Gospel Story Finder

The spiritual submissiveness which is central to the blessings of the Atonement was well exemplified by Melissa Howes as she led her family in prayer a short while before her father died of cancer. Melissa was only 9 and her father 43. Consider unselfish Melissa Howes’s pleading, in her own words as reported to me by her mother: “Heavenly Father, bless my daddy, and if you need to take him and need him more than [we do], you can have him. We want him, but Thy will be done. And please help us not to be mad at you” (letter from Christie Howes, 25 February 1998).

Let me share with you a lesson learned in childhood. Our family has owned a summer cabin at Vivian Park in Provo Canyon for five generations. The months of July and August for me meant hiking; fishing; and swimming daily at the swimming hole, featuring a big rock from which we dived, and maneuvering through the swift current which roared by it and formed dangerous whirlpools. Most swimmers would plunge into the icy waters and swim with the current, rapidly passing the big rock, and be eventually carried to the slower waters and the welcome bank of river sand. That is, all but one swimmer. His name was “Beef” Peterson. His swimsuit carried the emblem of “Life Saver,” and his physical body reflected great strength. Beef would, like others, swim rapidly down the current through the whirlpools, then suddenly turn and swim back upstream. For a few feet, his mighty strokes carried him forward, but then the swiftness of the current held him steady as he pitted his strength against that of the river. Gradually Beef would tire, drop back, and then swim effortlessly to the bank, exhausted. Swimming against the current became Beef Peterson’s trademark.

My brothers and sisters, I’m certain our duty and responsibility is frequently to swim upstream and against the tide of temptation and sin. As we do so, our spiritual strength will increase, and we shall be equal to our God-given responsibilities.

Then I met Vanessa. One day after we’d been together a while, she said, “We need religion in this house.” By then we had three children.
With the world as it is, we worried about what spiritual direction we were going to give our children. I thought that if I was going back to religion, I would go back to my church. I remembered it was a place with good people.
I talked to a member of the Church and told him I was thinking about returning to church.
“Please come back!” he said.
My biggest worry was that my children would think church was boring and wouldn’t like it, but they did like it. As we continued going to church, Vanessa decided that there was nothing similar to the Church that helps families grow together. It was exactly what she was looking for. Vanessa and I got married, and she and our children got baptized.
Now we’re walking the gospel path as a family. Our goal is to be sealed together in the temple.

You recall the legend of a king who became bored with his routine living. He announced to his subjects that the person who could provide him with a game that would give him constant pleasure would be rewarded greatly, even unto half of his kingdom. Of course everyone wanted a “piece of the action.” Day after day, month in and month out, he reviewed all of the games that were invented. Finally a subject came to him and told him he had invented a game that would entertain the king as long as he lived. The subject demonstrated the game—he told the king that the game must be played on a board with 64 squares. He said the name of the game was chess. He taught the king all the moves and played several games with him. The king was so enraptured by the game that he told the subject to ask for anything. The man declined, suggesting that he had received enough pay if the king enjoyed the game. However, the king would not take no for an answer. Finally the subject said, “If you are determined to pay me something, give me one grain of wheat for the first square on the chessboard, two for the second, four grains for the third, eight for the fourth, and so on, doubling the number for each square until all 64 squares of the board are covered.”
The king was very disappointed that this was all the subject desired of him. Finally he agreed and sent a servant out to get a bushel of wheat and pay the man off. Well, by now you have the message—it wasn’t that simple. By the time the king tried to pay off the 64th square in wheat, he found that all of the crop of his country was not adequate to pay the debt. To do so would have required 18,446, 744,073,709,551,615 grains!

Seven-year-old Joseph was only sick for two weeks, but the terrible fever eventually led to four operations. The worst complication was an infection in the bone between the knee and ankle on Joseph’s left leg. The skin there swelled tight, and for over two weeks Joseph suffered terrible pain in his leg. Twelve-year-old Hyrum showed great love for his little brother. He sat beside Joseph almost day and night, pressing the swollen leg in his hands, trying to help Joseph endure the pain.

Twice the doctor attempted to drain the infection and reduce the swelling, but it didn’t work. Finally he told Joseph’s parents that the leg ought to be removed before the infection spread to the rest of Joseph’s body. But Lucy Mack Smith, Joseph’s mother, insisted that they try again to save the leg.

