Gospel Story Finder

I will never forget my first viewing of The Man of La Mancha, a play about growth and redemption. Don Quixote will not permit Aldonza, a woman sadly abused by men, to be what she thinks she is. He calls her his lady, his beautiful, pure, fair, lady. He gives her a new name, “Dulcinea,” which infuriates her. But over the course of the play his view of her takes hold, and at his deathbed someone speaks to her, calling her Aldonza. “My name,” she replies with great feeling, “is Dulcinea.” The audience breathed as one. We were all caught up in the marvelous spiritual triumph that had taken place before our eyes. And as we left the theater there was an almost tangible bond that united us.

An old Jewish legend tells of two brothers, Abram and Zimri, who owned a field and worked it together. They agreed to divide both the labor and the harvest equally. One night as the harvest came to a close, Zimri could not sleep, for it didn’t seem right that Abram, who had a wife and seven sons to feed, should receive only half of the harvest, while he, with only himself to support, had so much.
So Zimri dressed and quietly went into the field, where he took a third of his harvest and put it in his brother’s pile. He then returned to his bed, satisfied that he had done the right thing.
Meanwhile, Abram could not sleep either. He thought of his poor brother, Zimri, who was all alone and had no sons to help him with the work. It did not seem right that Zimri, who worked so hard by himself, should get only half of the harvest. Surely this was not pleasing to God. And so Abram quietly went to the fields, where he took a third of his harvest and placed it in the pile of his beloved brother.
The next morning, the brothers went to the field and were both astonished that the piles still looked to be the same size. That night both brothers slipped out of their houses to repeat their efforts of the previous night. But this time they discovered each other, and when they did, they wept and embraced. Neither could speak, for their hearts were overcome with love and gratitude.

That afternoon, orders came from firemen to evacuate the mission home so it could be dynamited and razed in an effort to clear a fire line. Drawers, beds, rugs, furniture, record books, and suitcases went onto a horse-drawn dray that took them to a small park two blocks away. Here the load was placed in a compact pile and covered with a carpet, under which some of the elders tried to sleep that exciting night. The fine organ recently given to the branch by the mayor and other friends was safely stored with one of the members.
On Thursday, as the fires and dynamiting continued, the Robinson family and several other Saints relocated in Golden Gate Park—a day late for the scheduled picnic! There they were better off, they knew, than other homeless members camped in Jefferson Square, where sanitary conditions were abhorrent. For food, the Saints took turns waiting in bread lines which ran four abreast and blocks long; two or three loaves per person was the limit—if supplies outlasted the line. A special pass allowed President Robinson to cross the bay to Oakland for bread, bringing back “two suitcases full each day, distributing the same to the women and children in greatest need in four parks we visited.”

One of the lessons all the boys were taught in Primary in those days was about Creed Haymond, a young Latter-day Saint who was captain of the University of Pennsylvania track team. The night before a championship meet, his coach had told him to drink a glass of wine to avoid becoming “stale” from overtraining. Brother Haymond refused. He had long ago promised his mother that he would never disobey the Word of Wisdom. The coach insisted, but Creed Haymond stood firm. The rest of the team drank the wine and became violently ill, but Creed went on to win three events, setting a new world record in one of them.

