Gospel Story Finder

“Personal Progress helped me. Every completed assignment gave me growth; it added knowledge and courage,” Ivana says. “It was especially good for me because most members of my family aren’t active members of the Church.”
The changes Ivana made through Personal Progress helped her be an example to her family. “All this time my parents have seen how I’ve changed. They were very happy that I was going to church,” Ivana says. She attended church and activities alone until one day her mother decided to come with her to sacrament meeting. Now they attend church together.

One such decision is whether or not to go on a mission. While I was growing up I had a desire to serve a mission. But when it finally came time to send in the papers, I was hesitant. The decision became filled with pressures. I didn’t know whether to leave after my freshman year, after my sophomore year, or after I had completed my college education. I fought with a multitude of inward thoughts and feelings. I also wondered if I had enough knowledge to go out there and give what was so precious to me to somebody else. I talked to a lot of people, and most of them willingly shared their opinions with me. Some said that I should go immediately, others said later, and some said I shouldn’t go at all. I wonder, if I had asked you, should I go now or later or not at all, what would you have told me?
Perhaps you would have been like one of our great priesthood leaders. I went to him, and we talked about my situation. He listened with patience and concern. After I expressed my feelings about being able to play basketball when I returned, he said, with words that sank deep into me, “Devin, if you serve a mission and serve faithfully, when you return you will be a better basketball player than you are now.”
I had great confidence in that man, and I felt that he was moved by the Spirit to say what he did. I felt he was talking to me personally and not to all athletes who serve missions, because each case is different. He could advise me, my parents could advise me, my friends could advise me, but they couldn’t serve for me. I was the one who was going, and no one else could make my decision. I had to make that myself.
One reason I desired to serve a mission was that I had seen the impact that serving a mission had on my father and mother. Many times in our family home evenings Dad would mention his mission. He told us about his call. He had a desire to serve a mission, but when he expressed that desire to his father, his father discouraged him from going. My dad grew up on a chicken farm in American Fork, Utah. Because of failing health, his father didn’t feel that he would be able to maintain the farm, and there would be no money to finance a mission.
Bishop Melvin Grant came to discuss the matter with my dad’s family. When Dad’s father told the bishop that his son couldn’t go, Dad’s mother stood right up from her chair and said, “I’ll take care of the chickens. My son George is going on a mission.”
And so he went to England. My dad told me that a few months into his mission he received a letter from his mother that said, “I think the chickens know where you are, because they’ve never laid as many eggs as they are laying now.”
In April of 1980 I entered the Missionary Training Center and began to learn Spanish to prepare to serve in Madrid, Spain. While in the MTC, I knew that I was doing the right thing. In my heart I wanted to someday return to play basketball. Yet at the same time I decided that even if I never played another game of collegiate ball I wouldn’t regret the decision that I had made.
In Spain I had the honor of wearing a little name tag that said “Elder Durrant.” That title, Elder, was a greater honor than any I had ever before known. I had many experiences as a missionary. When someone accepted the gospel, I felt indescribable joy. When people rejected the message of the gospel, it brought me great sorrow.
One of my most joyous memories began during the summer of 1981. We had walked the city streets all morning talking to businessmen about the Church. By noon we were hot and tired and ready to take a break. We decided to walk through a nearby park, and as we did so, we could see off to the side a group of young people. We decided to see if they would listen to our message.
As we approached, they looked at us with some suspicion. We told them we were missionaries of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. They laughed a little and made a few mocking comments. It seemed obvious that they didn’t want to listen to us. But there was one young man in the group who looked at us with a sincere interest. So we focused our attention on him. He had a guitar. We asked, “Would you play something for us?” He smiled, lifted his guitar, and began to play.
When he finished, we told him more about ourselves and our message. He told us his name was Jose Manuel. We talked for a few more minutes and then ended the conversation by asking if we could talk to him another day about our church. He replied he would be glad to listen to us and that we could find him in the park most every day taking his dog for a walk or playing his guitar.
As we left, we couldn’t imagine this young man ever being baptized. A few days later we were in that same area. To our pleasant surprise, there he was. We asked if he would listen to us. He consented, and we pulled two park benches together, and my companion and I sat on one and he sat on the other. We looked into Jose Manuel’s eyes and told him about Jesus Christ. Near the end of our message we told him about the Book of Mormon and that Jesus Christ had visited America after his resurrection. We challenged him to read about this great event. He said he would. We left the book, yet we had our doubts if Jose Manuel would ever even open it.
