Gospel Story Finder

I also remember attending a meeting near Bancroft, Idaho, years ago. It was sponsored in part by the extension service of the University. We’d had a wonderful meeting, and after it was over, I was greeting some of the wonderful farmers who were there, and among them was a man by the name of Brother Yost, and I said, “Brother Yost, how are things out on the farm?” Brother Yost said, “Oh, things are fine, Brother Benson, but I’m about 20 thousand dollars worse off than I was three days ago.” I said, “What’s the matter—another frost?” He said, “Yes, it hit the wheat just in the dough stage, and you know what that means.” He said, “We’re starting the mowing machines in the morning, but everything’s all right. We’ve still got a little wheat in the bin, and we’ve got at least part of our year’s supply laid away. We’re not going to starve, and there’ll be another crop.” As we left him, I said to my wife, “What a wonderful spirit.”
We drove on down to Logan. We had our children with us, and we stopped on Main Street to go into a grocery store to pick up a few cookies for the kiddies. And who should I meet on the sidewalk but Brother Yost. I said, “Well, what are you doing way down here?” He said, “Brother Benson, it’s our day to go to the temple.” And I said, “Well, reverses don’t dampen your spirit any, do they?” Then he taught me a lesson. He said, “Brother Benson, when reverses come we need the temple all the more.”

For Aileen Akagi, 17, the word crèche doesn’t remind her of only one nativity scene—it reminds her of roughly 600 of them! As a member of the Midway Fourth Ward, Midway Utah Stake, she has volunteered at the Interfaith Crèche Exhibit for three years in a row.
“It’s interesting to see the different styles of nativity scenes,” Aileen says. Seeing how diverse cultures portray the Christ child’s birth reminds her of how well-known the Christmas story is.
Volunteers set up the exhibits, monitor them, and lead children’s activities. Although Aileen has done a little of each, she spends most of her time running the marionette show for children. She organizes young women into groups who perform scenes from the Nativity with puppets. The show runs every 20 minutes.
“The first year we did the marionette show, one little boy brought his grandma to see it four times in a row,” Aileen laughs.
Throughout the show, the young women and audience sing Christmas songs. “One year, we finished by singing ‘Silent Night’ (Hymns, no. 204), and all the children and their parents joined in. It sounded like more than the audience was there—like angels were singing.”

Some years ago a faithful convert, Brother George McLaughlin, was called to preside over a small branch of 20 members in Farmingdale, Maine. He was a humble man who drove a milk delivery truck for a living. Through his fasting and earnest prayer, the Spirit taught him what he and the members of his branch needed to do to help the Church grow in their area. Through his great faith, constant prayer, and powerful example, he taught his members how to share the gospel. It’s a marvelous story—one of the great missionary stories of this dispensation. In just one year there were 450 convert baptisms in the branch. The next year there were an additional 200 converts. President McLaughlin indicated: “My job as branch president was to teach [the new converts] how to be Mormons. I had to teach them how to give talks and lessons in church. I had to teach them how to teach the gospel to their children. I trained the new members to become strong members.” Pretty simple.

Just five years later, the Augusta Maine Stake was organized. Much of the leadership of that new stake came from those converts in the Farmingdale Branch. Now we might ask why there was such great success in those days, and the answer may be because of the urgent need to strengthen the Church. Let me assure you that that same urgency in all units of the Church is every bit as critical today as it was then.

“My mother is a unique person,” began Elder Paramore in tribute to his mother. “She has implicit, absolute faith in our Father in heaven. Through prayer and undeviating faith, she has been able to accomplish many things in her life. She prayed that my father would become active in the Church, and it happened; he became a very strong, faithful, and capable leader. She prayed to have more children, a thing that was especially difficult for her. Yet she was able to have six children, who mean so much to her. She set as fine example for all of us to follow.
“My father is special also. When I was young, he trained me to be a dental technician. We often sat side by side while I worked under his direction until I became quite proficient. He would show and tell me things about this skill and this went on for about five years. When I went into the service, they learned of my skills. I was taken out of basic training when I was only eighteen years old and put in charge of a dental laboratory with many workers. All this because of my dad’s training.
“We have some great progenitors on the Paramore side of my family,” Elder Paramore continued. “My grandmother left Denmark alone at the age of eight. Her mother put her on a boat with a tag around her neck addressed to a place in Utah. When she arrived in New York, some Mormon missionaries who had arranged to meet her there helped put her aboard the train that would take her to Ephraim, Utah. What an experience for an eight-year-old child! It makes me weep to think about it. I’m sure her mother thought that this was a wonderful chance for her daughter to be where the Church was strong.”
On the subject of children who are eight years of age, Elder Paramore added, “As a former bishop, I must have interviewed at least eighty children and watched them be baptized. In all those interviews, I never knew a time when I felt that the child wasn’t ready for baptism. Eight is the age of accountability and children do know right from wrong at this age. They don’t know all of the doctrines, of course, but they know how to make proper judgments. They know instinctively, by the light of Christ, what is right. Whether they do what is right is subject to the exercise of their free agency, but there’s no question in my mind regarding an eight-year-old child’s ability to choose the right. I’ve had that witness come to me many, many times.
“I would like the children of the world to know that the great message from our Heavenly Father is to trust in Him and to love their fellowmen. Keep the loving spirit you have at this age in your life. You are humble now and teachable. You have a marvelous ability and that is that you can forget—you don’t hold grudges and you can put problems out of your mind and go on loving someone who may have hurt you. Don’t build walls or barriers, just keep a loving heart. There is no substitute for love. Love means interest and concern. It means doing things for others. When there is a spirit of love between two people, it encourages a feeling of trust and self-worth. You can share any problem with each other and solve it together. Love breaks down barriers. President Kimball loves unconditionally.
“If you are remembered for only one thing, what would it be? Would you want to be remembered because you were steadfast in the things of the Lord? That you were honest? That you were trustworthy? All of these are cherished attributes, but wouldn’t it be wonderful to be remembered above all else for your love of people?
“I bear witness to the truth that loving the Lord and loving your fellowmen is the message of the Savior and that we must find and return this love if we are to have eternal life.”

