Gospel Story Finder

I have some friends who are about my age and who have never been able to have children. However, they have been able to turn their challenge into a life of service to the young people of their ward and extended family. What could have become a life filled with negatives, has become a life filled with children. Kids are over at their house after school for milk and cookies, the husband has built a zip line in the pasture for the neighbor kids to play on, and he installed a long rope on a tree at the river's edge so the kids can hold onto it and knee board as the river runs beneath them. Isn't that cool! They also have opportunities to teach the lessons of life that children often have a hard time taking from a parent. Life can still be good! And when some of those kids have their rotten days, you can send them home!

As we all must, they have also learned one of life's great lessons as exemplified by the Savior:
... and he will take upon him their infirmities, that his bowels may be filled with mercy, according to the flesh, that he may know according to the flesh how to succor his people according to their infirmities.[14]
What my friends have learned is that countless times since they've suffered their test, they've been able to take on the infirmities of others, they have had opportunity to succor others in their trials. When we lift burdens and sorrows in that way and express mercy, we experience god-like emotions of compassion and love. By doing so, our suffering assumes meaning in our lives. When we find meaning in suffering, we are better able to bear our own burdens. I repeat--when we can find meaning in the difficult things in life--by serving others who are burdened--we will be better able to bear our own burdens. I love and admire them for their willingness to bear others burdens, even amidst their own trials!

It seemed like any other ordinary Sunday morning. It seemed like most other deacons quorum meetings of previous weeks. But what was to happen during the next 15 minutes was extraordinary to me, a 12-year-old boy who was still reeling under the effects of what had happened the preceding Thursday.
Motivated by an enthusiastic mission leader who had spoken about the Book of Mormon in sacrament meeting, I had felt impressed to present a copy of the Book of Mormon to my best friend and school classmate. The decision had not been an easy one. What if my friend didn’t accept it? What if he did take it but rejected its message? And worst of all, what if he felt that the gift was a sign of religious fanaticism that would threaten our friendship?
Nephi’s fervent testimony regarding obedience had given me courage: “I will go and do the things which the Lord hath commanded” (1 Ne. 3:7). I had been taught that every member should be a missionary. So the next day I had presented the book during lunch break, complete with my testimony that the book was true, that it contained the account of Christ’s appearance to an ancient people right here in America, and that it would lead to an even greater understanding of the Bible. My friend had received the book with appreciation and with a promise to read it. It had been a normal exchange between two young friends who shared a mutual trust and understanding.
Two days later the book had been returned. “Have you read it already?” I had asked.
“No, and I am not going to read it.”
“Why not?” had come my anxious reply.
“Because my parents won’t allow it and, after what happened last night, I agree with them.”
“What happened last night?”
“If you will meet me after school,” he had said, “I’ll show you.”
After school he had led me straight to the public library, then to that section of the library marked “Religion,” the same place he had been taken the night before by his parents. Reaching up, he had brought down the largest volume of all—Religions of the World. Turning to the front pages, he had first shown me the list of authors. Each contributor had many letters after his name indicating his qualifications. There must have been at least a dozen prominent educators, theologians, and scholars listed. One couldn’t have helped but be impressed. Surely this was a well-documented and authoritative compilation of the world’s best-known religions, written by those who were qualified.
My friend had then turned to the section entitled “Mormonism.” After reading it for just a few seconds, I had been shocked beyond belief to find such ideas as “The Book of Mormon is a fraud,” “Joe Smith was misguided and given to hallucinations,” and “The entire story about the restoration and the Book of Mormon was made up of falsehoods, deceit, and counterfeit ideas.” I had been totally devastated by what I read.
Had my parents tried to shield me from something through the years? Had my bishop and Sunday School teachers failed to tell me the whole truth? I had stood there feeling that I had lost the very foundation of my life, for I loved the Church. I had felt strongly about the Aaronic Priesthood that had been conferred upon me just a few months before. The Church, which had become the very foundation of my life, now seemed to be crumbling in just a few minutes—after all, it had been the largest book on the shelf and the background of the authors seemed beyond reproach.
I hadn’t told any one about the deep hurt inside—not even my parents. I had to think about it for a few days. But I had let my Heavenly Father know about my concern and frustration, for He was the center of my boyhood faith. I had even thought back upon the Prophet Joseph Smith when his adversaries tried to demean his remarkable experience in the Sacred Grove. He had said: “I knew it, and I knew that God knew it, and I could not deny it, neither dared I do it; at least I knew that by so doing I would offend God, and come under condemnation” (JS—H 1:25).
On Sunday, three days following my disturbing hour at the public library, I sat in what seemed like an ordinary deacons quorum meeting. But what happened during the next 15 minutes was extraordinary to me.
Following the opening prayer, we were introduced to Brother Corbridge of the stake high council. Brother Corbridge told us that he and his family had just returned from a wonderful vacation trip that included a visit to the Hill Cumorah and the Sacred Grove near Palmyra, New York. Then he related in great detail his family’s experience while in the Sacred Grove. An unmistakable manifestation of the Spirit had come to them to confirm beyond question the truth of what had happened there on that early spring morning of 1820.
Then, in answer to my urgent but humble prayers, the inspiration of the Holy Ghost began to flood into my mind as Brother Corbridge spoke to us with emotion about his family’s experience. I marveled that a well-dressed, successful businessman would stand unashamed with tears in his eyes and share his innermost feelings to a group of young deacons. I know now that he had been sent by the Lord to say something that was meant especially for me, a 12-year-old Aaronic Priesthood boy who had been praying earnestly and who needed help urgently.
Brother Corbridge’s experience in the Sacred Grove became my experience. The gift of the Holy Ghost manifested itself to such a degree that even to this day, 60 years later, I can bear witness as though I had actually been there and observed firsthand that remarkable experience we call the First Vision and I can testify that the Book of Mormon is indeed the word of God.
Yes, Heavenly Father does hear the prayers of His young people, and He very often sends us our answers through His appointed priesthood leaders and other good people. May we listen well as they speak to us. May our thoughts and actions be such that we might invite the confirming Spirit of the Holy Ghost to enter our hearts and minds. I shall ever be grateful for the sustaining influence that came to me as a young man holding the Aaronic Priesthood.