A few more days went by, and we decided to see how he had done on his reading assignment. To our surprise, he told us that he had read the part in the Book of Mormon that we had assigned him. He explained that he had told his friend about what he had read. His friend also wanted to read the book, so Jose Manuel had given it to him. He asked us if he could possibly get another copy. We told him that we could probably work something out.
After that we continued to teach him the gospel. We saw him change his appearance and his heart. He wanted to be baptized.
Nearly three years have passed since we first met Jose Manuel in that park in Madrid, Spain. He is now a member of the Church. A few months ago he, like you and me, had a decision to make. He had to decide whether or not to serve a mission. Jose Manuel had every reason in the world not to go. He was just a recent convert. His knowledge of the gospel wasn’t that extensive. He had lost his father a few years before, and his mother didn’t want him to go. Other family members didn’t want him to go either. He didn’t have the finances to be able to serve for eighteen months. He also had to complete his military service before he would be able to even think about serving a mission. Everything was against his going on a mission.
Every one of us, as we think about a mission, can find a number of reasons why we shouldn’t go. We must each look beyond those reasons. The key is to look for reasons to go. And Jose Manuel had some reasons to go. He knew that Jesus Christ was the son of God and the Savior of the world. He knew that Joseph Smith had seen a vision. He knew that the Church was true. He knew that it had changed his life, and he wanted to go out and share that knowledge with others.
Jose Manuel had a desire to serve. He was called to the work. With the help of the Lord, he was able to work things out. That always seems to happen. He overcame the obstacles, and he’s now serving in the Spain Barcelona mission.
We’re all faced with different obstacles that sometimes make serving missions seem difficult. In my dad’s case, his father was ill. Jose Manuel’s family didn’t want him to go. I wondered about my basketball future. Many of the obstacles we face are those within our own minds. For just a minute I want to talk directly to you—just you. You who might say, “I have this girlfriend”; or, “I’ve got a good job and a car”; or, “I’ve never been good at schoolwork, and I know I could never memorize scriptures and all those discussions”; or, “I can’t talk to people who I don’t even know”; or, “I couldn’t be obedient to all the rules missionaries follow”; or, “I don’t really know the Church is true, so how could I tell others about it?”
To those who have such thought and feelings: if you don’t now have a testimony, you can gain one on a mission. Your girlfriend will be all right. You can learn the scriptures and discussions well enough to be effective. You’ll have the courage you need to talk to strangers. You can be obedient. You can do it.
Some of you may be fearful about your ability because to this point in your life you have struggled. Perhaps you’ve not been academically gifted or socially prominent. I agree that being socially graceful, well educated, experienced in leadership, and able to speak well are useful talents for doing missionary work. But there is something beyond these which can give a missionary his real power.
I was told recently of two missionary companions—one had many outward talents, the other didn’t. They had received a letter from a man and his family to whom they had taught several discussions. The letter told the elders to come by and pick up the Book of Mormon because the family had decided they were not interested in continuing the discussions.
The more outwardly talented elder felt confident that by using all his social skills and all his learning he would be able to change the man’s mind. During the meeting he used every persuasive skill he could think of. The other elder listened. Finally the man agreed to continue the discussions.
Later, at the family’s baptism, the talented elder remembered the night with some degree of pride. After the baptism the man told him, “The night I changed my mind and continued to have you teach me was the most important night of my life. As you talked to me, my mind was so determined to not listen that there was nothing you could have said that would have caused me to continue. But then I looked at your companion. His eyes were focused on me. I saw in his face more love than I had ever known before. My heart felt a spirit that made it so I could not resist his silent message. I decided then that if this church could cause someone to love like that, then I wanted to be part of it.”
Outward social and educational talent help, but more needed than these are the inward talents of love and faith and testimony. In these talents we can all be equal.
If your health will allow, make yourself worthy to serve. Push aside the obstacles and go.
I pray that the Lord will bless us in all of our decisions—decisions about missions, decisions about marriage, decisions about character, about dedication, about morality.
I’m grateful for the honor that I had of being Elder Durrant while in Spain. I know that Jesus Christ lives, that while he was on the earth he taught us the way that we ought to live. I know that he expects us as holders of the priesthood to take what he has given us and go out and share it with others. And as we do this, he not only blesses the lives of the people we come in contact with, but he also blesses us. I know that the gospel he has given us is true. That’s why I wanted to share it—because it means so much in my life.
I testify of these things in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

