Gospel Story Finder

Recently a mother told me her family had moved from a rural, scattered ward where, of necessity, activities were consolidated into one weekday night. It was wonderful. They had time for their family. I can see them sitting around the table together.

They moved west into a larger ward where members were closer to the chapel. She said, “Now our family is scheduled Tuesday night, Wednesday night, Thursday night, Friday night, Saturday night, and Sunday night. It is very hard on our family.”

As a part of the Yefis’ goal of building an eternal family, they have eagerly shared the gospel with their extended family members. Brother Yefi’s father, Prudencio Yefi Calbucan, was the first relative to listen to the gospel message. Next his brother, Segundo Prudencio Yefi Aguilar, his brother’s wife, Maria Isabel de Yefi, and one of their daughters became interested. Then his brother-in-law, Jose Nolberto Miranda Diaz—who we had met at the lakeshore—his wife, Maria Francisca de Miranda, his oldest son Juan Heriberto Miranda Yefi, and two younger daughters wanted to learn more.
Brother Yefi taught them all the missionary discussions. Then they all made the journey to Puerto Varas to be interviewed by the full-time missionaries. After the interviews, Brother Yefi baptized them. He also challenged them to receive the temple endowments which he and Sister Yefi had already done. (The Mirandas’ oldest son was serving in the Chile Vina del Mar Mission at the time of our visit.)

As I looked around the classroom into the faces of self-conscious but eager 12-year-old girls, I thought of the first line of the Young Women theme: “We are daughters of our Heavenly Father, who loves us.”
I wondered, “How do these young women know Heavenly Father loves them?” So I asked them.
Many bowed their heads or nervously shuffled their feet, not wanting to be called on. It was obvious to me they needed some time to think about the question and perhaps some privacy for their response. “Think about it throughout the lesson,” I said.
At the conclusion, I handed out pieces of paper and had the young women write anonymously how they knew that Heavenly Father loved them. As they struggled to write, I heard such comments as “This is so hard” and “I’m not sure I do know.” I was particularly struck by Jocelyn, who had been in tears through most of the lesson. When I privately read their answers, I knew which crumpled paper was hers. She said simply, “Because He saved my mom.”
Her mother is one of my dear friends, and I too had been fervently praying for her. She had just successfully undergone surgery for a heart condition and was about to be released from the hospital when an artery in her spleen burst. Within minutes she was at death’s door. A team of doctors feverishly worked to revive her enough to prepare her for emergency surgery. Miraculous is the only way to describe her recovery. It was an answer to many prayers, including Jocelyn’s and mine. It was a powerful witness of God’s love.

Because of the difficulties we faced, my mom wanted a better life for her children and often prayed for help.
Our circumstances didn’t change until a miracle took place in our lives. I was only a young boy when the missionaries came to our village, but I remember everything. My mom, dad, brother, and I were eating lunch in our field. I can still remember the smell of the tortillas on the fire as two white men with light hair made their way through the field. My eyes opened wide in surprise, and I held onto my mom, ready to kick the men if it became necessary to defend ourselves. However, when the men asked, “Would it be OK if we warmed up our tortillas in your fire?” peace came over me. Curiosity filled my head. Why was their accent so funny? Why did they wear white shirts and neckties? Why were they so big?
“Sure, you can warm up your tortillas in our fire,” my dad replied. I don’t know how it happened, but the next thing I knew, the missionaries were showing us illustrations of the Prophet Joseph Smith in the Sacred Grove. My mom was shocked! She had always believed that Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ were beings we could talk to and ask questions of, but she had never heard anyone teach that. While listening to the story of the First Vision, my mom received confirmation from the Holy Ghost that it was true. The visit of these two missionaries was the answer to her prayers. My mom invited them to drop by our house any day.
Later when the missionaries visited us and taught us about the Word of Wisdom, my mom was the happiest I have ever seen her. My dad is a slightly different story. I remember that he was trying to smile, but his eyes were watery, his forehead was white, and the rest of his face was red.
In our tribe, you stick with the traditions—no matter what. Changing religions is viewed as an act of desertion. Friends leave you and relatives look down on you, especially if you are the first one to change.
My mom was surprised that the missionaries took so long to ask, “Will you be baptized into the Church?” She was ready. My dad felt in his heart that the message brought by the missionaries was true, but he was concerned about the consequences that would come to our family if we went against the traditions of our tribe. He needed more time to make up his mind.
In the end, my dad went against everything he had known and chose the gospel. His friends left him. Our relatives told him he was crazy and asked how much money the missionaries paid him to get baptized. No one invited us to parties anymore. My family’s social life was gone for a while. These changes were some of the hardest my family ever had to make.
The gospel of Jesus Christ brought a mighty change into my family, for which I am grateful. My dad dedicated more time to our family. My mom cooked better meals. My parents now spent our income wisely. We even had the chance to attend elementary school. My dad said something to us that I will never forget: “From this point on, you will never quit until you get a degree from school.”
We were a different family. Family home evening became a time when we set personal and family goals. My dad prepared gospel lessons and shared his life experiences with us, something he had never done before. We children knew our parents loved us. Alcohol was no longer in our home. The fights between my mom and dad turned into discussions in which they tried to understand each other. Somehow we seemed to be materially rich, although we were actually poor. We were a happy family, and eventually my dad was respected for his new way of life. People trusted him because he did not drink anymore. His friends began to come to him for advice, and somehow whoever associated with my dad started to prosper. Gospel living was contagious. My dad even organized a group of farmers to learn new and better methods of farming.
As a child, I started my religious reading with the Bible, but the Old Testament was too hard for me to read and understand at that young age. My next attempt was the Book of Mormon. After reading a couple of pages, I could not put the book away. Nephi became my new hero. Each day, after some hours of school and many hours of work on the farm, I went back to reading the Book of Mormon. As I read, I felt a special connection between the people of the Book of Mormon and my tribe. I felt the Book of Mormon explained where our Cakchiquel tribe came from and who our ancestors were.
In my reading of the Book of Mormon and learning about the true gospel of Jesus Christ, I felt that I was part of the fulfillment of the promises God made to Lehi, Nephi, and other Book of Mormon prophets about their children being preserved. I’m eternally grateful to those faithful people in the Book of Mormon and to the missionaries who introduced us to the book that changed the course of our lives.
My family eventually moved to Guatemala City. My parents have served in our ward there for many years. My two brothers and two sisters and I are all faithful Latter-day Saints. My brothers and I served full-time missions. My brother, sister, and I are studying at a university.
My family’s conversion story reflects God’s love and mercy for His children. I am thankful for the love He has for His children wherever they are—even deep in the mountains of Guatemala.

