Gospel Story Finder

As parents, take your young children with you to tithing settlement. When two of our children were in junior high school and the youngest was about two or three years old, as we completed our interview with the bishop during tithing settlement, he turned to the youngest and said to him, “Do you have any tithing you would like to pay?” Our son reached in his pocket. Since neither my wife or I had talked to him about being prepared to pay tithing at this time nor did we know of any income that this two or three year old had, we wondered expectantly what might come out of his pocket. With great solemnity, he pulled an acorn out and placed it on the Bishop’s desk. With equally great solemnity, the Bishop accepted it, placed it with the checks he had received, spoke briefly about the payment of tithing in kind, filled out a receipt in the tithing receipt book with our son’s name and the amount of the contribution, “one tithing nut.” It was signed by the Bishop. Our son’s face lit up as the Bishop passed the receipt across the desk. On the way home he asked his brother and sister to read the receipt to him several times and for a significant period that receipt took an honored place among his cherished belongings. As it did him, it brought us great joy to see him attempt to make his first tithing offering and “the tithing nut” is part of our family lore.

“When we were married, your dad and I didn’t wait to start our family, like many couples do. When you were born, he was still in college, studying to be a teacher. People told us then that we should wait to have children.”
“Wait for what?” Deborah asked.
“Until your dad was out of school and had a good job. Or until we had a house and money in the bank. People have a lot of reasons for waiting to have children.
“President Ezra Taft Benson was the prophet then. He counseled families to not wait to have children, so we didn’t.” Her mother squeezed Deborah’s hand. “You were our first. And you were very, very precious to us. It didn’t matter that we didn’t have a lot of money or that we had to make do with what we had. You were more than worth it, and you still are. So are your brothers and your sister and whoever is coming this time. Your dad and I love each of you with all our hearts.”
“I’m glad you listened to the prophet.”
“So am I, sweetheart.”

Meet Amy Richardson and Amy Richardson.
That’s right, these girls are the same age and have the same name. They were introduced when they were both just a few hours old and fighting to stay alive in the University of Utah’s Newborn Intensive Care Center. (Both were born prematurely and suffered complications because of it.) The “Amys” got well and went their separate ways, one Amy living in Woods Cross, Utah, and the other in Murray, Utah.
But they doubled up again for a brief moment last year. It seems they share more than a name. They also share a vision for sharing the gospel and were reunited at the MTC, where they met by accident the night before Amy from Murray left to serve her mission in Latvia. Amy from Woods Cross left a few days later to serve in Dallas, Texas.

In my preparation for marriage classes at BYU, we have one unit on commitment. We note the observation by Dr. James C. Dobson that marriage is a marathon and not a sprint (see Love for a Lifetime: Building a Marriage That Will Go the Distance [Portland, Oregon: Multnomah Press, 1987], 120). We talk about what we commit to or what covenants we make at the time of marriage, often across sacred and holy altars.
During winter semester 1999 I asked my students at BYU to participate in a class project. I invited them to bring to class pictures of “older couples” who had been married a long time. They wanted to know “how old,” and I just said “old.” For the baby boomers who are listening, you may be interested in knowing that one young coed brought in a picture of Al and Tipper Gore. I looked at the picture and told my student that the vice president and wife were only in their early fifties. “Well,” she responded, “you said you wanted pictures of old people!”
After we had collected a wide variety of pictures, one of my students, Melissa McKnight (now Melissa Wood), teamed up with Tamilisa Wood (not related), a media arts major. Under the guidance and direction of Glenn Anderson of the Instructional Technology Center, they matched the pictures up to another song composed by Lionel Richie in the early 1980s. It was later made popular by Kenny Rogers through his musical releases. The song was “Through the Years.” It answers, in part, the question posed about the same time by Rafe Van Hoy: “Doesn’t anybody ever stay together any more?”
We will now see our class project: Through the Years. It portrays what I believe is missing in contemporary marriage education in America today. This is but one example of what undergraduate students are capable of doing at Brigham Young University.

