Gospel Story Finder

May I illustrate: As long as I can remember I wanted to go on a mission and I knew where I wanted to go. I wanted to go to Denmark. My mother is Danish; my grandparents were born and raised in Denmark; I idolized my grandfather—I wanted to go to Denmark on a mission. Everybody in our family went to Denmark. My grandfather went to Denmark, my uncles went to Denmark, my cousins went to Denmark. If you’re in my family, you go to Denmark. So I, as my mission call approached, began to pray to the Lord that He would send me to Denmark.

The problem was back in southern California, where I grew up, they didn’t teach Danish in high school. They taught French, and I had four years of French. So as my mission call approached, I began to have a feeling of impending doom that I was going to go to France instead of to Denmark.

France would have been okay, except that I had a French teacher from Paris who was so proud of her French language; if you mispronounced something, she would throw chalk or erasers at you. She would walk up and down the aisles throwing a piece of chalk, and then she would turn on you and fire a French question at you. Just the look in her eyes would drive every French word right out of my brain, and I would try and answer, and she would get mad, and she would throw the chalk at me, and I thought, if this is what the French are like, I don’t want to go to France; two years of that would be bad. I want to go to Denmark.

But I had a feeling of impending doom that I would go to France. As my mission call approached, I finally realized that it was probably not appropriate to tell the Lord where you wanted to go on your mission, so I changed my prayers. I did not feel that it was inappropriate to eliminate one country from all the countries God could send you to. And so I began to pray, “I’ll go anywhere Lord, please don’t send me to France. They speak French in Tahiti.”

On the day my mission call came, I was at work.
I was driving home from work, and I knew my mission call was there, and I knew it said France, and I didn’t want to go home. I lingered at work; I drove slowly, hoping for red lights. And finally I was so discouraged that just before I turned the corner to my home, I pulled off to the side, turned the car off, parked it, and gave one final prayer. You’re going to think I’m making this up, but I actually prayed this; I said, “Father in Heaven, I know my mission call is at home, and I know it says France. Thou art all powerful; thou art merciful and loving. Please—thou canst do all things—please change it in the envelope.”

With a certain amount of hope, I drove home and opened my mission call. What did it say?—France. Of course it said France. Actually, I think it originally said Denmark, and the Lord said, “We need to teach this boy something, so let’s send him to France.” Now, could I have ruined my mission?—yes. I could have spent two years wanting to be in Denmark, but I learned to love the French people, love their language—beautiful language.

God listens to prayers in all languages, but He answers them in French. They are beautiful, wonderful people. I had a great mission. I found out when I got home that I had French ancestors, and, that I served in some of the cities where they had lived. God did not give me a stone. A stone, when you want bread, is something useless. God does not give useless things. He did not give me a serpent; a serpent, when you want a fish, is something harmful. He does not give harmful things; He only gives bread, and fish, and eggs.

My sister, Tami, is an example of one who is creating a cycle of caring. She doesn't give up on those who are often rejected by others. She volunteers most of her waking hours helping inmates in county jails and in state and federal prisons. My sister is making a difference in the lives of many women and men who have been lifted out of their spiritual and emotional poverty and are now in positions to serve others. One inmate she helped rescue from a constant cycle of incarceration is Davida Martinez. My sister shares this story:

Davida didn't have many positive examples in her life as a child. Neglected and repeatedly abused as a child, Davida grew up in a family where drugs and addictions were promoted more than attending school. After 14 different arrests and time behind bars for drug-related crimes, Davida decided her children and grandchildren deserved a chance at living outside of our nation's jails and prisons. Now, clean for more than two years, Davida is leading the charge to empower incarcerated women. She travels from Compton, California to Wasatch County, Utah where she volunteers her time with incarcerated women, teaching them the tools she has used to strengthen her new life and the emerging success of her three sons and four grandchildren. In the face of temptation on an hourly basis, Davida remains stalwart in her mission to free incarcerated mothers and return them--clean--to live with their children.

Davida still lives in the urban war zone. Just a few weeks ago cops were called to her trailer park for another neighborhood incident of lawlessness. She holds steady, however, becoming more and more the ray of hope for the community. As a result of her stand for sobriety, the youngsters in the neighborhood are hopping the fence and attending community college rather than stealing DVD players. Her friends are coming over to her house to help write letters of encouragement to inmates, not to share their needles. The mail she receives is about hope and change rather than where the next drug deal will go down.