I brushed the raindrops off my nose and opened the back door just as my little sister, Mikey, came dancing into the kitchen. She was carrying a shoe box and a newspaper. “Hey, Mikey, what’s in the box?” I asked.
She looked at me and raised her eyebrows, her chipmunk cheeks bulging with vanilla wafers. “Stuff.” She turned and skipped down the hall to her room.
My brother, Joe, looked over the top of his peanut-butter sandwich. “It’s a present for Dad’s birthday tomorrow,” he said between bites.
“But what is it?”
“Mithens,” he mumbled, his mouth full of peanut butter and jelly.
“Did you say mittens?”
He nodded. “She’s giving Dad her pink sweater and her favorite mittens, the ones with the little clown faces on them. I saw her take them out of the hall closet.”
I started to laugh, picturing Dad trying to squeeze himself into Mikey’s little clothes, then covered my mouth so that Mikey wouldn’t hear.
“Don’t tell,” Joe warned, gulping down a glass of milk.
“I won’t,” I promised, still trying not to laugh.
It’s kind of weird. Some of my friends think their little brothers and sisters are pests. Sometimes I do get mad at Mikey. Like when she tried to feed my goldfish a bite of chocolate cupcake. It mucked up the water, and my fish almost died. But most of the time Joe and I think Mikey is just about the sweetest, best, funniest little sister in the whole world. Her real name is Michailah, after our grandmother, but everybody calls her Mikey.
After dinner, Mikey helped me dry the dishes. When I asked her if she wanted me to help her wrap her box, she put her hands on her hips and cocked her head. “It’s a secret,” she announced. “I have to do it my own self.”
The next day when I got home from school, Mikey grabbed my hand and pulled me into the living room. There it was—Mikey’s box—wrapped up in the Sunday comics. There were pieces of tape sticking out all over. Mikey’s eyes were shining. “Daddy’s going to love it!”
I smiled, stooping down and putting my arms around her. “Well, I can see you’re pleased with yourself.”
She nodded and brushed a little lock of tangled hair off her forehead. “How much more longer till Daddy comes home?”
“Not long,” I told her.
Right after dinner, we helped Mom clear the table and put Dad’s birthday cake and presents on it. Then we all sat down. All except Mikey. She was so excited, she looked like a little rainbow lit up with sunbeams. She was practically dancing in her chair. “Pick mine, Daddy!” she squealed.
“And could this be it?” Dad smiled, reaching for the wrapped shoe box.
Mikey nodded. “Daddy, I didn’t have any money but I got you something special to keep you warm.”
Slowly Dad tore off the Sunday comics, then lifted the lid. I looked at Joe. He looked at me and winked. Dad lifted the pink sweater and little mittens from the box. “Ooooh!” he said. “A new sweater and mittens to keep me warm. Should I try them on?” His eyes twinkled.
Mikey put her hands over her mouth and started to giggle. “No, you funny Daddy! These are my stuff!” She reached out and snatched the sweater and mittens from Dad’s hands.
I looked at Joe. He looked at me, his eyebrows raised in a question mark. We looked at Mom. She looked puzzled, too. Dad just sat there with his mouth half open, looking confused.
Mikey slipped the soft pink sweater over her head and wiggled her hands into the mittens. “I didn’t get you clothes, Daddy.” She was still giggling. “I got you a hug!” She laughed, putting her sweatered arms around Dad’s neck and giving him a big squeeze. “See? It’s a nice wooly hug, and it’ll keep you warm in your heart,” she whispered, patting him gently with her soft mittens.
Dad didn’t look confused anymore. He was smiling, but his eyes were sort of misty. “Thank you, Mikey,” he said at last. “Thank you for a very special gift. I will remember it always.”
“Can I have one of those mitten hugs for my birthday, too?” Joe asked.
“Me, too?” I added.
Mikey shook her head. “Nope,” she said. “You don’t have to wait for your birthday ’cause you can have one right now!”

