Gospel Story Finder

The idea of experimenting with our requests to the Lord opens up multiple avenues of conversing Him. I'd like to share a personal experience to illuminate what I mean. In my Patriarchal Blessing I was told that I would have the health I need to meet the challenges of raising my family. However, about ten years ago I began to develop some very challenging health problems, one of which was not being able to sleep. It is no accident that sleep deprivation is used by those who torture others, because sleep deprivation is agony. Finally, after years of not getting enough sleep, I wondered if my Patriarchal Blessing included the promise of health so that I would have the faith to pray for sleep. I pled with the Lord that I would sleep through the night. I put my name in the temple. I researched the topic of sleep, reading any article I could find on it. I went to doctors. I tried everything I could think of. Still I was a walking zombie, who could barely get through the day. This situation was puzzling to me because I believed the Lord had put the blessing of health in my Patriarchal Blessing as a prompt, or a seed, for me to pray about. Yet sleep did not come. Then I thought about what Alma said. Maybe I needed to experiment with the prayer I took to the Lord. I altered my prayer. Instead of asking the Lord to bless me with sleep, I asked that I be led to information that would help me sleep. Within a couple of weeks of experimenting with this prayer, I was searching on the internet on a completely unrelated topic, and within minutes found two new pieces of information regarding sleep deprivation and its causes. I was able to adjust my behavior and have moved from sleep approximately four hours a night to seven.

I am so grateful that the Lord tutored me in my prayers. He gave me a prompt in my Patriarchal Blessing of what question, or seed, I should choose for my prayers. It took some experimenting to fi
nd exactly the right one. I am so grateful that the Lord did not give me my request with my first prayer but gave me the room to experiment. If He had immediately answered my pleadings for sleep, I might never have learned what was preventing me from getting a good night's rest and that might have meant that I would have had to spend energy for the rest of my life on prayers for sleep. Instead, when I altered my prayer, it opened the way for the Lord to bless me with knowledge. That knowledge is bringing sleep and energy. And part of the blessedness of it, is that I now can spend my time conversing with the Lord about other things besides sleep.

Little Willie Splasher wasn’t big enough! Take the day Teacher Hushposher said, “Who can reach the top library shelf?”
Peter Brown said, “I can.”
Jack Santos said, “I can.”
Meg Nash said, “I can.”
And Little Willie Splasher said, “I can’t.”
You can believe that Little Willie Splasher was miffed. And he looked glum. But he said nothing. Peter Brown, Jack Santos, and Meg Nash cleaned the library shelves for Teacher Hushposher.
Take the time Teacher Hushposher thumped on the desk and declared, “Will all the children who can reach the top of the blackboard please stand.”
Peter Brown stood up.
Meg Nash stood up.
But Little Willie Splasher didn’t!
You can believe that Little Willie Splasher was miffed. He looked glum. But he said nothing. And Peter Brown, Jack Santos, and Meg Nash cleaned the blackboard for Teacher Hushposher.
One day, Teacher Hushposher stood up in front of the classroom and announced, “I need three nice, tall children to be tall pine trees in our school play. Let me see, who can that be?”
“Me!” cried Peter Brown.
“Me!” cried Jack Santos.
“Me!” cried Meg Nash.
“Not me!” mumbled Little Willie Splasher.
You can believe Little Willie Splasher was miffed. And he looked glum. But he said nothing. Peter Brown, Jack Santos, and Meg Nash were beautiful tall pine trees for the school play.
So it’s no wonder Little Willie Splasher decided that being little was like being good for nothing! And the more Little Willie Splasher thought about it, the more unhappy he became. That’s why Little Willie Splasher went to school one Monday feeling gloomy. He went to school on Tuesday feeling like a rotten egg!
But leave it to foxy Teacher Hushposher. He called Little Willie Splasher in from recess. Now when Teacher Hushposher called you in from recess, you were in trouble! So you can believe poor Little Willie Splasher was pretty scared when he faced Teacher Hushposher. Especially since Little Willie Splasher had no idea what kind of trouble he was in!
Teacher Hushposher cleared his throat. He took a long, hard look at Little Willie Splasher and said, “What is your problem?”
“Why nothin’. Nothin’ at all,” Little Willie Splasher replied.
“Come, come now.” Teacher Hushposher said. “I haven’t seen you smile for a week. And you never speak unless you are spoken to. There has to be something wrong.”
At first Little Willie Splasher insisted there wasn’t, but finally he blurted, “It’s just that I’m never big enough to do anything.”
“Oh, that’s it!” Teacher Hushposher grinned. “Someday you will find out that being little is no problem at all. Now run along and play.” So Little Willie Splasher hurried outside to play, but his heart wasn’t in it.
It was that very afternoon, right in the middle of spelling, that someone let out a shriek and cried, “Myrtle the turtle is gone!” Everyone gasped at the empty bowl on Teacher Hushposher’s desk.
“Tut, tut, now,” Teacher Hushposher exclaimed. “That turtle must be right here in this room.”
As Teacher Hushposher looked all around and under everything, the class did, too. It was Jack Santos who spied Myrtle the turtle in the corner under the reading table.
“I’ll get her!” cried Peter Brown, who was used to being big enough to do everything. He tried. And he tried. But he couldn’t! For Peter Brown was too big to squeeze in between the table and the supply cupboard where Myrtle the turtle was snoozing.
“I’ll get her!” cried Jack Santos. “I’m thinner.” So he tried. And he tried. But he couldn’t! For he was too big, too!
“I’ll get her!” Meg Nash cried next. “After all, I have the longest arms.” So she tried. And she tried. But she couldn’t, because she was too big and her arms weren’t long enough!
Teacher Hushposher frowned. “If we only had a little fellow who could squeeze in there and pick Myrtle the turtle up, our problem would be solved,” he said.
Little Willie Splasher’s heart was pounding. His bright little round face was smiling. And before Little Willie Splasher knew it, he heard himself say, “I’ll get her!”
And Little Willie Splasher, who was never big enough to do anything, got up and did something no one else could do because they were too big!