By all accounts, Davida Martinez has proven that change can and does happen. She is a ray of hope for the 2.3 men, women and children locked up in America today. With more than 80 percent of these individuals behind bars for illegal drug use and sales, Davida's ongoing sobriety speaks to the heart of the inmates.

With 90 percent of all inmates returning to their communities at some point, Davida's success stands as a beacon through the long, dark night. Davida is changing the system from the inside out.

Because of Davida's part in this cycle of caring, other inmates are gaining the knowledge, confidence, and skills necessary to live lives of service. Although incarcerated, these inmates are already giving to others. The women at the Wasatch County Jail recently held a fundraiser where they sold their handiwork to raise money for providing additional services for the inmates. They also help lift others by writing to inmates in other facilities, and they share their stories, poetry, and artwork to inspire others. The inmates' ongoing commitment to serving others gives new meaning to the verse "When saw we thee sick, or in prison, and came unto thee?"[11]

How can 125 seminary students in a newly created stake get to know each other fast? Spend a Super Saturday at a branch president’s holiday resort—and that’s just exactly what the young people of the Asheville North Carolina Stake did, at the invitation of Branch President Jim Cooper of the Cherokee Branch. The participants were excited about meeting more young Latter-day Saints. President Cooper turned over his new recreation complex to the young people, and they were soon swimming, playing handball, dancing, playing foosball, Ping-Pong, and electronic games, and enjoying the saunas and whirlpool. After an enjoyable meal of Navajo tacos (fry-bread topped with chili, lettuce, tomatoes, and a mound of grated cheese) and a game of basketball, the group went to the Cherokee Branch chapel for a lesson on parent-youth relationships, a scripture chase, and role-playing activities. It was a great Saturday, and everyone made a lot of new friends!

Soon after I was baptized in 1974, I attended my first general conference in Salt Lake City with my brother, John. I was surprised when Elder Boyd K. Packer (1924–2015) of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, who had met my aunt in New York City three weeks before that conference, referred to John and me during his Sunday morning talk.
Quoting my aunt, Elder Packer said: “Two of my nephews have joined your Church. I can hardly believe the change that it’s made in their lives.”
Because of that profound change (see Alma 5:14), a fire burned inside me that I wanted to share. Soon, I found myself in Idaho as a full-time missionary. Halfway through my mission, my father, who was my greatest hero and best friend, passed away. My mother called my mission president and asked that I come home to give a eulogy. When my mission president left the decision up to me whether to leave, I told him I wanted to pray and fast for 24 hours before deciding.
That night I had a dream. My father appeared to me. In the midst of sublime and meaningful discussions with him, he told me, “Son, stay on your mission.”
I followed Dad’s counsel and stayed.
Because of the profound change that followed his conversion, “a fire burned inside” Randy that he wanted to share as a full-time missionary.
Six months after my mission, I held my mother’s hand as she took her last breath. Decades later, my wife, Lisa, found a letter from my parents in an old box. Dad had written it to me during my mission but died before sending it.
“Our hearts were and are and always will be full of love for you. I realize that things have not always been perfect, but that is life. … Christ did not say, ‘Follow me and it will be easy.’ He said, ‘Take up [your] cross, and follow me’ [Matthew 16:24]. He carried the cross, but we all have our splinters. Perhaps our place in heaven will depend upon how we handle ours. Son, we love you very much.”
Growing up, I was rough on my parents, but I never doubted their love. Since finding the Church, I have worked hard to thank them and honor them.
On February 17, 2018, two weeks before the Washington D.C. Temple closed for renovation, I was sealed to my father and mother, 42 years after they had passed through the veil into eternity. My oldest son, Randall, acted as proxy for my father, and Lisa acted as proxy for my mother. I felt that my parents, who had been sealed to each other earlier, were both there in spirit.
In the temple we find cords that bind us forever to our loved ones. I am certain of that.
When I was young, I didn’t want to get married or have children. But today my wife, children, and grandchildren are my greatest treasures. The Church is a miracle, and my life in the Church has been miraculous. With Joseph Smith, I say, “If I had not experienced what I have, I would not have believed it myself.”
Fifty years ago, I was a construction worker on the Washington D.C. Temple. I was convinced that my life had no happy future. Today I am an ordinance worker in that same temple, having accepted the Lord’s invitation to follow Him, receive His healing, embrace His ordinances, and strive to become like Him.
Randy and his wife, Lisa, serve in the Washington D.C. Temple, which he helped build 50 years ago.
Photograph by Leslie Nilsson
The restored Church is not a theory, a philosophy, or merely a community or culture. It is the true Church of our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.
I thought I would find what I was looking for in San Francisco. I didn’t. I found it in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and in the house of the Lord, “the crowning jewel of the Restoration.”