Natalie liked to watch her mom put on makeup. “Can I wear lipstick, too?” she asked one morning.
Mom smiled. “Not yet. Makeup isn’t for children.”
Natalie tried not to frown, but Mom looked so pretty. Natalie wanted to see how she would look wearing lipstick, too. “I won’t make a mess,” she promised. “I won’t even touch it! You can put it on for me.” She puckered her lips and stared at her mother’s reflection in the mirror. “Please?”
“No, Natalie. You’re too young.”
Natalie stormed out of the bathroom and flopped onto her bed. She had been old enough to make a very important decision last month—the decision to be baptized. If she was old enough to do something that important, why was she still too young to do so many other things? She sighed. It didn’t seem fair.
On Sunday, Grandma and Grandpa came over for dinner. After the meal, while the family sat around the table talking, Natalie excused herself to go to the bathroom. Something on the bathroom counter caught her eye: Mom’s makeup bag.
“Mom won’t know if I try on her lipstick,” Natalie thought, “as long as I wipe it off afterward.” She peered down the hall and saw the adults still talking and laughing. Now was her chance! She closed the door and poked through the bag until she found Mom’s red lipstick. Smearing it on her lips, she gave the mirror a glamorous smile. “See, I do look pretty with it on,” she thought.
When the doorknob rattled, she realized she hadn’t locked the door. It opened a crack. Quickly, she slammed it shut again.
“Hey,” Dad called. “What’s going on in there?”
“Nothing,” Natalie called back. “I need to use the bathroom, but I forgot to lock the door.”
“Sorry,” Dad said. She heard his footsteps disappear back down the hall. Breathing a sigh of relief, she wiped the lipstick off.
At first Natalie didn’t think much about the incident. She had tried on Mom’s makeup. It was only for a few seconds. She hadn’t made a mess or ruined anything. No one had seen her.
But a few weeks later, during the sacrament, Natalie remembered slamming the door on Dad. “What’s going on in there?” he had called. “Nothing,” she had said. Not only had she disobeyed her mom, she had lied to her dad, too.
“Why am I thinking about this?” she asked herself crossly, trying to shrug away the uncomfortable feeling. “It’s no big deal.” As the sacrament tray came down her row, she silently said a quick prayer asking for forgiveness and tried to think about something else.
All week, she couldn’t shake the bad feeling. It only got worse. Every time she forgot about her little white lie, something reminded her again. When her third-grade teacher smiled, Natalie noticed her shiny red lipstick. When a classmate came in late, slamming the door behind him, Natalie remembered slamming the door on Dad. “This is silly,” she chided herself. “Forget about it!” But she couldn’t.
By the end of the week, Natalie was so worried she felt almost sick. “All this guilt over lipstick?” she thought. Why was her conscience hounding her over something so small?
“Heavenly Father,” she prayed that night, “please help me to feel better without having to tell Mom what I did. It’s not that important, and I don’t want her to know. But I’m really, really sorry. Please forgive me. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”
She sat at her bedside waiting for the Holy Ghost to tell her that everything was OK, but she felt only sadness.
The next morning, Natalie knew she had to confess. She sat on the edge of her bed and took a deep breath. Even though she was determined, she was also scared. Slowly, she stood and padded barefoot down the hall to the bathroom, where her mom was getting ready for the day.
“Mom, your lipstick is pretty,” she murmured.
Mom smiled. “Thank you, sweetie.”
Natalie gulped. “I tried it on a few weeks ago.”
Mom raised her eyebrows. “After I told you not to?”
“When Grandma and Grandpa came for dinner, I came in here and tried it on. Dad almost caught me, but I told him I was using the bathroom. I’m sorry.”
Mom didn’t say anything.
“Are you mad?” Natalie whimpered.
Mom squeezed Natalie’s shoulder. “I’m disappointed because you know better. But I’m happy that you told me the truth.”
At once, Natalie’s prayer to feel OK again was answered. The worried feeling went away. The knot in her stomach relaxed. Even though Mom was sure to punish her, Natalie felt like smiling. Nothing could be worse than the guilt she had carried. She never wanted to feel like that again.
Even though she wasn’t old enough to wear makeup, she was old enough for more important things—like honoring the gift of the Holy Ghost and following its promptings.

Married and baptized a short time later, María Cristina and I rented a small, uncomfortable room in Ventanilla. Because of my hard work, I was advanced from proofreader to editor at the company’s magazine and newspaper. I had never been an editor before, and I was happy with the position. Even so, things started to change when our publications began to lower their standards, publishing items of questionable morality. These changes, ordered by our directors, opposed Church principles and values.
I had always wanted to be an editor, but the situation made me uncomfortable. Our bishop suggested that if we did things that pleased our Heavenly Father, He would bless us. After my wife and I thought it over and prayed about it, we felt prompted that I should quit my job.
A few days later I was beginning to feel stressed out and wondered if I had done the right thing. After resigning, I had sent résumés to several companies but had heard nothing back. María Cristina suggested that we pray again, and we did so. We prayed that everything would turn out well and that we would not lose faith even though the bills were piling up.
A few hours later my wife encouraged me to call one of the companies. Somewhat unbelieving, I called. I was astounded when an official there said he was just about to call me. He wanted to know if I could start the next day!
We wept for joy. Our Heavenly Father had answered our prayers.
We had to leave our ward and many good friends for my new job, but we left with stronger testimonies. I now have respectable work and a good salary, and we have a nice place to live. Above all, we have been blessed with the certainty that when we do the things that please God, we receive His blessings.

