Gospel Story Finder

I, too, had the privilege of serving as a stake president. I served as the first president of the Mt. Graham Stake, formed in 1938 from parts of the St. Joseph Stake. Like all of you presidents, I have experienced the sadness as well as the joy of laboring with those in difficulty.
I well remember the flood of September 1941. It rained continually the weekend of stake conference. The day after stake conference the Gila River overflowed its channel and swept through Duncan, Arizona, and environs. After consulting with my first counselor, Vernon McGrath, regarding the Saints’ immediate needs, I loaded my car with goods from the interstake welfare storehouse in Safford and drove the forty miles to Duncan. Arranging matters as best we could there, I walked the eight miles to Virden because bridges were unsafe for cars. I was filled with grief as I viewed the devastation of the houses and the farmland. Yet, in the ensuing weeks, I shared in perhaps the most fulfilling experience of my tenure as stake president. Through the high council and ward bishoprics, we organized for reconstruction. From welfare supplies and local labor we reestablished the people on the land. The contributions of the Saints throughout the area were wonderful, and, as I recall, we did not have to call on the General Welfare Committee for help. We handled it all locally ourselves.

Feleti likes to have fun, but he is a hard worker too. He sometimes goes to the plantation with his dad and big cousins. They dig up ‘ufi (yams) and pick enough coconuts on the weekend to last them through the next week. For New Year’s Day they dig a lot of ‘ufi for a big feast that their family prepares each year for their neighbors and family members. Feleti’s family and friends feast on roast pig, ‘ufi, fish, and bread.

“I was playing with it first,” four-year-old Romero yelled as he grabbed a toy out of his little sister’s hand. Lolita started to run to their mother, so Romero angrily handed the toy back to her. The branch president and his counselors had come to visit, and Romero knew his parents would not like to be disturbed while they were talking with them.
Romero lived in the Philippines with his mother, father, and little sister, Lolita. Their home was a nipa hut his father had built from palm leaves and bamboo. The missionaries taught the gospel to his parents when Romero was just a baby. They knew that The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints was true, and they were baptized. They talked about the gospel at home and read the Book of Mormon together. They were a happy family.
At first, Romero’s family went to church every week. They didn’t have a car and the church was too far away to walk, so they rode in a small bus called a jeepney. But as the weeks went by, they began to forget to save extra money for the jeepney ride, so they couldn’t go to church. Some weeks they just didn’t get ready in time. After a while, they stopped going to church. They didn’t talk about the gospel in their home any more, and they didn’t read the Book of Mormon together.
Now the branch president was talking to Romero’s mother and father about the gospel. Romero heard his mother and father promising to attend church the next Sunday. But Romero was still more interested in getting the toy away from Lolita than in listening to the adults.
However, when he heard one of the visitors say “Book of Mormon,” Romero stopped playing and listened to what they were saying. He went over to a shelf and took out the Book of Mormon. He thought about some of the wonderful stories his parents had read to him from it. Romero had a good feeling as he held the Book of Mormon and remembered these things. He felt reverent. Now he didn’t want to take the toy away from Lolita. Instead, he wanted her to be happy. He wanted to sit quietly and listen to the branch president. As he listened, Romero knew he would like to go to church and to read the scriptures with his family again.

As a bishop, I worried about any members who were inactive, not attending, not serving. Such was my thought as I drove down the street where Ben and Emily lived. They were older—even in the twilight period of life. Aches and pains of advancing years caused them to withdraw from activity to the shelter of their home—isolated, detached, shut out from the mainstream of daily life and association.
I felt the unmistakable prompting to park my car and visit Ben and Emily, even though I was on the way to a meeting. It was a sunny weekday afternoon. I approached the door to their home and knocked. Emily answered. When she recognized me, her bishop, she exclaimed, “All day long I have waited for my phone to ring. It has been silent. I hoped that the postman would deliver a letter. He brought only bills. Bishop, how did you know today was my birthday?”
I answered, “God knows, Emily, for He loves you.”
In the quiet of the living room, I said to Ben and Emily, “I don’t know why I was directed here today, but our Heavenly Father knows. Let’s kneel in prayer and ask Him why.” This we did, and the answer came. Emily was asked to sing in the choir—even to provide a solo for the forthcoming ward conference. Ben was asked to speak to the Aaronic Priesthood young men and recount a special experience in his life when his safety was assured by responding to the promptings of the Spirit. She sang. He spoke. Hearts were gladdened by the return to activity of Ben and Emily. They rarely missed a sacrament meeting from that day to the time each was called home. The language of the Spirit had been spoken. It had been heard. It had been understood. Hearts were touched and lives saved.