First let me share with you what I experienced overseas as I listened to a modest, gentle, manly father wearing the uniform of his country, leading and doing a job of importance while he gave great service to the Kingdom and his fellowmen. He told me of his work among many other officers in the prosecution arm of the United States Army—men who were not like him, who were not living the kind of life he was living. They had not been very much interested in the fact that he was a Mormon leader, or that he had a strong sense of loyalty to his wife and children and to God, or that he had control of his tongue and a way of speaking different from their own. None of that impressed them very much. He and his wife found themselves leaving required social events early quite frequently because the activities of the evening were not wholesome. As such an evening would progress, other guests occasionally became ugly as they imbibed additional spirits, lost their normal restraints, and sometimes acted less like men and women than like animals. He was not one to judge lightly or readily, and he was not expressing harsh judgments against them; he was simply presenting a setting for an incident that I shall not forget.

He said that they went to a Christmas party, more happily this time because the host family was a fine family who had little children of the same general age as their own. The children came in their pajamas by invitation and, joining the host family children, played together in another room while the adults ate their dinner. Periodically the children came out and interrupted proceedings with childish playing or questioning until finally the Mormon father, his sense of humor tried a little bit, said, “Now, look—you kids go on in the other room and stay there and don’t come out again or else.”

They sat at dinner in peace for a time; then the bedroom door opened and a little line of children filed out, the two-year-old in the vanguard. (They were sure daddy would not do too much violence to him.) The older brother had him by the shoulders and was egging him on. As the father, disturbed and feeling that he had to do something because he had said he would, began to push back his chair, the two-year-old said, “Daddy, you and mama forgot family prayer.”

Instead of expressing embarrassment, the mother said, “Honey, we did forget.” She pushed her chair back, he rose from his, and they excused themselves and quietly took their children and the other children into the bedroom where they performed this simple act of family unity and faith. Then they quietly came back to the table, seated themselves, and went on with the dinner.

“It was a different night,” he said to me, “and it’s been a different office. That party didn’t end like all the rest. And at the office things are different now.”

To be and not to seem brings great blessings.

Thirty-eight years ago my husband and I were married in the Salt Lake Temple by President Gordon B. Hinckley. The counsel and direction he gave us that day have become a beacon for our lives. When we left the temple as husband and wife, we went to a park near the temple grounds and recorded in a journal the words of wisdom we had received. He counseled us to always remember our prayers night and morning, to pray as a couple and as a family. He counseled us to always pay a full and honest tithing. He counseled us to read the scriptures daily and to apply the principles in our lives. And he counseled us to remain worthy. He said, “Always live in such a way that when you need the Lord’s blessings, you can call upon Him and receive them because you are worthy.” He said: “There will come times in your life when you will need immediate blessings. You will need to live in such a way that they will be granted—not out of mercy but because you are worthy.” I didn’t comprehend then what that meant, but in the 38 years that have followed, we have called upon our Father in Heaven for many “immediate blessings.” Daily, these holy habits and righteous routines have helped steady us on the path that leads back into our Father’s presence. And today I say, “We thank thee, O God, for a prophet to guide us in these latter days.”

Beehive Marianne Miner, of the Salt Lake Valley View Sixth Ward, along with others in her Young Women program, joined in to help make a slide and sound presentation on record keeping. Before this she was unaware that her ward Young Women president, Annette Brantzeg, had a special testimony of keeping records. The presentation explained that when Annette was only nine weeks old her mother died. Annette was raised by her grandparents and was never told much about her mother. Because of unusual circumstances Annette did not see her father for many years. Then when she was 17, he visited her and brought with him a journal that her mother had kept for one year of her life. That journal made it possible for a daughter to come to know her mother. In that record Annette was able to share a part of her mother’s life—her courtship, the discovery of a heart condition, her experiences as a school teacher in Wyoming.
Hearing the story made Marianne think about the importance of keeping records and the many kinds of records we can keep. “I was really moved by Annette’s story. I immediately started my book of remembrance. I’m going to keep things from school and church to put in it. I’m also going to start my life story.”

The rooms that April morning had been beautifully decorated with flowers for it was President Snow’s eighty-seventh birthday. On the mantle stood a more beautiful arrangement of roses. Before the president was awake there came a knock at the door of the Beehive House. When it was opened, there stood two little girls behind armloads of stunning red roses for President Snow.
The girls sang two or three songs and he was deeply touched by the serenade. He said he would cherish the memory all of his life.

Things had not been easy for Todd. He was the only member of the Church in his family. He had come in contact with the Church over a year ago through Lisa.

Lisa was the warmest, most enthusiastic, most Christ-centered person he had ever met. They were in student government together. He was president of the student senate and she was vice president. He’d spent many hours in her home, working on various student projects, and it was like being in heaven as far as he was concerned. Her mother always baked cookies for them when she knew they’d be meeting. And even if the house wasn’t always perfectly neat, there was a good feeling there.

One day he had asked Lisa why she was so different, and she had told him about her membership in the Church. He was interested in what she had to say, and so she invited him to church. Soon he was taking the missionary lessons at her house.

In a month’s time he was ready to get baptized. He asked his parents for permission. They had no religious preferences themselves, so they gave their permission and he was baptized.