Just before he died, Charles Sheldon wrote a small sequel to his book entitled In His Steps Today. It tells of Mr. and Mrs. Ralph Ward and their four children. Their two oldest children, George and Alice, attended college while their two youngest, John and Mary, were in high school. Mr. Ward was an official in a railroad office, and Mrs. Ward was prominent in the social, church, and literary life of the city.
One morning as the family was eating breakfast, Mr. Ward told of coming across a book in the library which he and Mrs. Ward had read some twenty-five years earlier, just before their marriage. It was entitled In His Steps, or What Would Jesus Do?
He wondered if the plan were practical, if it really worked. He knew of a large number of people who had taken the pledge to try to act as Jesus who had had some interesting experiences. He knew the children were eager to try experiments in the chemical laboratory and in other fields and wondered if they would be willing to conduct an experiment in the world of conduct.
He asked them if just for that day, for example, they would be willing to do nothing without first asking, “What would Jesus do?” and then try to do the same.
There was embarrassing silence around the table. They were a Christian family, but the subject was unusual. Finally, the silence was broken by John, “the irrepressible,” as the others called him: “If we take the pledge, what’s the matter with you and mother taking it too? You were talking to us yesterday about the bad example the old people set to the young generation. How about you and mother, Dad?”
The father agreed. Mrs. Ward said she would join in the pledge with the understanding that each one would give it an honest and sincere trial.
Perhaps the members of their family did not know it, but this event was to make history for all of them. The pledge was to run until ten o’clock that night. Then they were to meet at that time to share their experiences of the day, holding back nothing.
I wish I had time to tell you all of their experiences. Let me quote the parents, tell what happened to the younger ones, and consider the final question raised by Mr. Ward.
First, let’s hear from Mr. Ward:
“My first experience came to me as I went into my office this morning, and . . . saw Crawford of the auditing department. He was very much put out yesterday when he accused me of backing into his car out in front of the office, and bending a fender. I told him he had parked his car at such an angle that I couldn’t get out without hitting it. We both became angry. This morning I went in, asked his pardon, and offered to buy him a new fender. It did us both good. . . .
“This afternoon out at the golf course, while I was putting my things back into my locker, two of the members of the club came in and took flasks out of their lockers, drank, and offered some to the rest of us. This has been going on for a long time against the rules of the club and the laws of the state, but no one has ever enforced them. It seemed to me that if Jesus saw a crime being committed, he would consider it his duty as a good citizen to prevent it. I went to the chairman of the House Committee and reported the breaking of the rules, which has raised a storm.
“Several of the members came to me this evening down at the literary club, and threatened to blackball at me the next election for directors if I did not withdraw my charges against the drinkers. More will come from this. But what would Jesus do? It has been an interesting day.”
Now let’s hear from Mrs. Ward:
“I really did not know what following Jesus might mean, but my story has to do with the action of our women’s Board of Directors in renting a part of our building to certain parties who are allowing dancing of a questionable nature to go on, together with card games that are practically nothing but gambling.
“I have known of this for some time as all the women do, but did not want to be unpopular by objecting. At the directors’ meeting today, however, I expressed my opinion and objection. The club is in debt, and the amusement concessions bring in big rent. I am the only member of the board to file a protest. It will mean—“Mrs. Ward paused, and there was a moment of silence.
Finally, let’s hear from the younger ones, John and Mary, with Mary leading out:
“We went to an entertainment this evening. A lot of the girls at the high school had been to see it, and they told John and me that it was grand. But I’d rather John told what happened.”
John seemed to be unusually reluctant to relate their experiences. Finally he spoke in a subdued tone that was unlike his usual loud and assertive manner.
“Well, after it began,” he said, “I thought it was one of those foolish things that was just for—well, just entertainment. Then I remembered what you said one day, Mother, about not wanting Mary and me to go to any entertainment that we wouldn’t invite you or father to see. Well, it got pretty vulgar, and—”
Another silence was around the table. Mrs. Ward looked at the boy with a new expression, as if some very rare experience were being related—as indeed it was.
The boy went on slowly: “Just then Mary nudged me and whispered, ‘Let’s get up and go out!’ Honest, I thought it would be a [strange] thing to do, but then when I asked ‘What would Jesus do?’ it seemed all right. So we got up, treading on a lot of feet in the row where we had been sitting.”
“On our way out,” broke in Mary, “I said to John, ‘Let’s do one more thing. Let’s tell the manager why we are going out.’ John said, ‘All right, and let’s tell him to give us our money back because we did not pay for that kind of entertainment.’ You never will see a more surprised man than Mr. Rondus when we told him how we felt!”
“Surprised isn’t the word,” interrupted John. “He was flabbergasted! When I told him we thought he ought to refund our money, he didn’t say a word, but forked the money right over. Do you think we did what Jesus would do?”
Mrs. Ward had a tear in her eye. She reached over and stroked the boy’s head. “A thing like that never happened in this town before. Well, we certainly have had some new experiences.”
“Worthwhile, don’t you think? But can we keep it up?” questioned Mr. Ward.
The question provoked a discussion around the Ward table that lasted into the next morning.
What do you think? [Charles M. Sheldon, In His Steps Today (Litchfield, Ill.: Sunshine Press, 1948), pp. 22–24, 29–31]