I decided to practice my faith by praying and asking God for help and guidance. At first I didn’t realize the impact of my prayers, but after a few days I found that we had more peace at home.
But then my faith was challenged. My youngest brother was hurt and had to have immediate surgery, one of my friends was also hurt badly, and my mother got a sore throat with a high fever. All these horrible circumstances expelled the feelings of peace around me. I was very sad but continued to pray. My grandmother’s favorite poem came to mind, which says that God knows all things better than we do and that we should trust Him. So I started to practice my faith even more and do everything I could. Not much later my brother was able to leave the hospital. My friend was not hurt as badly as it had first appeared. My mother recovered.
Now when I pray for others, I pray with more focus and more faith than before. We should have faith in God, especially when believing in Him and His plans is hard, and never complain because He knows best.
Jarom K., age 18, Graz, Austria

Just last month our family was reminded of this great principle when we were honored to participate in the baptism of a young man we met just a few months earlier. As I mentioned earlier, a year ago I was assigned to give the BYU Devotional. Prior to delivering my remarks, I met a faithful young man, Cristian, who worked on the production crew. A few months later, he learned I was to preside at a stake conference in his area and called to tell me about Eric, a nonmember law school classmate who he felt would benefit from visiting with me about my professional career. He asked if I would be willing to meet with them at the stake center following my conference assignment. I agreed.

We had a wonderful visit ranging from the law school experience, adapting to BYU Provo culture, professional experiences and his aspirations in life. We discussed some key points of doctrine of the gospel and his efforts to increase in faith as he sought to know the Lord. As we departed, I invited him to listen to general conference the following month.

Some months later, his friend Cristian, again called to see if I would be willing to connect with them on zoom as they had something they wanted to share. We connected virtually and Eric shared how the messages of general conference touched him. Much to my delight they announced that Eric had decided to be baptized and asked if we would attend. Sister Gerard and I adjusted our schedule and were able to join them on this momentous occasion. I was thrilled to see his fellow law students and a faithful bishop and his wife who had all come to support Eric.

Following the baptism and confirmation, Eric was invited to share his conversion story. He spoke of his spiritual growth, his worldwide travels and most recently his studies in the Middle East where circumstances required him to leave. He joked about giving the missionaries a hard time telling them he would only be baptized if President Nelson baptized him. He then shared that he did not fully understand why he felt he was to come to BYU, but then he said, “when I decided to let God prevail in my life, things seemed to change, and I was much happier.”

I was struck by the relatively simple but significant message. That allowing God to prevail in his life brought him to this place at this time to learn his purpose in life and to accept the truth. I’m not sure he fully appreciated the impact of his message. I thought of President Nelson in his prophetic direction to let god prevail, and the profound change we can all experience as we let god prevail in our own personal lives.

In many ways, Ricardo has already begun his missionary service. “He was an example to me because he always went to church,” says Ricardo’s grandmother, Mavila Ruiz Cárdenas. For several years she had listened to the missionaries who came to visit with the family. And all the while Ricardo was there: sitting in and listening to the discussions, faithfully attending church each Sunday, even teaching his grandmother the hymns.
When he was eight years old and attending church by himself, he had not felt prepared for baptism. But, says Ricardo, “when my grandmother said she was ready to be baptized, then I was sure I was ready also.” So when Ricardo was 10, he and his grandmother were baptized on the same day.
No longer does Ricardo walk to church alone. Now every Sunday he puts on his shirt and tie, takes his grandmother by the hand, and they walk together. Who knows? In time, Ricardo will probably be leading others to church with him.

Now, for starters, let me tell you about an experience I had with a group of young adults a couple summers ago up in Sweden. I was invited to attend a conference for young adults held throughout Scandinavia and this particular conference was held outside of Stockholm. I had never been to Sweden before. I loved being in this young adult conference with about 1,000 young adults from various countries in Scandinavia. As part of the conference, the presiding officer came over to me and asked me if I would be willing to submit to an interview with one of the newspaper reporters from one of the large newspapers there in Stockholm. Because he asked me, I agreed to do it. This was a reporter who was about my age; she started to ask me questions, and clearly was very interested in the fact that I was from the United States.

She began: “Now is this your first trip to Sweden?” I answered, “Well, yes it is.” She asked, “How long are you going to be here?” I answered, “Just a couple of days.” She then asked, “Well, did you know anybody before you came here?” I said, “Well, yes and no,” stating that I did not really know anyone particular in terms of a close personal friend, “But all of these individuals who are part of this conference who are members of my faith, they all feel like brothers and sisters, so in a way, I knew them all.” She said, “Well do you mind if I ask—did you pay your own way to come to this conference?” I replied, “Yes, I did.” She said, “Let me get this straight. You came all the way to Sweden and you are just staying here two days, to speak at a conference with people you have never met before, and you paid your own way to do it?” I answered, “Yes.” She asked, “Why? Why would you do that?”

Well I do not know if it was the jetlag because I had just gotten off the plane or just did not have my wits about me, but I started trying to explain why that made perfect sense to me and zero sense to her. But my explanation was not crisp, it was not concise, it was not compelling, and I watched her eyes glaze over. I could not even repeat to you what I said to her because it was such a non-descript, pathetic answer. We finished that interview, and I left just kicking myself. In fact, I left Sweden kicking myself because I knew she had given me this opening and I needed to have a crisp answer, something someone not of our faith would understand—but I did not. It was a missed opportunity and I absolutely hate missed opportunities.

One of President Hinckley’s children has told me that her father did not lecture them very much and she does not remember him giving them long speeches. But she said, “Now that I am an adult, I realize that he was teaching us in our prayers—in our family prayers.” She said: “He would always kneel down and say (when he was praying) ‘We pray that we may live without regret’.”