Dr. Nathan Smith, who knew more about this disease than any other doctor in the United States at that time, was one of the doctors who treated Joseph. He agreed to try one more time to cut out only the infection. Before he began to operate, he wanted to bind Joseph to the bed, and to give him some brandy to dull his senses. Joseph refused both helps. “No,” he claimed. “I will not touch one particle of liquor, neither will I be tied down; … I will have my father sit on the bed and hold me in his arms.”* He also wanted his mother to leave the room so that she wouldn’t have to see him suffer. The surgery was extremely painful. When Dr. Smith broke off the diseased part of the bone, Joseph screamed.

When the surgery was finally over, Joseph was sent to visit his Uncle Jesse Smith at a seaside town, Salem, Massachusetts, to help him recover. But though both his life and leg were spared, for three years he walked with crutches, and for the rest of his life—especially when he was tired—he walked with a slight limp.

Joseph Smith spent four months during the winter of 1838 in the bottom level of Liberty Jail, often referred to as the dungeon. The jail was dirty, cold, dark, and without beds. The meager food they received was not good and sometimes poisoned to make them sick. President Henry B. Eyring shared the following:

In the depths of his anguish in Liberty Jail, the Prophet Joseph Smith cried out: “O God, where art thou? And where is the pavilion that covereth thy hiding place?” Many of us, in moments of personal anguish, feel that God is far from us. The pavilion that seems to intercept divine aid does not cover God but occasionally covers us. God is never hidden, yet sometimes we are, covered by a pavilion of motivations that draw us away from God and make Him seem distant and inaccessible. Our own desires, rather than a feeling of “Thy will be done,” create the feeling of a pavilion blocking God. God is not unable to see us or communicate with us, but we may be unwilling to listen or submit to His will and His time.

Our feelings of separation from God will diminish as we become more childlike before Him. That is not easy in a world where the opinions of other human beings can have such an effect on our motives. But it will help us recognize this truth: God is close to us and aware of us and never hides from His faithful children. [4]
After long months of suffering, the Prophet Joseph Smith received reassurance from the Lord: “My son, peace be unto thy soul; thine adversity and thine afflictions shall be but a small moment.” Then the Lord promised him, “If thou endure it well, God shall exalt thee on high; thou shalt triumph over all thy foes.” [5]

You and I have been blessed with the promise of such an inheritance. I owe much of my happiness in life to a man I never met in mortal life. He was an orphan who became one of my great-grandparents. He left me a priceless heritage of hope. Let me tell you some of the part he played in creating that inheritance for me.
His name was Heinrich Eyring. He was born into great wealth. His father, Edward, had a large estate in Coburg, in what is now Germany. His mother was Viscountess Charlotte Von Blomberg. Her father was the keeper of the lands of the king of Prussia.
Heinrich was Charlotte and Edward’s first son. Charlotte died at the age of 31, after the birth of her third child. Edward died soon thereafter, having lost all his property and wealth in a failed investment. He was only 40 years of age. He left three orphaned children.
Heinrich, my great-grandfather, had lost both of his parents and a great worldly inheritance. He was penniless. He recorded in his history that he felt his best hope lay in going to America. Although he had neither family nor friends there, he had a feeling of hope about going to America. He first went to New York City. Later he moved to St. Louis, Missouri.
In St. Louis one of his co-workers was a Latter-day Saint. From him he obtained a copy of a pamphlet written by Elder Parley P. Pratt. He read it and then studied every word he could obtain about the Latter-day Saints. He prayed to know if there really were angels that appeared to men, whether there was a living prophet, and whether he had found a true and revealed religion.
After two months of careful study and prayer, Heinrich had a dream in which he was told he was to be baptized. A man whose name and priesthood I hold in sacred memory, Elder William Brown, was to perform the ordinance. Heinrich was baptized in a pool of rainwater on March 11, 1855, at 7:30 in the morning.
I believe that Heinrich Eyring knew then that what I am teaching you today is true. He knew that the happiness of eternal life comes through family bonds which continue forever. Even when he had so recently found the Lord’s plan of happiness, he knew that his hope for eternal joy depended on the free choices of others to follow his example. His hope of eternal happiness depended on people not yet born.
As a part of our family’s inheritance of hope, he left a history to his descendants.
In that history I can feel his love for those of us who would follow him. In his words I feel his hope that his descendants might choose to follow him on the path back to our heavenly home. He knew it would not be one great choice to make to do so but many small choices. I quote from his history:
“From the time I first heard Elder Andrus speak … I have always attended the meeting of the Latter day Saints and the instances are very rare indeed, when I [have] failed to go to meeting, it being at the same time my duty to do so.
“I name this in my history that my children may imitate my example and never neglect this … important duty [to assemble] with the Saints.”
Heinrich knew that in sacrament meetings we could renew our promise to always remember the Savior and have His Spirit to be with us.
It was that Spirit that sustained him on the mission to which he was called only a few months after accepting the baptismal covenant. He left as his heritage his example of staying faithful to his mission for six years in what was then called the Indian Territories. To receive his release from his mission, he walked and joined a wagon train from Oklahoma to Salt Lake City, a distance of approximately 1,100 miles (1,770 km).
Soon thereafter he was called by the prophet of God to move to southern Utah. From there he answered another call to serve a mission in his native Germany. He then accepted the invitation of an Apostle of the Lord Jesus Christ to help build up the Latter-day Saint colonies in northern Mexico. From there he was called to Mexico City as a full-time missionary again. He honored those calls. He lies buried in a small cemetery in Colonia Juárez, Chihuahua, Mexico.
I recite these facts not to claim greatness for him or for what he did or for his descendants. I recite those facts to honor him for the example of faith and hope that was in his heart.
He accepted those calls because of his faith that the resurrected Christ and our Heavenly Father had appeared to Joseph Smith in a grove of trees in the state of New York. He accepted them because he had faith that the priesthood keys in the Lord’s Church had been restored with the power to seal families forever, if only they had sufficient faith to keep their covenants.
Some of Heinrich Eyring’s descendants have seemed to wander. But many of his great-great-grandchildren go to temples of God at 6:00 in the morning to perform ordinances for ancestors they have never met. They go out of the heritage of hope he left. He left an inheritance that is being claimed by many of his descendants.