In 2018, at the University of Utah, a special professorship was created called the “Dr. Russell M. Nelson and Dantzel W. Nelson Presidential Chair in Cardiothoracic Surgery”—cardio, meaning “heart,” and thoracic, meaning “chest.” It honored President Nelson’s important work as a heart surgeon and the support he received from his late wife, Dantzel. This professorship was paid for by a fund designed to last into the future. The individual selected for this type of prestigious professorship receives recognition, salary support, and research funds.
The first surgeon chosen to hold the professorship was Dr. Craig H. Selzman, a skilled heart surgeon who is not a member of our church. At the ceremony to award this professorship to Dr. Selzman, many important guests were in attendance, including President Nelson and his wife Sister Wendy W. Nelson. During the meeting, President Nelson spoke modestly of his pioneering surgical career.
Then Dr. Selzman shared what it meant to him to be appointed to this professorship. He related that four days earlier, after a long day in the operating room, he discovered that one of his patients needed to go back to surgery. He was tired and disappointed, knowing he would have to spend another night in the hospital.
This evening, Dr. Selzman had a life-changing conversation with himself. In the moment, he thought: “On Friday, I will be appointed to a professorship named after Dr. Nelson. He was always known as someone who kept his emotions in check, treated everyone with respect, and never lost his temper. Now that my name will be linked with his, I need to try to be more like him.” Dr. Selzman was already a very considerate surgeon. But he wanted to become even better.
In the past, his surgical team might have been aware of his fatigue and frustration because he may have let it show in his manner and tone of voice. But in the operating room that night, Dr. Selzman made a conscientious effort to be especially supportive and understanding of his team. He felt it made a difference and resolved to continue trying to be more like Dr. Nelson.
Five years later, President Nelson donated his professional papers to the University of Utah. Dignitaries from the university came to formally thank President Nelson. During this event, Dr. Selzman spoke again. Referring to President Nelson’s initials, RMN, he said, “There is an ‘RMN’ ethos that now pervades the Division of Cardiothoracic Surgery at the University of Utah.”
In frustrating situations, Dr. Selzman explained: “I do what we now teach our trainees to do—focus, get over it, and do the best you can. This ethos lives in us every day. We give lapel pins to every member of the division and each new trainee. At the bottom of the pin are the letters ‘RMN.’ The RMN ethos is foundational to our training; we teach it to everyone.” Dr. Selzman had intentionally improved his prior attitude and aspirations because his name was now linked to that of President Nelson.
This series of events involving Dr. Selzman caused me to ask myself: “How have I changed since I linked my name with the name of Jesus Christ? Have I adopted a Christlike ethos as a result? Have I genuinely tried to become better and more like Him?”
The first parallel is identification. Dr. Selzman’s appointment to the Nelson professorship linked his name to President Nelson’s, and Dr. Selzman began to identify with President Nelson. When we take upon ourselves the name of Jesus Christ, we link our name with His. We identify with Him. We gladly become known as Christian. We acknowledge the Savior and unapologetically stand up to be counted as His.
Closely related to identification is another parallel—remembrance. When Dr. Selzman goes into his office, his eyes are drawn to the medallion he received when he was appointed to the Nelson professorship. This medallion reminds him daily of the RMN ethos. For us, partaking of the sacrament each week helps us remember Jesus Christ throughout the week. As we partake of the sacrament, we do so in remembrance of the price He paid to redeem us. We covenant anew to remember Him, recognize His greatness, and appreciate His goodness. We acknowledge repeatedly that it is only in and through His grace that we are saved from physical and spiritual death.
An outgrowth of remembering what the Savior has done for us is a third parallel—emulation. Dr. Selzman began to emulate President Nelson and the RMN ethos. I believe that President Nelson’s ethos is simply a manifestation of his lifelong discipleship of Jesus Christ. For us, the more we identify with and remember Jesus Christ, the more we want to be like Him. As His disciples, we change for the better when we focus on Him, more so than when we focus on ourselves. We strive to become like Him and seek to be blessed with His attributes. We pray fervently to be filled with charity, the pure love of Christ.
Emulating Jesus Christ leads us to a fourth parallel—alignment with His purposes. We join Him in His work. As a surgeon, Dr. Nelson was known as a teacher, a healer, and a researcher. The lapel pin used in Dr. Selzman’s division emphasizes these endeavors, featuring the words teach, heal, and discover. For us, part of taking upon ourselves the name of Jesus Christ involves willingly, intentionally, and enthusiastically aligning our goals with His. We join Him in His work when we “love, share, and invite.” We join Him in His work when we minister to others, especially the vulnerable and those who have been wounded, shattered, or crushed by their earthly experiences.
So we more fully take upon ourselves the name of Jesus Christ through identification, remembrance, emulation, and alignment. Doing these four leads us to a fifth parallel—empowerment. We access God’s power and blessings in our lives. The Nelson professorship provides Dr. Selzman recognition and support funds that he is using to change the culture in his division. He applies this “endowment of power” to help others. In a similar way, when we take upon ourselves the name of the Savior, our Heavenly Father blesses us with His power to help us fulfill our mission in mortality.