Recently we had in our home some nonmember friends from another part of the country, and they were with us for about a week. One of them is a very well educated man. He initially prepared for the ministry, and then determined he would not continue in that vein but would become a psychologist, and he received his doctorate in that field.
Upon graduating, he established a clinic, and in that clinic today there are several psychiatrists and a number of psychologists and social workers. This man is also an adviser to a state board of education and to a state university. He is involved in the accreditation tests of universities.
When we realized that this very well educated person was coming to our home, we wondered what we could show him and how we could tell him about the things that we believe.
First, we brought him here to this magnificent building. It was on a Sunday morning, and he was impressed with the artistic ability of this great choir. He went into the visitors’ centers here on the grounds and was exposed to what is there.
I sought an interview for him with the commissioner of education. I wanted to impress him with the fact that we have people who have some background in the field of education as well. We took him to Brigham Young University and had him visit with persons there who are in his field, hoping that he would be impressed with that great university—and he was impressed.
Then I took him behind the scenes and introduced him to the curriculum planning functions of the Church as described by Elder Packer today. Because of his background in education he had been involved in curriculum planning for all different levels, but as he saw this plan, he was amazed. He said, “I’ve never seen anything like it. You should have the Nobel prize for curriculum planning.”
He saw many things. Then, during his last evening at our home, I said, “What questions do you have?”
He said, “How do you console the bereaved?”
We opened up the Old Testament, and then we read from the New Testament. Then we looked in another testament, the Book of Mormon. We studied from Alma and other parts of this testament that Jesus is the Christ. We then moved on to modern-day scriptures and studied the 76th and 138th sections of the Doctrine and Covenants. We also read from the Pearl of Great Price.
And we talked about the cross-referencing of these scriptures. They are not isolated one from another. They are one integral whole and have come from one source—the Lord God, and his Son Jesus Christ, who through prophets over the ages have inspired those thoughts and had them recorded so that they would lift us to an understanding of the pearl of great price.
We have many wonderful teachings in this Church, all of which contribute to an uplifting, wonderful life. And yet as we look through all these trappings, and down to the very center core, we find that there is the message: yes, the Lord Jesus Christ came in the meridian of time. There he called others—Apostles and seventy, and others—to assist him in the task. He was placed on the cross and then in the tomb, and on the third day he arose. He lives today, and because he lives today, we will live tomorrow. That, I told my friend, is how we console the bereaved.

The importance of the Book of Mormon in the latter-day work cannot be overestimated. President David O. McKay once related a story about his father, Bishop David McKay, who, in 1881, was called to serve as a missionary in Scotland, his native land. He performed a great work and presided over the Glasgow District. In that year there was great persecution in the land, and whenever he tried to teach, it seemed that the people turned away. There was bitterness against anything relating to our faith and its origins. Antagonism seemed to arise at the very mention of the name of Joseph Smith. President McKay, speaking of his father, states:
“One day he concluded that the best way to reach these people would be to preach just the simple principles, the atonement of the Lord Jesus Christ, the first principles of the gospel, and not bear testimony of the restoration. In a month or so he became oppressed with a gloomy, downcast feeling, and he could not enter in the spirit of his work. He did not really know what was the matter, but his mind became obstructed; his spirit became depressed; he was oppressed and hampered; and that feeling of oppression continued until it weighed him down with such heaviness that he went to the Lord and said, ‘Unless I can get this feeling removed, I shall have to go home. I can’t continue having my work thus hampered.’
“The discouragement continued for some time after that, when, one morning before daylight, following a sleepless night, he decided to retire to a cave, near the ocean, where he knew he would be shut off from the world entirely, and there pour out his soul to God and ask why he was oppressed with this feeling, what he had done, and what he could do to throw it off and continue his work. He started out in the dark toward the cave. He became so eager to get to it that he started to run. … Something just seemed to drive him; he had to get relief. He entered the cave or sheltered opening, and said: ‘Oh, Father, what can I do to have this feeling removed? I must have it lifted or I cannot continue in this work;’ and he heard a voice, as distinct as the tone I am now uttering, say, ‘Testify that Joseph Smith is a prophet of God.’ Remembering then what he tacitly had decided six weeks or more before, and becoming overwhelmed with the thought, the whole thing came to him in a realization that he was there for a special mission, and he had not given that special mission the attention it deserved. Then he cried in his heart, ‘Lord, it is enough,’ and went out from the cave.”
President McKay went on: “You who know him know the mission he performed” (Cherished Experiences from the Writings of President David O. McKay, compiled by Clare Middlemiss, Salt Lake City: Deseret Book Company, 1976, pages 11–12).

Day by day the scenery and travel grew increasingly tiresome. Near Chimney Rock (in what is now Wyoming) some of the cattle became diseased and died, forcing the company to make shorter drives each day. William began to think he would never get to Utah and rejoin Elizabeth.
Finally one October Saturday, William’s company descended the hills above Salt Lake City, awed by a beautiful sunset across the Great Salt Lake and by the splendid square-blocked city stretched out below them. As they approached the city, an occupant of a nearby cabin called and waved to William. It was Sister Wardell, the woman with whom Elizabeth had traveled to Utah! William hurried to her, but his anticipation was instantly crushed. She informed him that Elizabeth no longer loved him and planned to marry a local polygamist!
“This was like a bolt of thunder to me,” he recalled. Heartsick, the young man continued with the company to the valley floor, then returned that night to the Wardells. The woman tried to persuade William to marry her daughter, but he was not interested. “I formed a resolution that I was going to have the ‘love of my youth’”, he said.
Friends from Maldon lived in Centerville so early the next week William hiked 19 kilometers to locate them. He arrived at night, and “to my great joy the girl of my heart was found lying asleep on an old home-made lounge and looking free although almost in rags. She awoke, and her joy was unbounded.” Elizabeth then explained that the Wardell woman had tried to marry her to her own son. That failing, the mother sent the girl away and kept all the clothes and bedding until Elizabeth’s 40-dollar fare was paid in full. The woman then had made up the story about Elizabeth’s loss of affection for William, hoping the navy veteran would marry into the Wardell family.
William returned to Salt Lake City and drove his freight team to Springville where he received his three months’ wages. Then he walked back to Salt Lake, paid off the 40-dollar debt, obtained his and Elizabeth’s belongings, and then got a ride back to Centerville. Two weeks later the engaged couple were married.