In a little Mormon town like Whitney, religion was in the very air everyone breathed. It was the center of the community’s existence. “Father and Mother taught their family complete devotion to the Church and full integrity in the payment of their tithes and offerings,” President Benson declares. He often recounts the time when his father had to choose between paying his tithing or a $50 debt. He paid the tithing, and almost immediately received an unexpected offer of $50 for a hay derrick he had built.

President Faust shows how selfless service made an empty cart full and a full cart empty.
Some years ago a priests quorum decided to gather food for the needy as a service project. Jim, one of the priests, was excited to participate and was determined to collect more food than anyone else. The time arrived when the priests met at the chapel. They all went out at the same time and returned at a specified time later in the evening. To everyone’s surprise, Jim’s cart was empty. He seemed rather quiet, and some of the young men made fun of him. Seeing this and knowing that Jim had an interest in cars, the adviser said, “Come outside, Jim. I want you to look at my car. It’s giving me some trouble.”
When they got outside, the adviser asked Jim if he was upset. Jim said, “No, not really. But when I went out to collect the food, I really got a lot. My cart was full. As I was returning to the chapel, I stopped at the home of a nonmember woman who is divorced and lives within our ward boundaries. I knocked on the door and explained what we were doing, and she invited me in. She began to look for something to give me. She opened the refrigerator, and I could see there was hardly anything in it. The cupboards were bare. Finally, she found a small can of peaches.
“I could hardly believe it. There were all these little kids running around that needed to be fed, and she handed me this can of peaches. I took it and put it in my cart and went on up the street. I got about halfway up the block when I just felt warm all over and knew I needed to go back to that house. I gave her all the food.”
The adviser said, “Jim, don’t you ever forget the way you feel tonight, because that’s what it is all about.” Jim had tasted the nutrient of selfless service.

Sometimes it is not easy to tell the difference between a mistake and a sin. The boundary can be uncertain. Take the matter of the beautiful flowering crab tree in our front yard. One spring when the limbs of this tree were getting too long, I pruned them, quite severely. June, my wife, evaluated my pruning and told me she thought it was a sin. I thought the extent of my pruning was a mistake at worst. I was willing to be corrected, but I did not feel I was needful of chastening and repentance.

What about when we sing as a group—like those Collegiate Singers, or here in Devo? This past summer, my family went to a rock concert together. The whole stadium was singing along! It was awesome! It was a great feeling! In what might seem an unlikely setting, people felt so connected by singing together. People were polite and helping each other at the end of it—the most peaceful and kind departure from a stadium I’ve ever seen. Even the next day, when we were kicking around the city, we’d see people in concert shirts and know that they were part of that group experience. People we’d never met saw our concert shirts and would just come up and talk to us. It was a really neat experience—we were connected! Bridges of empathy had been built by singing together. Those bridges are real.