After shopping for groceries, we drove to the pharmacy in Eureka, California—our last stop before heading home to Willow Creek, about an hour away. The pharmacy, however, was closed for lunch. While we waited, my daughter Shae asked if we could drive to Humboldt Bay.
The four of us, including my daughter Tess and her husband, Patrick, grabbed lunch, drove to the nearby bay, and stopped in the parking lot that runs parallel to the bay. That January day in 2021 was overcast and chilly. From our four-door pickup we watched a bird feeding, diving toward the bay and then rising again.
We’d been there less than five minutes and had barely begun to eat when we heard the whining of a speeding car engine. I remember thinking, “Who in their right mind is driving so fast with people all around?”
The road to the bay ran by the parking lot as it turned north. I didn’t locate the source of the engine noise until I saw a gray pickup sailing through the air toward the water. The pickup had missed the turn, sped over a sidewalk, smashed a light pole, and launched into the air. I watched the pickup sail over the shoreline and clear an old pier as it flew toward the water. It was like a scene out of a movie or TV show.
Without speaking a word, we threw open our pickup truck doors and jumped out, groceries spilling onto the parking lot asphalt. Then we ran to the water’s edge just after the pickup splashed hard into the bay. We were close enough to see that the pickup’s driver was staring blankly through the windshield.
As I watched him, I thought, “He’s not moving! He’s not going to get out of that pickup! Something is horribly wrong!”
I had a feeling that I needed to help the man, that I needed to “go and do” (1 Nephi 3:7)—now! The windows of the pickup were rolled up, so Tess and I looked in vain for a rock big enough to break the driver’s side car window. Then she and Patrick called 911 while Shae gathered up our groceries.
Growing up in Willow Creek, I had driven the curvy roads along the Trinity River every day. I had often thought about how scary it would be to go off the road and into the river. What would I do? How would I get out? I would not want to die that way, and I could not let the man in the pickup die that way.
Under normal circumstances, I would never have gone into the bay. But my only thought was, “The driver needs help, and I’m supposed to help him!”
For some reason, I had no fear. The next thing I knew, I was wading in the chilly water, still wearing my pants, shoes, and a pink sweatshirt.
I’m a big girl, and when I waded into the water, I heard someone say, “She’s going to have a heart attack!” I ignored him. After taking 10 steps, I began swimming toward the pickup, about 30 yards (27 m) away. When I reached it, the engine compartment was sinking, but the water was still below the door handle. I tried but could not open the door.
“Open the door or roll down the window!” I called to the driver. “Are you ready to get out of there?”
No response. He just stared straight out the windshield.
I kept talking until he finally turned his head toward me. He gave me a confused smile as if to say, “What are you doing here? What’s going on?”
As the pickup slowly sank, the man continued to sit motionless. My mind raced as I wondered how to open the door or the window. Suddenly and miraculously, the driver’s side window lowered—by itself! I have no idea how it came down, just as I then had no idea how to get the man out of the pickup. I thought about waiting for help, but I heard a loud gurgling sound as water rushed into the cab. I knew I couldn’t wait for help.
I quickly pulled myself up on the door, got halfway into the pickup, reached across the driver, and unbuckled his seat belt. I grabbed him and pulled with all my strength. I got him out of the window and held him up as water sucked the pickup down.
God knew our hearts, and He knew we would go and do what we could to help one of His children.
I didn’t know how deep the water was, and I couldn’t see the sunken truck. But while treading water, I kicked the truck’s hood. I tried to stand on it but kept slipping off. On one of my unsuccessful attempts to stand, I found the truck’s antenna. I held on to it as I secured a foot against a windshield wiper.
Just then another swimmer arrived. A minute later, a boater who had seen the accident maneuvered his craft to us and threw us a rope. Pushing and pulling, the three of us got safely onto the boat. Later, when I took off my pink sweatshirt, Shae pointed out that I had somehow cut my arm from my elbow to my wrist.
I feel that my family was at Humboldt Bay that day to help that man. I don’t pretend to know God’s mind, but I believe that when bad things happen, He expects us to act. I also believe that God gives us experiences and puts us in positions to bless His children. I was raised by a mother who took us swimming and taught us about water currents. We learned to respect but not fear the water. Most important, we learned to help others in need.
We were where we were supposed to be that day—in the right place, at the right time. God knew our hearts, and He knew we would go and do what we could to help one of His children.
The author lives in California.
Editors’ note: Seven months after Hiedi helped rescue Eric Floyd, the driver of the pickup truck, he died of causes unrelated to the stroke he had suffered that day in January 2021. “I wept when I found out that he had died, but I was grateful that he had a little extra time after his accident to spend with his family,” said Sister Johnston, whom witnesses called the “Lady in Pink.” On March 7, 2021, Humboldt County supervisors presented her with the Carnegie Medal for her heroism.