A year after Cyclone Gabrielle tried to erase it from existence, the primary school of a small New Zealand community continues to forge ahead, conducting classes in the Nuhaka meetinghouse of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
And now students have a playground, donated through the efforts of many others throughout the country, who have pitched in to help the school thrive.
On 11 February 2023, Cyclone Gabrielle raced through New Zealand’s Hawke’s Bay, and left in its wake destruction and suffering. The Nuhaka Primary School in the small Hawke’s Bay community of the same name suffered extensive damage and was finally declared uninhabitable.
But through a unique collaboration between The Church and the Ministry of Education, the school obtained a wonderful solution to this and moved into the Nuhaka meetinghouse to hold classes.
Nine months later, the school continued to thrive in the church meetinghouse-turned-school during the week and students have settled in, enjoying the benefits of meeting in a building that has been dedicated to the Saviour, Jesus Christ.
Principal Raelene McFarlane said the use of the Church’s meetinghouse has been an answer to many prayers in the small community. Nine months after the school moved into the building, the results couldn’t have been better.
There have been hiccups—an October 2023 rainstorm washed dirt and debris from farmland through a back door and into the building, necessitating the temporary removal of the school to the local M?ori marae (community building) while the mud was cleaned up and the carpets were replaced. But McFarlane says the kids have proven very resilient and were anxious to come back to this building.
“What are the odds of having to pack up twice?” McFarlane said with a laugh. “The marae welcomed us in, and Maui (Aben, the president of the Gisborne New Zealand Stake) arrived that afternoon with the facilities maintenance people, and we got everything in motion to take care of that issue really fast,” McFarlane said.
But five weeks later, when school began again, they were still missing a key component of all elementary schools—a playground area. While there was plenty of grass around the Nuhaka Ward meetinghouse, there were not many shady trees and nothing to climb.
Enter Pacific Assist Foundation. As detailed last September, Pacific Assist Director Callum Blair was able to obtain some stored equipment from Torbay School in Auckland.
After a few months tying down some loose ends, it was shipped to Nuhaka and installed, along with some overhead shade provided by the Church, with the assistance of local missionaries in February.
Elder Nathan Woods, of Garden City, Utah, USA, and Elder Jacob Hughes of Branson, Missouri, USA assisted in the installation of the playground, along with Blair and other members of his Pacific Assist Team. Elder Woods said he and Elder Hughes were delighted to be of assistance.
“As missionaries, we cherish opportunities to serve others,” Woods said. “When you help others, it helps you remember the times that people have helped you, and you remember how it feels and how much those people mean to you.”
Elder Hughes agreed, noting that the opportunity to serve is an opportunity to grow as a person and to appreciate others even more. “It’s amazing to know that when we serve those around us, God remembers that effort.”
He continued, “I think when I get to help someone in a way that brings them joy, it gives me a glimpse of the love He has for them. It was an awesome experience to see how excited everyone was who helped with this.
“They just knew how much joy it would bring to these children who had gone through so much.”
And the kids really appreciated the effort expended to make it possible for them. “They were so excited when it was finally ready for them,” McFarlane said. “We couldn’t keep them focused on their work, so we finally just told them to go try it out!”
Meanwhile, the old primary school is being removed and a new school is being planned for the same site. While McFarlane hopes the new school will be completed and ready to move into in 2025, she says she, her staff and students are so grateful for the gift of the use of the Nuhaka Ward meetinghouse they have now.
“Having to go to the marae last October really reminded us how fortunate we were to be able to hold school in this building,” she reflects. “Everything we need now is here, and we’re able to teach our students all the things they need to grow and thrive.
“It is such a blessing and I’m sure, after we eventually move out into our own new space, that we’ll all look back on our time here with tremendous fondness and gratitude,” McFarlane said. “These kids will remember and talk about this for the rest of their lives.”

“When I was about nine years old, I remember Grandpa sitting in his big overstuffed chair. He allowed me to stand behind him and comb his beautiful hair. I would part it in the middle then comb it back in different ways. Sometimes I would part his hair on the side and try a new style, and I would comb it down over his face in the process. He was very patient and let me comb it until my arms were tired.”

I was also able to enjoy that same Christ-centered culture growing up in a home where my father honored his priesthood and gained the trust of the entire family due to “the integrity of his heart.”7 Let me share with you an experience from my youth that illustrates the lasting positive impact that a father who understands and lives the principle of trust built on integrity can have on his family.

