Gospel Story Finder

As a youth, many years ago, I participated in a high adventure camp. This adventure involved a float trip in a rubber raft down the Middle Fork of the Salmon River in the mountains of central Idaho. The Middle Fork starts at an elevation of 7,000 feet and drops down to 3,900 feet, providing approximately 100 miles of nearly continuous rapids along the way. It’s known as one of the best river trips in the world, boasting approximately 300 rapids. Some of the more notable rapids include Sheepeater, Pistol Creek, Haystack, Porcupine, and Cliffside.
Our float trip was truly a hands-on experience. We were not passive passengers on a large commercial pontoon. For better or worse, we were the crew. The rubber rafts we used were about 12 feet long and typically held five crew members, each with a paddle. In the middle of the raft was our camping gear and food in waterproof bags. In total, the float trip was a five-day adventure.
Before beginning our float trip, there were many preparations that needed to be completed. The most shocking to the body was a swim check in the near-40-degree water. We also learned how to carefully pack our gear in the waterproof bags so the gear would remain dry for the duration of the trip, even were the raft to capsize. More on this later. But by far, the most critical information we received was from our guide. Our company consisted of approximately a half dozen rafts. As such, the guide could not be in each of the rafts. That made it all the more critical that we listen carefully to his instructions. Each time we neared a challenging section of whitewater rapids, the guide would have the company pull over to the bank of the river for a short but important instructional briefing. We would discuss the dangers ahead of us and the best path to take to safely navigate through the rapids. If an area of water was particularly dangerous because of turbulence, jagged rocks, or whirlpools, he would tell us how we could avoid those areas. He would also remind us what to do should the raft capsize or we get washed out of the raft. First, we needed to protect ourselves from the rocks in the rapids. We did this by using our life jackets for buoyancy and floating feet first. This allowed us to use our feet to protect our head and body from the rocks. Next, we were instructed to make our way to the riverbank as soon as it was safe so that we could be picked up by another raft in our company. And finally, we were instructed to hold onto our paddles, if possible, as they were a critical piece of equipment to help us navigate the river yet ahead. The safe passage of each raft and each individual in the raft was determined by how well we executed these instructions.
This particular year, the water was at record-high levels—so high, in fact, that the first week of scheduled floats were cancelled. We were scheduled for the second week. High water levels on the river can alter the float experience significantly. In our case, it made some rapids more challenging than on a normal-water-level year and other rapids less challenging. On our particular raft, none of the five of us had ever floated this river before. Our guide instructed us that we needed to work together in a coordinated way to maneuver the raft safely through the rapids. We practiced in smoother water and quickly learned the basics of raft navigation. By following the guide’s instructions, we were able to safely navigate our way through dozens and dozens of rapids.
With the high water that year, however, one set of rapids was particularly challenging. After instruction from our guide, we approached this set of rapids head-on with youthful enthusiasm. Words seem inadequate to describe this whitewater rapid we were about to encounter. I was seated in the back half of the raft. As we approached the edge of this rapid, the front end of the raft began to descend almost vertically over what seemed like a ten-foot waterfall. In an instant the entire raft was now down at the bottom of this trough and beginning its ascent up an equally high wall of water, or backwash. The next moment, I found myself looking almost straight up as the raft climbed that wall of water, but the backwash was too high and our raft capsized, submerging us in the frigid waters of the Middle Fork River. The force of the river continued to propel me forward beneath the surface of the water. In Doctrine and Covenants 61:15 we read, “The days will come that no flesh shall be safe upon the waters.” [3] I sincerely hoped and prayed this wasn’t that day. After a few moments, my life jacket did its job and brought me up to the surface, where I struggled to keep my head above the turbulent water, attempting to navigate my way through this whitewater rapid, as did my fellow crew members.
Because our guide had prepared us well, we knew what actions to take next: floating feet first to protect us from rocks in our path, hanging onto our paddles, and making our way to the river’s edge where we were able to recover our raft, turn it back over, and continue our trip. Because we followed our guide’s counsel we all made it safely through the rapid and back to our raft.