A while ago my sister and I went to do baptisms for the dead. I didn’t think I would feel the Spirit because I didn’t read my scriptures or say my prayers a lot. But I went, and when I was there I felt the Spirit and also felt like the people I was being baptized for were with me. I was so happy that I went home and read my scriptures. I’ve been reading them every day since.Sheri GwynnWest Jordan, Utah

by Mike Kawasaki
The Young Men and Young Women presidencies with the Activities Committee of the Oak Hills 4th Ward, Provo Utah Oak Hills Stake, had planned a formal dinner-dance for the Mutual-age youth.
The dinner-dance was to prepare the youth to learn spiritual responsibilities and etiquette without the peer pressures of dating.
In preparation for the activity, we had a fireside with the speaker stressing that the youth develop a style of their own. A second fireside was held to learn manners, with volunteers offering to demonstrate their knowledge of table manners. The leader gently corrected or complimented as individuals demonstrated their knowledge of correct table etiquette. Details from avoiding chewing gum to how to butter bread were reviewed.
The evening of the dinner-dance arrived. The cultural hall was arranged with round tables, each set with fine crystal and china. As the different courses were served, leaders acting as waiters and waitresses were eavesdropping on dinner conversations ranging in subject from braces to seminary classes.
Following dinner, the dance began with partners having been arranged for each dance. One of the young men had programmed his computer to match up dance partners. Each participant was given a computer printout, rolled and tied with a ribbon.
The evening was a tremendous success. “We looked forward to this activity for so long, and it was so much fun. We learned a lot about how to eat at a formal table, and we learned about how to act on dates,” said my daughter Kara when reflecting about the evening.
After thanking their hosts, the young people asked, “Can we do this again next year?” The resounding answer was yes.

Lina swung her lunchbox as she walked to the lunchroom. Lunch was the best part of the day. Lina loved sitting with her friends and talking about who said what, who liked who, who got in trouble — there were always fun things to talk about. And today Lina was sure she had the most exciting news. She couldn’t wait to tell her friends.
“Guess what!” she said as soon as she sat down. “Shara Johnson had to go home early today … because she has lice!”
The girls gasped and stared at her.
Trish moaned. “I walked right by her like six times today!” she said. “What if I have lice too?”
“Oh no,” Katy said. “I have to work with her on a science project next week.”
Melissa shuddered. “That is so gross. I don’t think I can be her friend anymore.”
Lina stopped smiling. She squirmed in her seat. She had been excited to share some news, but she didn’t like how they were talking about Shara now. She didn’t want Shara to lose any friends! Getting lice didn’t mean anything bad about Shara; it could have happened to any of them. Lina tried to forget about it and just eat her food, but she just couldn’t.
When the bell rang for them to go back to class, the girls were still talking about Shara. They kept laughing and making faces. Lina felt awful.
Back in class, Mrs. Currier called Lina to her desk.
“Since you’re Shara’s neighbor, would you please take her today’s homework?” Mrs. Currier asked.
Oh no. Lina didn’t want to face Shara. Not after what she’d said. But she nodded and took the worksheets.
On her way home after school, Lina stopped by the Johnsons’ house. She rang the doorbell and hoped that anyone but Shara would open the door.
“Hi, Lina!” It was Shara. She smiled when she saw Lina standing on the porch. “What’s up?”
“I’m just bringing your homework,” Lina said, trying to smile too.
“Thanks!” Shara said. “I was worried I would fall behind after missing today.”
“So you’ll be back tomorrow?” Lina asked.
“Yep! I’ll see you in class.”
“Awesome. See you tomorrow.” Lina smiled the best she could, then walked away. Now she felt even worse. Shara was so nice, and now the girls at school were saying mean things about her. Lina wanted to fix things. But how?
Lina didn’t know what to do, but she knew who could help her. She stopped walking, closed her eyes, and bowed her head.
Heavenly Father, I really messed up today. I gossiped about Shara, and now I feel really bad about it. I am so sorry. I don’t know how to make it right. Please help me fix my mistake.
After Lina finished praying, she felt peaceful. She knew that making things right might be scary, but Heavenly Father would help her.
The next day at lunch, Lina saw her friends at their usual table. As she walked toward them, she said another quick prayer.
Please help me be brave.
“Hey,” Lina said. She didn’t sit down. “I just wanted to say … I wanted to say that I’m sorry I told you Shara had lice. Shara is really nice, and I shouldn’t have said anything. We shouldn’t spread bad news about other people.”
Trish, Katy, and Melissa stared at her. They looked too surprised to say anything. Lina turned away. She felt better for the first time since yesterday! Then she spotted Shara across the lunchroom and waved. Shara waved back, and Lina walked over to sit by her. The warm feeling in her heart told her that she had made the right choice.