Christmas was over. The new toys were put away. Boxes and wrapping paper were waiting at the curb for the garbage truck.
Mom was busy storing decorations for next year, and Sara was helping her. Dad was taking down the outside lights with Derek’s help. Mark was in his baby swing, kicking his feet. Six-year-old Tegan stood by the nativity set, looking at baby Jesus. A question was growing in her mind, but everyone was too busy to answer it.
“Tegan, please pick up your toys,” Mom said. “We’d like to have the house nice for family home evening.” Tegan thought about her question as she laid her dolls carefully in their beds. She thought some more as she put away the doll clothes and the small dishes that had been Christmas gifts. At dinner she barely noticed what she was eating. She was struggling with her question.
The family home evening lesson that night was about Jesus feeding 5,000 people with just five loaves of bread and two fishes. Tegan liked hearing stories about Jesus, but her question was just too big to bear any longer. She raised her hand and waved it.
Mom smiled. “What is it, dear?”
Tegan’s question came bursting out. “Which one is the real one?”
Dad looked puzzled. “What do you mean?”
“Well, there’s baby Jesus we talk about at Christmas, and then there’s grown-up Jesus we hear about the rest of the year. Which one is the real one?”
Dad looked at Mom and then at Tegan. “That’s a good question,” he said. “The answer is that they’re the same person. Not much has been written about Jesus as a child or a teenager, but He had to grow up like everyone else. He probably learned to be a carpenter from Joseph. And we know that He read the scriptures, so he must have learned to read when he was young, just like you’re doing. In time, the Christ child grew into a man and became our Savior. At Christmas we remember His birth, but He’s not a baby anymore. There is only one Jesus Christ, and He is the Son of God.”
Tegan smiled. Her question was answered.

Mandy opened her eyes. It was morning, and there was something outside, scratching at her window. “Whoooo,” it called. She quickly got out of bed and put on her clothes. It sounded to Mandy like a very large owl. “Whoooo,” it said again.
She tiptoed from her room and then ran to the kitchen. “Did you hear that?” she asked her mother. “I think there’s a large owl outside scratching and blowing at my bedroom window.”
Mandy’s mother laughed. “That’s the wind,” she said, “and not an owl at all. It’s just air that moves very fast and makes the bushes rustle and scratch at your window.”
“Can I go out and see it?” Mandy asked.
“You can look for it, but I don’t think you’ll find it,” Mother said with a smile. Then she gave Mandy her sweater and a piece of hot buttered toast. “Now you won’t be cold or hungry while you hunt for the wind,” she told her.
Opening the door, Mandy stepped out into the backyard. There was a dry, sweet smell in the air. She licked her lips. They felt dry too. A gust of wind brushed across her cheek and was gone. Then another, much harder than the first. “Whoooo!” it said.
Mandy blinked her eyes and looked around. Large golden and orange leaves were falling from the maple tree. They touched the ground and danced together, round and round, like whirlpools of colored paper. The wind is finger painting, Mandy thought. It’s drawing leaf pictures with little fingers of air.
Cleeter, Mandy’s dog, barked loudly and pounced onto a pile of crisp brown leaves, crushing them into thousands of coppery pieces. But Tom, the cat, just put his nose in the air and sniffed. Then he curled his tail around himself and sat very still. Mandy reached down and put her hand on Tom’s soft fur.
POP! The fur crackled under Mandy’s fingers. Tom’s back curved up into a fluffy arch, and the fur crackled again.
Mandy heard something rustle. It was a piece of newspaper standing on edge. It balanced a second, then danced across the lawn like a kite trying to fly.
Suddenly a great gust of wind rushed around the house. This time it said, “Wheeee!” Mandy’s hair blew into her eyes so she couldn’t see. She put her hands out to push the wind away, but it kept right on coming. The leaves fell faster all around her. Yellow and gold and scarlet and orange leaves whirled and whirled.
“I’m in a leaf storm,” Mandy said. “If I don’t do something quick, this wind might blow me away.” She reached out and grabbed the rough, dusty trunk of the maple tree. Then she put both arms around the tree as far as they would reach. The wind blew and blew.
“Wheeee!” it sang, pulling at Mandy’s sweater until it puffed out and made her feel like a balloon.
“Help!” called Mandy, but no one heard her except Cleeter, who was playing in the leaves, and Tom, who stretched and yawned. Then he walked slowly toward the house.
If Tom can do that, thought Mandy, so can I. So she released her hands from the tree, pulled her sweater tightly around her, and walked right into the face of the wind to the back door. It pushed her hair straight back and almost took her breath away. But it made her feel clean and fresh all over.
“Well,” said Mother, when she and Tom were sitting at the kitchen table, “did you find the wind?”
Mandy nodded her head. “You can’t see it,” she explained, “but you can feel it and you can hear it and you can smell the things that fly with it. You can’t reach out and touch it, but it can touch you. It touched me so hard, I thought I’d be blown away. But I like windy days!”