Like any self-respecting teenager in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, I attended seminary for four consecutive years. This meant long hours of gospel learning in addition to Sunday and family study hours. It was sometimes a difficult and trying experience.
I began seminary in 2017 in our Pare Ward of the Arue Tahiti Stake. I was in 9th grade in school at the time, and I was eager to be part of this youth group.
During my first year, I woke up before 5 a.m. every weekday to get to seminary on time. I did my readings, and I was very attentive in class. I realized seminary contributed to deepening my relationship with God. Without Him, I would not have been able to successfully pass my school’s National Certificate Exam at the end of year 9.
Over the next two years, I gradually became lax in my duties, missing seminary or arriving late more often. I lost my desire to attend seminary, so I was less consistent in my efforts.
Accordingly, my 10th year in school was difficult, but I was unaware at the time of how this was related to my performance in seminary.
In year 11, I started going out with classmates who dabbled in things our Church doesn’t recommend, like alcohol and cigarettes. I even felt a little ashamed of not being like these friends and not hanging out more with them.
Consequently, my annual grades were low and if I had to take the bachelor exam that year, I doubt I would have passed.
Then, the COVID pandemic changed our daily lives, which I thank God for. When seminary classes started up on our smartphones, it was as if to counteract the evil that is also rampant on there.
Although I still had moments of weakness, I decided to hang in there and tried to sincerely follow the lessons of seminary, to benefit from God’s help in my studies.
I am grateful for my parents. Without them, I would have dropped out of seminary and followed the same path as my nonmember friends. As my favorite seminary teachers, they watched over me, making sure I stayed connected to God.
Then, healthy social relationships with the youth of the ward became my lifeline. Our activities together renewed me each time I was not in the mood. Among these friends was Corail Sommers, who never judged but always listened and encouraged and raised me up by her example.
In their own ways, they each contributed to my personal balance.
The discipline of daily immersion in the scriptures paid off in my last year of seminary, which was also my 12th and final year of school.
My seminary study habits allowed me to be better organized. While I’m not a fan of reading, I strove to read daily. It allowed me to maintain my relationship—even a fragile one—with Heavenly Father.
That year, I passed my bachelor diploma with honors. I got my driver’s license on my first try. I received my call to serve a mission in Paris. All in all, the hand of God was in my life the whole time I was in seminary and at school.
Looking back, I testify that God will always help because He loves us.
Seminary is exactly what we need as young people to help us to trust God and to let him prevail in our lives. He always trusted me.

When Elder Christopher H. Kim was 14 years old and had a chance to share the gospel with friends, he realized he needed to know the truth of the Book of Mormon so he could speak with conviction.
“As I prayed about the Book of Mormon, I felt a soul-comforting feeling,” he recalls. “And suddenly, there was not any question or any doubt about the Book of Mormon.” For the first time in his life, he added, “I really felt the Spirit, knew the truth about the Book of Mormon, and knew that Joseph Smith was a prophet of God.”

Juan Cabrera, an 18-year-old from Cuenca, Ecuador, knows what it’s like to be different. He’s one of only a handful of members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in a city of around 500,000 people, and the pressures to give in to temptation are pretty high. But Juan knows that there is a source of strength greater than any temptation.
Even with such deep focus, Juan knows that it’s not easy to stay on target. A few years ago he gained a lot of strength from older young men in his ward. But most of them have moved or have started attending elders quorum, leaving Juan with few Church friends to support him when things got hard. During those times, Juan sought strength from his parents and siblings—and from his Heavenly Father.
“You feel a little alone sometimes because you have different standards, a different way of living, of treating other people, of seeking different things in life. But the truth is,” Juan adds confidently, “you are never alone. We always have prayer, and we can always draw closer to our Heavenly Father. I have always prayed to have the strength to do what’s right, to have the courage to stand up to my friends when they do things that aren’t right.
“And you know what?” he continues. “Sometimes my friends have told me they admire my example and the strength I have to say no.”
Some of the temptations that Juan faced were easy to reject. He could easily say no when a friend would invite him to drink alcohol. That was a clear violation of the commandments.
“But there are times when the temptations are more subtle,” Juan explains. “As it says in the scriptures, sometimes it’s disguised [see Matthew 7:15]. The temptations can appear as though they are nothing bad because they don’t appear to break a specific commandment. That’s when you have to pray to be aware of what’s going on so that you don’t get confused. The Spirit has helped me understand this many times when something is wrong or when people are trying to get me to do bad things.”
As Juan prepares for his mission, he has made some new friends in the Church who support him.
“I’m an example for other youth now, and this has been a blessing for me,” he says. “It helps me understand that the effort to be strong, to be faithful, is worth it.”

Shortly before coming to this conference, I received a beautiful letter from a woman who had lost her husband thirteen years ago. I will read it to you. She said: “I was left alone to raise my two sons. As I was attending the baptismal service of my eldest son, who is attending senior high school, I could not help but feel the beautiful atmosphere that surrounded me. I was so impressed by the sweet spirit of the Saints; how exuberant and humble I felt. I observed my son, dressed in white, going down into the water. The stake president’s wife, who was whispering to me, told me that his sins would be washed away. I was so overwhelmed by the beauty of this moment that I felt my tears well up and my heart cried for joy. At that moment I wanted to know about myself. What about me? What about me? Was it possible that I, too, could experience a washing away of my sins? If my sins could be washed away and made clean once more, I too wanted to be baptized.”

After four days of studying and praying with the missionaries, she too came to accept the Savior and was baptized. Shortly thereafter, her youngest son also entered into the waters of baptism. Now Sister Masako Anan and her two boys are preparing to go to the Tokyo Temple to be sealed as a family with their deceased father for time and all eternity. Oh, how glorious is the power of the gospel which can change the hearts of people from sorrow and despair to happiness and joy! Oh, how glorious it is to know that the power conferred upon Joseph Smith can change the hearts of the people!

The jaded, blank-faced crowd congesting the Las Vegas strip paid little attention to the boy behind the wheel of the shiny Corvette. “Just another kid out cruising in his father’s car,” thought anyone who happened to glance his way.

But that was all right with 18-year-old Jack Farley, because he didn’t care much for the crowd, either. He had other things on his mind. He’d started working at age 14, and four years later he’d become sort of a bubble gum baron, controlling his own vending business. He’d paid for the Corvette himself and he’d driven it from the California coast to the desert resort town for an exciting weekend.