“Oh no! Why did it have to snow?” five-year-old Carl said as he looked out the front window. He frowned as he watched the snowflakes fall. “Mom, does that mean our picnic at the park is canceled?”
“Until another day, I guess,” Mom said from the kitchen. “We can’t really have a picnic in the snow.”
“I wish the sun would come out and melt the snow,” Carl said.
Carl’s frown got bigger when his little brother came into the room holding Carl’s favorite toy car.
“That’s my car, Jared!” Carl said as he grabbed the toy.
Jared started to cry. Carl felt his stomach turn into a knot, and he frowned even more.
He walked into the kitchen, taking his car with him. “Not oatmeal again, Mom. Can’t we have pancakes instead?”
“Not today, Carl. Dad has to hurry or he’ll be late for work,” Mom said.
Carl sat down. His frown sank deeper and deeper.
“Where’s my happy lunch maker?” Dad asked as he walked into the room.
Carl looked up at Dad and frowned.
Dad started singing, “If you chance to meet a frown, do not let it stay. Quickly turn it upside down and smile that frown away.”*
All of a sudden, Carl felt Dad’s strong arms lift him off the chair and gently turn him upside down. Carl felt his frown melt away as he looked at Dad’s upside-down smiling face. He started smiling, and then laughed. Dad started laughing too, and then Mom and Jared did. Before long the whole family was laughing.
“Let’s turn the day right side up again. OK, everybody?” Dad sat Carl back down in the chair.
“OK, Dad,” Carl said.
Dad went to finish getting ready for work. Carl hurried and got an apple and carrots and put them in Dad’s lunch bag. Then he found another toy car in his room and gave it to Jared. He quickly set the table for breakfast and then sat down with a big smile on his face.
Just then Dad walked back into the kitchen. “Looks like everything is right side up again!” he said.
“Mom, can we have a picnic for lunch today inside the house?” Carl asked.
Mom smiled. “Sure. Just as long as we don’t have to eat upside down!”

I’ve been an avid golfer for many years. Several years ago, walking the golf course became challenging. I continued playing golf, but I was forced to switch to riding a golf cart. As my challenges worsened, I decided it was time to visit the doctor. After a number of medical tests in 2017, I was ultimately diagnosed with primary progressive multiple sclerosis, an autoimmune disease that affects the brain and spinal cord.
Since that diagnosis, I have spent considerable time contemplating the miracles of the Savior, specifically His healing miracles. I have often thought, I need one of His miracles. I have faith, so why can’t I have a miracle to be healed of my disease?
By studying the Savior’s healing miracles, I have come to a greater understanding of and appreciation for one of them in particular.
I have thought about this experience a lot. Here this man is brought to the Savior to presumably be healed of his physical disease, and what does the Savior do first? He declares the man forgiven of his sins. He heals him spiritually. While we do not know what sins this man needed forgiveness from nor how much this man had been laboring over his sins versus his disease, I find it telling that the first healing the Savior performs on this man is to heal him spiritually.
As I have pondered this, I have received the following impression: I have already received one of Jesus Christ’s miracles—the healing miracle made possible by His Atonement. We all have a spiritual disease. We are all in need of spiritual healing. The Savior has performed the miracle of His Atonement for all of us so that we can repent and return to Heavenly Father’s presence. We just need to have the faith to receive the blessings He has already made available to us. This spiritual miracle is more important than any physical healing miracle ever could be.
I still want to be healed physically as well.
And I have come to realize that Heavenly Father and the Savior have taken care of that too. Because of the death and Resurrection of Christ, I know that I too will be resurrected and receive an eternal, perfected body. I will be healed of any disease that is currently afflicting me. While that miracle is set to happen at some point in the future and is something to look forward to, in my opinion it is no less a miracle than an instantaneous physical healing.

For Pele Mika Ah Lam of Samoa, there’s another important consideration about time that she lives by: “I make the most of it wherever I am.”
Pele grew up in a village where families—including her own—live off the land. Running water and electricity are never a given, and the homes are simple and beautiful. Education is not easy to pay for. “Our whole family helps support each other with education costs,” Pele says. “It’s the Samoan way.”
After working hard and getting top marks in school, Pele was accepted to attend the National University of Samoa. She chose to study accounting, mathematics, and computing. She also made room in her schedule for institute classes.
Along the way, Pele participated in another activity that would change her life in the near future, though she didn’t realize it at the time. For fun, every Friday evening she met with other Church members attending the university to discuss the gospel and learn new skills. These activities varied from week to week with one exception: on the last Friday of each month, they had a standing tradition of learning how to cook a different meal.
“I paid close attention,” Pele says. “I didn’t want to waste a chance to learn something new.”
That decision would yield big dividends in the future.
The cost of a university education can be a major obstacle to nearly anyone. For Pele, when her funding ran out, she had to leave school. She had worked hard, however, and learned all she could while there—including how to cook many different meals.
As a wife and as a mother of young children, she thought hard about how she might use what she had learned to help support her family. Throughout her life, Pele has been taught to believe in God and to work hard.
“I decided to start my own business,” she says. “I now run a barbecue and salad stand, cooking food that I learned how to make while going through school!”
Because of her business success, Pele makes enough money to take care of her immediate family, as well as help care for her parents and siblings.
“Our family believes that ‘faith without works is dead’ [James 2:20],” she says. “We have faith in God and believe that He will help us in every way. But we have to do our part.”
Pele still lives life on “island time.” She rises and retires with the sun and embraces the simple, peaceful Samoan lifestyle. And she understands and lives the following truth: “Time flies on wings of lightning; we cannot call it back.”1
Because Pele is trying to make the most of the time she has, God has prospered her and her family, and they have found joy even in the midst of challenges. She has a strong testimony, a successful business, and a bright future.
“We are very blessed,” she says.