Of course, for members of the Church, it was difficult for those who were ill to call on the aid of nonmember neighbours; and the great distances between some members made it more difficult to weather the challenges. In October 1918, David Owen was serving in the Leeds area when he received a letter from the Whitehouse family who lived in Penistone, Yorkshire. He travelled about 30 miles to check on and administer to the family, most of whom were ill with influenza. “No one will help them,” wrote David, “because they are Mormons.”18 (We are certainly fortunate in our current age in which prejudices are largely dissipated, and technology offers the ability to minister and comfort from a distance.)

I have many good memories with my dad. My second birthday was his first day of dental school. Old photographs show us hard at work: Dad with his textbook and model teeth, and me with my clay dental set. I also remember reading the scriptures with Dad. I knew words like and, the, and I, so he would read everything else and pause when he came to words I knew. I was definitely a daddy’s girl.
After Dad graduated, he worked as a dentist in his hometown. As his dental practice grew, so did our family. But over time, I noticed that something seemed wrong. Dad was always gone. And when he was home, he was sleeping. Mom cried a lot, and I could tell she was upset. When I was nine, I demanded to know what was happening.
It was then that I learned my father was severely addicted to narcotic drugs.
At first I didn’t understand the situation. As I learned more, I grew angry with my dad. How could he be so selfish? Why wouldn’t he just stop? Didn’t he love us more than he loved the pills?
I felt so scared and lost. You know how when you lean too far back in a chair, there’s a fraction of a second where you know you’re about to fall, but there’s nothing you can do about it? That’s how it felt. I felt helpless and angry and uncertain all the time.
Dad went to rehab, which didn’t work. He started falsifying prescriptions to feed his addiction. A pharmacist reported him to the authorities, which prompted a criminal investigation. Dad was arrested and charged with several felonies.
He began his prison sentence on my little sister’s ninth birthday. I remember it clearly. Our family went to Grandma’s house for a birthday breakfast—she made homemade orange rolls, which I don’t think she’s made since that day. After breakfast, we tearfully hugged Dad goodbye and watched our parents leave for southern Colorado, to drop Dad off at prison.
I can’t imagine what that drive, and the lonely trip back home, was like for my mom. But she didn’t let herself wallow in negativity. Instead, she decided that our family was going to succeed. I rarely saw her falter in her faith or her resolve to provide for us.
As for me, I didn’t care what happened to Dad—I wanted him gone. I wanted my life back. In my eyes at the time, all the turmoil, heartache, and tears we experienced were his fault.
For a while after Dad left, we kept our heartbreak to ourselves. Then our family’s story hit the front page of the local newspaper. When details were publicized, vicious rumors about my family started floating around. People started treating me differently, as if they pitied me. Girls in my sister’s class at school bullied her. I felt embarrassed for me and my family.
But there was kindness too. Family members took my siblings to school, took care of my little brother while Mom worked, and helped pay bills. My Young Women leader drove me to activities every week. Mom’s coworker bowed out of a job opportunity because she knew Mom needed it more. Members of our stake wrote to Dad every week. Several dentists helped with Dad’s patients. Teachers at school offered to be an emotional “safe place” if I needed one. So many people emulated the scripture that says to “lift up the hands which hang down, and strengthen the feeble knees” (Doctrine and Covenants 81:5).
Dad was in prison for about 18 months, at a halfway house for three months, and then on house arrest for three more months. We visited him and talked with him on the phone from time to time, but his homecoming was still a time of anxiety for me. He had been gone for so long! We all had to get used to each other again. I felt uneasy about letting Dad back into my life, as I still felt so angry toward him.
I don’t remember a specific day or moment when I felt whole again—it took time. I didn’t know where to turn, so I learned to pray like I’d never prayed before. I learned to listen to the promptings of the Spirit. I learned to take the spiritual “leap of faith” we sometimes hear about.
Over time, I realized that the plan of redemption is based on Heavenly Father’s understanding that we will all struggle. We all need to be redeemed and to be made whole again. That’s what Jesus Christ can do for us. And that’s what I finally allowed Him to do for me. As I trusted Him, He helped soften my heart. He put me back together again. He helped me heal and forgive.
Today my family’s trials haven’t ceased, but we’ve learned how to do hard things together. I’ve learned that every family, and every person, has struggles and imperfections. I’ve seen how we can use those experiences to strengthen one another rather than hide from one another.
Because of the Savior, my dad has become one of my heroes and trusted confidants. He’s used his experiences to strengthen others around him. He works at his dental practice and serves in a branch presidency, guiding others through their struggles. In many ways, he’s still the same dad I used to read the Book of Mormon with as a daddy’s girl. He’s with our family again, and that’s what matters to me.
Recently, we celebrated 10 years of Dad’s sobriety—that’s how powerful the Atonement of Jesus Christ is. We’re no longer consumed by pain. Rather, my dad and I have grown closer to the Lord. We’ve experienced a mighty change of heart (see Alma 5) because of the Savior. And I know that regardless of what you might be going through, He can always do the same for you.