Yet something was bothering him. Something wasn’t quite right. His mind kept reverting back to what those Mormons were teaching him in the Sunday School class he’d started attending—things like service to others and eternal families. He’d be missing that church Sunday. Or maybe he wouldn’t—what was he doing here anyway? If he turned around now, he could easily make it back by morning.

The decision to drive back to his home in Mission Viejo, California, was one of the most important choices Jack ever made. Although he’d fought and won many battles in his life, the choice to go home for church led to what he considers the ultimate victory of his life so far. “I’m real thankful for the Church,” he says, “real thankful. I can’t even dream of where I’d be without it. Outside the Church, it’s like you fall into a river and it carries you wherever it goes. In the Church, you have control.”

“But I didn’t join right off,” Jack said. “I kind of sat back and doubted for a while, but I wish I hadn’t.” His Las Vegas excursion helped him appreciate the truths they were teaching him. “I looked around at the people there and thought ‘Lots of these people have money, but they’re still looking for something to make them happy,’” Jack said. Maybe he really could find what he was looking for in the Church.

The same Spirit that helped Jack choose to head home from Las Vegas is still helping him now. And it will continue to help him as he teaches the Japanese.

“Get up, Kevin.”
I looked over to the other side of the room at my brother’s bed. He lay asleep, curled up tightly in the blankets against the early dawn cold. This morning ritual had begun a year before, when Dad traded half the rabbits, complete with cages, for a milk goat. Each morning it was my job to milk her while Kevin fed her and cleaned out her pen.
“What time is it?” Kevin asked as he got up and dressed, noticing the light filtering into the room.
“It’s 6:30.” I was fully clothed and standing by my dresser, putting on my coat and knit cap. The coat smelled of alfalfa hay and dried milk.
“Hi, Mom,” we said in unison as we walked downstairs. I opened the back door, grabbing the clean steel milking pail on our way out. As we walked toward the barn, we noticed that water from the lake had vaporized into a thin fog that drifted across the nearby horse pastures. The ground, just beginning to thaw, felt like thick peanut butter on our boots.
“Kevin, what do you want for your birthday?” I asked. For the past two days I had been trying to think of what to get my almost seven-year-old brother. I didn’t have any money to buy a present, and there was no snow to shovel to earn a few dollars.
“I don’t know,” Kevin said as he scooped up some alfalfa pellets and poured them into a container by the milking stand. “Why don’t you do my chores for me tomorrow morning?” He was referring to a tradition in our family—on your birthday, other members of the family did your chores for you.
“OK.” But I wanted to get him something else, something more than what we always did.
“Tim and Kevin,” Dad called, “it’s time for breakfast.”
After leading the goat back to her pen, we carried the milk into the house, placed it on the counter, and sat down to eat. The steaming hot cereal, cooled by yesterday’s milk, tasted sweet because of the honey and raisins Mom had added to it.
“Time for school,” Mom said when we had finished eating. After grabbing our schoolbooks, we returned to the living room for family prayer; then we left for school.
Kevin’s elementary school was just under three kilometers away, while I had to walk only one kilometer to the middle school. Each day Kevin silently wished we lived half a kilometer to the south, making him eligible to ride the school bus that picked up many of his classmates. On most mornings, we saw them entering the bus at the beginning of its route. Kevin would stop, watch for a moment, then continue walking, most of the time arriving at his school long after the bus had dropped off its passengers. It was a cruel part of his day, especially on snowy or really cold winter mornings.
“See you later,” I said, watching him walk away when we reached my school.
All day I thought more about his birthday. I remembered last summer when he had weeded all of the neighbor’s vegetable garden to earn money to buy me a present. It was a small, single-bladed pocketknife he had bought secondhand at a thrift store. He had removed the rust with steel wool, then shined the blade and the handle with silver polish.
That night when I said my prayers, I asked Heavenly Father to help me find Kevin a gift.
After a fitful sleep, I awoke before the morning light entered our bedroom. I dressed quietly in the darkness and glanced over to see Kevin wrapped in his blankets. I tiptoed downstairs and outside.
The landscape had changed from the morning before. A snowstorm had arrived, and the snow blew around me. A little blew into the house before I could close the door. I hurried to the barn, wanting to complete the morning chores quickly.
Just as I finished, I noticed something tucked into a corner of the barn. I hadn’t seen it since summer, and it gave me an idea for Kevin’s birthday.
I quickly ran back to the house to drop off the milk; then I grabbed a bucket of warm, soapy water and some old rags and carried them out to the barn. The dust of winter and the rust from the dampness made cleaning difficult, but I kept working. Finally the call for breakfast came.
The smell of bacon and pancakes, food reserved for Sundays and other special days, met me at the door. We sat and ate, Kevin happy because of his seventh birthday. I was nervous, hoping he would like my present for him.
“Time for school,” Mom said as Kevin finished the last pancake. After family prayer, we went out into the gray snowstorm.
“Kevin, I have a present for you. It’s in the barn.” He followed me around the house and into the barn.
There stood our old red wagon, washed clean and polished with wax. A small wool blanket covered the bottom, and on the side of the wagon I had carefully painted “School Bus” with some old house paint.
“Get in, Kevin. You don’t have to walk to school today. This is your bus.”
His face lit up, and he scrambled in. I put another blanket around him so he would stay warm.
I pulled the wagon out of the barn, past the house, and onto the snow-packed road. Mom and Dad stood on the porch, watching the delight on Kevin’s face.
“Everyone off!” I yelled as we pulled onto the sidewalk in front of the entrance to Kevin’s school. I tried to sound like a bus driver, and he laughed with me at my attempt. I hurried back down the road with the wagon, and once I arrived at my own school, I hid it in some bushes.
When the final bell rang, I ran outside, rescued the wagon from the bushes, and hurried back to the elementary school.
I arrived just after the school’s bell rang. Kevin quickly came out with two excited friends. “Tim, can they come with us?”
“Sure,” I said. “Everybody ’booooard,” I yelled. Kevin climbed in first; the other two squeezed in behind him.
By the time I pulled the wagon to the second boy’s home, I was really tired.
“Tim, I’ll pull you the rest of the way home,” Kevin offered.
“No, it’s your birthday. I want to do this.” That night as I got into bed, I felt too tired to pray. I couldn’t remember a time when I’d been more tired. My legs and back ached, and my hands were sore and blistered from gripping the wagon handle. I lay in the darkness, thinking about the presents Kevin had received from Mom and Dad, Grandma and Grandpa, and me. Just before I drifted off to sleep, I heard, “Tim?”
“Yeah.”
“Out of all the presents I got today, yours was the best.”
“Thanks,” I said. Then I remembered my prayer from the night before. I crawled out of bed, knelt on the cold wood floor, and thanked Heavenly Father for helping me find my brother a birthday gift.