I left Sweden with some regret that day because there was a missed opportunity. I was on my way to Salzburg to participate in another conference for young adults for all of the Germanic speaking youths and Central Europe. I started thinking, ‘How would you answer that Sheri, in a way that would be crisp, and that the Spirit would convey was true?’ I prayed about it, I thought about it—I was really bothered that I had ‘muffed’ that interview.

I got to Salzburg and once again the presiding officer asked me if I would do an interview. This time I was interviewed by a man from a newspaper there in Salzburg. He asked almost the identical set of questions in almost the same sequence.

Now that very morning, before I had left for the conference, I had knelt in my room and asked the Lord to help me, because I had still not crystallized exactly how I would explain that to someone not of our faith. I asked in my prayer that if I opened my mouth, it would be filled and I would know what to say. So when the reported asked the same sequence of questions—“Why do you do this? Why do you come?” I found myself answering his question with a question. I asked, “Well, tell me—how do you feel about our society today? What do you see in your society here in Austria?”

He said, “Well, I think we have problems. I think we have all kinds of problems.” Then he volunteered and said, “I think, actually a lot of our problems come from the younger generation.”

I asked, “Why did you come to this conference?”

He answered, “Well, I heard that these Mormon youth were different.”

I replied, “What are you finding?”

He answered, “Well it feels different here. There is something different about this group of young men and young women.”

At that moment I heard myself say, “They are different.” I said, “I will tell you why I have come to Salzburg. I have come because this is a pivotal generation, and if there is anything I can do as a member of my generation to help them, then I want to do it—even if it means flying across an ocean and spending my own money to do it, and making a quick trip to do it.”

I said, “This is a pivotal generation.” I do not remember ever having the thought go through my mind in that way. I do not remember ever saying or thinking that you are a pivotal generation—but you are, and I am here this morning to tell you I feel certain that that morning in that little interview in Salzburg, I feel certain that that phrase was given to me. I feel certain that you are a pivotal generation.

The air was bitterly cold at nearly 12,000 feet as the sun sank quickly across the valley behind the mountains, and the first stars appeared. Thousands of other lights twinkled more than 7,000 feet below me as the residents of Utah Valley began dinner in their warm homes.
I was comfortable in my sleeping bag but puzzled. How could I explain the strange urge that had brought me through snow and ice to the top of Mount Timpanogos in late October? The climb had been cold and difficult. Why had I come?
I was in my second year of law school and though I was an experienced hiker, I hadn’t been in the mountains for months. The first snows of autumn blanketed the upper slopes of the mountain range, but I suddenly had the inexplicable desire to spend the night on the summit of Mount Timpanogos.
It seemed a crazy idea, but at noon I threw my camping equipment into my pack and drove up the canyon to where the mountain trail began.
Was I looking for adventure? Did I simply need a change from the routine of law school? I wasn’t sure.
There were only a few hours of daylight left when I began hiking, so I hurried along the trail through scattered trees. Soon I was climbing the steep east side of the mountain.
After I’d traveled a few kilometers, I was shocked to see another climber on the trail ahead of me. When I moved closer, I could see the hiker wasn’t a typical mountaineer. She was a middle-aged woman laboriously plodding her way toward the summit. She carried only a small pack with no night-time survival equipment.
She said she had been on the trail since morning. She proudly told me it was her first hike ever, and she was determined to reach the top.
“Don’t let your perseverance get you in trouble,” I warned her. “You’re probably not going to reach the summit before nightfall. You’d better turn back soon or you’ll have to find your way down in the dark.”
I continued past her up the trail, certain she would turn back in a few minutes. After all, she didn’t even have a sleeping bag. She could freeze to death if she were trapped on the mountain overnight.
I climbed past a lake on the mountain’s eastern shoulder and began to trudge through fresh snow at 10,000 feet. After a harrowing and exhausting traverse along the steep north slope of the peak, I was faced with an even steeper 500-foot ascent over scattered patches of snow and ice. A fall here would have ended in an uncontrolled slide down thousands of meters.
I finally finished my climb on the knife-edged ridge that was the 11,750-foot summit of Mount Timpanogos. The mountain’s sheer western face fell away at my feet, giving me an incredible view of the Utah and Salt Lake valleys.
I unrolled my sleeping bag in the small, roofed shelter that stands at the summit. The stone floor wouldn’t be too comfortable, but at least the shelter’s waist-high metal walls would keep me from rolling off the mountain.
As the sun set, the temperature began to drop rapidly. I spent a few minutes enjoying the view, then retreated to my warm sleeping bag for the night ahead.
As I slept, I heard a voice in my dreams. The voice was crying for help. The cries continued until I suddenly sat upright in my sleeping bag and realized I wasn’t dreaming. The shouts drifted up from far below, but I heard them clearly through the clear night air.
It seemed impossible, but someone—and I knew who—was wandering the icy mountainside in the darkness and cold.
I pulled on my pants and jacket and followed my flickering flashlight in the direction of the cries. I found the middle-aged woman standing in total darkness on the edge of a thousand-foot cliff.
“I got stuck on the mountain when it got dark,” she explained. She tried to appear calm, but the nervous way she spoke told me she was very frightened. “I got lost. I didn’t think it was this far to the top! I lost both my flashlights off a cliff an hour ago.”
She shivered and chattered as we stumbled back up the ridge. Her name was Jane. Her husband would still be waiting for her, she said, in their car at the foot of the trail.
Back at the shelter, I gave her my sleeping bag and told her to stay in it. She resisted at first, but shivering wildly, finally agreed. I put on all my warm clothes, wrapped Jane’s spare sweater around me, and settled in for what I correctly assumed would be one of the longest and coldest nights of my life.
I was far too cold to sleep and Jane was too excited, so we stayed awake and talked. At one point during the night I was reminded of the famed naturalist John Muir, who had once survived a night trapped on an Alaskan glacier by dancing a Scottish jig until morning. I hoped it wouldn’t get so cold that I’d have to do that.
At 4:00 A.M., with the temperature at five degrees Farenheit, we saw the flashlights of a search and rescue team 1,500 feet below us. I signalled with my flashlight, and shouted the news that Jane was okay. “We’ll be down at first light,” I yelled. “Wait for us.”
Sound carried remarkably well in the still, mountain air. Their distant “Okay!” response was easy to hear.
When the first traces of light touched the mountain, we started down the steep, icy slope. Before we reached the rescue party, Jane and I knelt together in the snow to thank our Heavenly Father that tragedy had been averted. Our prayer at 10,000 feet convinced me that the biblical promise was true: Not even a sparrow could fall to the earth without our Father’s notice, much less my new friend.
When we were finally off the mountain, Jane’s husband cried with joy and relief. He had been sure she was dead until he had seen our light early that morning. The search and rescue volunteers were similarly relieved. They said they remove the bodies of less fortunate climbers from the mountain every year.
What was I doing sleeping on top of Mount Timpanogos so late in the season? It seemed obvious to me then, as it still does to me now, that I was led there to make sure Jane got off the summit safely. I had done something right, following that irresistible urge to climb the mountain. Even at ten thousand feet, the Lord does indeed move in mysterious ways.