A short time later, his uncle heard about what had happened, and he came all the way from Illinois to try to talk Todd out of being a Mormon.

After his uncle had spent half a day being critical of the Church, his parents were finally persuaded to forbid Todd from attending church.

No matter how much Todd complained, his parents would not budge. He could attend any other church, but not that church.

It’s not fair, Todd thought. I’ve never given my parents any trouble, and all I’m asking is for them to let me worship God in the way I want to.

He considered pretending to go on a walk and then sneaking over to attend sacrament meeting. He phoned the bishop and asked for advice. The bishop told him to honor his parents and to set a good example and to try to win their confidence.

Todd followed the advice. At first it was hard to show love to his parents when they wouldn’t let him do the thing he most wanted to do, but he worked on it. He quit talking back to them and tried to be someone they could depend on.

One day Lisa’s family invited them over for a barbecue. It was good for his parents to see that Church members could be very nice people.

Just before Todd turned 17, his mother asked him what he wanted for his birthday. He said, “For you and Dad to go with me to church.”

She looked at him closely. “Is it really that important to you?”

“Yes.”

“All right, we’ll do that as our birthday present to you.”

Once his parents had gone to church, they softened in their opposition and let him attend. Sometimes they would even go with him, especially if he had a talk to give in sacrament meeting.

Todd stood up. “I’m glad that Jesus has restored the Church back to the earth, and that he’s given us men like our bishop to help us when we have problems …”

One day at snack time in preschool, my best friend, Roger,* said that if I ate my peanut-butter sandwich, he wouldn’t be my friend anymore. Roger doesn’t like peanut butter, but I love it. It looked so good—I had to eat it. I went home kind of sad because Roger said he wouldn’t be my friend anymore. Mom said that he would probably forget about it by the next day, and he did.
Another day, when our teacher told us to pick up our toys, Roger wouldn’t do it. He told me that if I did, he wouldn’t be my friend anymore. It was hard for me to choose the right. Our teacher told Mom that she thought that Roger was influencing me in bad ways. They decided that if it kept on happening, I wouldn’t be allowed to be with Roger anymore.
Mom told me that when Roger wants me to do something that I know is wrong, I should tell him that if he keeps making bad choices, I won’t be able to be his friend. Then I was to walk away. She thought this might encourage Roger to choose the right. We had so much fun together—I didn’t want to lose him as a friend.
That night for family home evening, Mom pretended to be Roger, my sister pretended to be another friend, and I was myself. I practiced saying, “If you keep making bad choices, then I can’t be your friend.” That week we said extra prayers that Heavenly Father would help both of us choose the right.
It was very hard to tell Roger that I couldn’t be his friend. And things didn’t turn out the way we hoped they would right away. But after I said it a few times, Roger started to choose the right! Our teacher told Mom that she was surprised at the change in him. I learned that it may not be easy to choose the right, but it’s what Heavenly Father wants us to do. And if we ask Him, He will help us.
Nicholas Colon, age 5Kokomo, Indiana

“Oh, Paige, that’s not what it means at all.” The timer above the stove started beeping. “Just a minute, honey. I need to punch down the bread dough.” Mom lifted the towel covering the bowl of dough. “Oh, no!”
“What happened, Mom?”
“The dough didn’t rise. I can’t make bread out of it now.” Mom drummed her fingers on the countertop, then smiled. “The dough should work for scones.” Paige’s mother placed a pan on the stove, filled it with oil, and began heating it.
Paige smiled for the first time since coming home. “I’m glad the dough didn’t rise. Scones taste better than bread.”
“You know, I worked hard on that bread dough,” Mom said as she flattened small balls of dough into circles and gently placed them in the hot oil. “I followed the recipe, and I tried to make the best bread dough I could. I had faith that it would rise. But it didn’t. Does that mean that I just didn’t have enough faith?”
“I don’t think so,” Paige said. “And something better came from it.”
“Sometimes Heavenly Father has plans for us that are different from what we think we want. Even if we work hard and have faith, He doesn’t always bless us in the way we think that we want Him to.”
“But being a munchkin isn’t better than being Dorothy.”
“You need to try faith again, Paige.”
“What do you mean?”
“You need to have faith that Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ know things that you don’t, that They know what will be best for you in the long run. Do you think that you can have that kind of faith?”
“I’ll try.”
“Good.” Mom set a piping hot scone onto a plate, dropped a glob of butter and dribbled honey onto it, and set it before Paige. “Would you like the first scone?”
“Yes!”

