Gospel Story Finder

The institute also spreads its influence through a graduate scholarship program. Hector Solorio was one of Mexico’s top agronomy graduates in 1983. After receiving his bachelor’s degree, he gave up a graduate school scholarship to serve a mission. Since completing his mission, he is attending graduate school at BYU under a Benson Institute and Agricultural Economics scholarship. “These young people will return to their countries to become leaders in government and leaders in agriculture,” predicts Brother Brimhall. “We would like to sponsor hundreds more such students.”

Justina sat extra tall in her seat. She placed her new pencils right at the top of her desk. Today was the first day of school. She’d met her classmates and drawn a fun picture.
Then Mrs. Werner said, “Time to work on writing!” Mrs. Werner handed out papers to the class. “You have 30 minutes to work on this. Then we’ll go to recess.”
Justina gulped. “Oh no. Writing already?” she thought.
Last year Justina had a hard time with reading and writing. All of her friends seemed to like it. It wasn’t so hard for them. What if this year was like last year all over again?
Justina picked up her pencil. She looked at her paper. Her stomach sank. All the other students were writing. Except for her.
She wanted to talk to Mrs. Werner. Would she be mad that Justina was having trouble? Even if she was, that still sounded better than writing.
Justina walked to her teacher’s desk. “Mrs. Werner? This is harder than what I did last year. I don’t think I can do it.”
Mrs. Werner didn’t look upset. She smiled at Justina. “Do what you can. You might be surprised at what you can do! You can’t always choose what you’re good at. But you can always choose how hard you try.”
Justina walked back to her desk. She thought about what Mrs. Werner said. “I can choose to try.” That was like what she learned in Primary. Her class read a scripture that said we are “free to choose.” That meant we could make our own choices. Heavenly Father trusts us to make good choices. He promises to help us when we make mistakes.
Could school be different this year? Maybe she could choose to make it different! Justina picked up her pencil. She looked at her paper. Her stomach relaxed. “OK. I’m going to do this,” she thought.
The recess bell rang. Justina wasn’t finished yet. But she was more than halfway done! She raised her hand. “Can I stay and keep working? I’m so close to being done!”
Mrs. Werner smiled and nodded.
Justina finally handed in her paper. Her hand ached a little bit. Even her brain hurt! But she was smiling. She had never worked so hard on writing before.
The next day the class worked on reading. Mrs. Werner asked everyone to read for 20 minutes. Justina tried again. She opened her book and sounded out the words.
Justina started making choices every day. She chose to read. She chose to write. Maybe reading and writing weren’t so bad!
She even chose to go to the library. She checked out books. Last year she would have never done that. Soon she was reading all the time. And it was actually fun! And the more she read, the better she got at writing.
When Justina got older, she was glad she chose to work hard in reading and writing. Because now those were some of her favorite things to do.

I was born in 1986. Soon after birth, I was diagnosed with cerebral palsy secondary to congenital hydrocephalus. Hydrocephalus, called “water on the brain,” is a condition in which an individual has either too much or too little cerebrospinal fluid. In my now 28 years of life I have had more than 50 surgical procedures for these conditions.
Nevertheless, the Lord has richly blessed me. One of my first doctors counseled my parents, “Take him home and simply love him. He will never be anything more than a limp noodle on the sofa.” Thankfully, my parents didn’t listen. Throughout my life, they have encouraged me to do and accomplish many things. They never treated me any differently than they did my siblings. Thanks to them, in spite of my disability, I lead the fullest life that I can.

The youth of the Ammon Fifth Ward, Idaho Falls Idaho Ammon Stake, planned and prepared for a single day of service that made a big difference to one member in their ward. They chose as their project to repair, paint, and landscape the home of a single mother in their ward. Three months of planning and preparation went into the project before the big Saturday arrived. Committees were organized to take care of painting, landscaping, pouring cement, carpentry, and food for the work crews. Before the youth arrived, the home was prepared by having old paint scraped off and primer put on, building new cupboards and getting them ready to install, and pouring the garage floor.