We had gone up the canyon to study, but the mountain air and warm sunshine made it too relaxing to concentrate. So I just lay there in a kind of sleepy intoxication while Sarah continued her story. I rolled over to let the sun warm my face when I noticed two young boys climbing the mountain beside us—a trek that was pretty rough going. As the boys pulled themselves up by grasping branches and roots as anchors, rocks and earth under them slid down into the water. Sometimes the roots they grabbed pulled right out of the dirt, and they would slide down the face until they found something to grab onto. The small avalanche they created continued without them into the water below.
Sarah had finished talking, and I looked over and saw the boys had finally made it to the top of the mountain. Self-satisfied, they happily scanned the world from their new vantage point and never noticed the scars they had left on the fragile mountainside.

Putting God first means that we can trust Him to make more of our lives than we can on our own. My grandson received an old bike with rusty handles. To help him be excited about this bike, his father showed him how to sand the handles and then promised to bring his favourite colour paint to coat them that afternoon. After 15 minutes of sanding, the task seemed more challenging for this little guy than he had expected, and he complained about the difficulty, to which his father said words we can all take comfort in: “You do the best you can, and I will make up the difference.”

A few years ago, I had the opportunity to meet with Brother and Sister Erickson. I felt of their soft hearts and gentle spirits. I saw the love they shared for each other and felt the love and respect they have for their children. They assured me that it was not easy; the early years were extraordinarily stressful. When Mark, the sixth child and only son, developed the disease at seven months of age, the mother, assisted by the father and healthy siblings, spent 18 hours per day caring for three severely handicapped children who were totally dependent on them for everything. Feelings of entrapment, frustration, and discouragement had to be overcome; the antidotes were service, prayer, forgiveness, obedience, and love.

At one point, the Ericksons were prompted to fast and pray over a period of weeks that little Heather would be healed through a priesthood blessing. Instead of promising the little girl that she would be made well, the father’s blessing promised the family that Heather would bring love and peace and joy into their home. Heather’s body was not healed, but over a long period of time, family members experienced a more important healing—the healing from within. As I listened to Bruce and Joyce Erickson share their feelings, I felt in them a deep love, increased faith, joy, peace, patience, long-suffering, and the meekness of broken hearts and contrite spirits.

Imagine the Prophet Joseph Smith’s reactions to some of his assignments. Can you imagine as a college-aged student being told by an angel from God that you will translate an ancient history from gold plates? Certainly Joseph has feelings of being unprepared and inadequate for such an undertaking. But just as certainly, the angel and our Heavenly Father know that Joseph can do the assignment with hard work and with help—help from heaven and help from people.