There were three major obstacles to quinoa research in 2000. First, there was hardly any information in the scientific literature on the species, especially in botanical taxonomy. Second, there was only a meager amount of genetic material—we call it germplasm—available in publicly available gene banks. And third, even worse, there were a series of very restrictive international seed-exchange laws enacted beginning in the early 1990s, and the Andean countries were not very willing to share their materials with U.S. scientists.

From the limited amount of taxonomic information that was available, I noted that there appeared to be a larger number of unique species within North America, especially the United States, than in other parts of the Western Hemisphere, so by 2004 we decided to assemble our own seed collections for researching quinoa’s ancestry and biogeographical diversity. Thanks to a growing array of strong international collaborations as well as tens of thousands of road miles on seed-collection trips, my colleagues, my students, and I have been blessed to uncover many fascinating aspects regarding the quinoa genome and its ancestry. We have identified one of quinoa’s most likely wild diploid ancestors, sandhill goosefoot from western North America, which is therefore the most likely region of the Americas where the wild allopolyploid first appeared. We discovered that quinoa’s wild North American allopolyploid ancestor was independently domesticated in ancient Mexico as well as in the Andes, that it is exceptionally diverse, and that it can be bred with quinoa to improve the crop’s adaptation for production in lowland tropical regions of countries such as Malawi and Guyana. We have also learned that the quinoa genome, like the oat genome, has a highly dynamic chromosome structure with interchanges, inversions, and repetitive element expansions.

When I was in my late teens, I received a telephone call that would change my life—my eternal life.
A good sister from my ward called to invite me to perform a dance floor show number at a Mutual activity evening that was being held in a couple of weeks. Dancing was a hobby of mine, and I was studying ballroom dancing at a studio in Salt Lake City. I had never been to a youth MIA (Mutual Improvement Association) dance before, and I was excited to accept the invitation to perform.
My partner and I arrived on the appointed evening and were greeted enthusiastically. I was surprised to find that we were the only ones on the program. It was an exciting experience, and I thoroughly enjoyed the evening.
The following Sunday morning, I decided to go to church in our ward for the first time since I was ordained a deacon. At that time, none of my family was active. I found people who welcomed me warmly, and they demonstrated a genuine friendship and caring. These experiences started me on the road to activity and service in the Church that has been a joy to me throughout the years.
A group of brethren took me under their wings, and we became good friends. A wonderful returned missionary taught me the basics of the gospel and helped prepare me to serve a mission. During this same time I was asked to help teach dancing in the ward, which gave me a feeling of being needed, and it also gave me a responsibility.
The next 15 months flew by, filled with growth and happiness as I progressed. I soon received a call to serve a mission in Mexico. I quickly grew to love the language, the country, and its people. Sharing the message of the restored gospel of Jesus Christ gave me a foundation upon which to build the rest of my life.
That evening so long ago when I was invited to share my talent, the door opened to a wonderful new world of friends and activity in the Church. I am grateful for those who reached out with a warm hand of fellowship, invited me in, nurtured me, and blessed my life.

During the Great Depression, Harold B. Lee, serving then as a stake president, was asked by the Brethren to find an answer to the oppressive poverty, sorrow, and hunger that were so widespread across the world at that time. He struggled to find a solution and took the matter to the Lord and asked, “What kind of an organization will we have … to do this?”

And “it was as though the Lord had said [to him]: ‘Look, son. You don’t need any other organization. I have given you the greatest organization there is on the face of the earth. Nothing is greater than the priesthood organization. All in the world you need to do is to put the priesthood to work. That’s all.’”12