Teri leaned close to the windowpane and blew on it. She watched the steam spread out on the glass in front of her face. Then she wiped the steam away and looked at the swirling snow outside the window. Snowflakes were falling everywhere. Teri could barely see the green tips of the evergreens peeking out of their white covering. Even the fence had a coating of snow.
Suddenly Teri saw two sparrows flutter down and land on the porch rail.
“Mother,” she called. “Come quickly. There are some sparrows on the porch. Can we throw a few bread crumbs to them?”
Mother walked across the room and stood next to Teri at the window. Together they watched as the birds flew from the rail onto the porch.
“Can we?” Teri asked again.
“We can do better than that,” Mother answered. “Today is a perfect day for bird pie.”
“Bird pie? May I help make it?” Teri asked excitedly.
“You certainly may, and you can begin by bringing me that wire basket I hung my flowers in last summer. We’ll hang our bird pie in a basket in the apple tree.”
Teri brought the basket and put it on the kitchen counter. “What does bird pie have in it?” she asked.
“Just three things,” Mother answered. “First all the bacon drippings I’ve been saving.”
Teri spooned the drippings into a big yellow bowl.
“Next we need enough flour to make a paste,” Mother said.
Teri stirred in the flour.
“And last we’ll add sunflower seeds,” Teri guessed, picking up the seeds that were lying on the counter.
“Right,” Mother smiled.
Mother held the basket while Teri spooned the bird pie into the wire container. Then Mother took the bird pie out into the yard and hung the basket in the apple tree.
Teri looked at the wire basket blowing gently back and forth on the limb of the apple tree.
“Do you think the birds will find our pie?” she asked Mother.
“I’m sure they will,” Mother answered. “Birds always seem to know when food is nearby.”
It was quiet while they waited and watched. Teri could hear the wind blowing around the house, picking up puffs of snow as it blew.
Then she saw a sparrow land on the branch above the pie. She held her breath. The bird bobbed along the branch closer and closer to the basket. Finally it fluttered into the air and landed on the basket.
Teri hugged her mother. “The sparrow found it!” she exclaimed. “He found our bird pie!”
Mother smiled. “Look again,” she said.
Teri looked out the window. Her eyes opened wide.
“One, two, three, four, five birds,” Teri counted. Then she smiled. “You were right. It is a perfect day for bird pie!”

For a long time, my dad was an assistant farm manager. He worked so hard and always dreamed of one day buying his own farm.
His work ethic inspired me, especially after I left to serve a mission in Japan. I found strength and motivation when I thought about his example.
So on one preparation day, when my dad told me he had finally bought his own farmland, I was so excited for him. He invested a lot of money into growing pumpkins and told me they were going to grow large within six weeks. He found so much joy in finally achieving his goal.
But things didn’t go according to plan.
A few weeks after I heard about my dad’s new farm, the COVID-19 pandemic began and I was suddenly released from my mission. However, I couldn’t go home because of lockdowns across Australia. I was required to isolate for two weeks before going home, and it was the loneliest time of my life.
During isolation, my dad called me. I noticed right away that he was sad. Four weeks had passed since he’d planted his pumpkins, but they were frail and tiny—smaller than his hands. He worried about losing the money he’d invested in his new farm.
My dad is a good, honest, and humble man. Seeing him so upset brought me to tears later that night. My heart broke because I couldn’t be home with my family to offer my support. It was so unfair that my dad had worked so hard only for things to fail.
I prayed to Heavenly Father to know what I could do. And that’s when I got a distinct impression:
“You can fast for the pumpkins.”
At first the thought seemed ridiculous. Fast for the pumpkins? I doubted that would make a difference! But I thought about the many times I had fasted throughout my mission and how it had brought so many miracles. Sometimes it was as small as knowing what words to say while teaching or just increasing my love for those I served, but fasting had still made a difference.
So, on a random Wednesday during my isolation, I fasted—for pumpkins.
But I also fasted for my family and me to feel the Savior’s love during a difficult time.
A few weeks later, I finally arrived home. When my dad took me to his pumpkin fields, I saw hundreds of massive pumpkins. They were huge! It was truly a miracle. I couldn’t believe it.
I felt Heavenly Father’s awareness of my family in that moment.
This experience wasn’t just about the miracle of the gigantic pumpkins (and yes, my arms still feel sore when I think about harvesting them). To me, the miracle was realizing how much love Jesus Christ can bring into our homes and into our family relationships when we act in faith.
I know that Heavenly Father sees all that we might be facing within our own families. He is aware of our worries and our struggles, and He helps us express love when we ask for His help. He even saw that something as seemingly insignificant as a pumpkin patch was important to my family and helped me find a way to channel my love for them in a meaningful and miraculous way.

Born on May 16, 1952, in Bungoma, Kenya, to Nathan and Lenah Sitati, Elder Sitati was 34 when a business associate invited him, his wife, Gladys Nangoni, and their five children to attend church in his home. The family had become disillusioned with organized religion but felt something special with this small group of Latter-day Saints. So they returned week after week. Six months later, in 1986, the family joined the Church.

Ammon Arvidson and Brooke Noble, two youth from the Maitland Ward, Newcastle Australia Stake, were chosen to represent Port Stephens, Australia, at the first World Child Summit, held in Kushiro, Japan, last summer. The theme was “The Natural Environment and Our Future.” To be chosen, they each had to present a 10-minute speech on the environment of Port Stephens, the problems facing the habitat, and their role in protecting the natural beauty of the world.
Speaking of the presentations he made at the summit, Ammon, 12, said, “It makes me very aware of the beautiful world our Lord has created for us to enjoy.” Then thinking about all the people, languages, and cultures created by the Lord, Ammon added, “It makes me look forward to serving a mission wherever Heavenly Father sends me.”