Before joining The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, I was confused about facts pertaining to life—the origin of man, the purpose of our existence, and our destination after death. Frustrated with trying to find answers to these and other basic mysteries of life, I persuaded myself that God didn’t exist. During high school I stopped attending the Orthodox Church. I was attending boarding school, so my parents were not there to take me to church. I felt I needed a rest from the worries pertaining to these ambiguities since there were no agreeable answers anywhere. I also stopped relying upon the Bible as the word of God since those who professed its teachings didn’t agree upon its meaning and couldn’t provide satisfactory answers to my questions. This remained my state of belief for six years or more, until I saw a copy of the Book of Mormon for the first time. By then I was 21 years old and was nearing graduation from university.
When I opened the Book of Mormon, I felt something pure and divine. It was a strange but familiar feeling, yet I had never experienced or remembered feeling that way. It was reassuring, affirmative and desirable. The impression was calm, warm, and sobering and seemed to enlighten my mind. I loved and enjoyed every bit of it and the desire to continue this enjoyment made me study the book daily despite my upcoming final year examinations. I would rather read The Book of Mormon than my school books. Academic studies became a burden while studying the Book of Mormon remained a joyful activity.
The Book of Mormon provided answers to most of my queries, but beyond that, it also invited into my soul, a feeling of awe, reverence and respect for the things of God. This was obviously a manifestation of the existence of a Supreme Being. Within a few days of studying the record, I knew there was a God. I could feel His presence each time I read the sacred book. I didn’t hesitate to rethink my prior opinion about His existential reality. I knew that God lived. In addition, I knew the actuality of a Savior of mankind and His atoning sacrifice. This I had been taught as a child, but my many unanswered questions had dispelled my belief in that truth. I knew that Jesus Christ lived and that He is truly the Son of God and the Savior of the world. I comprehended that He loved me. I felt deep love and gratitude to Him and especially for His atoning sacrifice. I was willing to do whatever He would require of me to be His disciple and friend. The Book of Mormon often referred to Him as the Lamb of God and I understood what that meant and the importance of His blood in atoning for our sins.
As I studied the Book of Mormon, my love for the records and for Joseph Smith, the translator, grew. I had great respect for him. I knew he was a prophet of God and that the Book of Mormon he translated was true. From the Book of Mormon, I learned in clear terms where the spirits of men go when they die and the state of the soul between death and the Resurrection—one of the many questions that bothered me from childhood and which no one ever satisfactorily answered until I read the words of Alma. (See Alma 40.)
My discovery and realization that the many witnesses of God and Jesus Christ as contained in the Book of Mormon helped me re-believe that the Bible, which I had discontinued reading long ago, was also the word of God. The Book of Mormon rekindled my belief in the Bible and led me eventually to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. There I was baptized, confirmed, and received the Melchizedek Priesthood. After my graduation from the university, I served a full-time mission, eventually received my endowment, and got married to my beloved wife in the temple.
By honoring covenants made with Heavenly Father in and out of the temple, I feel an ever-increasing measure of the presence of the light, peace and warmth I felt the very first day I read The Book of Mormon. I later learned this tender feeling was the influence of the Holy Ghost confirming to me that the record was true. This gift which all new converts receive as a constant companion upon their confirmation as members of the Church has remained a reliable influence to provide the needed comfort, guidance, enlightenment and inspiration as I search the scriptures and seek answers to my prayers. President Russell M. Nelson taught, “In coming days, it will not be possible to survive spiritually without the guiding, directing, comforting, and constant influence of the Holy Ghost.”

“That was the greatest dream of my life.” When Britton says this, he’s not talking about playing in the biggest game of college basketball. He’s not describing how he felt knowing millions of sports fans were watching him. Rather, he is talking about a brief, unexpected encounter he had with the First Presidency shortly after the finals.

Back in Salt Lake City, Ute players were presenting a signed basketball to the First Presidency when an assistant coach suggested Britton discuss with them his decision to serve a mission. Before Britton knew what was happening, he found himself alone with the First Presidency in President Hinckley’s office.

“I was totally stuttering,” says Britton. “I said, ‘Going on a mission has been a tough decision, and I guess I already know what the right thing to do is, but it would be nice to hear what you’d say.’ Then President Hinckley smiled at me and said, ‘Well, what do you think I’m going to say?’”