Joseph works so hard at fulfilling this assignment. For a while, Joseph, with the help of the Urim and Thummin, does the translating on his own, but he just isn’t making much progress. Emma begins to help as a scribe, but her daily activities prevent her from helping as much as she wants. The Lord tells Joseph that He will send another scribe if Joseph is patient. In the meantime, the Lord prepares and directs Oliver Cowdery to assist Joseph. Imagine the sense of gratitude Joseph feels when Oliver arrives and offers help with this daunting assignment.

Day after day, the two work on the translation. One day Joseph receives inspiration through the Urim and Thummin to send a letter to David Whitmer asking for David to take Joseph and Oliver from Harmony, Pennsylvania, back to David’s home to finish the translation in Fayette, New York, near Palmyra. David receives the letter, not knowing what to do because he is in the middle of a big job that needs to be finished before he can leave. David also has a difficult assignment he must complete. He needs two days of heavy work to finish harrowing and planting the rest of his wheat and then at least another day to spread the much-needed plaster of paris on his land. David has at least three days of work ahead of him before he can help Joseph. However, David feels he should leave sooner—a difficult assignment.

The next morning, David goes to the fields to begin his pressing assignment. At noon, when he stops for lunch, he discovers to his surprise that he is half finished with the work, and by evening he has finished the job that would normally take him two days to accomplish. The next morning when he goes to the plaster of paris heap to spread it on another field, the pile is gone. He asks his sister what has happened to the plaster, and she explains that the day before she and her children hade watched three men spread plaster in the fields faster than they have ever seen it done before. She assumes David has hired the men. Of course, he has not. David goes door-to-door trying to determine who has helped him, but no one knows. David begins to recognize that he has been receiving heavenly help with his duties at home so he can carry on his assignment to help Joseph.

David leaves immediately to help Joseph. After three days of making good time traveling, David meets Joseph and Oliver on the road outside Harmony. David is surprised to meet them, but Oliver explains that Joseph has known the exact time David left Fayette and even where David has stopped for lunch and watered his horses.

They return to Harmony for Joseph to say goodbye to Emma who will be following later. Joseph prays for guidance about what do to with the gold plates; he receives the answer that he should give them to an angel who will return them to Joseph when he arrives at the Whitmer farm. Joseph gives the plates to an angel before they leave for New York. On the way they see an aged man walking along the road with a knapsack that seems heavy on his back. Joseph tells David to stop and offer the man a ride in the wagon. The old man politely refuses and tells them that he is just going over to Cumorah. David turns to Joseph confused because he knows the area well and has never heard of Cumorah. Joseph explains that the man is a Nephite and in his knapsack are the gold plates. When David turns to look at the man, he is gone.

When they arrive at the Whitmer farm, the angel returns the plates, and Joseph and Oliver are able to finish the translation.[1] Both David and Joseph have received help from others and help from heaven in fulfilling their individual assignments.

Thank you so much for printing the article “Leaving Home” (May 1999). I was at a five-day camp without my family or friends, and I only knew two nonmember boys from my school. I was in a cabin with all nonmember girls who were cussing, taking the Lord’s name in vain, and not dressing modestly. During free time I was reading this story, and I realized I wasn’t alone. It also helped me to try to find some LDS kids at camp, which I did. After that, I enjoyed the rest of camp with my new friends.
Adrianna CurtisPayson, Arizona

Many years later, in pursuit of my business career, I was invited by a client to provide insurance coverage for a new venture he was launching. When I arrived at the location, I learned that it was to be a nightclub.
As we passed through reception, entering the main area, I was impressed by the decor. The furnishings and fittings, curtains and carpeting were well coordinated, providing a most pleasing setting. This was not what I had expected to find after having been told the purpose for which the venue was to be used. As I sat with the proprietor, noting the necessary information, an employee approached and asked if he could test the systems.
My client gave his approval. Suddenly the serene setting was transformed as the room lighting faded to be replaced by flashing lights of multiple colors and excessively loud music. The scene of tranquility was immediately shattered.
It was impossible to communicate under such circumstances, so we walked back to the reception area. Following further discussion and because of what I had experienced, I did not feel comfortable to proceed, so I referred my client to a specialist in this field of insurance. To this day I vividly recall the dramatic transformation that occurred with shafts of light and the pulsating beat of loud music penetrating the darkened room.
I learned a lasting lesson from these experiences. Our surroundings can have a significant impact on how we feel and the way we behave.

Several years ago, our newly married daughter and her husband began a series of moves from one place to another—graduate school, first job, and so on. These moves took them to various parts of the country. In each place the climate and soil conditions were different, but they determined they would follow the prophet’s advice and have a garden. Their first attempts at gardening were pathetic. The weeds grew much better than the vegetables. The gardens were “obedience gardens.” However, with continued effort, each year the gardens improved. They learned new techniques and developed skills. As children came to their family, each was taught to work and take responsibility in those “obedience gardens.” Now their gardens are attractive, worthwhile “survival” projects, as the family enjoys and shares the produce. They preserve the excess for later use. Besides the practical lessons they learned, they found peace and assurance in keeping the commandments. Surely the promise was fulfilled for them: the prophet’s advice had been for their good always.