Brother Tony Wong was assigned to speak during a stake priesthood meeting. “I think the stake presidency wanted me to talk about whether emigration was right or wrong. But I didn’t know,” he says. He read books, checked references, and prepared for two weeks, but the night before the meeting, he still had no idea what he was going to say.
“I decided I’d better do something, so I knelt down and prayed. Then I opened up the scriptures.”
Again, the answer and comfort were found in Ether: “Wherefore, whoso believeth in God might with surety hope for a better world, yea, even a place at the right hand of God” (Ether 12:4).
“The reason for emigrating is looking for a better world,” Brother Wong explains. “People think it will be safer, nicer, or happier somewhere else. This scripture made me realize something. When I talked at that priesthood meeting, I didn’t talk about emigration—I talked about belief in God and Jesus Christ.
“If you ask me if I am going to emigrate, I’ll tell you no. People are worrying and fearing, but we’re forgetting that we have the gospel, we have the Helper. The gospel offers hope and the assurance that Heavenly Father knows what is going on and that he is in charge.”

When Jane was a tiny baby, she had a soft pink blanket. When she became old enough to sit in a playpen, she kept her pink blanket with her. And when Jane grew old enough to have a big bed, she took her “bata” with her to bed. Something happened to Jane’s blanket; it became smaller and smaller and had holes in it. Finally there wasn’t even one thread of the blanket left, but by then Jane didn’t need her blanket anymore.

Seventeen-year-old Kailey had been on a cheerleading team until an accident resulted in a traumatic brain injury. Her recovery kept her from attending school, and she began to feel isolated and alone. She struggled emotionally and did not know where to look for help. A friend suggested that she listen to the missionaries. They taught her about the Atonement of Jesus Christ. Learning more about Christ gave her hope, and she felt as if God Himself were reaching out to her.
Kailey told her mom, “I have never felt that God loved me. But now I know He loves me.”
Her mom, Michelle, was a little surprised. She and her husband, Brock, had left The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints when Kailey was seven because of various questions, doubts, and concerns. They assumed their daughter would be happier without all the meetings and commandments. They never thought their choice would keep Kailey from a close connection with God. As Michelle and Brock watched how Kailey changed, they realized that it had been a long time since they felt close to God, and they wanted to feel that way again.
They met with their bishop, and soon the family, including Kailey’s brother Braeden, returned to church. Feeling close to God and reconnecting with Him—especially through prayer—restored their faith. Returning to church did not resolve all their questions or concerns, but they realized that having a stronger personal connection with God was more important than their disbelief.
All of this started when a friend—a teenager like you—invited Kailey to look unto Christ. And she did!