This principle was brought to light when I was in high school. I had taken an art class in my senior year, because it seemed like an easy A.

When the teacher assigned each of us to sculpt from clay, our favorite figure, I decided in my state of consummate humility, to sculpt myself.....I chose an action pose of myself as a football player. I was excited each day to get to my art class to work on perfecting me. After a few days, what was once a large block of clay began to take form. There were few projects throughout my high school life that I spent more time on, as it was important to perfect this image. After all, I surmised, someday my children will observe this masterpiece and I want there to be no doubt that the small statue looked just like me. I took a few liberties, of course, and depicted the muscles to be a bit bigger and the facial features to be more handsome. I carved in my jersey number to leave no doubt as to who this masterpiece resembled.

Once the sculpture was complete, it was set on the shelf to dry. Within a few days it would be placed into the furnace to remove all of the moisture from the clay and harden the statue to resist the test of time. It was spring break and so the statue was left over the weeklong holiday on the shelf. When I returned, to my surprise, the small statue had hardened on its own. To the eye and touch, it seemed that it was hard enough and so I decided to bypass the oven. I began to paint the sculpture the school colors and painstakingly insured that every detail was covered. I was so proud of my work. The replica of me had actually turned out to be better than the original. I received a much anticipated A on the project and proudly took the statue home and placed it on the shelf in my bedroom. A few months later, as I was cleaning out my room in anticipation for my mission, I moved the statue to a different shelf. I was surprised when one of the legs fell off. I grabbed some glue from the drawer and attempted to glue the leg back on.

When I returned the next day and tried to check on the result of my glue job, I picked up the statue and both legs fell off. I was beside myself; how could my masterpiece be falling apart? All efforts to put it back together failed and along with the legs, eventually the arms fell off, as well. Sadly, and out of options, I ultimately took what was left of the crumbling figure that had once so wonderfully represented me and placed it in the trash can. I reflected then, and still do, on my consummate failure. I had put so much into this project and yet, I failed to follow one of the most important steps in the creation of my masterpiece. In spite of all my efforts, what seemed like a small omission led to the ultimate destruction of “me”.

I give you an example of how this works. Let me share with you an experience of President Heber J. Grant. While he was a member of the Council of the Twelve, when asked by the President of the Church to submit names, he repeatedly submitted that of a very good friend of his for consideration to fill existing vacancies among the Twelve. The man was never chosen, and President Grant is reported to have said at one time that if he ever became President of the Church and there was a vacancy to fill, he would call that man because he was so well qualified.

After he became President and it was necessary to fill a vacancy, he told the Lord that he knew whom he wanted, but that he wanted to select the man the Lord wanted and would like to have. The name of Melvin J. Ballard, whom President Grant knew only slightly, came into his mind and kept coming to let him know that he was the man who should be called; and he was nominated by President Grant and approved by the Twelve.

Elder Kikuchi served in Japan as Executive Administrator from 1978 till 1982 and was there when area conferences were held in many places in Asia and the Tokyo Temple was dedicated. Then came another transition: leaving Tokyo—once the strange city but now home—and leaving their homeland itself, the Kikuchi family moved to Salt Lake City to adopt a new language and a new culture. One simply needs to imagine departing his or her native country to understand what an adjustment such a move must involve.
“The English is difficult,” says Sister Kikuchi, who now serves as a Relief Society music director and a visiting teacher, “but we are having a very happy experience here.”
The Kikuchi children—Sarah, nineteen; Renah, sixteen; Ruth, fourteen; and Matthew, ten—have endured the difficulty of leaving Japan and learning a new language. They now attend the same English-speaking schools as their many friends.
“We were homesick at first,” says Elder Kikuchi, “but we are now settled.” Then, with a smile, he adds, “But we do miss sashimi [raw fish].”