Early in 1957, two missionaries knocked on his mother’s door and she invited them in. This was the start of John Douglas Jeffrey’s learning about The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. As he and his mother spent time with the missionaries, the Holy Ghost bore witness to him that the Church was true because the missionaries were able to answer all of his questions.
Later, John moved to Townsville, Queensland, where he met more missionaries who continued to teach him, and also his new wife, Lois. In September 1957 they became the first people to join the Church in Townsville. He was baptised in Bluewater Creek just north of Townsville. (Baptisms in creeks or swimming pools were common in the early days of the Church.)
“Learning about the true Church changed my life,” John reflects. “I have wondered what I would have done if my mother said ‘no’ when those missionaries knocked on her door!” With a new gospel perspective, John and Lois saved up to visit the Hamilton New Zealand Temple, where their family was sealed for time and all eternity. “It took us a good while because we had four children and of course we had to take them to be sealed to us!”
John taught at the Townsville Grammar School and witnessed the struggles of a growing small branch. In those days there were few chapels in Australia and members met in homes or in rented halls. After 15 years in Townsville, he received an invitation to teach at the relatively new police academy in Oxley, Brisbane. He had only been at the police academy two years when he was invited to join the Church Educational System as a coordinator in Brisbane.
The first stake in Queensland was organized in 1960 with William E Waters called as the stake president. He was followed by a man from Scotland called William E Proctor. It was during this time that John was called to be the bishop of the Inala Ward. His time as bishop was short because after two years he was called to serve on the high council.
In those days, the geographic area of the stake was huge, covering much of the southeast of Queensland around Brisbane — north to Nambour, south to the Gold Coast, and west to Toowoomba. In 1975, John was called as president of the Brisbane Australia Stake.
President Jeffrey noticed how far some members had to travel to get to church each week, so he took a map and drew an 8 km radius around each congregation. He then worked with Church physical facility authorities in Sydney to create branches in the areas lying within those circles. Those branches met in school halls until they were strong enough to qualify for a chapel. This meant that members didn’t have to drive as far to attend Church meetings. This direction paved the way for the future growth of membership in Queensland.
In 1978, just three years after his call as the Brisbane Stake president, John recommended the stake be divided. He then became the president of the new Brisbane Australia South Stake. Only three years after that, in 1981, another stake was created and called the Brisbane Australia West Stake.
Today there are 12 stakes in the greater Brisbane area.

Only two hours after I had gathered the parts, some coming from as near as the trash can and broom closet, I was aiming my homemade telescope into the night sky. At first all I saw was a bunch of smeared blotches, but by moving the eyepiece in and out I was able to focus my telescope, and what a spectacle opened before my eyes! I saw four of Jupiter’s moons, not to mention the huge planet itself, craters on the moon, and the rings of Saturn. As the year progressed, I was able to see the crescent of Venus and the white polar caps of Mars. I even saw the white oval of our nearest galaxy, Andromeda, the nebula in Orion, and the Pleiades (a cluster of stars shining through some interstellar gasses). I saw double stars, the Milky Way, and many other beautiful celestial bodies. I even tried looking at the sun, but it didn’t take long (about a millioneth of a second!) for me to find out that looking at the sun is not a safe thing to do! I managed to get around the problem, without buying a special sun filter, by projecting the sun’s image onto a piece of paper. I held a piece of white paper behind the telescope, about four inches away from the eyepiece, and much to my surprise, there was the sun. It was a very bright circle with little black dots covering its surface. I later learned that these dots were sun spots, regions on the sun’s surface where the temperature is somewhat cooler.
The telescope I built was a very simple one. It consisted of one big lens that I attached to the front of a mailing tube and two smaller lenses out of which I built an eyepiece that slid into the bigger tube. The big lens was salvaged from an old camera, while the two smaller lenses were toy magnifying glasses I bought from the drug store. I even hammered three broom sticks together and made a simple yet sturdy tripod on which I mounted my scope.

A junior high school student was once having problems learning math. His teacher struggled with him day after day and assigned him extra work to do each evening. The student would always return the next morning with the assignment uncompleted. After this had gone on for some time, the teacher vented his frustration by asking the student in an irritated tone, “What is it with you? Are you really ignorant or just apathetic?”
The student casually shrugged his shoulders and replied, “I don’t know, and I don’t care.”