“What does ‘Families Are Forever’ mean?” Mia asked. She moved her game piece across the board. She and her best friend, Zoey, were playing a game in Zoey’s living room. On the wall was a picture that said, “Families Are Forever.” Mia liked the sound of that.
“It means that even after you die, you’re still a family,” Zoey explained. She put down a card and moved her game piece.
Mia looked around the room. It looked normal. There were couches, tables, pillows, and a TV. But Zoey’s house felt a little different from her own. “Do you have a forever family?” Mia asked.
Zoey looked up from the game with a smile. “Yes! My mom and dad were married in the temple. So we can be together forever.”
“Is that why your house feels different?” Mia asked.
Zoey looked confused. “Different?”
Mia didn’t know how to explain the feeling in Zoey’s house. It was happy and warm. But that sounded silly to say. “Never mind,” she said. “Let’s keep playing.”
That night Mia couldn’t stop thinking about Zoey’s forever family. She loved the feeling in Zoey’s house. Mia’s family was going to move to Ontario, Canada, in a few days. She wondered how their new house would feel.
“Mom, Zoey’s house feels so happy,” Mia said as Mom tucked her into bed. “I want our new house to feel like that.” Mia thought about how much she loved Mom, Dad, and her little brothers. “I want our family to be forever.”
Mom listened quietly. “I do too,” she said.
The next day, Mom called Zoey’s mom. She found out that Zoey’s family went to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
“I want to go to that church,” Mia told her parents while they packed. Their house was almost empty now.
“Zoey’s mom said she could help us find their church in Ontario,” Dad said as he taped up a box.
Mia smiled and felt a flutter in her stomach. Maybe their new house could feel as warm and happy as Zoey’s!
Once they were settled in their new house, Mia’s family started going to church. The people there were very nice. Everyone called each other “Brother” and “Sister.” Mia went to Primary with her little brothers. She liked singing songs and reading the scriptures.
Soon two young women came to Mia’s house. Their names were Sister Justin and Sister Ramos, and they were missionaries. They told Mia’s family about Heavenly Father, Jesus, and the Book of Mormon. Mia loved hearing about the gospel. Even her brothers sat quietly and listened!
Mia told Sister Ramos and Sister Justin about Zoey’s house. “I want a forever family like Zoey’s.”
“We’re all part of Heavenly Father’s family,” Sister Ramos said. “And we can be sealed to our families in the temple too.”
Soon Mia’s family decided to be baptized.
Zoey and her family drove all the way to Ontario for the baptisms. A year later, they came back again. This time it was because Mia and her family were being sealed in the temple!
The day of the sealing, Mia stood outside the temple with her family, dressed in white. They were all smiling from ear to ear. Mia felt warm and peaceful inside. It was a feeling she had first felt at Zoey’s house, and she wanted to keep it with her forever.

My mom was collecting blankets and warm clothing to send to a refugee camp. She told me some children don’t have any blankets to keep warm. I found my favorite blanket, my “cloud blankie,” which is blue with clouds on it. I brought it to my mom and told her I wanted to donate it. She asked if I was sure, and I said yes. It was really hard for me to give up my favorite blanket. I knew I would miss it, but I did it anyway. I knew it would help another child.
Megan B., age 7, Ohio, USA

Thirty years ago a colleague and I were asked to read through, analyze, and look for patterns in a massive amount of anti-Mormon propaganda. It was drudgery. It was laborious. It carried a bitter and draining spirit, and consequently I had to just push my way through it to complete the assignment. After a period of addressing certain questions, my partner shook his head and indicated that the constant barrage of issue after issue was simply wearing him down, and that he wasn't sure he could stick with it. I suggested that we were almost done, that a few more hours of work would enable us to make our report. He stared at me for a moment and asked: "This isn't damaging to you, is it? I mean, you don't seem to be very upset by what we are reading." I assured my friend that there were obviously other things I would rather be doing, and that the hateful and contentious spirit did in fact weigh on me, but no, I wasn't particularly bothered by it. "Why?" he followed up. "I can't say for sure," I responded. "It's ugly but doesn't really affect my faith."

At work on 30 December 1999, I was thinking about the members of the Jardim Paineiras Ward, where I serve as elders quorum president. I wondered how I could help the brethren in my quorum grow in the kingdom of the Lord. Then the idea flowed into my mind to ask the brethren to feed the Lord’s sheep.
On 31 December 1999, I found at my door the January 2000 issue of the Liahona (Portuguese). One of the first talks in this general conference issue was “Feed My Sheep” by Elder Ben B. Banks of the Presidency of the Seventy. I immediately realized how blessed we are to have the Holy Ghost to guide us. I was able to read parts of the talk to the brethren in elders quorum meeting. I asked them to read it carefully at home and to think about this subject. I am very grateful for the blessings I receive when I seek the help of the Lord.
Fernando J. Calderari,Jardim Paineiras Ward, Juiz de Fora Brazil Stake

