fish squirming wildly in the water and then taking off downstream. Finally Warren knew what he could do. “It wouldn’t hurt to try,” he murmured.
The next day during the lunch hour, he saw Tom and Steve standing together near the drinking fountain in the hall. Warren’s heart was pounding as he walked toward them. They were waiting for him, glancing at each other.
“So you told after all,” Tom said.
“Our dads are making us pay the fines out of our own money. No allowance for four months, and it’s your fault,” Steve said. “You broke your promise, and you’re going to pay, just as soon as we catch you off the school grounds.”
Warren stood for a few seconds, his stomach churning with fear. Then he said what he had planned. “On Saturday my dad’s taking me up the canyons to stock the streams with trout. Do you guys want to go along?”
Steve and Tom looked at each other, surprised and speechless.
“It’s really fun,” Warren said. “He takes millions of little fish and puts them in the water. And while we’re there he’ll probably show us badgers’ dens and stuff like that. Later on when fishing season opens, I can show you some of the best fishing places.” Warren stopped, a little breathless. “You want to go?”
Steve shoved his hands into his pockets and shifted his feet. “Well, yeh, I guess so.” Steve glanced at Tom. “You want to go, Tom?”
“Sure, if you’re going. Maybe we could beat him up while we’re there.”
“You crazy? With his dad there?” Steve laughed and jabbed Tom with his elbow.
Tom laughed too. “Sure, we’ll go,” he said.
“What time?”
“Early,” Warren replied. “I’ll let you know the exact time on Friday.”
The bell ran, and kids raced past them.
“See you later,” Warren called as he ran to his class.
All afternoon Warren had a peaceful feeling. He knew his dad would be proud of him too. Making friends with Steve and Tom is an even bigger accomplishment than making friends with a skunk, he decided.

A second example:
Imagine that a few weeks later, you attend another meeting with your elders quorum (or high priests group or Relief Society). The quorum president makes a few announcements and turns the time over to a teacher. Then the teacher walks to the front of the room and says, “Today’s lesson is chapter 17 in the Wilford Woodruff book.” He opens the book to the first page of the chapter and starts reading.
As the teacher reads about the blessings we can receive in the temple, someone in front of you raises his hand. It’s Brother González, who was sealed to his wife and children a few months ago. After keeping his hand in the air without acknowledgment from the teacher, Brother González finally gives up. The teacher continues reading.
A few pages later the teacher begins reading a statement that really inspired you when you studied the chapter last night. You raise your hand, only to lower it a minute later. The teacher reads on as your heart burns with a testimony that you have not been permitted to share.
You look around at your brethren in the quorum. Some are reading along. Others are staring at the floor, glancing at their watches periodically. A few are struggling to stay awake. No one raises his hand.
By the time the teacher has read the entire chapter, his time is almost up. He bears his testimony and concludes the lesson a little bit earlier than he needs to. Someone says a prayer, and everyone files out of the room.

Finally, my life as a scientist has deepened my faith in God in many ways. But many do not view faith in God and science as compatible endeavors. Several years ago, I was invited to a conference for promising young scientists in Alzheimer’s disease research. It was a competition and we each submitted our best grant ideas and then we met together to evaluate and rank each other’s proposals. The winner would take home a $50,000 grant to carry out their proposal. The meeting organizers and participants worked together over two days, and we got to know each other really well during the meetings and discussion as we evaluated and critiqued each other’s work. At the closing dinner I was seated with several other participants and one of the senior faculty who was on the board for the conference. After some brief pleasantries, the board member looked at me and said, “Brigham Young University, huh?” (That’s where I was employed as a faculty member at the time.)

“Yes,” I replied.

“So, you believe that stuff?” they said. (Remember this in front of a whole table of people.)

A bit surprised, I said, “Yes, I do.”

They looked me in the eyes, and then said, “But Keoni, you seem so smart. How do you believe that stuff?”

I paused, thought for a moment, and replied, “Yes, thanks. I have had several experiences in my life that make me a person of faith, and specifically a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.”