Our Relief Society class was discussing the three degrees of glory when one sister shared some information about the telestial kingdom. Immediately I raised my hand for attention. I indicated that the information the sister had shared was questionable. I explained that during another class I had attended, the instructor had taught that, since he had never seen that particular information in print, it probably was just a myth.
Even as I spoke, reproach stung my heart—not because of the words that had come out of my mouth, but because my approach had been rude and abrupt, without consideration of the other sister’s feelings. I had been too anxious to correct the information.
I found myself standing near the sister after Relief Society. The admonition to apologize kept pounding in my ears, but I wanted to share my feelings fully and in private. Throughout the remainder of the day, I contemplated possible ways to approach her.
Finally, on Monday morning when most of the family had departed for work and school, I determined to call the sister and try to apologize. But before I could, my telephone rang. On the other end was the sister I had planned to call, thanking me for the wonderful day that she had enjoyed yesterday. I was astonished at her statement; why would she thank me for embarrassing her in Relief Society? But she explained that she had spent the day studying the principle. She shared her newfound knowledge and taught me much as well.
Even though I had not meant to hurt her, my sister could easily have taken offense when I corrected her. But she chose to grow from the experience, then to take the time to teach me.
My heart rejoiced as I turned to the scriptures and read: “And if thy brother of sister offend thee, thou shalt take him or her between him or her and thee alone; and if he or she confess thou shalt be reconciled” (D&C 42:88) and “Wherefore, I say unto you, that ye ought to forgive one another; for he that forgiveth not his brother his trespasses standeth condemned before the Lord; for there remaineth in him the greater sin” (D&C 64:9).
I’ll never forget the lesson my sister—my example—taught me that day.

There is a story told of an old Cherokee teaching his grandson about life. “A fight is going on inside me,” he said to the boy.
“It is a terrible fight, and it is between two wolves. One is evil: he is anger, envy, sorrow, regret, greed, arrogance, self-pity, guilt, resentment, inferiority, lies, false pride, superiority, and ego.”
He continued, “The other is good: he is joy, peace, love, hope, serenity, humility, kindness, benevolence, empathy, generosity, truth, compassion, and faith. The same fight is going on inside you—and inside every other person too.”
Illustration by Allen Garns
The grandson thought about it for a minute and then asked his grandfather, “Which wolf will win?”
The old Cherokee simply replied, “The one you feed.”

“I will never forget you, bishop. You saved my life.”
The man who makes that statement today didn’t feel that way in the beginning. As a teen he was scared. He knew he needed to repent. I was his bishop at the time, and he knew we needed to talk. But he was full of doubts.
“What is the bishop going to think of me?”
“Will he keep this confidential?”
“How will I ever look at him again?”
Such worries can feel overwhelming, making it seem nearly impossible to muster the courage necessary to travel the road to repentance.
But some confessions require that you talk to your bishop or branch president. And that’s where this young man found himself. He needed help beyond his own capacity, and he needed to know the journey was possible.
Let me close by telling you a little more about my visit with that young man. “Bishop,” he said, “you’re going to hate me for what I have to tell you. You’ll never be able to look at me again, and if you share what I say with anybody, I’ll kill myself.”
I said, “I promise I will never betray your confidences. I will take them with me to the grave.”
He told me about some minor situations and watched my reaction. When I said, “I know what you’re going through. I can help you,” he proceeded slowly until he got to what he really wanted to discuss. I reminded him repeatedly that I admired him for confessing and wanting to change. Even though he seemed ready to run at any moment, together we got through what he needed to share.
Was it a big deal? It was to him. But as we talked, he came to better understand the mercy the Lord offers to those who sincerely repent. After that first visit, we worked together, and over time his repentance became complete. Today he still calls me to say hello, and our conversations are happy.
I was privileged to help him learn that we all depend on the Atonement. And I join my voice with his in praise of Jesus Christ, the one who really saved his life.

One day I biked home from school. As I got closer to my house, I saw my mom holding our new puppy. I was excited to see them, so I quickly pushed myself off my bike. All of a sudden, I heard a big pop! Pain shot through my right arm. I could barely lift it up.
My mom drove me to the hospital. When we arrived, the doctor took an X-ray of my arm. He told us that I had a cyst in my bone. I didn’t know what that was, so he explained. “A bone cyst is when part of the bone is hollow and filled with fluid,” the doctor said. “That’s why it was so easy to break.”
The doctor said that I might need to have surgery. That sounded scary. He told us that he would see us in a few weeks to decide if I needed surgery or not. Until then, I would need to wear a sling for my arm. On the way back home, I kept saying prayers in my head. Heavenly Father, please help me be brave. This is really scary. Please help me be confident.
A month later, I had a doctor’s appointment to see if I needed surgery. I was still scared. The Friend magazine had just come out for the month, and I started to read it. The Matt and Mandy comic was about how Matt broke his arm (Oct. 2019). He had to have surgery. Just like me!
After I read it, I felt peace. I said a prayer thanking Heavenly Father for answering my prayer. I knew I could be brave no matter what happened. I also thanked Heavenly Father for always listening to me and being there for me, like a true friend.