“President Monson explained that I had been a highly touted freshman, that I had been pressured to stay, and that some people were saying I could represent the Church in other ways. Then right away President Hinckley stood up, took my hand, looked me in the eye, and said very clearly, ‘You go on a mission and the Lord will bless you.’ It was an awesome feeling.”

Not long after, Britton had a final talk with his father and his coach, then announced his decision to serve. “It just felt right; I just felt good about the decision,” Britton explains.

Knowing that hope enriches our lives, what must we do to keep it burning brightly? Many, especially you students, are likely blazing with hope. If so, cherish and nurture it. And don’t be greedy. Share your hope and be a beacon of hope for others, like my old friends and new heroes, Kerry and Marianne Hopkin. A few years ago, while serving in the stake presidency of the Boston, Massachusetts stake, Kerry worked with the Haitian Branch. He took special interest in teenage brothers, Carlens and Hantzly Murat, whose school in Haiti had been destroyed by an earthquake. They were sent to live with relatives in Boston, but were basically left to fend for themselves, knowing very little English. Kerry and Marianne decided to take them in and become their surrogate parents. The Hopkins enrolled them in an excellent school, tutored them in school work and the English language, taught them life skills and the gospel, and kept them enrolled in seminary and church activities. Kerry got up every morning and drove them 10 miles from Needham to Boston so they could attend 6 a.m. seminary. Carlens is now serving in the Florida Tampa Mission and Hantzly in the Florida Ft. Lauderdale Mission. Since then, the Hopkins have taken in other Haitian children, giving them hope they probably never dreamed of.

Devastating earthquakes and tsunamis have recently occurred in diverse places, including Chile, Haiti, and the islands of the Pacific. A few weeks ago Presiding Bishop H. David Burton, Elder Tad R. Callister, and I were able to meet with the Saints who had lost family members as a result of the tsunami that hit the eastern side of Samoa last September. The chapel was full, and it was an emotional meeting. We were able to assure these choice members that because of the Atonement of Jesus Christ, they can be reunited with the loved ones they have lost.

The stake president, Sonny Purcell, was driving his car when he saw the enormous wave coming far out at sea. He honked his horn and stopped children on the road walking to school and warned them to run for higher ground and safety as fast as they could. The children followed his instruction. He frantically drove, reached his four-year-old daughter, put her in the car, and then tried to get to his mother. Before he could reach his mother, the wall of water picked up his car and swept it over 100 yards (91 m), where it lodged in a tree. He scrambled to secure his daughter on top of the car and then swam to rescue his mother, who was clinging to a branch of another tree near their house. With great effort he swam with her to the car and safety. Many were not as fortunate. They did not have time to get to higher ground and safety. Many lost their lives, particularly the young and the elderly.

We told the Samoan families that members all over the world expressed love and concern and had prayed for them and contributed fast offerings and humanitarian aid for both the members and their neighbors. The same is true for the members and their neighbors in Chile and Haiti. We do this because we follow Jesus Christ.

As we met with the families in Samoa, the significance of spiritually going to the higher ground, living a better life, and clinging to saving ordinances was abundantly clear. The Savior’s example and life teach us to spiritually avoid the low pathway, where the things of this world dominate. As I shook hands with the members after our meeting, one sister told me her family had not been to the temple and they had lost a daughter. She tearfully said their goal now was to prepare themselves for the sacred ordinances of the temple so they can be together eternally.
As I have pondered what this sister said and the current condition of the world, I have felt an urgency to counsel each of us to seek the higher ground—the refuge and eternal protection of the temple.

I am a cheerleader for a junior football team. During the halftime show we do a dance. My mom heard the music and realized that there were bad words in the song. She found the instrumental version of the song and gave it to my coach so that we could use that version instead. The first game came, and the coach told my mom that the cheerleaders did not have enough time to practice the dance with the instrumental version, and we would have to perform with the bad words in the song. I told my coach I would not be able to dance to the song if the words were still in it. My coach decided to use the instrumental version. We did not do as well because the song was different, but I know that I stood up for what I know is right.