By seven on the morning of the super Saturday of service, over 100 youth and leaders arrived on the scene. The street was alive with activity. Painting went quickly with ten young people to each side of the house. Other groups were loading rocks and pulling weeds from the yard. Under the supervision of adult leaders, some trees were cut down and others pruned. Another group of boys were on the roof putting new tar paper down.

After a 30-minute lunch break with food prepared by the Laurels, they were back at work. Top soil was hauled in, smoothed, and prepared for planting. Then the landscape committee planted the new lawn, trees, evergreens, and flowers. Wood chips were added as a finishing touch. After all that hard work, the irrigation canal nearby was too much of a temptation, and the work crews took a quick dip. A few more hours completed the installation of new carpet and counter tops before the cleanup crew removed all traces of debris. The group had time for a swim before dinner was prepared by the Laurels. They had fun and learned the sweetness of service when it comes from the heart.

Eight years later, on Christmas Day of 1843, the Prophet recorded another memorable Christmas. The celebration began quite early in the morning when carolers serenaded the Prophet’s home around 1:00 A.M. This surprise visit made the Prophet very happy; he recorded that the singing “caused a thrill of pleasure to run through [his] soul” (History of the Church, 6:134).
The day continued with a large party. That afternoon Joseph and Emma hosted about 50 couples for dinner, and Joseph recorded the following about the gathering:
“Monday, December 25—A large party supped at my house, and spent the evening in music, dancing, &c., in a most cheerful and friendly manner” (History of the Church, 6:134).

Tina and Troy are twins. Today they are watching general conference with Grandma. “I have a surprise for you,” Grandma says. She gives them crayons and notebooks. “When you hear a special word, draw it in your notebooks,” she says. So Tina and Troy listen. Troy draws a temple white and tall. Tina draws a heart full of love. They hear the prophet talk about Jesus, so they draw Jesus too! “You filled your notebooks with so many good words,” Grandma said. “I’m happy we could listen to general conference.”

Nathan Wakefield could hardly wait for dawn to break across the paddock. Today was his eleventh birthday, and Father had told him last night that in the morning the big flintlock rifle that hung over the cabin door would be his. “I have the Winchester,” Father said, “and you’ve been carrying a man’s load around here for some time now. You’ve earned Grandpa’s flintlock.” Then he looked deep into the lad’s eyes and added, “But be wise, my son. These are God’s mountains.”
Nathan sat in his rumpled nightshirt in the small, upstairs log bedroom, staring out into the predawn chill and dreaming about the big rifle. It had first been used by Grandpa Ephram as he, along with other frontiersmen, blazed trails through the wilderness for those who would follow. There were few primitive woodlands that had not heard the crack of the old musket as it spit fire and smoke—felling great beasts, warding off hostiles, and echoing the sound of brave men moving west.
Nathan’s father inherited the long gun and had used it all these years to keep his family in meat and to safeguard their stay in the rugged Montana mountains.
Perhaps, more than anything else, it had been the tales told about the old gun that had whetted Nathan’s yearning for the ruggedly handsome piece—tales told and retold around the fire-warmed hearth on cold, howly winter nights.
Nathan held his breath and his eyes widened in anticipation when the first rays of frosted light finally slanted across the top of the gray woods and lit a place on the paddock.
The young farm boy hardly tasted his breakfast that morning. Quickly wiping the goat’s milk off his chin, he bounded out the door with a leather pouch of homemade bullets strapped on his waist, a powder horn bouncing over his shoulder, and the long musket held firmly in his arms.
The woods were still more dark than light as Nathan waded through the high drifts of snow that bordered the icy white, mist-wrapped timberline. He tingled with a strange new sense of power as he pushed deeper into the eerie wooded silence. Nathan longed to become a part of the history of the big Wakefield flintlock, and these woods were full of opportunities!
Suddenly, a snow rabbit hopped into a clearing a short distance away. The animal paused to lift its head toward a myriad of silver slivers of light, shining like tinsel on the ice-coated branches above. Nathan hurried to load the musket, but in his excitement he hit the butt of his rifle against one of the great spider-leg roots, and the rabbit disappeared at the sound into the gray morning light.
Next time I’ll be more careful. And I’ll make a kill, he promised himself as he pressed deeper into the hush and haunting grandness of the living wood.
Nathan suddenly stopped dead still. Through a tangle of brushwood he spied a fawn in a patch of cold sunlight, nibbling on the leaves of a low-hanging limb. The young hunter lifted the flintlock, rested it across the bow of a small tree, and cocked the hammer. The fawn raised its head, pricked its ears, and its soft brown eyes stared into the brushwood and at the boy beyond. Nathan’s heart pounded and his eyes stung. His lips became summer-creek dry as his finger began to squeeze the trigger. His face twitched with excitement at the anticipation of a kill. Then his finger seemed to freeze in position. Was it from the cold? No—from somewhere his father’s voice came. “Be wise, my son. These are God’s mountains.”
The boy slowly lowered the rifle. And for a long moment the young deer and the young hunter traded looks.
The sun was high in the sky when Nathan emerged from the woods and crossed the frozen field toward home. Father paused in his woodchopping as the boy, toting the long rifle across his shoulder, stopped by the woodpile. “Well, son, what did you find?” he asked, leaning on his axe.
Nathan’s eyes shone. “Wisdom, Pa. I hope I found a little bit of wisdom.”
Nathan walked into the cabin and got a chair. But before he stepped up onto it to replace the flintlock over the door, he took out his pocketknife and carefully carved a small NW on the stock of the gun next to his father’s and Grandpa Ephram’s initials. Then he went outside to help his father cut wood.