With those two extremes in mind, I would now like to give some examples which might help us attain that elusive balance between the spiritual and intellectual faculties. About seven years ago I was working as the new managing director of the Welfare Services Department of the Church. We were at a critical stage in the history of welfare. It was time to go through an agonizing reappraisal of the program in light of current world conditions. I was greatly worried and concerned.
After praying for a solution, I had a terrific thought. I decided I would ask to meet with some of the General Authorities. When I met with them, I poured out my concerns and added my feeling that we were at a stage where further revelation on the subject was necessary. Then I sat back with my note pad and waited for their inspired answers.
None of them just gave me the answers. Instead, each gave me the same counsel: “Brother Pace, you are absolutely right, we do need revelation. Now, go get it!” I had to study and research and meditate to formulate some recommendations that I could then take back to the Brethren.
Although study and thought are essential in discerning the Lord’s will for us, there is an avenue to truth greater than intellect and more certain than the five senses. The most glorious of all avenues to truth is direct revelation from heaven.

“Who’s your hero, Jason?” Jason Shaw looked away from his third grade teacher. “I don’t know.”
“Do you know anyone you’d like to be like?”
Jason shrugged.
“Well, you still have a little time to think about it.”
Jason listened as his classmates named their heroes. None of them interested him. He didn’t want to be a policeman, a lawyer, or even the president of the United States.
After school, as he walked home, the wind blew his cap off. He raced after it, thinking, I wonder if I would like to be an Olympic athlete?
He pictured himself running around a track, pushing his legs harder and harder until he crossed the finish line ahead of his competitors.
“Jason! Jason!” the crowd cheered.
Someone grabbed his arm.
“Jason, didn’t you hear me?”
“Uh, no, Tony. What’s up?”
“Nothing. I just thought I’d see if you’d like to walk home with me.”
“Sure. Come on. Who are you going to write your paper on?”
Tony grinned. “My great-grandpa. He won a medal in World War II. He saved a lot of lives. How about you? Think of anyone yet?”
“No. A war hero, huh?”
“Yep. He was a pilot in the air force.”
Jason looked up and imagined himself flying through the clouds. Maybe he would like to be in the air force and save lives. Or … or he could be a doctor. He imagined himself in an operating room.
“How’s his heart rate, nurse?”
“Good, doctor.”
“And his blood pressure?”
“Perfect! You’ve done it again. You’ve saved his life.”
Jason felt warm inside. It would be nice to save lives.
When he got home, he went to his room, pulled out a clean piece of paper, sharpened his pencil, and wrote: “My hero is someone who saves lives. He is a doctor.”
Looking down at his words, Jason didn’t feel as good about them as he had before. He didn’t really want to be a doctor. He didn’t know what he wanted to be. He pushed his paper aside and worked on his spelling lesson.
“How was school today?” Mom asked as she peeked into the room.
“Fine.”
“I see you’re busy with your homework. Is there anything I can help you with before I start supper?”
“No thanks.”
“OK. I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me. Oh—I talked to your Primary teacher today. She said that you’re always reverent and that you’re a good example to your classmates. She really appreciates you.”
Jason felt happy. He loved his teacher. She made Primary fun, and he learned a lot about Jesus in her class. And she—a teacher—appreciated him! He took out his paper and started again: “My hero is a teacher. A teacher helps people learn and shows them how to be happy.”
He smiled. A teacher was perfect. Now, what else could he say? After thinking about it for a few minutes, he couldn’t think of anything, so he put his paper away again.
After dinner, everyone gathered in the living room for family home evening.
“What song would you like to sing, Jason?” Mom asked.
“‘Jesus Once Was a Little Child.’” It was his favorite song.
“Karen, would you say the prayer, please?” Dad asked.
Jason’s little sister folded her arms, and Dad helped her pray.
“Thank you, Karen. Your mother and I have planned a special lesson for tonight,” Dad said. “We are going to play a game called ‘I Can Try to Be Like Jesus.’”
Jason listened closely. He liked games.
“We have some pictures about Jesus Christ and His life on earth,” Mom said. “We’ll talk about each picture and think of things we can do to be like Him.”
As he listened to Mom and Dad and talked with them about the Savior and how they could try to be like Him, a warm, strong feeling grew in Jason’s heart. He wanted family home evening to last forever.
When family night was over, Jason ran to his room and took out a fresh piece of paper.
“My hero is someone who saves lives. He is a healer, a teacher, and a friend, and I love Him very much. I want to be just like Him. My hero is Jesus Christ.”