“When will Uncle Cory be here?” Michael asked his mother for at least the tenth time.
Earlier that afternoon the mailman had delivered a letter addressed to him, but when he opened it he couldn’t read what it said. Michael’s mother told him that the letter was written in Italian, and all she could read was the closing and signature at the bottom:
Arrivederci,Mario
Michael knew that arrivederci meant till we meet again, because that was how Uncle Cory’s letters were always signed when he was in Italy on a mission. Michael had called his uncle and told him about the letter. Now he was waiting impatiently for him to come and interpret what the letter said.
A few months before Uncle Cory had returned from Italy, he had written and asked Michael and his family to write their feelings about The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in letters to individual members of a certain Italian family and send them back to him. He said he would put the letters in a Book of Mormon and give them to the family. Michael had written—
Dear Mario,
I am eight years old. I was baptized into The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints last month. My father baptized me and confirmed me and said that I now have the Holy Ghost to guide me and to help me choose right from wrong. I go to Primary each week. I’m in the CTR class. CTR means CHOOSE THE RIGHT. Last week my Primary teacher taught us about Jesus healing sick children. Jesus loves children everywhere. He loves me and He loves you. I hope you can soon go to Primary too.
Your Friend,Michael
Michael hadn’t expected to receive a letter in return, but now that one had come, he could hardly wait to know what it said.
Pretty soon he heard the sound of a car in the driveway. Running to the window, he looked out and saw Uncle Cory coming up the walk. Michael ran and opened the door and gave his uncle a big hug.
Michael listened quietly as Uncle Cory read the letter.
Dear Michael,
I am nine years old. Today I was baptized a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. My father and mother were baptized too. Thank you for telling me about your church. My father and mother read your Book of Mormon, and now we are all happy to be members of the true church. Write to me again soon.
Arrivederci,Mario
Michael was so excited to know that he had helped bring the gospel to someone that he thought his heart would pound right out of his chest. He took the letter from his uncle and looked at it for a long time. Then he folded the letter neatly. “I will save this,” he said, “to remind me that it’s fun to tell others about our church. Maybe someday I’ll go on a mission to Italy and meet my new friend Mario.”

Danilo zoomed out of his apartment. His tiya, or aunt, was babysitting him. And they were going to the park!
His little sister, Rosamie, held Tiya’s hand as they walked along. But Danilo didn’t need to hold Tiya’s hand. He knew the way! He ran ahead and circled back, pretending to be flying at the speed of light as he raced around them.
When they got to the park, Danilo knew where he wanted to go to.
“Follow me!” he said as he ran to a place on the trail where trees grew overhead. It looked like a leafy green tunnel.
“Stay where I can see you,” Tiya reminded Danilo.
Pretty soon they came to a spot where a dirt path branched off and headed down to the river. Danilo had never gone that way before.
“I’m going down here,” Danilo called to Tiya as he started sliding downhill.
“You can stay there for a minute, but then come back up,” Tiya called after him. “I’ve tried that path before, and there’s not a good way to walk along the river down there.”
But Danilo was already at the water’s edge. He could see a small strip of dirt running next to the water. That way seemed fine to him. Maybe Tiya just didn’t know what she was talking about. Danilo kept walking along the water. Tiya and Rosamie kept walking along the path above.
Soon Danilo noticed that the hillside was getting steeper. He could still hear and see Tiya and Rosamie, but they were getting farther away. The ground became sticky with thick mud.
“Oomph!” Danilo pulled himself on top of a big rock. When he looked ahead, all he saw was the river. He felt his stomach do a little flip. There wasn’t any more trail. And he wasn’t sure he could climb up the hill by himself. He was stuck!
“Tiya?” he called, looking up. Tiya looked down the hillside and gave him a little smile. He felt his cheeks get hot. “Um … can you help me?”
With a kind look in her eyes, Tiya nodded. She picked up a long stick and held it down to him.
“Grab this,” she said. “I’ll pull, and you can climb back up to us.”
Danilo grabbed the stick and started walking uphill. It was hard! His knee scraped against a rock. His elbow hit a low-hanging tree branch.
Finally he took Tiya’s outstretched hand, and she pulled him back onto the trail. He brushed the dirt off his clothes and shook the leaves from his hair.
“Thanks,” he said. “Sorry I didn’t listen to you.”
Tiya put her arm around his shoulders and gave him a squeeze. “I love you, Danilo. I want you to be safe.”
Danilo nodded. With a smile, he pointed forward. “Let’s keep going! On the trail, this time.”