Our priest quorum meeting had come to an end.
“That’s all the announcements and assignments,” said our quorum adviser, Brother Reed. “Oh, but I would like to see Greg and Tom Glenn after class, if you boys wouldn’t mind.”
“Oh, no” I thought to myself. “I guess we’re in some kind of trouble.” I bowed my head, folded my arms, and hoped that the closing prayer would never end.
We both knew why Brother Reed wanted to see us. Tom and I hadn’t been on time to priesthood meeting for weeks. Sometimes we didn’t get there at all, and sometimes we crept silently through the door and slipped into the back row, just in time to get our sacrament meeting assignments and leave.
Now, it wasn’t because we were sleeping late or wasting time at home. On the contrary. We were wide awake every morning at 4:30 to do the chores on the dairy farm where we lived. Dad had recently had a heart attack, so Tom and I had the responsibility to milk the cows and clean the place, and do all the other dairy work. We had the cows on an established schedule which easily got us to school on time during the week; but on Sundays, finishing everything, then showering and dressing for priesthood at 7:30 was difficult. With all the work that needed to be done, we thought we were doing well to get to priesthood meeting at all.
Evidently, though, our priests quorum adviser didn’t think so. After everyone else had left the room, Brother Reed pulled a chair up close to us. “Boys,” he said in a surprisingly gentle tone, “there’s really something missing from the quorum when you’re not here. What am I doing wrong? Are my lessons bad, or is it something I do personally that offends you?”
We thought we were going to be chastised, but here was Brother Reed, thinking he was the reason we were late. We both started explaining that it wasn’t his fault at all, and we told him about the work at the dairy.
“Well, would it do any good if I came over early on Sunday and helped with the work a little? It would be a privilege for me, and might help you get to priesthood meeting on time. What do you say? What time does the work start?” he asked.
Tom and I had the same thought at the same time. We couldn’t let Brother Reed do that. First of all, 4:30 was far too early to get anyone out of bed and away from his family on a Sunday morning. Second, we didn’t want him to have to endure the below freezing winter weather. And third, there wasn’t that much he could do anyway because we wouldn’t give him any of the really dirty work.
So when he asked us when we started, we told him 3:30 A.M., thinking that no sane person would get up that early, no matter how helpful he wanted to be. We thanked Brother Reed for his sincere offer to help, shook his hand, and assured him that we would try to make more of an effort to be at our meetings on time in the future.
We didn’t think about his offer much for the rest of the week, until Sunday when I got out of bed at about 4:15 on a very cold morning. I looked out the window and was shocked to see Brother Reed’s old car parked outside our house. I quickly put my clothes on, ran outside, and tapped on his car window.
“Good morning,” he said cheerfully as he opened the car window. His words formed small icy clouds in the air between us. He reached out to shake my hand, and I noticed his grasp was one of the coldest I’d ever felt. It was obvious he’d been waiting for some time—probably since 3:30.
“Come inside while Tom gets dressed,” I said as I led him into the house. Then I ran to make sure Tom was ready for work.
In a few minutes, Brother Reed, Tom, and I were trudging through the snow to the barn. The one thing we hadn’t exaggerated about was the amount of work there was to do, and Brother Reed did the best he could.
As we milked the cows, Brother Reed paused for a second and rather timidly asked, “Do you suppose I could have just a little sip of that milk? I’ve almost forgotten what fresh milk tastes like.”
We felt great concern for our quorum adviser. Not only did we give him a drink, but we packaged several liters of milk for him to take home to his family. It was the least we could do for him.
It was getting closer and closer to the time for priesthood meeting to begin, and the work still wasn’t finished. Finally Brother Reed told us he would have to go home and get ready for church. “Now I understand why it’s so hard for you boys to get to class on time. I’ll try to be a little more considerate in the future,” he said as he wiped the sweat from his forehead and walked out of the barn to his car.
You should have seen the look of surprise on his face when he arrived at church to find Tom and me already there. We had decided that if he cared enough to come out on a bitterly cold morning to help us, we could work a little faster and help him. I can’t honestly say that we were both on time for every meeting from then on, but we did always see that at least one of us was there every Sunday.
And we discovered that Brother Reed’s lessons were actually very good. But none of them ever compared to the lesson he taught us about service and love on that cold winter morning.

President Hinckley’s grandfather, Ira Nathanial Hinckley, lost his parents and was sent from Michigan to Springfield, Illinois, to live with his grandparents. As a teenager he walked to Nauvoo, Illinois, and met the Prophet Joseph Smith.
He traveled westward with the pioneers. During the U.S. Civil War he volunteered for service in the Union army guarding the transcontinental telegraph line. Later he was sent by Brigham Young to Cove Creek, Utah, where he built the fort that stands today.
On the trek west, Ira Hinckley stayed back for one season to plow the prairies and plant grain that he would not harvest. The harvest belonged to those who came afterward. The forebearers of Brother and Sister Hinckley planted fields of faith for those who followed them.