The person rolled their eyes and said, “Ugh…like what?”

At that moment, the meeting organizer tapped his glass with his knife and announced that my proposal was ranked number one in the competition. That was the end of our conversation.

There are voices all around us that would make light of believing. They are practiced, polished and persistent. As you face these kinds of challenges in your life, please remember President Nelson’s powerful words, “I promise that you will experience spiritual growth, freedom from fear, and a confidence that you can scarcely imagine now. You will have the strength to have a positive influence far beyond your natural capacity. And I promise that your future will be more exhilarating than anything you can presently believe.” [5]

I know that that promise is real. I have experienced it. Since that day, where I was challenged at that dinner table, I have had a scientific career with success that I can hardly believe: millions of dollars of grants and over a hundred research papers and work from my lab that matters that significantly influenced our knowledge of Alzheimer’s disease. I am even blessed to be part of a team that is developing a promising new drug that humans are taking right now. It’s amazing and I know that it’s because of that promise of the Lord.

It was a hot summer day and the neighborhood boys were preparing to engage in their favorite pastime, shooting their BB guns. On the fences surrounding the fields around our neighborhood, many a tin can had met its demise as a sharp-shooting rooster-tailed boy drew aim and gently squeezed the trigger of his Daisy Red-Ryder lever-action BB gun. This day would be like many others as the boys embarked on their excursion.
Being the only five-year-old boy in the neighborhood left me with no one to play with most of the time. I needed to belong, so I would often tag along with my older brother and his friends despite their insistent pleas for me to return home. Again, this day would be no exception. Time after time I hunted them down, only to have them try to ditch me again.
As their obvious attempts to relieve themselves of my presence failed, they turned to more cunning tactics. My brother approached me. I should have known by the gleam in his eye that deception was in the wings. “Dane,” he said manipulatively, “if you will go home and make us all a peanut butter and honey sandwich, we will let you shoot our guns.” My heart leaped at the prospect of firing one of those choice weapons. I raced home. My legs had never known such speed.
At home, I noticed that my mom had company and that she wouldn’t be able to make the sandwiches for me. Too bad, I thought to myself. Another obstacle had been placed in my pathway. But I would overcome. I would not be denied the opportunity to master the Red-Ryder.
While sloppily spreading peanut butter on the tearing bread, I began to be prodded by my conscience. My mother’s words of warning echoed through my mind. “Dane, you’re too small to get the bucket of honey from the top shelf by yourself.”
As I finished with the peanut butter and dropped the sticky knife on the carpeted floor, I ignored my conscience and headed for the shelf. Opening the door and looking up, I saw the two-gallon bucket of honey looming overhead just within reach of my fingers. Reaching up and inching the bucket toward the front of the shelf, I was not at all prepared for what happened next. As the honey arrived at the edge of the shelf, the bottom of the bucket caught on the ridge at the front of the shelf, became upended, and came hurtling down, upside down, onto my head.
My first thought was, What should I do about the mess? The situation, however, quickly got serious as the sticky substance covered my eyes, leaving me unable to see. The vacuum effect the bucket had on my head made it impossible to remove. I strained and struggled, but to no avail. The honey descended, covering my mouth and nose, making breathing very difficult. Panic stricken, I staggered into the living room. Blowing honey bubbles out my nose and mouth in an effort to breathe and trying to peer through the haze that covered my eyes, I saw my mother and her friend laughing hysterically.
My mother finally gathered herself enough to show the necessary compassion. As she shoved my sticky, honey-covered head under the bathtub faucet, she said something I have never forgotten. “If you are going to do things you know you shouldn’t,” she said, “you must face the consequences that accompany your actions.”
While humorous, this experience has had a very profound effect on me, helping me realize the importance of obedience. Fortunately for us, valuable lessons can sometimes be learned through harmless incidents. Learning obedience through a childhood mishap has benefited me greatly.