Lucy saw the dress in the window of Carlstrum’s General Store. It was the color of lilacs with sprigs of lace at the neck and sleeves. Lucy hadn’t seen lilacs since her family moved from Salt Lake City. Mother had planted a lilac start, but so far it hadn’t developed enough to produce any blossoms.
She tugged at her mother’s arm. “Oh, Mama, look at that dress.”
Mama checked the list she held for what she would need in the general store. They had already been to the feed and seed store, and Lucy’s brother Thomas was still in the blacksmith’s shop. Her mother always went to the general store last, because it was the most enjoyable.
She glanced up at the dress. “It’s very pretty, dear.”
Lucy liked pretty things, but had to control her desires because her family was struggling with the new farm. Since President Brigham Young had sent her family and several others to settle in the New Harmony area, life had been difficult. It was dry and hot in the rugged, red-soiled desert country. The families were trying to raise cotton to sell to people in Salt Lake City, who often referred to Southern Utah as “Dixie.”
But Dixie was not yet producing abundant cotton as had been hoped. Water was precious and had to be used sparingly even for irrigation. Lucy’s father was the bishop of the town, and he was raising cattle as well as cotton to supply meat for the townspeople. It was the sale of beef that kept his family going.
Lucy gazed longingly at the dress. How it would set off her shiny brown hair and make her gray eyes glow! She could imagine herself wearing the dress to church, where all the other girls would see and envy her.
She flushed a little, feeling guilty, since Mama often told her that church was a place to worship, not to show off. All her dresses were plain gray flannel ones that had been remodeled from hand-me-downs. But this dress was beautiful!
Mama went into the general store to look at some bolts of cloth. “Look at this, Lucy,” she called. “We could make a pretty dress for you with this material.”
With a touch of excitement Lucy hurried to her mother’s side, but the material was just a plain yellow, brown, and black calico print. She had already seen several dresses around town made of it. “Oh, Mama, I need a special dress, not just an old faded calico,” she exclaimed, holding up the limp skirt she had on. “And just like everything else in Dixie—it’s the dusty colors of earth. Isn’t there any pretty material? Some blue or pink or lovely lilac?”
Her mother looked down at Lucy with an understanding smile. Her daughter really did need a new dress.
Lucy’s mother asked the storekeeper, who was standing behind the counter, “Have you any poplin, Mr. Carlstrum? Anything besides this calico here?”
“I had some rust-colored poplin, but Mrs. Newbitt bought it all to make curtains,” he replied.
Lucy was not consoled with Mr. Carlstrum’s offer of a peppermint stick. Her mother walked out of the store carrying the purchases she had made, a thoughtful look on her face. Lucy followed with her arms full of bundles. Silently she helped load the wagon. Thomas came from the blacksmith’s with the newly shod horse, hitched it to the wagon, and they started for home.
At the dinner table that night Lucy’s father announced that he would be taking a wagonful of men to Salt Lake for conference. “Thomas, you’ll be in charge while I’m gone.” Thomas sat up proudly in his seat as Bishop Peterson went on. “All of you children do what Thomas tells you. I hope everything will be green and growing when I come back.”
Thomas, Lucy, George, Charles, and little Carrie nodded their heads in assent.
Then their father turned to Mama and asked, “Emily, do you have a written list for me?”
“Yes,” she replied and added, “Lucy needs a new dress and there isn’t any material she likes in town. See if you can get some lavender lilac poplin or even sky blue or rose pink.”
“Lavender lilac, sky blue, or rose pink,” Lucy’s father repeated, considering the possibilities. “That’s a tall order, but I’ll try.”
Lucy jumped up, hugged her father, and smiled gratefully at her mother.
Lucy anxiously watched for the wagon’s return. She often climbed up into the barn loft to gaze off into the distance, until Thomas called to her to stop wasting time and come down and help with the chores.