The tribal bond is very strong. Abel discovered just how strong when, a year after joining the Church, he says, “My heart began to yearn for my parents and my tribe.” He took his family back to Lifou. With no branch of the Church there, he lost contact with his new religion for six years.
Brother Seiko remembers: “During those six years, I didn’t have a good job, and I had problems with my wife. Nothing was going as I wanted it to. Then, after a big argument, Louise left for Nouméa. She knew it wasn’t good to be away from the Church. I was alone on the island. After she left, I went to my house and prayed all night to have the Spirit again.”
A few days later, Brother Seiko had his answer. Before he could have the peace he wanted, he had to come back to the Church. “I knew the Church was true,” he says, “and I knew I needed to repent. From then on, my goal has been to work for the Lord all the time.”
And work he has. In the years since, he has served as a Primary teacher, president of the elders quorum, counselor in two branch presidencies, branch president, high councilor, counselor in the district presidency, and now district president.

Sam’s dad, Chris, has some precious possessions—six ordinary grey pebbles given to him by his daughter when she was little. Sam tells the story:
“I was about seven when my dad was going on a business trip for three days. He didn’t travel often, and I was nervous that while he was gone he would forget us. I wanted to give him something to remind him of his wife, my two older brothers, me, and even our dog. I don’t know what made me get the pebbles. I guess since I was in Primary, they taught me about the brother of Jared and his stones.
“I went outside and picked up six pebbles. I cleaned them off and put them in a paper towel. I took them upstairs and told him not to forget us while he was gone. I told him that each one was for a family member. It’s a good thing I gave him six, because my youngest sister was born after that, and she took over the dog’s pebble. I didn’t think he would keep them forever. Now he talks about them all the time. He was excited that his little daughter understood the importance of families and how the Church is based on family. He still keeps them in his trinket box and takes them with him whenever he has to travel. I didn’t know that as a seven-year-old I would have such an impact. It makes me feel kind of special as well.”