While living in Singapore, I came home late one afternoon to find our children strangely alert to my arrival. They greeted me, smiled, and seemed unusually attentive. Clearly, something was up. “What is going on?” I finally asked. “Nothing,” they said with smirks impossible to hide.
I coaxed until someone finally revealed that they had made blue slime … which somehow ended up plastered to a very high ceiling. “But don’t worry Mom, we cleaned it all up! Look!” I looked up, and they had done an impeccable job; only a slightly damp spot remained. They were so proud and even showed me a time-lapse video of their "successful" endeavor. I saw a mix of tennis racquets, broomsticks, and dust pans. Their ingenuity was impressive.
With their camera angle, I still couldn’t figure out how they had reached such heights. But they had photo evidence. They enthusiastically described how they had carefully constructed a mountain of kitchen chairs to support a step stool. My heart skipped a beat. A topple from that height onto a hard tile floor could have landed someone in the hospital with broken bones or worse. While I was grateful for their cleanup, I was more grateful we weren’t in the emergency room!
That moment caused me to reflect on my parenting. They were clearly more scared of asking me for help than they were of risking injury!

This great caring about how we behave toward everyone around us was one of the great lessons President McKay taught. On the trip to Europe to dedicate the temple sites in Switzerland and England, President McKay was surrounded by eager English youth seeking autographs from him. The first in line was a young girl about nine years of age. She asked the President’s son, who was accompanying him, “May I have President McKay’s autograph?” The son, who thought his father was too tired, began to dissuade her, but President McKay, overhearing the conversation, turned to her and asked jokingly, “Do you think I can write plainly enough so you can read it?” The girl wasn’t sure whether he was in earnest and became flustered. At that moment an aide interrupted with a pressing question, and several minutes of conversation ensued. When the President turned to the table to begin writing autographs, the girl had disappeared.
“I have never seen Father more upset,” said his son. “Please find that girl in the blue dress,” President McKay directed. “I’m sure she has the impression that I didn’t want to sign her book. She misinterpreted my remarks. You must find her.” Before long, branch and mission presidents were looking for a little girl in blue. But the search was in vain. Finally, a missionary thought he knew who the girl was. He telephoned the President later that night and then received these instructions: “Tell the girl that I am sorry I missed her and that I have asked the branch president to send her book to me by mail to Salt Lake City; I will sign my autograph and mail it directly back to her.” And he did!

“Here you go, Tam? (Dad),” Tom said softly. Tom’s father slowly sat up on his sleeping mat. Tom helped him sip some fresh coconut juice.
Tam? and the rest of Tom’s family had been sick for days. Almost everyone else in the village was sick too. A pandemic had come to the island—the Spanish flu.
Tom walked outside. He was one of the only people who was well enough to take care of the others. And many families needed help.
I need more coconut juice, Tom thought. He climbed up a tall coconut tree. When he got to the top, he picked some coconuts and tossed them to the ground.
As he climbed down, Tom thought about the people in his village. It was scary to see so many of them sick.
Tom knew God had helped them then. And he knew God would help them now.
Tom cut the coconuts open. The sweet smell of coconut juice made him feel a little better. He walked to the next house in the village to share some juice with his neighbors. Then he went to the next house. And the next.
Weeks passed. Each day Tom worked hard to take care of everyone. He caught chickens so he could make warm soup to share. He carried buckets of water from the spring for people to drink.
Some of the people in the village died. Tam? died too. It was really hard for Tom. The whole village was sad. But through it all, Tom remembered that God loved him and would help him.
Tom didn’t stop helping people. And after a while, people started to get better!
Eventually the flu pandemic ended. People stopped getting sick. Tom and Ailama were even able to go to school again. Tom always missed Tam?. But he knew someday he would see his dad again. And he knew that Heavenly Father would always be there to help him.

My wife and I were recently blessed to serve as mission leaders to labor with the outstanding missionaries in Uruguay. I would say that these were the best missionaries in the world, and I trust that every mission leader feels that way. These disciples taught us every day about following the Savior.
During regular interviews one of our great sister missionaries walked into the office. She was a successful missionary, an excellent trainer, and a dedicated leader. She was looked up to by her companions and loved by the people. She was obedient, humble, and confident. Our previous visits focused on her area and the people she was teaching. This visit was different. As I asked her how she was doing, I could tell she was troubled. She said, “President Olsen, I don’t know if I can do this. I don’t know if I will ever be good enough. I don’t know if I can be the missionary that the Lord needs me to be.”
She was a remarkable missionary. Excellent in every way. A mission president’s dream. I had never worried about her abilities as a missionary.
As I listened to her, I struggled to know what to say. I silently prayed: “Heavenly Father, this is an outstanding missionary. She is Yours. She is doing everything right. I don’t want to mess this up. Please help me know what to say.”
The words came to me. I said, “Hermana, I am so sorry you are feeling this way. Let me ask you a question. If you had a friend you were teaching who felt this way, what would you say?”
She looked at me and smiled. With that unmistakable missionary spirit and conviction, she said, “President, that is easy. I would tell her that the Savior knows her perfectly. I would tell her that He lives. He loves you. You are good enough, and you’ve got this!”
With a little chuckle she said, “I guess if that applies to our friends, then it also applies to me.”