“Papa’s wagon will come before you know it, if you spend your time working,” he told her. But even as she worked Lucy dreamed about a new dress.
When Papa finally came, it was George who caught sight of the wagon first, from the field where he was digging a ditch. Clouds of dust billowed above the road as George put his shovel over his shoulder and ran to meet the wagon. He jumped onto the tailgate, shouting across the fields to his brothers and sisters that their father was home.
Lucy was waiting at the house, breathless after running from the calf shed. “Papa! Papa! Where’s my dress yardage?” she cried as he swung her off the ground in a tight squeeze.
“You haven’t seen me for days and all you think about is yardage!” he teased. “It’s at the bottom of the pile, wrapped in brown paper. You’ll have to help me unload before you find it.”
The family greeted their father and quickly unloaded the wagon. Lucy happened to be alone when she came to the brown paper package. With trembling fingers she untied the string. She could imagine the smooth feel of poplin, the wonderful smell of new fabric, the color of lilacs or the sky or a rose …
Tears came to Lucy’s eyes when she saw that the material she had waited for was the color of muddy green ditchwater. It was poplin all right, and it smelled nice and new, but, oh, the color! She buried her head in the brown paper and tried to keep from crying out loud.
Mama came out of the house where she had been sorting supplies. She saw Lucy’s face buried in the material. “What is it, Lucy?” she asked gently.
“Oh, Mama!” Lucy turned to her mother and held her tightly. “The material is … oh, Mama, it looks terrible! We might as well have bought that calico, or made a dress out of a flour sack!”
Mama smiled and said, “I used to wear flour-sack dresses all the time, Lucy, and you did, too, when you were little. But don’t cry now. Papa will be back in a moment, and we can’t let him see tears.”
“All right, Mama,” Lucy promised, so when Papa came back to the wagon, she smiled as she held up the yardage. “Thank you.” Her throat choked. “It’s … it’s … thank you for the material, Papa.”
Her father looked at Mama and then at his daughter. “I know it’s not lavender lilac, Lucy, but it’s the best I could find. I think it will make you a fine dress.”
“I’m sure it will,” Mama said. “We’ll borrow a pattern. There are only three patterns in town, and I think Mrs. Taylor down the road has one near your size.”
Lucy tried to think of the muddy green poplin transformed into a dress. “The color’s not really so bad, Papa, if we put a little ribbon on it or maybe some lace.” She looked up to see her father smiling down at her.
Lucy wanted to sew the whole dress herself. Mama showed her how to alter the pattern and to save all the scraps of material. Then Lucy hand stitched the pieces with small even seams. When she tried on the half-made dress in front of Mama’s mirror, she cried out, “Mama, come look! The waist is way down below my middle! What shall I do?”
Mama tried to keep from laughing, because the dress did look a little strange. “Perhaps we could take up the shoulders. Mrs. Taylor is taller than I thought.”
Lucy made some alterations and tried the dress on again. This time the waist was too high, and the hem was just below her knees. “Mama! Look at it now!” she wailed.
“We’ll put in a wide waistband,” Mama suggested. “That’s the fashion this year.”
Shortly after the dress was finished, Papa invited a photographer to his home to take a picture of the entire family. Lucy, of course, wanted to wear her new dress. “I wish I had some pantalets to wear,” she told her mother. “A little bit of lace showing below the hem would look so fashionable.”
Again Mama had the answer. One beautiful thing she had brought from Salt Lake was a short jacket with ruffles all along the sleeves. “Put your feet through the sleeves, dear,” she instructed, “and nobody will be the wiser.”
In that picture, handed down as one of the precious heirlooms of her family, a smiling Lucy is wearing a beautiful dress with a fashionable wide waistband and with stylish ruffles showing just beneath its hem!