In April 2011 President Uchtdorf, gave a talk titled "Your Potential, Your Privilege." In this talk he spoke of a man that sold himself short. President Uchtdorf shared:
There once was a man whose lifelong dream was to board a cruise ship and sail the Mediterranean Sea. He dreamed of walking the streets of Rome, Athens, and Istanbul. He saved every penny until he had enough for his passage. Since money was tight, he brought an extra suitcase filled with cans of beans, boxes of crackers, and bags of powdered lemonade, and that is what he lived on every day.
He would have loved to take part in the many activities offered on the ship--working out in the gym, playing miniature golf, and swimming in the pool. He envied those who went to movies, shows, and cultural presentations. And, oh, how he yearned for only a taste of the amazing food he saw on the ship--every meal appeared to be a feast! But the man wanted to spend so very little money that he didn't participate in any of these. He was able to see the cities he had longed to visit, but for the most part of the journey, he stayed in his cabin and ate only his humble food.
On the last day of the cruise, a crew member asked him which of the farewell parties he would be attending. It was then that the man learned that not only the farewell party but almost everything on board the cruise ship--the food, the entertainment, all the activities--had been included in the price of his ticket. Too late, the man realized that he had been living far beneath his privileges.

It tells of a tiny striped caterpillar and how he joined a pile of other squirming, pushing caterpillars who were trying to get to the top of the pile. It was only when he talked to a certain yellow caterpillar that the two of them decided that getting on the top wasn’t really what they wanted most. So, they climbed down and away from the others. They enjoyed being together, and they ate and grew fat until one day they became bored, and they wanted to find out if there was more to life. The striped caterpillar decided to find out by climbing again to the top of the caterpillar pile. The yellow caterpillar felt ashamed that she didn’t agree but decided it was better to wait until she could take action she could believe in. So he climbed, and she wandered aimlessly until she saw a caterpillar hanging upside down on a branch and caught in some hairy substance. She said, “You seem to be in trouble. Can I help you?” “No,” said the hanging caterpillar, “I have to do this to become a butterfly.”

“Butterfly? What is a butterfly?”

“It’s what you are meant to be. It flies with beautiful wings and joins the earth to heaven. It drinks only nectar from the flowers and carries seeds of love from one flower to another. Without butterflies the world would soon have few flowers.”

The yellow caterpillar exclaimed, “It can’t be true! How can I believe there’s a butterfly inside you or me when all I see is a fuzzy worm? How does one become a butterfly?”

The hanging caterpillar said, “You must want to fly so much that you are willing to give up being a caterpillar.”

The yellow caterpillar began fearfully but continued the process until at length she became a butterfly. Then she helped the striped caterpillar learn who he was and leave the pile to become what he was really meant to be.

For Fu Pak Wai, an idea blossomed into a business that answered a prayer.
Fu Pak Wai says, “We can’t see everything ahead of us. We just move forward step by step.”
For many years, Fu Pak Wai worked in computer animation in Hong Kong. He enjoyed the work, but it demanded a lot of time.
“When I returned home from work each evening,” he says, “my son was already in bed.”
As he thought about his family and future, Brother Fu attended one of the Church’s “Starting and Growing My Business” self-reliance groups. For 12 weeks, group members discussed how to start, grow, finance, and improve a business. They also talked about how to find and keep customers.
Armed with new knowledge, Brother Fu got an idea, which blossomed into a business that answered a prayer.
In his spare time, Brother Fu started selling bicycle accessories and second-hand bicycles online. Then he took online courses to learn how to repair bicycles. Finally, he found a small building to rent that would accommodate a bike shop.
“I still had my full-time job while I was selling bicycle accessories and fixing bikes part-time,” he says. “After doing that for a year, I quit my full-time job.”
Now Brother Fu has more time for his family.
“It was an answer to prayer,” he says. “And now I get to see my son in the morning before he goes to school and in the afternoon after school. It’s the best.”
Starting his own business has also given him more time to serve his community and God’s kingdom, doing missionary work and helping others become self-reliant.
“As I developed my business,” Brother Fu recalls, “I also developed a stronger testimony of keeping the Sabbath day holy and living the law of tithing. I don’t know how everything will work out. We can’t see everything ahead of us. We just move forward step by step, and God will prepare the way.”