Now, to a different but related matter.
Last April in our priesthood meeting, I announced a new program. I spoke of the large numbers of our missionaries from South America, Mexico, the Philippines, and other areas. They respond to calls and serve with their North American brothers and sisters. They develop strong testimonies. They learn a new way of life. They are highly effective because they speak their native tongues and know the cultures of their native lands. They enjoy a wonderful season of hard and dedicated work.
Then they are released to go back home. Their families are living in poverty, and many of them fall back into the same situation from which they came, unable to move because of a lack of skills and the consequent difficulty in finding good employment.
I spoke to you of the Perpetual Emigration Fund, which was established in the pioneer era of the Church to assist the poor in coming from England and Europe. A revolving fund was established from which small loans were made, which made it possible for 30,000 to emigrate from their native lands and gather in Zion.
I told you we would apply the same principle and create what would be known as the Perpetual Education Fund. Out of the funds which would be donated by our people, and not from tithing funds, we would create a corpus, the earnings from which would be used to assist our young brethren and sisters in attending school to qualify themselves for better employment. They would develop skills whereby they could earn sufficient to take good care of their families and rise above the poverty level that they and their prior generations had known.
We had nothing in the fund at the time it was planned. But moving forward in faith, we established an organization, modest in its dimensions, to implement that which we felt was necessary. I am pleased to report that the money has come in, tens of thousands of dollars, hundreds of thousands of dollars, even millions. This has come from generous members of the Church who love the Lord and wish to assist the less fortunate of His people in rising in the economic world. We now have a substantial sum. It is not all that we need. We hope that these contributions will continue. The size of the corpus will determine the number who can be helped.
Now, six months later, I wish to give you a report of what has been accomplished. First, we called Elder John K. Carmack, who served so well in the First Quorum of the Seventy and who became an emeritus Seventy with this conference. He is an accomplished attorney, a man of sound judgment in business, a man of great ability. He has been appointed managing director, and though he is retired from the work of the Seventy, he will give his full time to the prosecution of this endeavor.
Elder Richard E. Cook of the Seventy, who likewise has become emeritus, will join him in looking after the finances. Elder Cook was formerly assistant controller of the Ford Motor Company, a man experienced in worldwide finance, a most capable executive, and a man who loves the Lord and the Lord’s children.
We have worn out these brethren on one side, and now have turned them over to wear them out on the other side.
They have associated with them Brother Rex Allen, an expert in organization and training, and Brother Chad Evans, who has vast experience in programs of advanced education.
All contribute their time and expertise without compensation.
The program is up and running. These brethren have been very careful to get it off to a proper start with sound governing principles. We have restricted the area in which it will operate initially, but this area will be expanded as we have the means to do so.
These brethren have gone to work to utilize the existing organization of the Church. The program is priesthood based, and that is why it will succeed. It begins with the bishops and the stake presidents. It involves the Church Educational System, the Employment Services offices, and others who work together in a marvelous spirit of cooperation. It was first implemented in Peru, Chile, and Mexico—areas where the number of returned missionaries is large and the need is great. The local leaders have been enthusiastic and committed. The beneficiaries are learning true principles of self-reliance. Their vision of their potential is greatly broadened. They are selecting good local schools for training and are using, to the extent possible, their personal, family, and other local resources. They are appreciative and willing and deeply grateful for the opportunity afforded them. Let me give you two or three vignettes.
The first is that of a young man who served in the Bolivia Cochabamba Mission. He lives with his faithful mother and nieces in a poor neighborhood. Their little home has a concrete floor, one lightbulb, the roof leaks, and the window is broken. He was a successful missionary. He says:
“My mission was the best thing that I have been able to do in my life. I learned to be obedient to the commandments and to be patient in my afflictions. I also learned some English and to manage my money, my time, and my skills better.
“Then, when I finished my mission, going home was difficult. My American companions went back to a university. But there is a lot of poverty in our country. It is very difficult to get an education. My mother does her best, but she can’t help us. She has suffered so much, and I am her hope.
“When I learned of the Perpetual Education Fund, I felt so happy. The prophet recognized our efforts. I was filled with joy. … There was a possibility I could study, become self-reliant, have a family, help my mother.
“I will study accounting at a local school where I can study and work. It is a short course, just three years long. I have to keep working as a janitor, but that is OK. Once I graduate and get a job in accounting, I will work toward higher education in international business.
“This is our opportunity, and we cannot fail. The Lord trusts us. I have read many times in the Book of Mormon the words the Lord told the prophets, that as we keep the commandments, we would prosper in the land. This is being fulfilled. I am so grateful to God for this great opportunity to receive what my brothers and sisters did not have, to help my family, to accomplish my goals. And I am excited to repay the loan to see others be so blessed. I know the Lord will bless me as I do it.”
Now, isn’t that wonderful? Now another. A young man in Mexico City was approved to receive a loan of approximately $1,000 to make it possible for him to attend school to become a diesel mechanic. He has said: “My promise is to give my best in order to feel satisfied with my efforts. I know this program is valuable and important. Because of this, I am trying to take maximum advantage of this for the future. I will be able to serve and help the poor and help counsel my family members. I thank my Father in Heaven for this beautiful and inspired program.”
A loan was recently approved for another young man from Mexico City, who served in the Nevada Las Vegas Mission. He desires to become a dental technician. His training will require 15 months of dedicated work. He says, “My promise upon finishing my studies at the technical school with the help of the Perpetual Education Fund is to repay the loan so that other returned missionaries can enjoy these blessings.”