Last year when nine-year-old Joy Tippetts’ stake president called her to work in the Church’s name extraction program, she was delighted. For even before she was six years old, Joy had been helping her mother by sorting index cards and doing other simple tasks at the extraction center.
Joy has been trained to read Old German script, and according to Wilma Taylor, a Germanic language trainer, “Joy is unusually accurate and does fine work. She is fantastic for a ten-year-old!”
Microfilms of religious and civil records in Old German script that contain information about persons who have died are examined on a microfilm reader. (Information is extracted from microfilmed records from other countries besides Germany.) Joy then copies, or extracts, the deceased persons’ names, birthplaces, and the names of their parents and grandparents from the microfilm record, as well as their birth, christening, and death dates. This information is then written on index cards and sent with many other cards to a Latter-day Saint temple where the necessary ordinance work can be completed for those persons. The majority of names for which temple work for the dead is completed are supplied by the name extraction centers.
Joy and her mother, Roxanna, are best friends, and they look forward each week to the three hours that they spend together at the extraction center. Joy says that she “loves to read the records and figure out who the people are.”

As a cross-country runner I am often tempted to give up and quit during a race. During my first race this year, when I was just about to be overpowered and stop running, the words to the third verse of “How Firm a Foundation” filled my mind. The words gave me the courage to finish the race. But all this time I’ve been wondering how I came to know this verse when I hadn’t heard the song for so long.
As I was glancing through the August 1989 New Era I read how a girl was comforted in the story “A Song of the Spirit.” That’s where I had read the words to the song, and in a moment when I too needed comfort, the words came to bless me. Thank you for that special story which aided the Spirit in reminding me I am not alone.

Misha Sukonosov never imagined that attending English classes with the missionaries in Chernihiv would lead him to the restored gospel of Jesus Christ. But that changed after several months of attending the classes.
Misha loved the spirit he felt as the missionaries taught him English. And when he finally accepted their invitation to attend Church meetings with them, he was surprised to feel the same spirit at church.
Finally, one of the elders invited Misha to simply do what he knew was right and be baptized.
Misha knew it would take a great deal of courage to go against his family’s traditions. In Ukraine most people are lifelong members of the predominant church. His family was no exception.
His mother wanted him to wait a few years to be baptized, so he agreed to wait until he turned 16. In the meantime he attended church every week and began serving as branch pianist.
“That helped me come every Sunday, because I had to come or there would be nobody to play,” Misha says.
Finally, when the wait was over, Misha was baptized in the Desna River on July 1, 2006. At the time, he had no idea how quickly his family would follow his example.
His mother, Olga, started coming to church to learn more about her son’s new religion. She came so often that the branch president asked her to play the organ in sacrament meeting so Misha could be called as the music director.
After six months of hearing the members’ testimonies, including her son’s, Olga developed a testimony of her own. Misha baptized his mother in December 2006.
Olga still plays the organ every week. Misha, now 17, keeps busy by helping the branch presidency, serving as a branch missionary, and leading the hymns in sacrament meeting.
“I know the Church needs me,” he says. “I am so grateful for these chances to serve. The Church helps me as I help others.”

He returned with an assignment from his mission president to give a report to the First Presidency on the condition of the mission. He was scheduled to spend just a few minutes with President Heber J. Grant and his counselors, but the meeting lasted much longer. As it turned out in the months ahead, that report to the First Presidency was a job interview as well.
A new committee of the Twelve was organized to bring to missionary work the power of the latest means of communication. Gordon was to serve as producer and secretary for the Church Radio, Publicity, and Mission Literature Committee. This was, in fact, the beginning of the public communications office in the Church. His plans to go to the university would be put aside. His career as a seminary teacher, for he taught part-time when he returned from his mission, would be replaced. The committee included six members of the Twelve, with Elder Stephen L. Richards as chairman.
There was an empty office available, but no furniture at the moment. Being resourceful, he went to a former missionary companion whose father sold office furniture and came away with a shaky reject table. One leg was short; that could be fixed with a block of wood. The top was warped and split a little; that could be ignored. He brought his typewriter from home and began a career that would take him to the ordination of an Apostle and to the First Presidency of the Church.

These athletes as well as other missionaries soon learn that some of the fruits of their labors are harvested later by others. Alan Astle, a BYU player, had one such experience. While tracting in England, he and his companion kept a record of every door they knocked on. “I remember one lady we tried several times was always too busy to talk to us, but I thought she was a good prospect. Right next to her name in our missionary book I wrote ‘good prospect.’ About four months later I got a letter from this lady, thanking me in countless ways for putting that comment next to her name. The new missionaries in the area saw what I had written, went to see her, and she was baptized. She’s brought about five or six others into the Church so far.”