I have a best friend. Her name is Barbara. We love watching and singing along to movies. We go on walks together and look at the flowers on the temple grounds. We read princess stories together every night. When I’m around Barbara, I can be myself. Not only is she my dearest friend, but she is also my sister.
Barbara has cerebral palsy, a condition that affects her physically and mentally. She can’t walk, and she needs to be fed through a tube. She loves singing but struggles to verbally communicate her feelings, wants, and needs. And although Barbara is 29, mentally she acts like a toddler.
Even though Barbara is four years older than me, I’ve always felt like the “big sister.” My family’s whole world revolves around her. She is the sun, and we are the circling planets. While the situation sometimes has amazing benefits—like being able to skip lines at amusement parks—other times it means making sacrifices, like not going to certain activities or needing to host events in our home. Each day we review our schedule to make sure someone is always taking care of Barbara and her needs.
To help my parents take care of her, my older brother and I matured very quickly. We had to learn how to identify when Barbara was having a seizure and what to do, how to feed her through a tube, how to change her diapers, and how to prepare her medications when we were very young. While this early maturity helped me have confidence in myself, it did make socializing a huge struggle.
I felt so different from everyone my age. Even if I was invited to hang out with friends and my parents encouraged me to go, I struggled to have fun because I felt guilty that my parents had so much to do at home. Other times I would have a hard time enjoying myself when Barbara was struggling with her health. Most of the time, I just wanted a friend to sit down with me and listen.
Sometimes I felt like no one understood what I was going through. But a few things helped remedy that loneliness. I decided I’d try to reach out to people who might be feeling similarly. When I did go to activities or church, I tried to include those who were sitting alone or who looked like they were having a bad day. As Elder Gerrit W. Gong of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles taught, “Miracles occur when we care for each other as He would.”1 And I saw miracles come into my life. I felt much more comfortable going to activities and was happier when I offered love to others.
Another thing that helped was realizing how much the Savior truly understood me. I realized that He knew exactly what I was going through and would always be with me. I focused more on getting to know Him through the scriptures and prayer. Sometimes when I prayed, I would imagine that He and Heavenly Father were sitting with me and listening. When I have difficult feelings and feel overwhelmed at how unfair Barbara’s situation seems at times, I remember that Christ will help me find peace and reassurance. Elder Dale G. Renlund of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles explained this perfectly when he said, “In unfair situations, one of our tasks is to trust that ‘all that is unfair about life can be made right through the Atonement of Jesus Christ.’”2
Having a loved one with a disability can require near-superhuman strength. It affects your life physically, mentally, emotionally, financially, and spiritually. For the past 29 years, my parents have awakened nearly every day at 2:00 in the morning to care for Barbara. We all go to the gym regularly so we can be strong enough to lift and carry Barbara when necessary. And so many other responsibilities can take a toll on us all.
How do we possibly do everything?
This can be described in one word: grace.
“Grace [is the] enabling power and spiritual healing offered through the mercy and love of Jesus Christ. …
“The grace of God helps us every day. It strengthens us to do good works we could not do on our own.”3
What do I love most about Barbara? With her I’ve learned more about the Savior’s love for us. You can’t help but feel of His love when you’re around Barbara. Despite all her difficulties, she is always smiling, singing, and making us laugh. However, there are also days where I feel helpless, when nothing seems to make her feel better. But because of my experiences, I know with certainty that the Savior understands what both Barbara and I are going through. No matter our earthly trials, a beautiful aspect of the Savior’s enabling power is that we can not only be given strength to experience and overcome hard things but also do it all with joy.
Editors’ note: Since the time that this article was written, the author’s sister has passed away.
You can submit your own article, ideas, or feedback at liahona.ChurchofJesusChrist.org. We can’t wait to hear from you!

Some years ago, I worked in a small company that was experiencing a great deal of disharmony and conflict. My boss, Bill Bain, hired two psychologists to help us become more united and collaborative. Early in one of our sessions, one of the psychologists explained that if we did not live in a way that was consistent with our core values, that we would experience stress, anxiety, and conflict. Further, he said that our health would be affected. Even our lifespan, he said, would be shortened.

Someone in our group asked the obvious question: “how do we know what our core values are?” He responded with a simple test.

He told us to write down the names of the five people who had ever lived who we most admired. I gave this some thought. You might think for a moment about who you would choose. I chose Jesus Christ, Joseph Smith, Abraham Lincoln, my father, and my wife Ann.