Some years ago, while attending a luncheon, I sat next to a very able and perceptive young attorney. I had come to know this young man quite well. I knew him to be a member of a Christian faith other than our own. He knew that I was an active Mormon.
After a few superficial niceties, he asked me some serious questions. He first asked, “Is the Mormon Church Christian?” He added that his question was a theological rather than a moral one; he wanted to understand the role of Jesus in Mormon theology.
Such a broad question overwhelmed me. As I paused to collect my thoughts and to formulate an answer, I realized than any explanation of the role of the Savior in Mormon belief had to begin much earlier than with Christ’s mortal mission. I answered my friend by briefly telling about twelve roles of Jesus the Christ.
First, I explained in brief terms our belief in the eternal nature of man by paraphrasing and explaining several verses of the ninety-third section of the Doctrine and Covenants, where Jesus informed the Prophet Joseph Smith of the eternal nature of the intelligence of man: “I was in the beginning with the Father, and am the Firstborn.
“Ye were also in the beginning with the Father …”
“Man was also in the beginning with God. Intelligence, or the light of truth, was not created or made, neither indeed can be.
“Behold, here is the agency of man.” (D&C 93:21, 23, 29, 31.)
Second, I described the great council in heaven where all the Father’s children met to learn of his plans to further our eternal development. Jesus was the Father’s advocate for that plan which protected that agency of man inherent in the concept of beings possessing an uncreated and eternal existence. Lucifer wanted to alter the plan and eliminate the agency of man. (See Moses 4:1–3.)
Third, we discussed the role of Jesus as the creator of this and countless other worlds, in furtherance of the Father’s plan, which was accepted by the majority of his children. I quoted from the great vision given to Moses:
“And by the word of my power, have I created them, which is mine Only Begotten Son, who is full of grace and truth.
“And worlds without number have I created; and I also created them for mine own purpose; and by the Son I created them, which is mine Only Begotten.” (Moses 1:32–33.)
This view of Jesus in relationship to the universe was entirely new to my friend and left him deeply impressed.
The next role of Jesus, though known and preached by the early church, again was foreign to my friend. I explained that Jesus was Jehovah, God of the Old Testament, the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, and he who gave the Law of Moses. Jesus informed the Prophet Joseph of this fact in the Kirtland Temple (D&C 110:1–4) and had long before explained his role to the Nephites:
“Behold, I am he that gave the law, and I am he who covenanted with my people Israel; therefore, the law in me is fulfilled, for I have come to fulfill the law; therefore it hath an end.” (3 Ne. 15:5.)
This view of Jesus as Jehovah, the God of the Old Testament, prior to his birth in the flesh, was preached by the early church for four hundred years before being superseded by apostate doctrines. A constant affirmation of the early Jewish Christians as they were accused of subverting the Law and the Prophets, was that what was preached was not new but very, very old, having been preached by Jesus himself to the prophets from the beginning. Arthur Cushman McGiffert, (U.S. theologian, 1861–1933) in his edition of The Church History of Eusebius, notes that this first great church historian held to the same view as did all the early Fathers, that Jesus was the personage who appeared to the prophets in the divine appearances in the Old Testament.
“Eusebius (Palestinian theologian, church historian and scholar, A.D. 260?–340?) accepts the common view of the early Church, that the appearances of God of the Old Testament were appearances of Christ; that is, appearances of the second person of the Trinity. Augustine (early Christian church father and philosopher, A.D. 354–430) seems to have been the first of the Fathers to take a different view, maintaining that such appearances of Christ were not consistent with the identity of essence between Father and Son.” (McGiffert, ed., The Church History of Eusebius, 1890.)
It was only at the point of the fifth great role of the Master that my friend’s knowledge gave us a common background in our discussion of the role of Jesus in Mormon theology. We agreed in our belief that Jesus was born of a virgin, Mary, in fulfillment of prophecy; that he taught the gospel to the people of his day (in our belief, he once again taught the gospel to his people, in direct fruition and fulfillment of his earlier teachings to the prophets) and was crucified. I explained that Mormons believe that Jesus established his church with priesthood power while he was on the earth; that the church was not the creation, as some believe, of Jesus’ followers after the crucifixion. The Master ordained his apostles, sent out the seventy on missions, and had an organization of identifiable officers prior to the crucifixion.
The central role of the Master, of course, that role which could not be performed by another, was that of Jesus the Christ, who was crucified for the sins of the world. I bore testimony to my friend that I believed this is the most literal way. I told him that though I did not fully understand how one could take upon himself the sins of others and thereby bring into effect a universal resurrection, I knew with all my heart that it was so and that this part of the plan is self-operative and need nor be understood to be effective.
I knew that our belief regarding the sixth role of Jesus would be entirely new to my friend and, because of its peculiar nature, probably alien to his understanding or appreciation. I explained as best I could the mission of Jesus Christ to hades, or hell, or the underworld, the place of departed spirits. Once again I affirmed that this mission was well known to the members of the early church. This mission was true and of critical importance to the Father’s plan.
Jesus told of his intention to his apostles as he spoke to them at Caesarea Philippi just prior to the transfiguration. The Prophet Joseph Smith said that Peter, James, and John received important keys and endowments at the time of the transfiguration, which fact would make more meaningful the Master’s previous comments to Peter regarding binding and sealing powers. (History of the Church: 3:387). After hearing Peter’s great confession, “Thou art the Christ, the Son of the living God,” in response to the Master’s question, “Whom do men say that I the Son of man am?” The Savior said to Peter that the “gates of hell shall not prevail” against the church (See Matt. 16:13–19).
Hell did not mean to the King James scholars who translated the New Testament what it means to some people today. It did not denote the place where bad people go, the domain of Satan. Rather, it was a synonym for hades, the place of the dead, where all the spirits of all people went at the time of death. Further, “the gates” of a city referred to the outer defenses of the city, keeping those within it separated from those without. Therefore, what the Master was saying to those disciples was simply that the gates, or the outer defenses or boundaries of hades, the place of the dead, would not be able to prevent the church from penetrating hades and freeing those people there bound by death. He was, in effect, announcing his descent into hades, the introduction of the gospel there, and his triumph over the lasting effects of death upon mankind.