As a youth, I had a strong desire to serve a mission. I knew that it would be difficult, but that the blessings would far outweigh the trials I would face both in my preparation and during my service. I knew that the Lord had a plan for me but looking back I did not know how different His plan would be.
After finishing school, I thought I was ready to serve. However, it was a long hard road of several years of trials and sufferings, especially from mental health issues. These prevented me from being ready to serve a mission, although I always had the desire and willingness as well as they assurance that the time would soon come.
Fast forward to about a year ago, when my bishop called me into his office and asked me, “Why do you want to serve a mission?” I had never truly pondered that question. I knew the textbook answers: I wanted to serve the Lord and those around me, and to share the joy that I have felt through the gospel of Jesus Christ with others. My bishop asked me to think about it and come back to him the next week. I came back and tearfully explained that as I am a perfectionist and find it hard to forgive myself for even the smallest of mistakes, I wanted to serve a mission because through that service I would give to those around me (and indeed to the Lord), I would come to love Him and each of God’s children more and, in turn, I would come to love myself more.
As I started my application, I could see the Lord’s hand in my life as I drew closer to serving my mission. I could see the love for others already growing within me, as I felt more sorrow and compassion for the welfare of the people that surrounded me. Then COVID-19 came, and I fell into despair—I felt so close to starting my mission, but now it seemed a distant goal. But the Lord had something incredible in mind for me that I would not have expected.
I knew that I might not have the opportunity to serve a proselyting mission due to my difficulties. However, I am eternally grateful to my Saviour Jesus Christ for delaying my mission until the time was right. A few months ago, I was contacted about the opportunity to serve a service mission for the Church. I was thrilled at the opportunity to serve in local communities and to volunteer for charities, to be an example of Jesus Christ and to serve just as He did (although I was disappointed that I wouldn’t be moving from home).
In retrospect, I am incredibly grateful, even tearful, to the Lord for the privilege it is to be a service missionary, and although it is still going to be a challenge, I know that the Lord loves me, and He will be there every step of the way!

“My first season of cross-country I had my highest grades ever,” says Cathy Middleton, last season’s team captain who also recently graduated. “Cross-country made me really discipline myself so that I could get everything done that I needed to.”
During her freshman year, Cathy participated in track and suffered an injury that kept her from competing. “My grades dropped because I wasn’t busy. I became lazy. There was no pressure to get anything done, so I wasn’t doing nearly as much.” Fortunately, by the next fall she had healed and was able to run again. Her grades went back up. “I know when I’m busy and dedicated to something, I make better grades,” Cathy says.

Denver Second Ward
Waving and smiling, children from the Denver Second Ward, Golden Colorado Stake, participated in a community parade. They and their families dressed in traditional clothing of their ancestors and carried colorful flags. They marched behind a banner that read, “Holding Hands around the World.” One woman watching the parade said that she was grateful for the Church and its members because she had received help in doing family history work.

Photograph courtesy of Berry and Light Chu
Berry Chu of the Taipei Taiwan Central Stake needed wisdom beyond her understanding after she made an investment that didn’t turn out well, leaving her with a large debt. The situation briefly paralyzed Berry from moving forward. But Berry humbled herself and sought Heavenly Father in prayer. From that prayer, she gained the courage to tell her husband what had happened. With tenderness and humility, Berry’s husband, Light Tsai, reassured her that they would figure it out and overcome the debt. Together, Light and Berry prayed to seek the Lord’s guidance.
Berry and Light felt they could benefit from the Church’s self-reliance course for personal finances. Despite the overwhelming debt, they developed a repayment plan. With help from the course, they learned to “prioritize tithing and … to manage finances in a godly way,” Berry says. “We also learned to budget and prioritize our expenses for necessities only.”
Not only did Berry and Light learn to budget their income responsibly, but their personal finance group also inspired Berry to switch jobs. The transition led to a higher salary, which she could put toward paying off her debt.
Unified in their goal, Berry and Light used all their bonuses, investments, and extra income from their full- and part-time jobs to pay off Berry’s debt. With the Lord’s help, they covered all their expenses and, most importantly, still paid tithing and gave other offerings.