My wife and I learned a valuable lesson about this several years ago when we had the opportunity to build a new home. During the months of planning and building, an interesting phenomenon occurred. Even though we were blessed to have a nicer home with more comforts than we had ever had before, rather than being content, we began looking for ways to acquire more. We had to have new furniture for the room in which we entertained guests so we could put the old furniture in a room they would not visit as often. But our old TV didn’t go well with the new furniture, so we had to have a new TV. Our “needs” began to escalate.
We finally came to our senses and realized we had succumbed to temptations we had thought would never afflict us. First, we allowed Satan to help us rationalize our desire for worldly gain so that it appeared justifiable, even noble; and second, we sacrificed our happiness and peace of mind in an attempt to acquire the things of the world. We found that when “all we’ve ever wanted” is fundamentally the temporal trappings of this world, we always want more than we have.

“Recently I read the true account of a dramatic manifestation concerning these promises. A faithful member of the Church, John A. Larsen, served during World War II in the United States Coast Guard on the ship USS Cambria. During a battle in the Philippines, word came of an approaching squadron of bombers and kamikaze fighter planes. … John and three companions gathered their gear and hurried to the beach, hoping for a lift out to one of the departing ships. Fortunately, a landing craft picked them up and sped toward the last ship leaving the bay. The men on that departing ship … had time only to throw ropes to the four men, that they might hopefully be able to climb to the deck.
“John, with a heavy radio strapped to his back, found himself dangling at the end of a 40-foot (12 m) rope, at the side of a ship headed out to the open sea. He began pulling himself up, hand over hand, knowing that if he lost his grip, he would almost certainly perish. After climbing only a third of the way, he felt his arms burning with pain. He had become so weak that he felt he could no longer hold on.
“With his strength depleted, as he grimly contemplated his fate, John silently cried unto God, telling Him that he had always kept the Word of Wisdom and had lived a clean life—and he now desperately needed the promised blessings.
“John later said that as he finished his prayer, he felt a great surge of strength. He began climbing once again and fairly flew up the rope. When he reached the deck, his breathing was normal and not the least bit labored. The blessings of added health and stamina promised in the Word of Wisdom had been his. He gave thanks to his Heavenly Father then, and throughout the remainder of his life, for the answer to his desperate prayer for help.

One day my dad and I were trying to lead one of our cows into a trailer so we could take her to a sale. She did not want to cooperate, though, and she ended up jumping the fence. We began to lose all hope of getting her in the trailer as we watched her trot into the center of our neighbor’s cattle herd.
As I walked toward the herd, I said a silent prayer that we would be able to lead her back into our pasture without startling the other cattle. Almost immediately after I said this prayer, our cow separated from the herd and jumped the fence back into our field.
Later that day as we ate dinner, my dad shared this experience with the rest of our family. He explained that he had been praying that everything would go well so our family could make some money from the cow. I smiled and told him that I had done the same thing.
I will never forget his next words. He looked me in the eyes and asked, “Did you thank your Heavenly Father?” I thought about it and realized that I had not. That night I said a prayer of thanks. I thanked Him for answering my prayers, for my family, and for my dad, who is such a great example to me.

We returned to Brigham City for the funeral of my wife’s father, William W. Smith. A young man I knew as a seminary student stood at the casket, deeply moved. I did not know that he knew my father-in-law.
He said: “One summer I worked for him on the farm. Brother Smith talked to me about going on a mission. My family could not possibly support a missionary. Brother Smith told me to pray about it and said, ‘If you decide to go on a mission, I will pay for your mission,’ and he did.”
Neither my wife nor her mother knew that. It was one of those things that grandfathers do.

When Barbara Jinx Boquecosa, 18, of Mandaue, Philippines, and the rest of her family became less active, she noticed the difference in her life immediately. “When we stopped going to church, there was no peace in our home, and I really missed it,” she says. “I felt I was responsible to get us back active again, so I encouraged my family to go back.” That was more than a year ago, and since then, Barbara, her parents, and her two brothers and one sister have returned to full activity in the Mandaue Fourth Branch, Mandaue Stake. “It’s really a different feeling to be active in the Church. I can’t describe the happiness that I feel.”