An early lesson in honesty was taught a boy many years ago by his father. When he was just a young lad, he went to the store owned by his father and two business partners and, wanting a pocketknife, proceeded to take one from the display case. Word got to the boy’s father. The father took the lad back to the case and had him replace the knife. Then he pointed out that he had two other partners in the business, and two-thirds of the pocketknife belonged to them. It was not the boy’s privilege, as his son, to take anything from the company because it was not all his. This father was honest and upright in his dealings; he was a man of integrity. When he made a bargain or a deal, he kept it regardless of what the cost to him might be. His reputation was for fairness with people. To him this attribute was more important than money.

Some years ago I was invited to speak at Johns Hopkins Medical Center in Baltimore, Maryland. I was asked to give a talk at noon to the professional staff, the doctors, the nurses, and the social workers and a public lecture in the evening.

After my noon talk, the chief of chaplains at Johns Hopkins Medical Center came over to see me. He said, “Rabbi Kushner, we’ve got a patient here who would love to meet you. He read your book. It was very important to him. He wants to know if you could spend ten minutes talking to him. I want to make this very clear: you are under no obligation to do this. If you would rather not, I’ll tell him you were tired and very busy. He’ll understand. He’s a thirty-two-year-old Episcopal minister, and he’s dying of AIDS.”

I thought for a moment. I said, “Sure, I’ll go talk to him.”

I followed the chaplain down the corridor feeling terribly noble and virtuous—you know, I am the Jewish Mother Teresa.

He led me to this room. I saw this frail, emaciated figure in bed hooked up to these tubes. I introduced myself. We chatted for a while. He said some nice things about my books.

And then, because I know this is an issue for religious people who have AIDS, I said to him, “Do you ever fear that you’re dying without God, that in some way your disease is a punishment for something you did?”

He said to me, “No, just the opposite. It’s the only good thing that has come out of this sickness: I found that something I always wanted to believe is true, is really true. No matter how much you’ve messed up your life, you have not lost the love of God.”

He said to me, “When I was a child, I thought I had to be perfect so that people would love me. I mean, if you’re perfect, people have to love you. What’s not to love? And I always tried to be perfect. Then, if I made a mistake I tried to cover up for it and persuade people I was perfect so they would love me. I probably went into the clergy so people would think I was perfect and love me for it. And every time I did something that I knew was wrong and every time I told a lie to cover up for myself, I was sure that God was as contemptuous of me as I was of myself. But lying here in the hospital with an illness I cannot recover from, I have learned that whatever I think of myself, God thinks better of me. He has not discarded me. He has not given up on me. He is present in this hospital room when I am feeling all alone and scared and terrified.”

He said to me, “I am going to be getting out of the hospital next week, not because I’m getting better but because there’s nothing else they can do for me and they need the bed for somebody else. I don’t know if my congregation will take me back now that they’ve found out I’m gay and I have AIDS and I’m dying. I hope they will. There’s one last sermon I have to preach to them. I have to tell them what I’ve learned here—that no matter how much you’ve messed up your life, God still cares about you. That God loves us despite all our failings. That we have to go out and love ourselves and love our families and love our children despite their failings, the way God loves us. There is a sense of cleansing. There is a message that you don’t have to be perfect. There is the insight that God knows just who we are and loves us anyway. You can’t get it from psychiatrists, from therapists. Their grace comes too cheaply. You can’t get it from your family. It’s very nice that they love you, but you expect them to love you. You need to know that somebody really knows you in all your depravity, in all of your imperfection, in all of your deceitfulness and selfishness—knows who you really are and loves you anyway.”