I reaffirmed that his belief was among the most ancient beliefs of the early church, the complete knowledge of which had been restored through the Prophet Joseph Smith. In one of the great priesthood sections of the Doctrine and Covenants, the Lord revealed to Joseph that he had a plan of salvation sufficient that “not only those who believed after he came in the meridian of time, in the flesh, but all those from the beginning, even as many as were before he came, who believed in the words of the holy prophets, who spake as they were inspired by the gift of the Holy Ghost, who truly testified of him in all things, should have eternal life.” (D&C 20:26.)
The same message was taught by Irenaeus, a second century Christian scholar, in language surprisingly close to that used by Joseph:
“For it was not merely for those who believed on Him in the time of Tiberius Caesar that Christ came, nor did the Father exercise His providence for the men only who are now alive, but for all men altogether, who from the beginning, according to their capacity, in their generation have both feared and loved God, and practiced justice and piety towards their neighbors, and have earnestly desired to see Christ, and to hear His voice.” (Irenaeus, book 4, “Against Heresies,” in The Writings of Irenaeus, vol. 1, Ante-Nicene Christian Library, 1867, pp. 454–55.)
I explained that this doctrine of universal opportunity of salvation involved the introduction of the gospel into hades. Clement of Alexandria writing in the second century, stated:
“Wherefore, the Lord preached the gospel to those in Hades. Accordingly the Scripture says, ‘Hades says to Destruction. We have not seen His form, but we have heard His voice’ … But how? Do not the scriptures show that the Lord preached the gospel to those that perished in the flood … The apostles, following the Lord, preached the gospel to those in Hades. For it was requisite, in my opinion, that as here, so also there, the best of the disciples should be imitators of the Master; so that He should bring to repentance those belonging to the Hebrews, and they of the Gentiles … the Lord descended to Hades for no other reason but to preach the gospel … For it is not right that these should be condemned without trial, and that those alone who lived after the advent [of the Savior] should have the advantage of the divine righteousness … If, then, He preached the gospel to those in the flesh that they might not be condemned unjustly, how is it conceivable that He did not for the same cause preach the gospel to those who had departed this life before His advent” (Clement of Alexandria, book 6, “The Miscellanies,” in The Writings of Clement Alexandria, vol. 2, Ante-Nicene Christian Library, 1867, pp. 328–34. Italics added.)
A similar knowledge was given by revelation to a modern prophet, Joseph F. Smith, as he earnestly sought the meaning of Peter’s account of Christ preaching to the spirits in prison (see D&C 138).
Many of the fathers of the early church emphasized time and again that Christ descended into hades and organized a missionary force from among the prophets, his disciples from the time of the Master’s mission as Jehovah.
I mentioned to my friend that an ordinance necessarily related to this function of the Master was that of baptism for the dead, or baptism by proxy. I noted that this was what Paul was referring to when he cited this ordinance to the saints at Corinth as proof of the reality of a physical resurrection: “Else what shall they do which are baptized for the dead?” (1 Cor. 15:29). This practice of proxy baptism survived in the rural parts of the Roman Empire, relatively uncorrupted by the philosophies of the urban centers, until well into the fourth century and perhaps longer.
My friend’s background permitted us to talk of the seventh role of Jesus with common understanding. We discussed the resurrection, the appearance of Jesus to Mary, to Peter and the brethren, to the two on the road to Emmaus, to Peter and others fishing in Galilee; and finally the ascension of the Lord. I pointed out to my friend that the Lord undoubtedly used this time to further instruct his apostles. Whatever the subjects of those teachings, he left indisputable lessons to us all on the literal nature of the resurrection (his appearance to the brethren: “Behold my hands and my feet, that it is I myself: handle me, and see; for a spirit hath not flesh and bones, as ye see me have” [Luke 24:39]) and the promise of an equally literal return (at the time of the ascension: “Ye men of Galilee, why stand ye gazing up into heaven? this same Jesus, which is taken up from you into heaven, shall so come in like manner as ye have seen him go into heaven” [Acts 1:11]).
The eighth great mission of the Master again found my friend in ignorance. I described the ministry of the Lord to the Western Hemisphere, in fulfillment of his statement to the Jews: “And other sheep I have, which are not of this fold: them also I must bring, and they shall hear my voice; and there shall be one fold, and one shepherd.” (John 10:16). I told my friend that the Father introduced his Son to the people of this continent: “Behold my Beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased, in whom I have glorified my name—hear ye him.” (3 Ne. 11:7.) I described how Jesus organized a church like that which he had established in the East. Twelve disciples were called and ordained; great miracles were performed—the blind were made to see, the lame to walk. Children were blessed with miracles not matched by those in the East. A dissertation was given by Jesus on the nature and functions of the House of Israel unequaled by any other single scriptural reference. The sacrament was instituted and the Holy Ghost bestowed. Finally, after a three-day ministry, Jesus ascended.
I mentioned a ninth mission of the Master about which we know very little other than that it occurred. Jesus, in speaking to the Nephites, stated that he had yet other sheep who would also hear his voice (3 Ne. 16:1–5). Consequently, there must have been other people who enjoyed a personal ministration of the Master, though we do not now have the records of such a ministry.
The tenth mission of the Master was the ushering in of the restoration through the Prophet Joseph Smith. I described, through my own testimony of the occasion, how Joseph Smith asked God to direct him to the true church. I related the events of the First Vision: that the Father and the Son appeared to Joseph, and from the time of that event other angelic ministrations occurred to Joseph Smith sufficient to restore the knowledge of the gospel and the priesthood power to again establish the Church of Jesus Christ upon the earth as it had been when the Master personally established his church at the meridian of time.
I grouped together as the eleventh mission of the Master several appearances of the Savior to different people, from Joseph Smith, subsequent to the First Vision, to others of the prophets, including Lorenzo Snow, pointing out to my friend the reality of the Master’s direction of his church today as in time past.
Finally, I described to my friend the final and yet unfulfilled role of Jesus Christ in the great plan of his Father. I stated that Mormons believe in the literal second advent of the Master, to rule over the earth that he, under the direction of the Father, created.