The following experience was posted on a Christian website by a physician in Colorado, USA, who coasted into a gas station after his car had sputtered and died. As he prepared to call a tow truck, he saw a woman, whose old car was parked by a gas pump, slip and fall down.
“I got out to see if she was okay. When I got there, it looked more like she had been overcome by sobs than that she had fallen; she was [a] young woman who looked really haggard with dark circles under her eyes. She dropped something as I helped her up, and I picked it up to give it to her. It was a nickel.
“At that moment, everything came into focus for me: the crying woman, the ancient [car] crammed full of stuff with three kids in the back (one in a car seat), and the gas pump reading [U.S.] $4.95. I asked her if she was okay and if she needed help, and she just kept saying, ‘I don’t want my kids to see me crying.’”
Understanding her situation, the physician took out his credit card, filled up her car with gas, and then bought two big bags of food and some gift certificates for her and her children at a fast-food restaurant next to the gas station.
“She told me her name, and that she lived in Kansas City [Missouri, USA],” he said. “Her boyfriend [had] left two months ago, and she had not been able to make ends meet. … In desperation [she] had finally called her parents, with whom she had not spoken in about five years. They lived in California and said she could come live with them and try to get on her feet there. So she packed up everything she owned in the car.”
The doctor gave her a hug and offered a prayer for her safety on the road. As he walked to his car, the woman asked, “Are you like an angel or something?”
The doctor replied, “Sometimes God uses regular people.”
Then he observed: “It was so incredible to be a part of someone else’s miracle. And of course, … when I got in my car it started right away and got me home with no problem. I’ll put it in the shop tomorrow to check, but I suspect the mechanic won’t find anything wrong.”3

In conclusion, let me tell you of one lovely woman who is ready. Some time ago I received a telephone call from a bishop. His clerk had opened a contribution envelope which contained a substantial amount of money. It was a contribution from a widow who had been made a widow for the second time in her young life. She had been injured in the accident that took her husband’s life and had not fully recovered. She had a family of young children to raise. The contribution was the tithing on the insurance settlement on the death of her husband. The clerk said to the bishop, “Sister So-and-so needs this money much more than the Church does. Don’t you think we should return it?” The bishop asked me the same question: “Bishop, what does Sister So-and-so need more than all the money in the world can buy?” Can you imagine the opening of the windows of heaven to this wonderful young woman who had the faith, the conviction, and the devotion to her Heavenly Father to pay her tithes and offerings?

Claire was a sad hippopotamus, for today was the day of the jungle talent show. All of Claire’s jungle friends were going to be in it—but not Claire. Claire had no special talent. She didn’t dance. She didn’t sing. She didn’t juggle fruits, do somersaults, or play the drums. And she didn’t know any funny stories to tell. She was just a plain, ordinary hippopotamus.
“Oh, coconuts,” Claire sighed. “There must be something I can do.”
Then Claire had an idea. She went to visit Madame Gazelle’s Dancing School. “Will you teach me to dance?” Claire asked.
“I’ll try,” replied Madame Gazelle.
Claire put on a pair of pink dancing shoes. She learned to turn and curtsey. She leaped gracefully into the air. But when Claire landed, the jungle shook. Monkeys and bananas rained from the trees, mice bounced high into the sky, and everyone complained about the shaking jungle.
Claire did not want to make her friends angry, so she gave up dancing. She went to see Hester Elephant, who was famous for her singing. “Can you teach me to sing?” Claire asked.
“Of course I can,” Hester answered.
“Listen.” She raised her trunk and sang “Mary had a little elephant …” She had a lovely voice. “Now it’s your turn,” said Hester.
Claire roared, “Mary had a little hippopotamus …” as loud as she could. Her jungle friends had to cover their ears. She scared Lonnie Python right out of his tree house.
“This will never do!” Hester cried.
So Claire went to see the Great Chimpanzees. They had the best trapeze act in the jungle. “Please teach me to swing from tree to tree,” begged Claire.
“Sure,” agreed Bimbo Chimpanzee.
“But first you must climb a tree like this.” He scurried to the top of a tall tree and waved to Claire. Claire struggled up the tree after Bimbo. The tree began to bend.
“TIMBER!” shouted the Great Chimpanzees who were on the ground. The tree and Claire and Bimbo fell with a crash. The Great Chimpanzees were happy that Claire did not fall on them. But Claire was not happy at all.
“I’ll never be a part of the show,” she cried.
“I’ll teach you to catch rings on your nose,” offered Walter Rhinoceros.
“But I don’t have a horn like you do,” Claire protested.
“Oh,” said Walter, “I forgot.”
“I’ll teach you to juggle rocks,” suggested Randy Baboon.
“Wonderful!” said Claire. She tossed two rocks into the air.
“Ouch!” They hit Randy on top of his head. He went home to have it mended.
“I know a funny joke,” laughed Smiley Hyena, “but I need it for the show. I wish I had another one for you, Claire.”
Tara Tiger tried to teach Claire to play a harmonica. But Claire swallowed it by mistake.
“Who needs a talent show anyway?” she said crossly. “I’m going swimming.” All afternoon Claire swam around the lake. When she was tired, she took a long, long nap in the water. Voices woke her up.
“Claire! Claire!” the voices called.
Claire opened her eyes. Her jungle friends stood on the shore. They were wearing their talent show costumes.
“Claire!” called Madame Gazelle. “We need you.”
“Me?” said Claire. She swam to shore.
“We have a terrible problem,” said Hester. “You are the only one who can help.”
“What can I do?” sighed Claire.
“Because we’re all in the show,” Bimbo explained, “there’s no one to watch us. So we have no judge to choose the winner.”
“Oh, I can do that!” cried Claire. So Claire sat in the very first row. She clapped as loud as she could. She cheered. She whistled and stamped her feet. “Hooray! Bravo! Encore!” she shouted. “More! More! More!”
When the show was over, Claire clapped so long that everyone took ten bows. “You were all so good,” said Claire, “I can’t decide who the winner is—”
“The winner,” announced Tara Tiger, “is Claire Hippopotamus.”
“Me!” exclaimed Claire. “I wasn’t part of the show.”
“Yes, you were,” said Lonnie Python.
“You were the best audience a talent show ever had.”
Everyone clapped for Claire. She made a curtsey. Then she took her prize, a basket of fruit and went home—a happy hippopotamus.