“Look, [Mom] !” [Becky] said. “There are [two] [birds] in the grocery store.” “Yes,” [Mom] said. “There are [two] [birds] . [I] wonder how they got inside the store.” [Becky] helped [Mom] put [apples] in the [cart] while she looked at the [birds] . Then [Becky] helped [Mom] put [bananas] in the [cart] as she kept her [eyes] on the [birds] . When [Becky] put the [oranges] in the [cart] , she [saw] the [birds] take flight. She watched as the [birds] flew back [and] forth. “The [birds] are tired,” [Becky] said. “How [can] we help them?” Then she remembered a story she had heard about a [bird] that got lost in the [tabernacle] . People tried opening all the [doors] [and] chasing the [bird] out with a [net] . But the [bird] would [not] fly out any of the [doors] . Finally, a man named John said a [prayer] . Heavenly Father answered John’s [prayer] [and] helped him know what [to] do. “Turn off all the [lights] ,” John said. “[And] close all the [doors] except [one].” Then the [bird] flew out the [door] . [Becky] ran [to] a woman who worked at the store [and] told her about the [bird] in the [tabernacle] . “Thank [you],” the woman said. “What a good idea.” [Becky] smiled. [Becky] was glad she could help Heavenly Father’s [birds] [too] .

I have learned from personal experience that spiritual preparation for the coming of the Lord is not only essential but the only way to find true peace and happiness.
It was a crisp fall day when I first heard the words “You have cancer.” My husband and I were stunned! As we drove home in silence, processing the news, my heart turned to our three sons.
In my mind I asked Heavenly Father, “Am I going to die?”
The Holy Ghost whispered, “Everything is going to be OK.”
Then I asked, “Am I going to live?”
Again, the answer came: “Everything is going to be OK.”
I was confused. Why did I receive the exact same answer whether I lived or died?
Then suddenly every fiber of my being filled with absolute peace as I was reminded: We did not need to hurry home and teach our children how to pray. They knew how to receive answers and comfort from prayer. We did not need to hurry home and teach them about the scriptures or words of living prophets. Those words were already a familiar source of strength and understanding. We did not need to hurry home and teach them about repentance, the Resurrection, the Restoration, the plan of salvation, eternal families, or the very doctrine of Jesus Christ.
In that moment every family home evening lesson, scripture study session, prayer of faith offered, blessing given, testimony shared, covenant made and kept, house of the Lord attended, and Sabbath day observed mattered—oh, how it mattered! It was too late to put oil in our lamps. We needed every single drop, and we needed it right now!
Because of Jesus Christ and His restored gospel, if I died, my family would be comforted, strengthened, and one day restored. If I lived, I would have access to the greatest power on this earth to help succor, sustain, and heal me. In the end, because of Jesus Christ, everything can be OK.

After months of planning and preparing, the Bowie Ward Mutual in the Silver Spring Maryland Stake presented their special treat to the senior citizen’s group of their city. Thirty of the older Bowie, Maryland, residents were escorted to the meetinghouse where they feasted on a dinner of chicken, Hawaiian casserole, jello, salads, home-baked breads, and ice cream. During the dinner the youths and the young-at-heart dined together, enjoying each other’s company as much as the delicious meal. Afterwards, the young people presented their award-winning roadshow, “The Knight Life—or a Short Dragon Tale,” as entertainment.
Plans for the evening began six months earlier when the Young Men and Young Women of the ward decided to collaborate on a service project. Details were worked out at the monthly bishopric youth committee leadership meetings. The youth sponsored a ward taco dinner and made and sold corsages to help provide the funds necessary to put on the senior citizens’ dinner. After the service project was completed, one of the youth of the ward summarized the feelings of many by saying, “The senior citizen dinner helped us to see the service we can do for others. Our guests enjoyed it, and it was a pleasure to meet them and be in their company for the night.”

It’s easy to say, “The time isn’t right.” But there is danger in procrastination. Years ago I worked for a man in California. He hired me, he was kind to me, he seemed to regard me highly. I may have been the only Latter-day Saint he ever knew well. I don’t know all the reasons I found to wait for a better moment to talk with him about the gospel. I just remember my feeling of sorrow when I learned, after he had retired and I lived far away, that he and his wife had been killed in a late night drive to their home in Carmel, California. He loved his wife. He loved his children. He had loved his parents. He loved his grandchildren, and he will love their children and will want to be with them forever.

Now, I don’t know how the crowds will be handled in the world to come. But I suppose that I will meet him, that he will look into my eyes, and that I will see in them the question: “Hal, you knew. Why didn’t you tell me?”