I discovered the big, old lonesome rock the summer that I was at Grandpa’s farm, and I claimed it as my own. The rock was on a narrow stretch of wasteland bordering one edge of Grandpa’s property. The land there was too rocky to be worked, and the stock disliked the thick, tall grass that grew there.
A sizable crevice in the top of my rock formed a natural hiding place. I could climb down into it, stretch out on my back, and watch the white clouds sail across the sky. Or I could sit with my back against the rock, play my harmonica, and listen to the way the sounds swelled against the sides of the crevice. It was a neat place.
Then one day Coyote came to claim the hiding rock.
The first time that I saw him, he was on the very top of it, his nose pointing skyward. He was howling a long, trembling wail that made me shiver.
“Get off my rock!” I yelled at him.
Coyote faced me, his pale brown fur ruffling in the wind. Then he turned and went over the edge of the rock and into the tall grass.
I climbed to the top of the rock and slid down into my hiding place, half expecting Coyote to appear above me. When he didn’t, I pulled my harmonica out of my back pocket and began to play my favorite tunes.
It was near noon when I climbed out again. Coyote was still around; I caught a glimpse of his pointy ears and long nose through the grass.
I grinned. Maybe he had been listening to my harmonica music. My mind worked on the notion. After all, Grandpa played his old radio in the barn at milking time. He claimed it relaxed the cows and made the milking easier. Maybe music would have a relaxing effect on the coyote too.
I puffed out my cheeks and blew a lively tune just to see. Coyote lifted his head and let out a terrible howl. I cowered back down into my hiding place, rubbing away the goose bumps on my arms. So much for that!
When I told Grandpa about Coyote, he only chuckled and told me, “He’s just being sociable.”
“You mean Coyote could become friendly—like a real dog?”
Grandpa shook his head. “I doubt it. A wild critter mostly stays wild. But your playing, now, must trigger that coyote’s inborn nature to howl, to sing along with you.”
Each time that I went to the rock after that, I played and played my harmonica, hoping that Coyote would come and sing along. He never did, but I always felt that he was nearby.
I tried leaving my lunch, untouched, beside the big rock and imagined him wiggling in on his belly until he’d get close enough to snatch it. But the tall grass was yellow and crackling-dry before I saw him again.
I played a game of sitting quietly in my hiding place and not blowing on my harmonica, hoping that Coyote would think me gone and come to the top of the rock to wail his claim.
And he did.
I didn’t hear him come, but all at once he was there, standing on the top edge of the crevice, looking down at me. My first thought was that he would spring on me. I hollered and waved my arms. Coyote disappeared.
When my pounding heart calmed, I could have kicked myself. I scrambled to the top of the rock. “Aw, Coyote,” I called, “I didn’t mean to scare you away!” I could see him skirting the rocks and shoving aside the dry grass as he trotted across the waste. Pulling the harmonica out of my back pocket, I began to play, hoping that the playing would let him know that I hadn’t meant him any harm.
Coyote stopped and sat down, his brown nose barely showing above the yellow grass.
That’s when I noticed the smoky-dark clouds rolling in. Even as I stared, the ominous-looking clouds were whipped by the wind to the edge of the waste and straight toward the rock. I knew, even before the clouds were over me, that it was too late to reach Grandpa’s farm ahead of the rain.
As I turned to crawl back into my hiding place, a zigzag of brightness split the clouds and hit the earth with a crash. Coyote leaped into the air as if stung by the lightning. I could only stand and stare at the little tongue of fire that started to leap up where the bolt had touched ground. Coyote raced toward it.
“Coyote, come back!” I screamed, fear rising in me.
Coyote swerved and ran in another direction. But even as he did, the wind lifted a bit of the flame, carrying it ahead of him and starting another fire in his path.
Now fire seemed to be everywhere. Great billows of smoke rose up to meet the dark clouds. Smoke choked me, and my eyes smarted until I could no longer see Coyote.
With a desperate cry, I dove deep into the crevice of the big rock. I stretched out on my stomach and breathed in the good air trapped in its depth. I covered my ears with my hands to shut out the sound of the crackling flames. I shut my eyes, trying to blot out my mind-picture of poor Coyote frantically running, with no safe place to run to.
I said a quick prayer: “Heavenly Father, please help poor Coyote!”
I felt a wetness across my nose and cheek. Then on my hand. I wiped it away. I hadn’t meant to cry. I swiped more wetness from my face, then realized that it wasn’t tears at all. It was raining! Rain would put out the fire. Rain would cool the smoldering earth. I choked back a cry. Rain—but too late to save Coyote!
I pulled my hands away from my ears to listen. Something moved beside me. I reared up and caught a glimpse of a pale brown body bounding up out of the crevice and disappearing over the top.
Coyote! Coyote had been lying right next to me!
I gave a whoop of joy and scrambled out behind him. All about the big, old lonesome rock the earth was shadow-gray and bare of grass. I could see Coyote trotting off toward Grandpa’s untouched farmland. Once he stopped to look back at me.
I grinned and drew out my harmonica. The hiding rock would forever after belong to both of us—Coyote and me.