Jed looked forward to the day when he, like his brother David, would be old enough to go into the world and be a missionary. In his last letter, David had written, “People here ask us why we’ve left our homes to come here, and we tell them we’re here to share something that is most precious to us. And that’s true. I feel a great love for each and every person we meet each day.”
Although Jed looked forward to being a missionary, he had just turned 14. He lived with his family in Broken Arrow, Wyoming, just across the border from Idaho. His dad ran the only auto repair shop in town.
In the late afternoon of December 29, his dad asked Jed if he’d fill in for him at the shop. “Your mom and I would like to go to the temple. All you need to do is stay there until closing time, then lock up.”
“I guess I could do that.”
“Oh, one thing,” his dad continued, “a lady will be coming in to ask about her car. She’s from out of state, and her car broke down just outside town. Tell her I won’t be able to get parts until after New Year’s Day. If she needs a car, she can probably rent one in Idaho Falls. That’s about it. Any questions?”
“Can I have some change?”
“What for?”
“To get some candy from the machine.”
Shortly after his folks left, it began to snow. That was hardly news for Broken Arrow in December. But then the wind started to pick up.
Jed liked being at the shop. He liked wearing his dad’s work coveralls with the name of the shop on the front. He even liked the smell of the place, a mixture of old oil, grease, and, at that moment, the candy bar he was eating. Someday he wanted to be like his dad, a mechanic who could fix just about anything. He helped out during the summers and sometimes, when the work was stacked up, on Saturday mornings.
Nobody came in until just before five o’clock, when a smartly dressed woman with a cell phone to her ear entered the shop, accompanied by her daughter.
The girl appeared to be about his age. She was nearly as tall as he, had long dark brown hair, brown eyes. She frowned at him and then ignored him and started checking out the advertisements for tools on the wall.
“I’d like to pick up my car,” the woman said. “The name is Smith-Porter.” She was wearing an expensive but not very warm coat.
“You’ve got two last names?”
“It’s hyphenated,” the girl said, running a finger across the dust covered counter.
“Oh,” Jed said, confused why a person would have two last names.
“Is there anyone here who actually knows something?” the girl asked.
“Bailey, that’s really not necessary,” her mother chided.
“I’m the only one here, and I know quite a bit about cars,” Jed said, his voice cracking as he said it.
“That’s my car there,” the woman said, glancing into the shop area. She reached for her purse. “How much is it?”
“My dad said to tell you that he won’t be able to get parts until after New Year’s, but if you need a car, you can rent one in Idaho Falls.”
“How far is that from here?” the woman asked.
“It’s about 70 miles.”
“Is there some other place in town that can fix my car?”
“No, we’re the only shop in town.”
“How are we supposed to get to Idaho Falls?” the girl asked impatiently.
“Well, there’s a bus twice a day. The next one should be coming in about half an hour. It leaves from the Broken Arrow Cafe, just across the street. I’ll warn you, though. We have a saying about that place, ‘If it ain’t broke, don’t eat there.’” Jed chuckled enthusiastically for the girl’s sake because he knew she would not approve.
The woman nodded her head. “Well, that’s not too bad then. Thank you for your help. We’ll need to get some things in the car.”
The girl stayed behind while her mother went into the shop area to get their luggage. The girl scowled at the candy wrappers in front of Jed. “How many candy bars have you had?”
“Two or three.”
“Disgusting.” She scowled at him.
“Is your name really Bailey Smith-Porter?” he asked.
“Yes it is. So?”
“It sounds like a law firm.”
“Really? How old are you anyway?” she asked.
“Fourteen.”
“I’m way more mature than you.”
“How old are you?”
“I’m going on 15.”
Before Jed realized that anyone who was 14 was also going on 15, the mother returned with their luggage and they left. Jed watched them fight the wind and the snow on their way across the street. It was then he noticed the cafe, where the bus stopped each day, was closed because of the storm.
Jed looked at the clock. Just a few more minutes and then he could close up and go home. He walked through the shop, making sure everything was locked up. When he went to the front to turn off the outside light that illuminated the sign advertising the shop, he could see the woman and the girl huddled in the doorway of the cafe, waiting for the bus.
“With the way the wind is picking up, the bus probably isn’t going to come,” he thought. “I’d better go tell ‘em.”
He was standing inside in the dark about ready to leave. “There’s no place they can go tonight.”
He answered himself. “That’s not my problem. I did everything I was asked to do here.”
He thought about going out the back door, so he wouldn’t have to see them standing there in the storm.
“What are they going to do if you don’t help them?” he asked himself.
“That’s not my responsibility.”
He went to the back door to leave. As he stepped outside, a sudden gust of wind blew a blast of snow into his face. At the same time, part of his brother’s letter came to his mind. “I feel a great love for each and every person we meet each day.”
He stepped back inside. “I don’t like the girl. How many times did she put me down in the five minutes they were in the shop? I don’t need that.”
He walked to the front of the shop again. “Maybe the storm has let up and the bus will make it after all. For all I know, maybe the bus has come and gone already. Maybe it’s not that bad outside of town.”
He stood at the window and looked out. The storm had grown into a blizzard as the wind sent pulsating waves of snow down the main street of the town. Across the street, their coats now caked with snow, the two strangers huddled in the doorway, waiting for a bus that wasn’t going to come.
Suddenly Jed made a decision, stepped outside into the storm, made sure the door was locked, and walked across the street. “I guess the bus isn’t coming today.”
He expected the girl to insult him or the bus company or the town, but she was too cold to say anything.
“Is there a place in town we can stay?” the woman asked.
“There’s a motel in town.”
“Good.”
“But it’s closed down until May.”
“I see.”
“You could come home with me, if you want. At least you’d be warm.”
“Are you sure?” the woman asked.
The truth was he wasn’t totally sure what his folks would say, but one thing he was sure of, his brother David would agree it was the right thing to do.
“My mom and dad are out of town, but they should be home soon. I’m sure they’d want you to stay with us until things clear up.”
“That’s very kind of you. Let’s go, Bailey.”
He offered to lug their suitcases but they said they could do it themselves.
Because there was no traffic, they were able to walk down the middle of the street. They trudged their way through deep drifts alternating with places where the wind was sweeping the road’s surface bare. By the time they reached the house, they looked like snowmen. Once inside, they stomped and brushed the accumulated snow from their coats, slacks, and heads.
Bailey’s mother warmed up for five minutes and then got back on her cell phone.
“Who is she talking to all the time?” Jed asked.
“Very important people. Famous people. Business leaders.”