My father was a rancher. The colonies are normally quite dry. At first there weren’t many deep wells, so most of our water came from the river. Rain was very important, and it was scarce. We had a couple of man-made lakes to store the water in when it did rain. We had to rely on the Lord for our blessings, and quite often the ward fasted.
I remember one time when I was about eight years old and we were in a drought situation—it had been a long time since it had rained, and we needed it desperately. Our ward had a special fast, and by the time we left our sacrament meeting, the clouds had gathered and it started to rain. We relied on the Lord because of our need. Sometimes our family fasted for the blessing of rain, and it rained. It was a matter of knowing that if we did our part, the Lord would bless us. That built great faith in me as a young boy.

Matthew got in the van with his family and put on his seatbelt. Today they were going to the parade!
Matthew loved parades. He was excited to see the bands marching along with their big drums and their shiny hats. Every year he tried to guess which float would win as they all rolled by, and he laughed at the clowns on their tiny bikes. He couldn’t wait to see the horses and hear the fire trucks blow their horns.
Dad parked the car, and they walked to where Grandpa and Grandma were waiting.
“Hey, buddy,” Grandpa said as he ruffled Matthew’s hair. “Ready to get some candy?”
Matthew nodded. He checked his pocket to make sure he had his plastic bag. He loved waiting on the curb and getting the candy and other things people handed out. Last year he got a whole bag full of candy and toys. He knew that Grandpa liked the candy as much as he did. He always looked through his bag afterwards to find something Grandpa liked.
“I hope I get lots of candy!” Matthew’s sister Abby yelled as she jumped up and down. “Look! It’s starting!”
Matthew quickly picked a spot on the curb. He felt his heart thud as a band began to play. Suddenly the air was filled with bubbles as a float covered with tropical fish passed by. The people walking behind it were handing out lollipops. Matthew and Abby both got one.
The next group handed out tickets to the bowling alley. Then the clowns came. Some were on stilts, one rode a unicycle, and some rode the tiny bikes Matthew liked.
The next group was dancing and handing out bright green water bottles. A water bottle like that would be perfect for soccer! Matthew and Abby both grabbed one. Then Matthew saw a little boy nearby crying because he hadn’t gotten one. Matthew looked at his bag filled with candy and toys. He looked again at the boy and then took out his water bottle and walked over to him.
“Here you go,” Matthew said, holding it out to the boy. The boy grabbed it, smiled, and wiped his eyes. The boy’s mom smiled and said thank you.
As Matthew went back to sit on the curb, he saw Grandpa wink at him. He felt good that he had shared the water bottle with the little boy, even though he could have used it for soccer. Matthew thought that sharing with the boy was what Jesus would have wanted him to do.
After the parade Grandpa asked Matthew what he liked most. Matthew thought about all the fun things in the parade. Then he thought about the boy and the water bottle. He knew he had done something even better than watching a parade and getting candy.

About five years ago, two missionaries came to my home in Ecuador. I was impressed with their appearance and kindness and agreed to listen to their message. I found their message interesting, but I had some doubts about it. However, I completed the reading assignments from the Book of Mormon for each of our meetings and accepted the challenge to pray.
When they finished the six lessons, the missionaries invited me to be baptized. Although I prayed constantly to know if these things were true, I didn’t believe I had received an answer. I expected to see an angel, the gold plates, or some other heavenly manifestation.
One night I was reading something about Ezra Taft Benson, who was then the President of the Church. I felt a strong desire to know if he was a prophet. I no longer aspired to see a vision—I simply wanted a witness of the truth. After praying for some time, I heard a quiet, penetrating voice testify to me that Ezra Taft Benson was a prophet, and I felt a burning sensation in my chest.
I had obtained my testimony—not through an angelic visitation, but through the still, small voice. It was with great joy and gratitude that I accepted the invitation to be baptized.

On Thursday 19 May 2022, we had a temple trip for service missionaries. Sadly, not all the missionaries could attend—but for those that could, it was a wonderful time in a sacred place.
The sun was out, and the grounds were beautiful. Being new to the mission at the time, it was good for me to meet some more missionaries.
I still feel nervous every time I go to the temple and get left alone, or even with another person my age, almost as if we are left unsupervised! But I love the feeling I get when I’m in the temple with other service missionaries (though as wonderful as the elders are, I’d definitely like more sisters in the mission!).
The temple brings a peace to my heart, even when I don’t understand everything that is going on around me. I know that Heavenly Father has a plan for us, and we won’t understand everything in this life—but that we can also bring any questions we have to Heavenly Father. He loves us and He is there for us, no matter what.
Elder and Sister Kimberling, the service mission leaders, brought a picnic style lunch for us to have afterwards. I love that they are always there to take care of us missionaries, whenever we need. They are the best. I had a wonderful time with everyone and hope that sometime soon everyone in the mission can enjoy the temple together.

President David O. McKay was brought to tears while seeing the diverse group of students gathered at the elementary school in Laie back in 1921.
That was powerful but as he remembered that experience, he added, “but more impressive than that [flag raising ceremony] was our assembly in the old chapel that stood by. There we met as members of The Church of Jesus Christ—Hawaiians, Japanese, Chinese, Filipinos, all the races represented on this island. There we met as one, members of the Church, the restored Church of Christ. What an example in this little place of the purposes of our Father in Heaven to unite all peoples by the gospel of Jesus Christ.”