I believe I can best illustrate this point by describing my experience as a parent. All of my children are grown now, and I am tremendously proud of each one of them and love them with all of my heart. But I can still remember clearly and painfully those turbulent teenage years during which my sons and daughter were struggling toward maturity. Like all young people, they faced many temptations and occasionally made decisions that disappointed me—sometimes terrified me.
I can still remember wandering around the house late at night, unable to sleep because of worry and frustration. I recall pleading with my Father in Heaven to change my children’s attitudes and alter their behavior. From my perspective at the time my prayers seemed unanswered, because after a night on my knees, the next morning my kids were still the same teenagers. It was a frustrating, anxiety-ridden period of my life. My faith didn’t waver, but my endurance was sometimes poor.
Over time, however, each child emerged from the trials of youth to become a responsible adult committed to keeping eternal covenants. And with the passing of time—seemingly the passing of a great storm—I have been able to look back and come to three important realizations:
First, there were times that I can clearly identify now that my Father in Heaven did intercede in the lives of my children to protect them from harm. Today I have an absolute testimony that our Father in Heaven answers prayers and that He is a God of miracles.
Second, the temptations and trials that my children experienced were a necessary part of their progress within the plan of salvation. It was never within my power nor according to my Father in Heaven’s will for me to protect my children from having to make difficult choices. It is only by making those choices that any of us experience the mighty change of heart.
Third, during my children’s teenage years I was in need of refining change more than they were. I have come to understand that it was only in the middle of anxiety-ridden nights that I began to love my children as much as my Savior does and that I caught a small glimpse of what it will mean to be a parent in the eternities. I have come to believe that it was in the middle of the night when I was praying for one of my children, with my heart filled with love for them, even though their behavior had disappointed me, that I began to comprehend my Savior’s love for me and His extraordinary patience.

Not long ago I attended the funeral service of a dear friend and colleague. It was deeply moving, and the Spirit was there in rich abundance. Most touching were the tributes paid by the children. There was no mention of his positions of prominence or his scholarly publications. Little was said of his career contributions. Instead the focus was on his love for others; his thoughtfulness and kindness; his role as husband, father, and grandfather; and, most of all, his faith and devotion to the Lord Jesus Christ. (I was so impressed that I wondered if I could “rent” his children to give the same tributes at my funeral!)
As I left that funeral, I wondered what my ­family and friends would say about me. What mark in this world am I leaving in the hearts and lives of those around me? Are my priorities right? Am I putting first things first, or am I distracted and diverted, pursuing things that, when the moment of death comes, will not seem very important at all?
As I took a spiritual inventory of my life, I realized that every day, every moment, I am writing my own eulogy. My words, my actions, my thoughts, and my love are being “written” in my heart and soul and are likewise being recorded in the hearts of my family and fellowmen. If I don’t like how that eulogy is being written, then I need to change it, and I can do that through repentance and through striving to do better and be better. That is one of the great blessings of the gospel. Daily preparing for dying, as strange as that may sound, powerfully affects our daily living. As Shakespeare wrote, “Be [still prepared] for death; either death or life / Shall thereby be the sweeter” (Measure for Measure, act 3, scene 1, lines 5–6; emphasis added).

The sophomore math whiz sat in the classroom after school waiting for the football star to come in for his weekly tutoring session. The guy who enjoys algebra, calculus, and trigonometry would spend an extra hour or so each week teaching polynomial expressions and practicing exponential equations with the football hero, whom many called the best high school running back in the country. Turning upfield for another 10-yard gain he could do. But algebra? Linear inequalities were something of a challenge. That’s when the tutor came to the rescue.
When the school year ended, so did the tutoring sessions. The tutor had his junior year to look forward to while the tutor’s “student” graduated and accepted an athletic scholarship to the University of Miami.
That’s when the math whiz says, “Someday when he’s a famous running back in the National Football League, I can tell my kids I taught him math.”
It’s a year later, and once again Maurice Navarro is sitting in a classroom at Coral Gables Senior High near Miami, Florida. School ended 30 minutes ago, but, just like the year before, a group of students is gathered around Maurice as he teaches a math concept his fellow students aren’t quite understanding.
That’s Maurice Navarro. Still the math tutor. Still helping others.