One Sunday while serving as a bishop in Mexico, I sat on the stand just before sacrament meeting and noticed a sister come into the chapel. She was a recent convert and always seemed shy. The Spirit prompted me to find out how the ward council could help her feel more comfortable at church. I asked the Relief Society president to reach out to this sister.

Sometime later, the Relief Society president told me, “Bishop, this sister really needs to have teeth replaced.”

This was one of the reasons this sister was so shy. She didn’t talk or smile because she didn’t want anyone to see her teeth. The Relief Society president asked what we should do. I decided to arrange for a dentist to examine her and find out what needed to be done.

“Are you sure?” the Relief Society president asked. “It could be expensive.”

I told her we could go ahead. As a ward, we found a way to help this sister. When I saw her again, she was talking and smiling. I had never seen her smile before!

From that point on, this sister’s life changed. She became a more active member of the ward and eventually went to the temple. Today she is a temple ordinance worker. I am sure if I ever go to the temple where she serves, I will see her smiling.

Many years ago I went to the hospital to give a blessing to a young man named Nick and his sister Michelle. Nick is a friend of mine and former home teaching companion, and his young life was threatened by a kidney disease. Nick had not been well for a long time. Nick’s older sister Michelle had offered to give him a precious gift to preserve his life: she offered one of her own kidneys.