The day was scorching; my sister, Susie, and I waited impatiently outside the church for Dad to pick us up following his weekly golf game. The sweat trickled down my back; Susie’s golden curls were wet and drooping. I remember watching with envy as my friends left the church with their parents. I wished with all my heart that Mom and Dad would come with us to church. I had even prayed about it. But they always thought they were too busy or too tired. By the time Dad picked us up, we were half baked. I was angry at both him and Mom.
Mom had stayed home, as usual, fixing dinner. We sat around the table now, but I was still burning up inside. I detest spinach, so rather than taking any, I passed the bowl to Susie. Instantly, both Dad and Mom were nagging at me, saying, “Take some spinach, Dan! It’s good for you!”
I had reached my limit. I retorted, “Why don’t you come to church? It’s good for you, just like spinach is for me!” Dad struck me, and Mom left the table crying. I ran from the house angry and hurt.
“Am I a Christian, Rebecca?” I asked, as I came back to the present. “Let’s say I used to be.” She sensed my need for silence.
We walked along the dark, tree-lined street; only the crunching sound of autumn leaves under our feet interrupted the silence. I felt so alone in the cold, dark world. More than anything else I wanted Rebecca’s friendship. She seemed so sure of herself, so at peace with herself. I wanted to draw from her strength, to learn from her wisdom. I looked down at my feet, afraid of her warm eyes.
“Rebecca,” I whispered softly. “What is it that makes you so special?”
I could have guessed that she would say it was her belief in Deity; she impressed me as a deeply religious girl. I wondered, though, which religion was to receive the credit for making her so sensitive, tender, and caring.
I pressed further. “What is your religion, Rebecca? Are you Catholic, Protestant, or something else?”
Her lips held just a hint of a smile. “I guess I fall into the ‘something else’ category, Dan. I’m searching for truth wherever I can find it. I discover it in some unusual places. But I can’t help but wonder one thing. Is there one religion that contains all of the truth?”
Her question pricked me deeply. Her eyes were searching mine, imploring. I looked away—my past blazed before me. Silently, I bowed my head and prayed. I hadn’t done that in years! After a long moment, I returned her gaze.
“Rebecca,” I slowly began, “what do you know about the Mormon church?”

It was Easter Sunday here in Southern Australia, and I was staying at a friend’s house while my mum was away for the weekend. As it turned out, the people that usually provided the music at church had gone away too.
I am only a beginner at the piano, but when asked to play, I reluctantly accepted as there was no one else. That Sunday I realized what an important part the sacrament hymns play in our meetings. Even though I only played with my right hand and missed many notes, the congregation sounded like angels.
I am grateful for the Saints that provide the music for us in sacrament meeting, and even though I was terrified, I am truly grateful for that Sunday because it helped me develop my talents.

Recently I heard of an excommunicated man who angrily walked out of his Church court bitter and unrepentant. Many of us, if we had participated in that court, might have said, “Well good, he’ll have time to make his peace”; and others might even have thought, “Good thing that he’s gone.” But one of the high councilors present spent three evenings a week for the next several years visiting this man until, mellowed, repentant, and renewed in the Spirit, he was reinstated in the Church.

The Twelve Days of Christmas Mystery in Tustin, California, was perplexing many of the townspeople. Ten widows in town opened their doors for 11 nights straight to find gifts left on their doorsteps—but the gift-givers had vanished.
Soon the widows were calling their friends to try to solve the mystery. Who was leaving all the goodies? But nobody knew anything about the presents, except that they kept coming. First it was a “partridge in a pear tree” attached to a can of pears. The next evening it was “two turtle doves” nestled in a braided wreath attached to a jar of jelly. Then “three French hens” made of calico, covering a can of chicken, arrived. And the presents kept coming.
On the 12th night the widows were greeted by the sweet sound of Christmas carols outside their windows—and the mystery was solved! The Young Women of the Tustin Third Ward, Orange California Stake, had been playing pixie for the widows with some delivery help from the Scouts in the ward. The girls presented the widows with final gifts of large poinsettias and handmade drums filled with homemade cookies, and left understanding the mystery of the Christmas spirit a little bit better.