Then he said that next to each name, we should write down the three qualities we most associate with each of them. So, five people and three qualities each meant that I had a list of 15 attributes in total. Now circle the qualities that appear multiple times. These, he said, were our core values.

I looked at the words I had circled. I had love, service, honor, and integrity. These, of course, were the very values that Jesus taught.

What surprised me was that all but one of the other people in our group had the same or a very similar list. We had each chosen Christ’s values, not the world’s. But unfortunately, it was clear to us that we were not living and conducting our business in a way that was consistent with these values.

In the weeks and years that followed, we did some soul searching, offered some apologies, and changed some behaviors.

Many years ago it was my opportunity to serve as president of the Canadian Mission. There we had a branch with very limited priesthood. We always had a missionary presiding over the branch. I received a strong impression that we needed to have a member of the branch preside there.

We had one adult member in the branch who was a deacon in the Aaronic Priesthood but who didn’t attend or participate enough to be advanced in the priesthood. I felt inspired to call him as the branch president. I shall always remember the day that I had an interview with him. I told him that the Lord had inspired me to call him to be the president of the branch. After much protest on his part, and much encouragement on the part of his wife, he indicated that he would serve. I ordained him a priest.

It was the beginning of a new day for that man. His life was quickly put in order, and he assured me that he would live the commandments as he was expected to live them. In a few months he was ordained an elder. He and his wife and family eventually went to the temple and were sealed. Their children served missions and married in the house of the Lord.

“While I was living in this cabin in the old barracks we experienced, with the Prophet Joseph, a day of God’s power. It was a very sickly time; Joseph had given up his home in Commerce to the sick, and had a tent pitched in his dooryard and was living in that himself. The large number of Saints who had been driven out of Missouri were flocking into Commerce, but had no homes to go to, and were living in wagons, in tents, and on the ground; many, therefore, were sick through the exposure to which they were subjected. Brother Joseph had waited on them until he was worn out and nearly sick himself.
“On the morning of the 22nd of July, 1839, he arose, reflecting upon the situation of the Saints of God in their persecutions and afflictions. He called upon the Lord in prayer, the power of God rested upon him mightily, and as Jesus healed all the sick around Him in His day, so Joseph, the Prophet of God, healed all around on this occasion. He healed all in his house and dooryard; then, in company with Sidney Rigdon and several of the Twelve, went among the sick lying on the bank of the river, where he commanded them in a loud voice, in the name of Jesus Christ, to rise and be made whole, and they were all healed. When he had healed all on the east side of the river that were sick, he and his companions crossed the Mississippi River in a ferry-boat to the west side, where we were, at Montrose. The first house they went into was President Brigham Young’s. He was sick on his bed at the time. The Prophet went into his house and healed him, and they all came out together.
“As they were passing by my door, Brother Joseph said: ‘Brother Woodruff, follow me.’ These were the only words spoken by any of the company from the time they left Brother Brigham’s house till they crossed the public square, and entered Brother Fordham’s house. Brother Fordham had been dying for an hour, and we expected each minute would be his last. I felt the spirit of God that was overpowering His Prophet. When we entered the house, Brother Joseph walked up to Brother Fordham and took him by the right hand, his left hand holding his hat. He saw that Brother Fordham’s eyes were glazed, and that he was speechless and unconscious.
“After taking his hand, he looked down into the dying man’s face and said: ‘Brother Fordham, do you not know me?’ At first there was no reply, but we all could see the effect of the spirit of God resting on the afflicted man. Joseph again spoke. ‘Elijah, do you not know me?’ With a low whisper Brother Fordham answered, ‘Yes.’ The Prophet then said, ‘Have you got faith to be healed?’ The answer, which was a little plainer than before, was: ‘I am afraid it is too late; if you had come sooner, I think I might have been.’ He had the appearance of a man waking from sleep; it was the sleep of death. Joseph then said: ‘Do you believe that Jesus is the Christ?’ ‘I do, Brother Joseph,’ was the response. Then the Prophet of God spoke with a loud voice as in the majesty of Jehovah: ‘Elijah, I command you, in the name of Jesus of Nazareth, to arise and be made whole.’
“The words of the Prophet were not like the words of man, but like the voice of God. It seemed to me that the house shook on its foundation. Elijah Fordham leaped from his bed like a man raised from the dead. A healthy color came to his face, and life was manifested in every act. His feet had been done up in Indian meal poultices; he kicked these off his feet, scattered the contents, then called for his clothes and put them on. He asked for a bowl of bread and milk and ate it. He then put on his hat and followed us into the street, to visit others who were sick.
“The unbeliever may ask, ‘Was there not deception in this?’ If there is any deception in the mind of the unbeliever, there was certainly none with Elijah Fordham, the dying man, or with those who were present with him; for in a few minutes he would have been in the spirit world, if he had not been rescued. Through the blessing of God he lived up till 1880, when he died in Utah; while all who were with him on that occasion, with the exception of one (myself) are in the spirit world. Among the number present were Joseph and Hyrum Smith, Sidney Rigdon, Brigham Young, Heber C. Kimball, George A. Smith, Parley P. Pratt, Orson Pratt, and Wilford Woodruff.
“As soon as we left Brother Fordham’s house, we went into the home of Joseph B. Noble, who was very low. When we entered the house, Brother Joseph took Brother Noble by the hand, and commanded him, in the name of Jesus Christ, to arise and be made whole. He did arise, and was healed immediately.
“The case of Brother Noble was the last one of healing upon that day. It was the greatest day for the manifestation of the power of God through the gift of healing since the organization of the Church.”8