When I was very young, my father founded a company that specialized in factory automation. This business engineered, fabricated, and installed automated production lines worldwide.

When I was in middle school, my father wanted me to learn how to work. He also wanted me to learn the business from the ground up. My first job included maintaining the grounds and painting areas of the facility not visible to the general public.

When I entered high school, I was promoted to work on the factory floor. I started to learn how to read blueprints and run heavy steel fabrication machinery. After high school graduation, I attended university and then entered the mission field. Returning home from my mission, I went straight back to work. I needed to earn money for the next year’s school expenses.

One day soon after my mission, I was working in the factory when my father called me into his office and asked if I would like to go with him on a business trip to Los Angeles. This was the first time my father invited me to accompany him on a business trip. He was actually letting me go out in public to help represent the company.

Before we left on the trip, he prepared me with a few details about this potential new client. First, the client was a multinational corporation. Second, they were upgrading their production lines worldwide with the latest in automation technology. Third, our company had never previously supplied them with engineering services or technology. And finally, their top corporate officer in charge of purchasing had called this meeting to review our bid on a new project. This meeting represented a new and potentially important opportunity for our company.

After arriving in Los Angeles, my father and I went to the executive’s hotel for the meeting. The first order of business was to discuss and analyze the engineering design specifications of the project. The next discussion item concerned operational details, including logistics and delivery dates. The concluding agenda item focused on pricing, terms, and conditions. This is where things got interesting.

This corporate officer explained to us that our price proposal was the lowest of those who had submitted bids on the project. He then, curiously, told us the price of the second-lowest bid. He then asked us if we would be willing to take our proposal back and resubmit it. He stated that our new price should come in just below the next highest bid. He then explained that we would split the newly added dollars 50–50 with him. He rationalized this by saying that everyone would win. Our company would win because we would be making considerably more money than our original bid provided. His company would win because they would still be doing business with the lowest bidder. And, of course, he would win by taking his cut because he put this great deal together.

He then gave us a post office box number where we could send the money he requested. After all of this, he looked at my father and asked, “So, do we have a deal?” Much to my surprise, my father stood up, shook his hand, and told him we would get back to him.

After leaving the meeting, we got into the rental car, and my father turned to me and asked, “Well, what do you think we should do?”

I responded by saying I didn’t think we should accept this offer.

My father then asked, “Don’t you think we have a responsibility to all of our employees to maintain a good backlog of work?”

While I was contemplating his question and before I could answer, he answered his own question. He said, “Listen, Rick, once you take a bribe or compromise your integrity, it is very difficult to ever get it back. Don’t ever do it, not even once.”

The fact that I’m sharing this experience means that I have never forgotten what my father taught me on that first business trip with him. I share this experience to illustrate the lasting influence we have as fathers. You can imagine the trust I had in my father due to the integrity of his heart. He lived these same principles in his private life with my mother, his children, and all with whom he associated.

While I was serving as stake president, my counselors and I invited a certain brother for an interview where we presented to him his calling to be the president of the stake Young Men organization. This man had not been fully active. He liked to spend his weekends, including Sundays, camping and fishing, and it was reported that he and his wife did not always obey the Word of Wisdom. There was some question as to whether we should consider him for such a position, but because of the prayerful discussions we had held in the presidency and the high council we concluded that he should be called. As we advised this brother of his appointment, he responded that he was not interested and that he did not feel worthy or qualified. We then told him how we had come to choose him over all the members of the stake. We explained that we needed a strong and capable leader of youth in our stake and that both the presidency and the high council had offered earnest prayers, asking the Lord to indicate the person who should fill the position. We said: “The answer was clear. You are the man the Lord has chosen. It is for you to decide, of course, but you do have an obligation to go home and discuss the question with your wife. The only request we make of you is that thereafter you kneel down with her and ask the Lord what he wants you to do.”

Three days later I received an unhappy telephone call from this same man. He reluctantly informed me that he would accept the position with all its implications. He gave powerful service in his calling, and when that assignment was finished, he became a member of the high council, and he has been happy about the gospel ever since.