“Oh, no—my shirt’s ruined!” Emily cried. She pulled the still-warm shirt from the dryer. “Let me see,” her father said. He put down the pants he had been folding and took the shirt from Emily. “What’s wrong with it?” He held it out in front of him.
“Look at the stains, Daddy.” Emily pointed at the splotches of blue, green, and brown splattered across the front. “It’s ruined!”
“Well, it’s important to keep our clothes clean and spot-free,” her father agreed, “but it’s also good to have a ‘reminder shirt.’”
“A reminder shirt? What’s that?”
“A reminder shirt reminds us of everything we did on the days it was worn,” Daddy explained. “Do you remember when you wore this shirt, Emily?”
“Last Saturday.”
“Do you remember what we did that day?”
“Well, after lunch, I helped you paint the fence—with blue paint. That’s what those blue stains are!”
“I ended up with blue spots on my shirt, too,” Daddy said. “But we sure had fun painting that fence, didn’t we?”
“Yes! Later, you took me to the park, and you chased me until I fell down and slid across the grass on my tummy.”
“Grass stains.” Daddy pointed at the green streaks on the front of the shirt. “And then—”
“We went for ice cream! I had a double scoop of triple fudge. You had two scoops of mint. And you made me laugh so hard that I knocked one of my scoops off the cone.”
“So now you have chocolate stains.” Daddy handed the shirt back to Emily. “I think all the stains make the shirt better. Because of them, we’ll always remember the fun we had that day. That’s more important to me than any shirt.”
“Me, too, Daddy.” Emily slipped the shirt over her other shirt. “I’m going to wear my reminder shirt again.”
“You are?”
“Sure. I want to make some more memories. The mud in the backyard is wet and gooey today—just right for building mud castles! It will be a lot more fun if you’ll help me,” she coaxed.
“It sounds like I’d better put on my reminder shirt, too,” Daddy replied, allowing her to pull him toward the back door.
“Then our shirts will match even better! And that means that we’ll have had lots of fun together.”

Katya carried a large box as she walked out of her apartment building into the sunshine. It was summer, and for a few months, the weather was warm in her city in Russia. She set the box down on a bench where her friends Dima and Sonya were waiting.
“Here’s everything we need for our play!” Katya said. She opened the box and pulled out a plastic crown and pieces of purple, blue, and red cloth. With some creativity, these would make great costumes.
“What play are we doing?” Dima asked.
Katya smiled. “I think we should do ‘The Frog Princess’!” It was her favorite fairy tale. Katya smiled as she imagined herself playing the beautiful Vasilisa.
Sonya grabbed the blue cloth from the box and draped it around herself. “I want to be Vasilisa!” she said.
“Wait,” said Katya. “It was my idea. That means I get to be Vasilisa.”
“You can be her,” said Sonya, giggling. “When she’s a frog!”
Katya frowned and pulled the blue cloth away from Sonya. “It’s my play!”
Sonya put her hands on her hips. “Nobody wants to play with you if you’re bossy. You’re a better frog than a princess.”
Katya felt tears in her eyes. She grabbed her box and ran inside, all the way up the stairs into her family’s apartment. She slammed the door behind her.
“What’s wrong?” Mama said. Katya burst into tears.
“Sonya is ruining everything!” Katya told Mama the whole story. “She said I was a frog!”
“Oh, Katyusha,” Mama said. Katyusha was Mama’s nickname for Katya. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t very nice of her.”
Just then there was a knock at the door. Mama went to answer it, but Katya ran to her room. She heard voices. Then Mama called to her. “Would you like to talk to Sonya? She has something to say to you.”
“No!” Katya yelled.
She could hear voices again, and then she heard the door close.
“I think Sonya is sorry,” Mama said.
“I don’t care,” Katya said. She pushed her face deeper into her pillow.
Mama stood by the door for a minute. “You know, sometimes when I’m really angry, I don’t want to forgive other people. Sometimes I need to ask Heavenly Father to help me want to forgive.”
Katya was too angry to forgive. Sonya had hurt her feelings! But … being angry didn’t feel very good either.
She sighed and knelt by the side of her bed. Katya knew Heavenly Father wanted her to forgive Sonya. It was the right thing to do. But maybe Heavenly Father also wanted her to forgive because it would help her feel better too.
“Heavenly Father, please help me forgive Sonya,” she said. “I really don’t want to, but I also don’t want to stay angry.”
She finished her prayer and took a deep breath. Katya felt her anger start to melt away, just a little. She could do this. She could forgive. She walked to Sonya’s apartment and knocked on the door.
Sonya opened it and started talking right away. “Katya, I’m sorry for what I said.”
“I forgive you,” said Katya. “And I’m sorry I took my costumes back. You would be a good Vasilisa too. We can take turns.”
Sonya smiled. “OK. Can we go play now? I’ll get Dima!”
Katya smiled back. “I’ll get the costumes!”