During his late teen years, Noel developed an addiction to alcohol. He eventually met and married my mother, Delbi, and they had four children. Through the years, his alcoholism took a toll on their marriage and after moving to San Francisco, California, USA, in their 50s, they separated. Unfortunately, he died by suicide a few years later.

My mother and I became members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints a few years before my father passed away. Some years after his death, all the vicarious temple ordinances were performed in his behalf, except for one: the sealing ordinance. At the time, I did not dare ask my mother if she wanted to be sealed to him, because I knew how strained their relationship had been.

My parents, Noel and Delbi Blanco
Then a miracle happened. My mother had a dream in which she saw her husband, Noel, outside the kitchen door in their home in Managua, extending his hand to her and inviting her to come with him. She woke up with a sweet feeling in her heart. Not too long after that, she called me one day and calmly said, “I am going to be sealed to your father this Saturday. You can come if you want.”

I replied excitedly, “Of course, I want to be there!” After our phone conversation ended, I joyfully realized that I could also be sealed to them.

On a glorious Saturday morning, my mother, my husband, and I knelt at a sacred temple altar and performed the living and vicarious sealing ordinances that gave my parents and me the opportunity to be together forever. My son was also there as proxy for my brother, who had passed away years before. At that holy moment, all the pains and sorrows were forgotten. We all felt the soothing and healing balm that our Savior, Jesus Christ, offers us through His Atonement, on both sides of the veil.

Katie rummaged through the storage box, carefully looking through the crumpled packing paper. She still couldn’t find what she was looking for.
She put everything back in the box and went to find Mom.
Katie had looked behind the piano, under the couch, even in Thomas’s crib. It was lost. She had to tell Mom.
“Mommy, the baby Jesus is lost!”
Katie led Mom to the nativity set in the living room. Joseph and Mary and the shepherds were there. The Wise Men—even a camel and a donkey—were there. All of the figures were gathered around the empty manger.
“It looks that way, doesn’t it?” Mom said.
“I can’t find Him anywhere! I looked and looked.” The nativity would be ruined without the baby Jesus.
Mom went to the bookshelf. “He isn’t lost,” she said as she reached up and took something from the top shelf.
Katie sighed in relief. “There He is!” she said. “I’ll go put Him in the manger.”
She reached for the figurine, but Mom put it back on the shelf. “This year we’re going to put the baby Jesus in the manger on Christmas morning,” Mom said. “It’s a tradition Dad learned in France.”
“But everyone looks so sad,” Katie said.
“I don’t think they’re sad,” Mom said. “To me, it looks more like they’re waiting.”
Katie looked at the figures. She could see the place in the manger where baby Jesus belonged. Some of the figurines were reaching out to the empty spot.
“I guess so,” Katie said.
“Remember before Thomas was born how excited you were for him to come?” Mom asked.
Katie smiled at her baby brother, who was playing on a blanket. “It felt like forever!” she said.
“Did you know that prophets waited for thousands of years for Jesus to come to help us return to live with Heavenly Father?” Mom asked.
Katie remembered seeing a picture in Primary of a prophet writing about the Savior’s birth. “I think so,” she said.
“Prophets like Isaiah thought about and wrote about what the Savior would do when He came,” Mom said. “They spent their whole lives waiting for Him to be born. That’s one of the reasons we set up the nativity like this, to remind us that many people waited a long time for the Savior to come.”
“I would get tired of waiting my whole life,” Katie said, looking at the shepherds who were waiting for Jesus.
“But there’s also another reason we do this,” Mom said.
“What?”
“Do you remember in family home evening when we talked about the Second Coming?”
Katie thought for a minute. “Isn’t that when Jesus comes again?
“That’s right,” Mom said.
“When will that happen?” Katie asked.
“Well, we don’t know. But we’re waiting for Jesus to come, just like the shepherds in the nativity and just like the ancient prophets. That’s the other reason we’re waiting until Christmas to put the baby Jesus in the nativity—to remind us that we’re waiting for Jesus too.”
“Will He come to a manger again?” Katie asked.
“No, He won’t be a baby again. The next time Jesus comes, He’ll be resurrected. But the empty manger in the nativity reminds us that just like you’re waiting for Christmas morning, and just like people waited for Jesus to come to earth, now we’re waiting for Him to come back. We didn’t lose the baby Jesus. This is part of the way our family plans to remember Him.”
“We just need to wait,” Katie said with a smile.
“That’s right,” Mom said.
“OK,” Katie said. “But while we’re waiting, can we make some sugar cookies?”