The operation was successfully performed, but still in question was whether or not Nick’s body would accept this priceless gift from Michelle. You see, Michelle had given the gift not knowing if it would be accepted; fortunately it was. In like manner, our Heavenly Father has given us so many wonderful gifts not knowing if they would be accepted. He has offered us His peace, His comfort, His love. All we have to do to accept His gifts is to be obedient and follow Him.

One day after school I got on the bus to go home. As the bus neared my stop, a girl from school yelled, “Hey, Kaycie!”
“Yeah?” I said.
“Allison is a loser!”
I felt really bad inside, because Allison is my cousin. We live across the street from each other, are the same age, and play together a lot.
I thought about what Jesus would do, and answered, “No she’s not! She’s my cousin, and I love her.” I felt that I had done the right thing, and it made me feel good inside.

Instead, I joined a neighborhood team with lots of friends. We had a great time the first year and were successful, but the second year the team struggled and sometimes lost focus on the game. I became frustrated. I put my best effort into every game, but we almost always lost.
After one very bad game, Coach Hashem, whose team was doing well, approached me on the soccer field. He asked me how things were going. I said, “Not so good.” I told him I missed my old teammates. Hashem coached with a great deal of skill and always seemed to get the most from his players.
“How would you like to be a guest player for our team when we go to the next tournament?” Hashem asked.
“I would really like that!” I responded excitedly.
“Great!” Hashem said, smiling. “I need to ask you one question though. Can you play on Sundays?” My stomach muscles tightened. I suddenly felt sick. I remembered what had happened that last time this question had been asked.
I looked at my mom. I looked at my dad. They too waited for my answer. I looked at Hashem.
“No, I’m sorry. I don’t play on Sundays,” I said. “Will that make a difference?”
Hashem stood there for a moment. He had seen the expression of hope on my face fade quickly as I had answered his question.
“No, that’s OK,” Hashem responded. “We probably won’t get to the Sunday finals. We’d love to have you play with us.”
Soon I started practicing with Hashem’s team. The team played with a great deal of intensity, and they welcomed me back. I loved playing with them.
We didn’t win all of our games at the tournament, but we all tried our hardest, and we had a good time. Soon I became a permanent member of Hashem’s team. Though they knew I didn’t play on Sundays, they still appreciated me for what I added to the team on the other game days.

Just a couple of weeks before, I had had the privilege of taking my family downtown as Santa Claus made his appearance. It was interesting. Crowds gathered. One little girl had been standing on the side of the curb for what seemed to her like many minutes, waiting for this cherished event. Just as Santa Claus was to make his entry, great throngs of people crowded in front of her, blocking her view, and she began to cry.
A six-foot-three man who stood by her asked, “What’s the matter, dear?”
She said, “I have been waiting to see Santa, and now I can’t see him.”
He picked her up and placed her on his shoulders, providing her a commanding view. As Santa Claus came by, she waved her little hand toward him. He smiled and waved back to her and to everyone else in the crowd.
The little girl grabbed the hair of that big fellow and exclaimed, “He saw me! He saw me and smiled at me! I’m so glad it’s Christmas!” That little girl had the Christmas spirit.

All through elementary and middle school, Julie Workman dreamed of the day she’d attend Utah’s Viewmont High School with her friends.
Then one day her father announced he’d received a call to preside over the New Jersey Mission. She’d be attending high school there. It was like someone had thrown a bucket of ice water in her face.
After a soggy farewell to friends and loved ones, Julie became determined to make the best of her new life. She set herself a goal: to be a good example to everyone, especially when she found out she would be the only Latter-day Saint in her high school.
What happened to the disappointment Julie felt at not attending her hometown high school? It evaporated when she learned to care about others and share the gospel with them. Now, she says, “Moving to New Jersey has been the greatest experience of my life.”

The sacrament is an ordinance that helps us stay on the path, and worthily partaking is evidence that we are keeping the covenants associated with all the other ordinances. A few years ago, while my wife, Anita, and I were serving in the Arkansas Little Rock Mission, I went out to teach with two young missionaries. During the lesson, the good brother we were teaching said, “I have been to your church; why do you have to eat bread and drink water every Sunday? In our church, we do it twice a year, on Easter and Christmas, and that is very meaningful.”

We shared with him that we are commanded to “meet together oft to partake of bread and wine” (Moroni 6:6; see also D&C 20:75). We read out loud Matthew 26 and 3 Nephi 18. He responded that he still did not see the necessity.

We then shared the following comparison: “Imagine you are involved in a very serious car accident. You have been injured and are unconscious. Someone runs by, seeing that you are unconscious, and dials the emergency number, 911. You are attended to and regain consciousness.”

We asked this brother, “When you are able to recognize your surroundings, what questions will you have?”

He said, “I will want to know how I got there and who found me. I will want to thank him every day because he saved my life.”