“… Two weeks ago, I received a touching letter from a father of seven who wrote about his family and, in particular, his son Jason, who had become ill when 11 years of age. Over the next few years, Jason’s illness recurred several times. This father told of Jason’s positive attitude and sunny disposition, despite his health challenges. Jason received the Aaronic Priesthood at age 12 and ‘always willingly magnified his responsibilities with excellence, whether he felt well or not.’
“Last summer, not long after Jason’s 15th birthday, he was once again admitted to the hospital. On one of his visits to see Jason, his father found him with his eyes closed. Not knowing whether his son was asleep or awake, he began talking softly to him. ‘Jason,’ he said, ‘I know you have been through a lot in your short life and that your current condition is difficult. Even though you have a giant battle ahead, I don’t ever want you to lose your faith in Jesus Christ.’ He said he was startled as Jason immediately opened his eyes and said, ‘Never!’ in a clear, resolute voice. Jason then closed his eyes and said no more.
“His father wrote: ‘In this simple declaration, Jason expressed one of the most powerful, pure testimonies of Jesus Christ that I have ever heard. . . . As his declaration of ‘Never!’ became imprinted on my soul that day, my heart filled with joy that my Heavenly Father had blessed me to be the father of such a tremendous and noble boy. . . . [That] was the last time I heard him declare his testimony of Christ.’
“Although his family was expecting this to be just another routine hospitalization, Jason passed away less than two weeks later. An older brother and sister were serving missions at the time. Another brother, Kyle, had just received his mission call. In fact, the call had come earlier than expected, and on August 5, just a week before Jason’s passing, the family gathered in his hospital room so that Kyle’s mission call could be opened there and shared with the entire family.
“In his letter to me, this father included a photograph of Jason in his hospital bed, with his big brother Kyle standing beside the bed, holding his mission call. The caption was written beneath the photograph: ‘Called to serve their missions together—on both sides of the veil.’
“Jason’s brother and sister already serving missions sent beautiful, comforting letters home to be shared at Jason’s funeral. His sister, serving in the Argentina Buenos Aires West Mission, as part of her letter, wrote: ‘I know that Jesus Christ lives, and because He lives, all of us, including our beloved Jason, will live again. . . . We can take comfort in the sure knowledge we have that we have been sealed together as an eternal family. . . . If we strive our best to obey and be better in this life, we will see [him again].’ She continued: ‘[A] scripture that I have long loved now takes on new significance and importance at this time. . . . [From] Revelation chapter 21, verse 4: ‘And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes; and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain: for the former things are passed away.’
“[A] scripture that I have long loved now takes on new significance and importance at this time. . . . [From] Revelation chapter 21, verse 4: ‘And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes; and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain: for the former things are passed away.’
“My beloved brothers and sisters, in our hour of deepest sorrow, we can receive profound peace from the words of the angel that first Easter morning: ‘He is not here: for he is risen” (Matthew 28:6).
God lives; He is our beloved Heavenly Father. I am very grateful to now understand a little more of what my Savior willingly did for me. He was wounded, bruised, and chastised. He suffered my pains, afflictions, and illnesses. He is my Savior. And I share this in His sweet name, the name of Jesus Christ, amen.