As I struggled with that question, I chanced to be reading some speeches of Winston Churchill. For many years Churchill warned against the evils of the Nazi government in Germany. His was a minority voice, resisted or resented by many, and his speaking out blocked his political career. Then, when many of his predictions had come true and England and France were being defeated in the first year of World War II, Churchill was made prime minister. England stood fast for more than two years until the United States was compelled to enter the war. In that critical period, many of Churchill’s associates and newly converted supporters advocated his taking punitive measures against those who had contributed to the unprepared, precarious position in which the British found themselves. In that setting, Churchill spoke these words in the House of Commons in June 1940:

There are many who would hold an inquest in the House of Commons on the conduct of the Governments—and of Parliaments . . . —during the years which led up to this catastrophe. They seek to indict those who were responsible for the guidance of our affairs. This also would be a foolish and pernicious process. . . .

Of this I am quite sure, that if we open a quarrel between the past and the present, we shall find that we have lost the future.8

Tired but happy after her soccer game, Gracie walked to the bleachers where her family sat. Her whole family, including her abuela (grandmother), had come to watch the game.
“You played with honor,” Gracie’s papá said as he put his arm around her shoulders.
Gracie grinned. “Gracias, Papá.”
The family piled into the car. When Papá suggested that they stop for lunch to celebrate the team’s victory, Gracie and her younger brother and sister cheered.
The restaurant was crowded, with only two empty booths available. Four players from the other team walked in after Gracie’s family and took the booth behind theirs. They began talking loudly, insulting the players on Gracie’s team.
Gracie looked at her parents and saw dismay on their faces. They were as uncomfortable as she was with the vulgar language they were hearing. She wondered what they would do.
Papá started to stand when Gracie’s abuela leaned over the back of the booth and started talking to the young people.
She didn’t say anything about their language but asked questions about their hobbies. One of the girls shyly said that she liked to knit.
“Come over to our table,” Abuela invited. “I’ll show you what I’m working on.”
The four players trooped over to join Gracie’s family at their booth. Everyone slid closer together to make room for them.
Abuela opened the knitting bag she always carried and pulled out a stocking hat. “I can make one of these in 30 minutes.”
“Could you show me how to do that sometime?” the girl asked.
“It would be my pleasure,” Abuela said.
“You’re pretty cool,” one of the boys said.
Abuela smiled. “For an old lady.”
“For anyone.” He hesitated, then looked around to Gracie’s family with an embarrassed expression. “I guess you’d like it if we didn’t talk like we did.”
Abuela patted the boy’s hand and smiled. “You are right.”
“Thanks for talking to us like we’re real people,” the girl said. “Most people ignore us.”
“You are real people. Even more important, you are each a child of God,” Abuela said. “Always remember that.”
Gracie watched a look of wonder come over the girl’s face.
The boys and girls returned to their booth and finished their meal. They left shortly after that.
Papá gave Abuela a hug. “Mamá, you are amazing. All I could think of was their bad language. I didn’t remember that they were also children of God.”
Later that night, Gracie asked Papá, “How did Abuela know what to say to those kids?”
“Your abuela treats everyone the same,” Papá said. “She knows that we’re all God’s children.”
Gracie hasn’t forgotten that lesson—nor her abuela’s example.

I Can Still Hobble
I went for a run. Well, let’s be honest and call it what it really is—the tumor hobble. I exercise to keep breathing right and keep my lungs clear. However, it is difficult when my tumors hurt so much. I cried, then prayed for Heavenly Father to help me. The words of a Christmas song came into my mind, and I started singing:
Be near me, Lord Jesus; I ask thee to stay
Close by me forever, and love me, I pray.2
I must have looked and sounded pretty funny, but that doesn’t matter at this point. I’m just grateful for the words to this song.
Then my cousin called to tell me about her daughter that just went through her second brain surgery. She reminded me that it’s a blessing I can still hobble! Nothing changed. My pain was still there, but I was lifted. I knew I could get through this day.
When things are pressing down on you and you think things are just too hard to bear, sing the third verse of “Away in a Manger,” and our Lord will be with you.