Vroom! Peter’s new remote-controlled car seemed to roar to life. It zigzagged through crumpled wrapping paper. It zoomed under the Christmas tree, its blue paint reflecting the lights.
When Peter had unwrapped his present that morning, he just knew it would be the fastest race car around. He was planning to make a race track for it.
But first Peter had to go to the homeless shelter with his family. Last week they had decided to help serve dinner to people there on Christmas night. Peter had liked the idea then. But now he just wanted to keep playing with his car.
Peter slowly put his boots on. “Why can’t I stay home?” he grumbled.
Dad ruffled Peter’s hair. “Getting toys for Christmas is fun. But Christmas is really about Jesus. That’s why we wanted to celebrate His birth by doing something He would do—helping others.”
Peter still didn’t feel like going. But he trudged out the door anyway.
Once they got to the shelter, a lady led them to the kitchen. Peter followed her to his spot, and she handed him a spoon. His job was to serve green beans. Yuck! he thought.
People started coming in the cafeteria. One by one, they moved through the line. Peter dumped a spoonful of green beans on each plate. Scoop, plop. Scoop, plop. He couldn’t think of anything more boring. His mind kept going back to the race track he wanted to build.
Peter scooped another spoonful of green beans. When he looked up he saw a boy sliding his tray closer. Peter spooned the beans onto the boy’s plate. He looked up again, and their eyes met. The boy smiled. “Thank you!” he said. Peter watched him sit down by a tall woman. They looked happy. That made Peter happy too.
Maybe Dad was right, Peter thought. He could play with his toys anytime. But coming here was special. He thought about how Jesus spent His life helping people. And wasn’t Christmas about celebrating Jesus’s birthday?
When the next person came through the line, Peter smiled as he scooped beans onto her plate.
“Merry Christmas,” Peter said.
He tried to smile at everyone who came through the line. Not everyone smiled back, and that was OK.
On the ride home, Peter looked at Dad. “I think I understand what you said earlier, about what Christmas is really about.”
“Oh yeah?”
“It’s not about getting stuff,” Peter said. “Helping people is more important.”
“I think you’re right,” said Dad. “And maybe we can come back soon to help again.”
Peter grinned as he looked out the window. He was glad he’d spent Christmas night helping others, like Jesus would.

At the April 2022 general conference, President Russell M. Nelson taught us, “Some trials are deeply private burdens no one else can see. Others are played out on the world stage.”1
This reminds me of the experience that I had with a good member named Sister Edna who was in my Gazcue ward. She was a person who was always smiling and full of enthusiasm for life.
One day she had an accident while riding her bike and, to her surprise, she unexpectedly slipped off the bike bringing her body silently to the ground. The fall was a strong blow to her body and they rushed her to the hospital. There, they discovered that the fall had caused extreme damage to her liver and other vital organs, and it was necessary for her to go into surgery. All the families and the members in the ward were worried about our dear Sister Edna.
It was just Sister Edna and her husband in their home at this time because her daughter was serving a mission in another country and her son had just joined the U.S. Navy.
As the days passed, the general infection from the accident caused the deterioration of her health and she went from one hospital to another for various surgeries. The sisters of the Relief Society would go to the hospital every day to bring her comfort and assist in her care. When the doctors had to forbid visits because of her delicate condition, the Relief Society sisters waited at the door, praying and waiting for encouraging news. Every day we prayed and fasted to invoke the powers of heaven.
One of the sisters shared her personal experience of this event. There was an evening when she had gone to bed very concerned about Sister Edna’s critical condition. She prayed fervently while imagining the tremendous physical pain Sister Edna was surely feeling. As she thought about this, she also felt Sister Edna’s indescribable pain in her own body as though she was the one who was hurt and beaten internally. This sister had so much love and empathy for Edna that she experienced for a moment the pain that Edna felt.
Later, thanks to prayers and medical interventions, Sister Edna made a miraculous recovery.