This story happened in Bolivia.
Papi clapped his hands at the end of family home evening. “I have an idea for a family goal,” he said. “Let’s read the Book of Mormon together every day.”
Sami’s older brothers, Andrés and Juan, nodded with big smiles at the idea.
“OK!” said Andrés.
Sami was excited too. But then he remembered something. He raised his hand. “I don’t know how to read. How will I help?”
Juan shrugged. “You can just listen.”
Sami’s brothers already knew how to read. But Sami was only five. He hadn’t learned to read yet.
“But I want to help too!” Sami said with a frown.
Mamá gave Sami a hug. “And you will,” she said. “There is always a way to do what God has commanded us.”
The next night, Sami’s family gathered to read the Book of Mormon. They all brought their own scriptures, except Sami. Mamá gave him a picture book of Book of Mormon stories.
“You can’t read words yet. But you can read pictures,” she said with a smile.
Sami held the book close. Now he could read with his family too!
They all took turns reading. Sami looked at the pictures that showed the story. When it was his turn, he told the others what he saw in the pictures. He told as many details as he could.
As the days passed, Sami wanted to read more and more. Mamá taught him what sound each letter made. Then she showed him how to sound out words. Months later, Sami didn’t need the picture book as much. Instead, he read the last word of every verse his family read. Mamá read the word first, and Sami said it back.
At first, they read slowly. Getting to the end of each chapter took a long time. Andrés and Juan groaned when it was Sami’s turn. But they still read as a family.
Little by little, Sami read more. He read one word of a verse, then two words, then three. Then he started reading a whole verse!
Near the end of their goal, Sami could read a few verses by himself. His reading had gotten much better. His love for the Book of Mormon had grown too.
At last, Sami’s family finished the Book of Mormon. It had taken two years! Now Sami was seven years old, and he had learned to read very well.
“Congratulations!” Papi said. “We did it!”
Sami cheered with his family. He had helped them finish the Book of Mormon!
Juan gave Sami a big hug. “What will be your goal for the next two years?”
Sami smiled. He stood tall and said, “I will read the Book of Mormon again!”
What helped Sami read the scriptures?
Illustrations by Melissa Manwill Kashiwagi

When I was a young man in the Aaronic Priesthood, we boys used to stand in our quorum meetings and repeat in unison, “Priesthood means service. Bearing the priesthood, I will serve.” This was our weekly pledge. It was part of every quorum meeting. Most of us began to understand that honoring the priesthood required our being active and serving in the Church.
In those days we played a lot of tennis. We knew that in tennis, if we didn’t serve well, we usually didn’t win. Our priesthood leaders taught us the same concept insofar as the Church was concerned. They helped us learn to serve at the proper time and in the proper way.
No boy or man fully possesses the priesthood until he learns to serve others and the Lord. It is true that someone with authority may bestow the priesthood by the laying on of hands, but until we do something by way of service to others, the priesthood lies dormant within us and is of little value. We must not fail to magnify the callings we receive.
During the past few months, I have felt that I might best serve by encouraging and helping all members to feel the necessity of keeping the simple doctrines of the gospel simple. I strongly feel that the gospel was given to us in a simple, plain, and clear manner. My mission president taught us that the gospel of Jesus Christ is beautifully simple and simply beautiful. The tendency of many is to complicate these lovely, simple requirements that the Lord has given to us.
Nothing is more simple than prayer. The Savior, while upon the earth, gave the example and commanded all to follow in His footsteps. If we have faith that our Heavenly Father lives and that we can commune with Him in a very direct way, then prayer becomes one of the most beautiful, lovely, simple acts that we can do.
I have a strong testimony that the Lord does hear and answer prayers. We are obligated to thank Him. We are obligated to converse with Him in such a way that there are no obstacles between us and our Father in Heaven. From the very beginning, the Lord has instructed His earthly children to remember Him in prayer.
One morning a good many years ago, a member of the Council of the Twelve came to my office and told me of a beautiful, touching experience that had happened to him that day. He had gone to the old Deseret Gym to enjoy the steam bath for a while. As he sat there in the heavy steam, he heard the door open and looked upward toward the door to see who was entering. He could not see anyone, but he had a feeling someone else was there in the room with him. After a few minutes he saw a young Primary-age boy about eight or nine years old who had seated himself two or three feet away. The boy gradually slid closer to the Apostle, and they finally said “hello” to each other. Then the boy moved even closer until he could look up into the face of the Church leader. The little boy said, “Mister, I think I know who you are.” The Apostle said, “Who am I?” The boy said, “I think you are one of the Apostles of the Church. I think you are the one who travels all over the ocean on big boats and little boats and all kinds of airplanes—and you are the one who never gets sick or hurt in any wrecks.” The Apostle acknowledged that he was the one who was having those great experiences. The boy then said to him, “Do you know why it is you don’t ever get killed or get hurt?” The Apostle said, “No, why is that?” The little Primary boy said, “That’s because I pray for you.”
What a touching, lovely expression of faith in a simple, wonderful way! This experience happened forty years ago, but I think of it frequently. There is far more power in simple prayer than many of us think possible.
My brothers and sisters, thousands, and even hundreds of thousands, of people pray for their loved ones each and every day. Great numbers pray for the leaders of the Church, particularly for our prophet, President Benson. I am convinced that the Lord hears the simple prayers of all people. I am sure He hears the prayer of the aged widow as well as the little child who prays with simple, plain, and understandable faith. I am also certain that a loving Heavenly Father appreciates the sincere, regular prayers of the faithful much more than the hurried, urgent appeals given only in times of crisis.
May the Lord bless and help us all to have the courage to pray with our families. Nothing is more wonderful than for parents to gather their children around them and enjoy the special, tender moments of communing with our Heavenly Father in family prayer. Nothing binds a family together more; and nothing puts us in a position to receive His blessings more than compliance with that wonderful commandment and privilege. Even for those of us who no longer have children at home, the blessing of praying together as companions is wonderful. The faithful person living alone is also lifted up and richly rewarded through humble, secret prayer.
Jesus said, “Except ye be converted, and become as little children, ye shall not enter into the kingdom of heaven” (Matt. 18:3).
May the Lord bless us and help us all to serve Him with simple, childlike faith, simple forgiveness and repentance, and especially with simple prayer, that we may enjoy the strength, power, and beauty that come from the plain and simple things of the gospel, I pray in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