Matt’s about to have surgery on his broken arm. Dad and Brother Johnson gave him a priesthood blessing.
Thanks for coming on such short notice, Tyrell.
I’m glad you asked me.
A few hours later—
Is the surgery over already?
Yes, and the doctor says everything went fine. We’ll be able to take you home today.
At school the next week—
Yeah, I was climbing a tree when a branch snapped! I was lucky something stopped my fall.
What was it?
The ground!
Two weeks later at Thanksgiving dinner, Matt tells what he’s grateful for—
… and that my fall wasn’t worse … and that I learned I can do hard things … and for doctors and nurses, and priesthood blessings … and …
I’m grateful that my eating arm wasn’t injured.

One day, after finishing a service project, I was walking past our meetinghouse and saw two sisters who were cleaning the building. My words simply came out: “Sisters, do you need some help?” One of them smiled at me and said that I had arrived just in time because they were the only ones cleaning and they were very tired. She said that she had prayed that the Lord would send someone to help. I was very happy to be an answer to her prayer. I had just finished giving service to someone else and was also tired, but I followed my heart and offered to serve more.
It is a commandment to work with joy (see D&C 24:7). When we have the desire to serve at all times, we can help miracles happen in other people’s lives. Our lives become more meaningful when we serve. The Lord really does love us, He helps each of His children, and He will give us the strength to serve.

Once a group of young men went to a lake. They took a bow and 10 arrows with them. After all the arrows had been shot and had fallen harmlessly into the lake, one boy decided to swim to the middle of the lake to retrieve the last arrow. He dived in and headed toward it. He got it and then turned back to swim for shore. By this time he was extremely tired. His wet clothing weighed him down. Holding the arrow in his hand made swimming very difficult. He began to fear he might drown, and he called out desperately to his friends for help.
“Put your feet down and walk to shore,” they called back to him. He couldn’t see things clearly, but his friends, who were looking at things from the shore, knew he was in shallow water. All he had to do was stand up and he would be safe.

It was the day before my football team’s first practice of the season. That night I was so excited I couldn’t sleep. I had saved up my money over the summer so I could pay all the fees myself. And now, at the age of 14, I was finally going to fulfill my dream.
During practice the next day, something really surprised me. It wasn’t how hard my coaches pushed us—I was expecting that. No, I was shocked at the filthy, vulgar language all the players and coaches were using. At first I tried to ignore it and not let it bother me, but after awhile it started to take its toll.
I found myself thinking those words, and even worse, repeating them when I was stressed. I prayed to my Heavenly Father and asked Him to help me be strong. Then, I made a promise to myself and to the Lord that I wouldn’t swear.
Later in the season we played a game against our biggest rivals. Right before the game started, our coach gathered us together to say a cheer. He told us the cheer that he wanted us to say, and unfortunately it required us to say a swear word. I remembered the promise that I made to myself and to Heavenly Father. I decided to say the cheer except for the swear word. I would just replace it with a more appropriate word.
When the cheer was over, the player next to me noticed what I had said and started to make fun of me. He went up to the coach and said, “Harsh is Mormon, and he’s not man enough to swear. He’s too churchy!”
I thought the coach would get mad at me or start to make fun of me as well, but instead he stood up for me and told my teammate, “Hey, leave Harsh alone. He has a lot of heart and can show you up on the football field any time!”
I was surprised. I thought my coach would respect me if I swore like everyone else. But actually, he respected me more because I was true to my standards.
I don’t know how big of an impact my example had on my teammates and coaches, but I realized later how strong that experience made me. Now, a few years later, it is easier for me to stand up for what I believe. I also realize that when we make a decision to obey the commandments, we are not alone. The Holy Ghost will help and support us through our trials.