When I was a young teenager, our family lived in the mission field. My father was branch president in our little town in Wyoming. It was a typical small branch. There were few families and fewer young people. I was one of two Aaronic Priesthood bearers. In addition to preparing and passing the sacrament, one of our assignments was to sweep the cigarettes and empty beer cans out of the rented upstairs room we met in. My father always saw to it that I arrived early in order to have plenty of time to clean the hall before the people came.
It was a friendly little group. Everyone called each other by their first names, as I recall. Reverence and respect were not the chief characteristics of our congregation. But we did things together and loved the Church in our own way.
Father had a great problem. He wanted his children to love the Lord as he did. He wanted to give them a vision of the Church as it could be and indeed as it was in more highly developed parts of Zion. He was concerned about enlarging our perspective. He wanted to insure our understanding of what it meant to be a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. He knew, consciously or otherwise, that it wouldn’t do much good for him just to talk to us about it. He knew that we, as most children, were more impressed by what we did and what we saw.
Shortly after we moved to Wyoming, the Church announced plans to observe the centennial of the pioneers crossing the plains. In the summer of 1947 it was decided that a group of Church dignitaries would retrace the route of the original pioneers, stopping at many of the principal landmarks along the way. Accordingly, a caravan of automobiles and interested persons started in Nauvoo and returned across the original pioneer trail, commemorating various historic encampments. The group was accompanied by Elder Spencer W. Kimball, then of the Council of the Twelve.
At a family meeting one Sunday afternoon after sacrament meeting, my father announced that we were going to go join that caravan. He had plotted the trajectory of the group and determined that the closest point to our home would be at Independence Rock, a landmark on the Mormon trail in central Wyoming. I had mixed feelings at the time about making the trip. I couldn’t see too many reasons for leaving home and traveling several hundred miles in the heat of the Wyoming summer. However, as we discussed it in family council, father’s enthusiasm affected us all. My younger brother and sister became enthused about the project, and I was outvoted. That sometimes happens in family councils. We began to make plans to intercept the caravan. Rather, father made the plans, and we accepted them.
He had known President Kimball years before in Arizona. He told us that it would be a fine thing to join the caravan and see Brother Kimball again. Even I began to get excited. He told us as children that this would be a marvelous experience. We were promised an opportunity to meet one of the apostles of the Lord.
In those days this didn’t happen very often. The chances of a General Authority of the Church wandering into our part of Wyoming in 1947 were almost nonexistent. Our family had had little contact with the Brethren as we moved from place to place. This became something to look forward to.
One bright summer day we left home. We packed a lunch and the family into an old 1939 Studebaker automobile and journeyed to Independence Rock. It was a long, hot trip. When we arrived some hours later, we parked our car. Looking around we could see in the distance a group of men surrounding a large, rocky mound that could be seen for miles in all directions. My brother and I accompanied our father. I remember walking through the sagebrush and grass toward the group of people by the rock. I remember distinctly approaching the man who is now the President of the Church. I remember the recognition accorded to my father, and I remember the words that were spoken.
My father said, “Elder Kimball, do you remember me?”
That was the first time in my life I could remember anyone being called “elder” anything. That was the heritage of our friendly, little branch, I suppose. My father’s words seemed very strange to me.
Elder Kimball turned to my father and said, “Brother Howard, how good to see you again.” Then he asked, “Are these your boys?” Father said, “Yes.” Elder Kimball said, “It is so kind of you to come.”
I stood there waiting for something momentous to happen. Something like “Dr. Livingston, I presume.” But that was all. That was all. I don’t remember anything else being said. I remember that Elder Kimball was busy. Others were making demands upon his time, and there were ceremonial functions to be performed. There may have been other things said to my father, but I don’t remember them. I was disappointed that we had come so far and looked forward with so much anticipation to a conversation that was three sentences long.
We participated in the festivities of the occasion. Afterwards we ate our lunch on the plains, climbed the rock, and noted the inscriptions that had been made by pioneers. It turned out to be not such a bad day after all. Late that evening we returned home. We resumed our routine lives. I remember thinking then that it might have been easier to watch the event on television. I felt let down at the time.
And I don’t believe it made a bit of difference to the Church or to Elder Kimball that we made that trip. But it made a difference to my father. The reward of renewing that association was important enough to him to cause him to make the journey. He let us know that we had been a part of a great event and that we had been privileged to have a glimpse of a great heritage.
I have thought about that excursion many times since. I have come to realize that it was my father’s love for the Lord and the Church and the Lord’s servants that caused him to want to make the trip. I realize that he loved the General Authorities and sustained them. This awareness, which grew in me over the years, meant much more to me than all the telling he could have ever done.
The fact that he would involve us and the fact that by his example he taught us what he thought about the gospel of Jesus Christ have since that time become great lessons for me. He taught me, and I have learned, that you cannot be a passive member of the Church. I learned that association and fellowship with great men are worth whatever price you have to pay to attain them. They are worth enduring heat; they are worth a long trip; they are worth temporary inconvenience. They are the lasting things of life.