It had been four years since I had come home for Easter, so I had looked forward to the break from school and the Easter activities with my family. We were in the kitchen fixing supper Friday night when I asked Mom about the family reunion she was organizing.
“Everyone wants to go back to the lake,” she told me as she chopped vegetables. “But during the six-hour car trip last year …” I looked up as the chopping ceased and her voice broke. Tears crept from the corners of her eyes, and her face crumpled. “I thought I was going to die. I really thought I was going to die.”
I didn’t know how to respond to my gentle, patient mother when she talked about the possibility of her death. I wanted to hug her until her shoulders stopped shaking. I wanted to tell her everything would be all right—the doctors would find out what this disease was and give her medicine and fix everything. But I couldn’t.
I had refused to think of death throughout the year of her sickness, even as I fasted and prayed and hoped. Still I watched her weaken and suffer. She wasn’t vocal in her suffering. She just worked harder because she was unable to sleep at night or even sit down. The pain clutched at her heart and made her shake whenever she tried to relax. But soon her suffering became visible in the dark circles around her eyes and the fatigue deep in her eyes themselves.
Discouragement soon accompanied the pain. After a full year of visiting doctors and undergoing tests, she was distressed when the specialists were unable to discover what was causing the intense pain around her heart. The test results all came back normal. Nothing was wrong, the doctors said.
But we knew the situation wasn’t normal. My mother did not normally pace the floor at night or stop in the middle of vacuuming to sob. And my mother, who had faced many types of pain in her life without ever complaining, did not normally talk about dying.
During the two days before Easter, I tried again to think of something I could do to help her. But her disease had left us all feeling powerless. Even my father, a doctor, could not fix the situation, in spite of his years of training, experience, and knowledge. I could not alleviate her burdens—she even wanted to do most housework herself, because resting made the pain worse. So she was always working, working to the point of exhaustion. And because there was so little we could do to relieve her suffering, she seemed to suffer alone.
We went to church on Easter morning. As I glanced at my mother sitting beside me, my thoughts wandered back to her high, cracked voice and the chilling sentence that had consumed me since Friday night—“I thought I was going to die.”
Suddenly my mother rose from the bench and made her way to the pulpit.
“On this Easter Sunday,” she began, “I want to bear my testimony of Jesus Christ’s Atonement. King Benjamin said that Christ ‘shall suffer temptations, and pain of body, hunger, thirst, and fatigue, even more than man can suffer’ (Mosiah 3:7; emphasis added). Many of you may not know that I have been sick lately. The nights have been long”—her voice softened as she continued—“but not lonely. During the worst of it, the Savior has been my friend, my support. I testify that Jesus Christ knows our suffering because He experienced it—and more. He will lift us from our sorrows just as He lifted us from an eternal death.”
As my mom bore her testimony, a new picture of suffering replaced my former preoccupation with my mother and myself. It was a picture of the Savior in the Garden of Gethsemane, full of such anguish that He bled from every pore as He suffered for all, including my mother’s physical agony and my own emotional pain.
I realized then that I did not need to tell my mother that it would be OK. We couldn’t fix everything, but she was comforted by her knowledge that the Savior already had.

In the summer of 1993, Sister Bateman and I received an assignment to serve in the Asia North Area, which included Japan, Korea, and far east Russia. The opportunity to live and work in that part of the world was exciting. We had lived in Europe and Africa earlier, but Asia was new to us. As a member of the area presidency, I had responsibility for the stakes, districts, and missions in the three countries. One of the key assignments was to conduct mission tours. Each mission of the Church is visited annually by a General Authority, usually a member of the area presidency. The presidency member and his wife travel with the mission president and his wife throughout the mission, visiting and interviewing missionaries.