“Okay.”
“She’s a very influential person.”
Bailey rapidly went through a list of names of famous people that worked with her mother. Then, seeing no recognition in his face, she said, “You’ve never heard of any of them, have you?”
“No, sorry.”
“You’re really out of touch with what’s happening in the world, aren’t you?” she asked.
In a way Jed was amazed. Bailey was tall, had dark eyes and a penetrating glance. She stood with such good posture that he was sure it was something she’d been taught. And she stood too close, almost as if she expected an argument. Also, her voice was too polished. In short, she wasn’t like any of the girls he’d ever known in Broken Arrow.
More than anything, he feared she might make him talk about current events, so he tried to change the subject. “Are you hungry?”
She nodded enthusiastically. “I really am.”
“You want to help me cook up something?”
“Well, I don’t know how to cook very well. We eat out most of the time.”
“Can you peel potatoes?”
She started to blush. “Uh, well, you’ll have to show me.”
“You’ve never peeled potatoes before?”
“Not really.”
Jed went to the storeroom and brought back five or six large potatoes and set them on the counter next to the basin. He grabbed a peeler from the drawer and placed it in her hand. “The idea is, you try to get the brown parts off.”
She smiled. “You don’t have to tell me that.”
“I wasn’t sure.”
Jed got some ground beef from the fridge and started to make patties.
In the living room Bailey’s mother was pacing the floor complaining to someone on the phone.
“How come you and your mom came out here this time of year?” he asked.
“We wanted to be some place safe for the new year.”
“Safe?”
“You know, because of Y2K. My mother was worried there might be riots and no food in the city, so she rented a cabin for us until the middle of January. Then we drove here from Los Angeles.”
She paused. “What has your family done to prepare for the new year?”
“Well, I think my dad picked up a calendar at the bank. They give them away every year.”
“Don’t you people around here know what could happen? What are you going to do on New Year’s Day?”
“We’ll probably have nachos and salsa and watch football.”
“If that’s all you’ve done, then you’re not prepared. It’s as simple as that.”
“If we’re the ones not prepared, how come you and your mom are staying with us?”
“Believe me, this is the last place in the world I want to be.”
“It’s not that bad.”
“It’s so isolated. Have you ever been to Chicago?”
“No.”
“What about New York?” she asked.
“No.”
“Europe?”
“No.” He glanced at how she was doing at peeling potatoes. “You’re doing a good job.”
“So, basically, you’re going to live the rest of your life right here?”
“I suppose so.” He paused. “Except when I’m 19, I’ll go out into the world for two years.”
“Doing what?”
“Being a missionary for my church.”
“What church?”
“The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.”
“My mom and I don’t believe in organized religion.”
“Sometimes we’re not that organized. Like this one time, somebody forgot to get the key to open up the chapel for an activity …”
Just then her mother came into the kitchen. “Well, this is quite a sight. Bailey, I hope you’re learning some great Wyoming recipes.”
“We’re just fixing fried potatoes and hamburgers,” Jed said.
“Sounds wonderful. Well, I’ve called everywhere, and it looks like we’re stuck here. The storm is building in intensity. Looks like the roads may be closed here for a couple of days.
“That’ll give Bailey time to finish peeling that potato she’s been working on since we got here,” Jed teased.
Bailey glanced up from her work, and, to Jed’s surprise, came very close to smiling again.
The food preparation sped up considerably with Bailey’s mother stepping in and taking charge. Jed insisted on cooking the hamburger patties. He thought they turned out pretty good.
While they were eating, the phone rang. Jed answered it.
It was his dad. “Jed, we’re in Idaho Falls. They’ve closed the roads, so we’re going to stay at your Uncle Mel’s place. We’ll try to get out tomorrow. Are you doing okay?”
“Yeah. Oh, that woman and her daughter who left their car at the shop. They were stranded, so I invited them to stay here. I hope that’s okay. I didn’t know what else to do. They didn’t have anywhere else to go.”
“No, that’s good. I’m glad you invited them.”
His dad asked him to go to the shop in the morning and make sure the flat roof didn’t have too much snow on it, and then Jed talked to his mom and told her about the unexpected guests. She gave him a flurry of instructions of what he needed to do to be a good host.
By the time he returned to the kitchen, the dishes were done, and Bailey’s mother was pacing back and forth in the living room, talking on her cell phone.
Bailey was sitting at the kitchen table, deep in thought.
“You okay?” he asked.
“I’ve got a question. Why aren’t you worried about Y2K? If all the computers break down, it will be like all of us don’t exist anymore. It will be like we’ve all been erased.”
“Come with me,” he said.
He opened the front door, and they went outside into the storm. “You feel the wind in your face? That’s real. The snow is real. It’s not going to be erased by some computer. Some things can’t ever be erased.”
“Like what?” she yelled over the storm.
“Like who you are and what you stand for.”
They hurried back inside and sat down again at the kitchen table.
“What did you mean when you said, ‘What you stand for’? Do you stand for something?”
“Yeah, I do.”
“What?”
Jed wasn’t ready for this. He always imagined he would have to go to some faraway place before he’d have a chance to tell people what he believed. He never imagined they would come to him.
He told her about the Prophet Joseph Smith and gave her his copy of the Book of Mormon to read.
While Bailey was reading, he went in the bathroom and set out the guest towels, like his mother had told him to do. And then he put clean sheets on the bed in the guest room, got an extra blanket from the closet, and turned up the heat.
When he finished getting the room ready, he stood in the doorway and looked with satisfaction at what he’d done for his guests.
The first time he’d read his brother’s letter, Jed had had a hard time understanding how his brother could love all the people he met on his mission. But as he watched Bailey sitting at the kitchen table reading the Book of Mormon, and her mother, who had joined her while he’d been making up the guest room, he now understood how that could be.
Jed smiled. He was very happy, and he looked forward with great anticipation to the new year.

The eight months following my activation were eventful. We were sealed as a family in the Chicago Illinois Temple, and I was again called to serve as an elders quorum instructor, only this time I didn’t quit. I was then called as a counselor in the branch presidency, and five months later I was called to serve as the branch president. A month or so after my call, I remember thinking, “I’m the branch president?”

I have told many struggling Saints over the years that if I can progress in the gospel, anyone can. It is just a matter of understanding the true power of the Savior and His Atonement and taking the steps to come unto Him.

I will be eternally grateful to my wife and children and all the faithful home teachers, quorum leaders, bishops, and other faithful Saints who set such a marvelous example for me. It has been a privilege to serve the Lord and the Saints these past 20 years. My life has been blessed beyond anything I could have imagined.