As a young man, Chad Webb was attending the College of Eastern Utah (now Utah State University Eastern) when he had a foundational spiritual experience that deepened his testimony of the gospel. That experience started with a desire to strengthen his faith.
Amid doing schoolwork and playing basketball on his college team, Brother Webb made studying the scriptures, praying, and pondering a priority as he prepared to serve a full-time mission in Veracruz, Mexico.
One cold night he went for a long walk around Price, Utah, and thought about everything he was learning. Heavenly guidance came as he entered an empty parking lot.
“I felt that all the answers to my prayers and questions came, and I felt very deeply how true the gospel and the Church are,” he said. “Those truths came with great clarity in my mind, along with the feeling that Heavenly Father was aware of me. I felt His love and His direction. That was one of the early impactful experiences I had to deepen my testimony.”

A young woman in another country applied to work as a journalist, but the official who assigned jobs was merciless. He said to her, “With my signature, I guarantee you will not become a journalist but will dig sewers.” She was the only woman digging sewers in a gang of men.

Years later this woman became an official. One day a man came in needing her signature for a job.

She asked, “Do you remember me?” He did not.

She said, “You do not remember me, but I remember you. With your signature, you guaranteed I never became a journalist. With your signature, you sent me to dig sewers, the only woman in a gang of men.”

She told me, “I feel I should treat that man better than he treated me—but I do not have that strength.” Sometimes that strength is not within us, but it can be found in remembering the Atonement of our Savior, Jesus Christ.

Writing about the opening of the store in Nauvoo, George Q. Cannon records:

The Prophet himself did not hesitate to engage in mercantile and industrial pursuits; the gospel which he preached was one of temporal salvation as well as spiritual exaltation; and he was willing to perform his share of the practical labor. This he did with no thought of personal gain. [Cannon, p. 385–86]

And in a letter, the Prophet said:

The store has been filled to overflowing and I have stood behind the counter all day, distributing goods as steadily as any clerk you ever saw, to oblige those who were compelled to go without their Christmas and New Year’s dinners for the want of a little sugar, molasses, raisins, etc.; and to please myself also, for I love to wait upon the Saints and to be a servant to all, hoping that I may be exalted in the due time of the Lord. [Cannon, p. 386]

George Q. Cannon then comments:

What a picture is presented here! A man chosen by the Lord to lay the foundation of His Church and to be its Prophet and President, takes joy and pride in waiting upon his brethren and sisters like a servant. The self-elected ministers of Christ in the world are forever jealous of their dignity and fearful of showing disrespect to their cloth; but Joseph never saw the day when he did not feel that he was serving God and obtaining favor in the sight of Jesus Christ by showing kindness and attention “even unto the least of these.” [Cannon, p. 386]