Shortly after our arrival in Japan, a mission tour was scheduled for the Fukuoka Mission on the island of Kyushu. Sister Bateman and I were to meet with President and Sister Cyril Figuerres and tour the mission. A few days before the tour began, a tropical storm, one of the worst in the history of Japan, struck Kyushu with typhoon force, wreaking havoc across the island. The city of Kagoshima on the island’s southern tip was particularly hard hit as roofs were ripped off buildings, homes were demolished as they slid down mountainsides, trains came to a halt, and cars were swept into the ocean. Initially, there was concern about the safety and welfare of the missionaries and Saints, but reports confirmed that everyone was safe.

A few days later we learned of many acts of service that the missionaries had rendered during the storm. Missionaries had directed traffic at busy intersections where stoplights had failed. Two missionaries had helped a man change a flat tire in the midst of the gale as the owner was unable to secure his car on the jack and remove the good tire from the trunk. Throughout the island missionaries had assisted people in protecting their homes and personal belongings. Over and over the missionaries demonstrated love for the people through acts of kindness and service. In the week immediately following the storm, missionaries spent hours and days cleaning homes of thick layers of mud and helping with repairs.

Approximately one week after the storm, Sister Bateman and I met President and Sister Figuerres in Fukuoka on the north end of the island and then flew to Kagoshima to begin the mission tour. We drove from the airport to the chapel where the missionaries were waiting to begin a zone conference. As we entered the parking lot, we noticed the missionaries standing outside the chapel in a line waiting to greet us. I remember that as we got out of the car and approached the missionaries, the Spirit was so strong that it brought tears to our eyes and we could hardly contain our feelings. Their countenances exuded light. They were clean and well dressed, and their mannerisms reflected an inner peace and humility. A strong impression came that they had had an extraordinary experience—a refining one—as they had become Ammon-like servants to the Japanese people and to the Master. The discussions that ensued in the zone conference, the lessons taught, and the testimonies borne confirmed our impressions.

After the conference Sister Bateman and I discussed what we had seen and felt. We wondered if the experiences associated with the storm were primarily responsible for the special spirit that prevailed among the Kagoshima missionaries. Obviously they had been impacted by the events. But as we continued the tour and observed missionaries in other parts of the mission, we found a similar pattern of faith, obedience, and motivation to serve. We eventually concluded that there were a number of reasons for the faith and power displayed by the missionaries: the mission president was an effective teacher; the missionaries were obedient and responded to his teachings; and, like Ammon and the sons of Mosiah, they studied the scriptures, they fasted and prayed, they worked hard, and they “taught with power and authority” (Alma 17:2–3).

As Heber J. Grant matured, his faith in God also matured. His wife lay critically ill, and Heber J. Grant called his children into her hospital room and told them that their mother was going to die. President Grant’s daughter, upon learning of this, pleaded with her father not to let her mother die. She pleaded with him to exercise his priesthood in her behalf. She and his other children left the room and President Grant knelt by his wife’s bed. Of that prayer President Grant said:
“I told the Lord, I acknowledged his hand in life and in death, in joy or in sorrow, in prosperity or adversity. I did not complain because my wife was dying, but that I lacked the strength to see my wife die and have her death affect the faith of my children in the ordinances of the gospel. I therefore pleaded with him to give to my daughter Lutie a testimony that it was his will that her mother should die. Within a few short hours, my wife breathed her last. Then I called the children into the bedroom and announced that their mamma was dead. My little boy Heber commenced weeping bitterly, and Lutie put her arms around him and kissed him, and told him not to cry, that the voice of the Lord had said to her, ‘In the death of your mamma the will of the Lord will be.’ Lutie knew nothing of my prayers, and this manifestation to her was a direct answer to my supplication to the Lord, and for it I have never ceased to be grateful.”

A few years ago my daughters were visiting a neighbor couple making a treat. Emma, then six, managed to spill an entire carton of milk on the floor. There was an awkward moment of silence as the group surveyed the damage. Then Emma spoke up: “Everyone makes mistakes.” She was right. We all make mistakes. None of us is without sin—no, not one. Thankfully we can look to the Savior to balance the equation of justice and mercy on our behalf.

I think my young son understood this when he was only three.

One morning I stepped to our back door to see the children off to school. Our little three-year-old son followed the children to the edge of the yard and watched them as they cut across the grass of a newly moved-in neighbor. Enraged, the neighbor called out, “Don’t you kids ever cut across my lawn; don’t you dare step one foot on it again.” He couldn’t see me, but I could surely hear him, and so could every other mother that was out to see her child off to school.