When I was eleven, I received a special blessing from my uncle, a patriarch, whom I had never met. In the blessing, I was promised the very things I’d hoped for but had kept hidden in my heart—that I would have the home and family I had always dreamed about. The promises in that blessing have since been fulfilled. I have an absolute testimony of priesthood blessings, and I know that those who are worthy to give blessings are inspired by God.

Since 1999, I have been privileged to participate in 4 Hosanna Shouts through broadcasts. Three were for temples: Winter Quarters, Palmyra, and Nauvoo. Those were special occasions which I shall not soon forget. The Spirit was strong--and unique--at each dedicatory service. And to stand in chapels with hundreds, sometimes thousands, of Saints to give the Shout was, wow, tremendous.
But I would like to bring to remembrance the fourth time: the day the Hosanna Shout was given for the new Conference Center. Some of you may have been at the Conference Center that day. I was not. I was watching that session of General Conference at the home of a friend. It surprised us that a Hosanna Shout would be done on network television, and you may recall how the Prophet asked the media to treat the event with dignity and respect.
Lidia and I stood in her living room and participated in that joyous event. I remember that the camera panned out across the 20,000 Saints gathered in the Conference Center, and that was certainly impressive. But my thoughts were turned to the many thousands of homes around the country--around the world--where one or two, or even a half-dozen, faithful Saints were standing in front of their television sets to given the Hosanna Shout. They, too, were a part of the congregation of Israel. About then the tears started flowing. I was wanting to shout with my whole soul, and there I was--overcome by the Spirit, eyes watering and voice croaking.

A missionary I know recently wrote his family:
We had a zone conference tonight. It seems that some missionaries from another district have been taking the meetings a little less seriously than other people feel they should. They were openly rebuked for it, and it gave me some thoughts on the relationship we place between the gospel and people. . . . It’s so easy to notice what other people do wrong and how we would do things differently. Can you imagine how different the world would be if that trend was reversed and if we all noticed the positive of others and set these qualities as our goal to work for rather than comparing ourselves to the negative? [Letter from Elder Adam Wilcox to MarJean Wilcox]
Yes, Elder Wilcox, I can imagine. In fact, in my fondest dreams we treat each other in the kind ways that heal and soothe the bruises and rebuffs of life. This wise young elder reminds us that if we will acknowledge successes and think of ways to bring everyone in, rather than emphasizing the errors or differences that leave some out, life will be better all around.

Looking back on his life, a man recently shared this tender story with me: “When I was growing up my father was less active in the Church. He struggled with alcohol and in his darkest moods could become harsh and accusing. He normally didn’t object to Mom serving in the ward. She worked in Primary for 38 years, and during much of that time she served in Young Women. She carried a heavy load. Her marriage was difficult, and I now know that she was discouraged at times, but I didn’t know it then.
“I didn’t realize until later that the sisters in our ward were her strength. She didn’t work in the Relief Society leadership, but she always attended the meetings, and she loved her friends there. I never thought of them as the ladies of Relief Society; they were simply Mom’s sisters. They cared about her and loved her. She had all brothers and all sons. She found the sisters she wanted and needed in our ward. I know she shared her feelings with them—feelings she couldn’t express anywhere else. None of that seemed ‘Relief Society’ to me then, but I understand now that it was.”