Stacy’s seventh Christmas was one her family would never forget. It was unforgettable because it was almost so very, very awful.
One autumn day, Stacy’s family had gone for a drive to see the colorful trees. When a truck suddenly came into their lane, Dad swerved to miss it and hit a tree instead. Dad and Mom were fine, and so were Adam and Will. But Stacy was hurt. Dad called for an ambulance to take her to the hospital.
Stacy woke up in the hospital with a bandage on her head and her leg in a cast. She would need to stay in the hospital for a while until she got better.
Stacy shared a room with three girls named Jenny, Tamika, and Kelly. Kelly could get out of bed, so she played games and read stories with the other girls. Stacy was glad to meet new friends in the hospital.
Every day the doctor checked on Stacy. Her leg was healing well, and soon the nurses removed the bandage from her head.
One day Kelly went home. The girls hugged and said good-bye.
“I’m glad you’re well, Kelly,” Stacy said.
“Thanks. Now you and Jenny and Tamika get better too,” Kelly said.
Eventually Stacy was allowed to get out of bed. Walking with crutches was hard, but once she learned to get around on her own she made friends with children in other rooms. There were many children in the hospital, all with different injuries and illnesses. Some were there only a short time, while others had to stay for many months.
In December, Stacy was finally able to go home. “I’m glad I get to go home, but I’m going to miss everyone so much,” Stacy told her parents.
As Christmas drew near, Stacy’s cast was removed, and she worked hard to walk without limping. One night Mom and Dad asked Stacy what she wanted for Christmas.
“There’s really only one thing I want,” Stacy said. “I want to take presents to the children in the hospital who don’t get to go home for Christmas.”
Mom hugged Stacy. “Is that really what you want? You don’t want anything for yourself?”
“That’s really what I want,” Stacy said.
Mom and Dad explained the plan to Will and Adam and added that there wouldn’t be much money left over for family presents.
“That’s OK,” Will said. “I think it’s a good idea.”
The family went shopping and picked out toys, games, and books. Then they wrapped the gifts and piled them in the car.
On Christmas morning, Stacy and her family drove to the hospital. Stacy grinned as she passed out the gifts. Some of her friends had gone home, and now other children were in their beds. Stacy had a gift for each one. Seeing their excitement when they opened their gifts filled Stacy’s heart with joy.
“How do you feel?” Mom asked as they left the children’s wing.
Stacy hugged her. “This might sound funny, but I loved Christmas at the hospital!”

One day, while driving along a road in California’s Sequoia National Park, I noticed a turnout for Moro Rock. I’ve always enjoyed hiking, climbing, and exploring, so I decided to check it out.
At the turnout, a short 10-minute hike takes you to a large granite outcropping overlooking a huge river valley with sky-piercing peaks in the distance. I quickly made my way past throngs of other people on the trail. After a few quick turns, I was standing on the summit. The view was great, but I was disappointed because there were metal railings everywhere! I couldn’t really explore the location like I wanted to.
I thought I was an experienced hiker, so I found the railings to be a little offensive to my sense of what was safe. In some cases, the placement of the railings seemed so arbitrary, and the straight lines of the railings prevented me from following along the curves of the rock. In a few places, the railing seemed to stop short of what would be an interesting spot to look over. For a moment I considered crossing over the barriers, but as I read the warning signs, I decided I’d better stay inside the railings.
A few months later, I noticed a news article about two people who fell off the rock and died. I immediately thought, “How could anybody die at Moro Rock with all those railings around?” Then it struck me: they had gone outside the railings!

Yu stepped out of cram school onto the busy sidewalk. His head was full of math facts from his after-school class. People hurried by with umbrellas. Fat raindrops were falling fast, and the street was soaked.

Yu’s friend, Lin, stepped out beside him. “You should call your dad to pick you up,” Lin said. “Mr. Zhang says it’s flooding in some parts of the city.”

“I can get home on my own.”

“But look at all the water!” Lin said, pointing to the water flowing swiftly in the gutter.

For a moment, Yu had a funny feeling. Was Lin right? Maybe he should call Dad to drive him home before the streets flooded. But he and Dad had an argument last night, and Yu was still angry. He didn’t want to ask Dad for help.

Yu unchained his bike and said goodbye to Lin. If I pedal hard, he thought, I can make it home before the streets flood.

He pedaled hard, but soon his hands were cold, his clothes were soaked, and he was exhausted. Once again, the thought came to call Dad. Was the feeling from the Holy Ghost? The missionaries who baptized him had said that the Holy Ghost could be his guide. Yu glanced at the sky. It was so grey that he couldn’t see the tops of the buildings. But he was still mad at Dad.

Yu ignored the feeling and kept pedaling. The water got so high that shop owners closed their stores. People moved belongings to higher floors. Yu saw a mother push her two children through the flood in a little plastic boat.

With the water now past his ankles, Yu could no longer pedal his bike. He got off and pushed. It was probably too late to call Dad now, and the rain was still coming down. Thunder boomed and lightning flashed above him. Yu felt afraid. And he was so tired! He looked ahead. Home was still far away. He shouldn’t have ignored the Holy Ghost just because of a silly argument.