As sweetly as three-year-olds can talk, ours turned to this angry neighbor and said, “You can step on our lawn if you want to.” The next day that neighbor came out with a big smile and a darling teddy bear, and gave it to our little son. There was never again a problem over that lawn.

Receive love. Let others step on our lawn. Open ourselves to receive another.

I served in the Hungary Budapest Mission. When I returned home early, it was hard because all my companions were still out on their missions and I missed being a missionary. I also feared that other Church members would judge me, but fortunately, everyone treated me with love and understood my situation.
As time passed, I felt better. I read an article in the Liahona about early-returned missionaries that helped me feel better because I didn’t feel I was the only one anymore (see Destiny Yarbro, “Home Earlier Than Planned,” Liahona, Jan. 2018, 44–47). And I also took to heart what my aunt said: “Missionary work continues wherever we are.”
Lucas Ludwig Saito, São Paulo, Brazil

I was 14 years old when I experienced my first Christmas without snow. My family had just moved from the mountains of Utah to Texas, USA. To me, Texas felt too flat and hot. It was hard to feel the Christmas spirit when I had no friends at my new school and especially when there was no snow on the ground. I felt like I didn’t fit in anywhere, so I often felt lonely and sad.
Despite my gloom, Christmas was only a week away, and I was depending on our Christmas family traditions to lift my spirits. The fun activities my family did together in past years always made me feel so happy. Traditions were a big part of how we celebrated Christmas, so I thought I had nothing to worry about. They were called traditions for a reason, so I knew they had to be kept.
The days leading up to Christmas crawled by slowly. We hadn’t done anything together as a family yet to celebrate, so I was feeling pretty defeated. When Christmas Eve finally arrived, I waited all day for something to happen—anything that would show me that our cherished family traditions could still be kept in our new home. I’m sure I could have spurred these treasured traditions on my own, but I didn’t want to. In a way, I was looking for a sign to show me that the Christmas spirit was still alive.
Day faded to night and I grew more and more upset. Tears welled up in my eyes as my family gathered together to say our evening prayers. My entire home felt cold and empty, even with all of us living inside it. Suddenly, my dad pierced the silence with one question.
“Would anyone like to receive a priesthood blessing?”
My heart skipped a beat. I had worried so much about whether or not we would be putting up Christmas lights or baking holiday cookies that I had forgotten about one very special tradition we did every Christmas Eve—we all received a priesthood blessing. Receiving a blessing from my dad in the past always gave me peace, but not everybody in my family enjoyed receiving one. Sometimes my siblings and my mom would say they didn’t feel like they needed one. I didn’t want to get my hopes up again if everyone else was going to turn it down.
But this time was different. My mom stood up and sat down on the chair my dad had brought out for us.
“I would like one,” she said softly.
We were all very surprised, but my dad didn’t even hesitate. He placed his hands on my mom’s head and began to speak. I could sense how tuned in my dad was to my mom’s feelings and personal struggles. He spoke words of comfort and peace to her during this time of change.
I suddenly felt a burning sensation within my chest—almost like someone had lit a match inside of me. I knew I was feeling the Holy Ghost, even though the burning in my chest wasn’t the way I had always felt the Spirit before. It was like Heavenly Father was speaking directly to me, and it wasn’t even my priesthood blessing!
As my father quietly said “amen” and I opened my tear-filled eyes, I realized that my whole family was crying. We had all heard the Spirit speak to us in a tender and loving way that everything was going to be OK. My mom and dad hugged, and I felt like the raincloud that had been hanging over my head for so long had finally given way to sunshine.
We all received blessings, including me. In my blessing the Lord reassured me He is always mindful of me and wants me to be happy. It gave me feelings of peace and warmth that I hadn’t felt since I moved to Texas.
We may not have kept every tradition that year, but we always remembered how it felt to witness the power of God flow through my dad’s priesthood blessing. I will always remember how it changed my feelings of sadness to peace and joy. I also learned a valuable lesson about the power of the priesthood. When everything around you seems to be going the wrong way, a priesthood blessing can remind you of the Lord’s watchful and loving presence in your life.