We shared with this good brother how the Savior saved our lives and how we need to thank Him every day, every day, every day!

We then asked, “Knowing that He gave His life for you and us, how often do you want to eat the bread and drink the water as emblems of His body and blood?”

He said, “I get it, I get it. But one more thing. Your church is not lively like ours.”

To that we responded, “What would you do if the Savior Jesus Christ walked through your door?”

He said, “Immediately, I would go down to my knees.”

We asked, “Isn’t that what you feel when you walk into Latter-day Saint chapels—reverence for the Savior?”

He said, “I get it, I get it, I get it!”

He showed up at church that Easter Sunday and kept returning.

The Salas Family: Second-Generation Leaders. Alfredo Salas, president of the Buenos Aires West stake, is an example of what is happening today in Argentina as a result of parents who have sacrificed old ways to adopt the vision of their new faith. “My parents joined the Church when I was 11,” says President Salas. “I grew up attending a little branch in Bahía Blanca.” When the seminary program was introduced, he wanted to attend, but his parents, already sacrificing to send him to school, were concerned it would interfere with his studies. To alleviate their concerns, he and his brother studied extra hard. To go to seminary, they would get up at 5:00 A.M. and run several blocks to catch a bus. After the bus ride, they ran eight blocks to the chapel. Then, to arrive at school on time, they ran the eight blocks back to the bus, which carried them back to their neighborhood, and then ran all the way to school. “This sacrifice cemented my testimony,” he reflects.

With the backing of his parents, a mission followed, which greatly deepened his testimony. When he returned, he faced a new dilemma because of his limited finances: whether to finish his schooling or get married. The choice was not easy. Nevertheless, he chose to marry, and it took seven more years before he finally received his degree in computer science. At age 26 he was called as a bishop and served in that calling during the final two years of his schooling. He subsequently went on to earn a master’s degree in business administration. As a result of his parents’ emphasis on learning, today President Salas is doing well as country manager of a computer programming company, and he is able to devote time to Church service.

The Savior’s love, which shines through this Christmastime experience of President Thomas S. Monson, First Counselor in the First Presidency, can brighten our lives all year long.
One winter day as Christmas approached, I thought back to an experience from my boyhood. I was eleven. Our Primary president, Melissa, was an older and loving gray-haired lady.
One day at Primary, Melissa asked me to stay behind and visit with her. The two of us sat in the otherwise empty chapel. She placed her arm about my shoulder and began to cry. Surprised, I asked her why she was crying. She replied: “I don’t seem to be able to encourage the Trail Builder [now Blazer] boys to be reverent during the opening exercises of Primary. Would you be willing to help me, Tommy?”
I promised her I would. Strangely to me, but not to Melissa, that ended any problem of reverence in that Primary. She had gone to the source of the problem—me. The solution was love.
The years flew by. Marvelous Melissa, now in her nineties, lived in a nursing [home] in the northwest part of Salt Lake City. Just before Christmas, I determined to visit my beloved Primary president. Over the car radio, I heard the song “Hark! The Herald Angels Sing.” I reflected on the visit made by wise men those long years ago. They brought gifts of gold, of frankincense, and of myrrh. I brought only the gift of love and a desire to say “Thank you.”
I found Melissa in the lunchroom. She stared at her plate of food, teasing it with the fork she held in her aged hand. Not a bite did she eat. As I spoke to her, my words were met with a blank stare. I took the fork in hand and began to feed Melissa, talking all the time I did so about her service to boys and girls as a Primary worker. There wasn’t so much as a glimmer of recognition, far less a spoken word.
Two other residents of the nursing home gazed at me with puzzled expressions. At last they spoke, saying: “She doesn’t know anyone, even her own family. She hasn’t said a word in all the time she’s been here.”
Lunch ended. My one-sided conversation wound down. I stood to leave. I held her frail hand in mine, gazed into her wrinkled but beautiful countenance, and said: “God bless you, Melissa. Merry Christmas.”
Without warning, she spoke the words: “I know you. You’re Tommy Monson, my Primary boy. How I love you.” She pressed my hand to her lips and bestowed on it the kiss of love. Tears coursed down her cheeks and bathed our clasped hands. Those hands, that day, were hallowed [made holy] by heaven and graced by God. The herald angels did sing. Outside the sky was blue—azure blue. The air was cool—crispy cool. The snow was white—crystal white.
How silently, how silently
The wondrous gift is giv’n!
So God imparts to human hearts
The blessings of his heav’n.
No ear may hear his coming;
But in this world of sin,
Where meek souls will receive him, still
The dear Christ enters in.*
The wondrous gift was given, the heavenly blessing was received, the dear Christ entered in—all through the doorway of love.
(See Ensign, October 1996, page 7.)