Yu stopped to say a short prayer. He couldn’t hear his voice above the rain and thunder, but he knew that Heavenly Father could hear him.

“Heavenly Father,” Yu prayed. “Please help me get home safely.” When he finished, he felt enough strength to keep going.

At last, Yu could see his house on the hill. Cold, tired, and somehow missing a shoe, Yu trudged up the hill. He saw Dad waiting for him outside. Dad rushed down the hill to meet him, splashing water as he ran.

When Dad reached him, he put his arms around Yu. “I was so worried!” Dad said. “You should have called me!”

“I thought we were mad at each other,” Yu said.

“I am never too mad to help you,” Dad said. Then he took Yu’s bike and pushed it the rest of the way up the hill.

Even with thunder echoing between the tall buildings and heavy rain pelting down, a warm feeling filled Yu’s heart. He felt peace and safety as he followed Dad home.

One day when I was seventeen years old, I was washing the family car in anticipation of going on a date that evening. My father came out of the house to observe what I was doing. He criticized me to the extent that I felt as if I was doing nothing right. Finally I said something like, “Dad, get off my case. Don’t you understand this is the first time I have ever been a teenager?” He looked at me and said, “Pal, don’t you know this is the first time I have ever been a father?” I grew wiser that day because I realized we all are learning together within a family. We cannot expect our parents to be perfect any more than we can expect ourselves to be all that we hoped to be.

With that note on the breadth of life at BYU, may I describe a recent morning when I sensed some heights of life at BYU. On the morning of June 21, I welcomed the Institute of Applied Statistics to our campus. Those number crunchers were ecstatic to be meeting at the nation’s largest private, church-related university on the longest day of the year, the warmest June 21st in 23 years, following the wettest Utah May in 17 years. They quivered with delight to discover that the Talmage Building has 130,893 square feet and that the BYU campus has 638 acres, 482 buildings, and 399 miles of sidewalks. They loved learning that the BYU Statistics Department has done a special study on skiing accidents to help those who come to Utah for the 2002 Winter Olympics. According to these statistically valid data, most skiers who break their legs on Utah slopes do so on the last run of the day.

As I left the statisticians to go to my office that morning, I saw Hugh Nibley walking toward me near the ASB parking lot. Suddenly he stopped walking, turned around, and began looking intently northward. The inimitable Nibley removed his sunglasses, tipped back his canvas hat, and stood transfixed, as though his eyes drank in a vision. Then I saw what had stopped him—and an aesthetic and spiritual view of BYU replaced the statistical one. A clearing storm and rising sun had left a ring of heavy, low clouds around the neck of Mt. Timpanogos, like a richly flowered lei. The familiar Timp skyline poked above the clouds, glistening in the sunlight with a light layer of fresh snow, the white peaks contrasting brilliantly with the blue sky and the full green foreground. I stopped, too, looking not just at Timp but at Hugh Nibley looking at Timp. No matter how many hundreds of times he had seen that mountain, no matter how full his head from his latest reading and his always brimming stream of consciousness, Hugh looked up longingly at Timp. He doesn’t take it for granted. For Nibley, Timp is like a wonderful poem or painting or scripture or trip to the temple—always revealing new meaning and new inspiration to those who probe its depths.

One Christmas, our 13-year-old granddaughter, Allie, received a special gift from one of her friends. It was a temple recommend cover. Allie was thrilled. She had just had her interview with her bishop for her temple recommend to do baptisms for the dead. She discovered how preparing for the temple and attending regularly can positively and spiritually change your life.
At the beginning of the summer, Allie and a close friend decided to visit each of the temples in and around Salt Lake City, Utah, to participate in baptisms and confirmations for the dead. This experience has increased their faith and brought them joy and spiritual enrichment.
Allie told me that the feeling in the temple is totally different from the feeling in her junior high school. She said, “It’s a feeling that you want with you always. It feels peaceful and happy. There is no pressure. I feel the Spirit trying to teach me there, and it makes me want to be better. I love being able to serve others. When I go home, I feel even greater love for my brothers and sisters and for my mom and dad.”