“In order to be admitted to the Taipei City Junior Business College (which, despite its name, is equivalent to a U.S. high school), I had to take an entrance exam. The number of people taking the exam amounted to 10,000. The number of people admitted to the school is just over 1,000. So you can see the competition is tough.”

But Mei Ling made it—on the second try. “Before I was admitted here, I was a student at Ta-lin Junior High School, which is known for its emphasis on music. After I graduated from that school I took an entrance exam for the junior business college and failed. So I went to a tutoring class for a year, then I took the entrance examination again this year and was accepted.

As more and more holy temples have been built across the earth, I have seen the blessings that come into the lives of the members. In 2008 I witnessed the joy on the faces of a couple from Ukraine as they told me about going to Freiberg, Germany, to receive their temple ordinances. The trip to the temple was a 27-hour bus ride each way for these dedicated members, and they were not able to go often. They were thrilled that the Kyiv Ukraine Temple would soon be completed and they would be able to attend much more often. That temple is now open, and thousands enjoy the blessings there.

I really liked your June 1997 Question and Answer about music. A month before I read that, I bought a CD that I didn’t know had some bad songs on it. My mom read through the lyrics and told me I shouldn’t listen. I then told my mom I couldn’t even hear the words. So I listened to it anyway and actually felt pretty bad. Even though I had heard the song before, I had never felt so bad listening to it.
Name WithheldSt. George, Utah

In 2017, I became pregnant with our first child. My husband, Lucas, and I were excited but scared for the arrival of little Juan Lionel.
Late one night at the beginning of February 2018, I began having contractions. I was only eight months along, but it looked like our baby would come earlier than expected. We grabbed a few things and quickly left for the clinic. I didn’t feel ready to go into labor, but I prayed, asking God that His will be done despite our fears.
When we arrived at the clinic, my gynecologist was notified but said he would not arrive until later. My husband called and texted messages to our parents and siblings, but none of them were awake. He continued calling and texting throughout the night, but no one responded. That made me feel very lonely.
As the pain from my contractions increased, I felt more and more alone. Suddenly, however, something wonderful happened. I began to think of my ancestors—especially my maternal grandmother, Rosa Mercado, and her mother, Javiera Balmaceda.
As I remembered them, I felt in my heart and mind that they were both with me at that moment. I felt their presence in such a strong and sweet way that I cannot fully express in words what I experienced. I did not see them, but I felt them nearby, giving me courage, support, and love as my mothers and as part of my family. I felt that they were angels ministering to me in my time of need.
Years before in the temple, my mother, father, siblings, husband, and I did their vicarious work and the vicarious work of other ancestors. I feel that the courage I received and the feeling I had that my ancestors were near was a gift through the power and authority of God.
Since then, I have felt the spirit of my ancestors on other occasions, helping me and guiding me as a mother and a wife and in other important aspects of my life.
I testify that God will never leave us alone on the path of our lives. If we do His work, we will be given help from the other side of the veil. We will receive love, knowledge, strength, and the peace “which passeth all understanding” (Philippians 4:7).

Some years ago I returned home to find our little children had discovered some newly hatched chicks under the manger in the barn. As our little girl held one of them, I said in a teasing way, “That will make a nice watchdog when it grows up, won’t it?” She looked at me quizzically, as if I didn’t know much.
So I changed my approach: “It won’t be a watchdog, will it?” She shook her head, “No, Daddy.” Then I added, “It will be a nice riding horse.”
She wrinkled up her nose and gave me that “Oh, Dad!” look. Even though she was only four years old, she knew that the little chick would grow up to be either a hen or a rooster—much like its mother or father.
All animal life produces after its own kind, and little ones grow up to look and to be like their parents. That is true of people too. Small boys and girls grow up to be big boys and girls, then men and women.
I testify that God is indeed our Father. When we reach our full growth and destiny, we have the promise that we may be like Him. Just as all life follows the pattern of its parents, so can we grow toward the image of our Heavenly Father if we will live righteously and be obedient to His commandments.

In 1988 life was pretty normal for Jared Anderson of Pocatello, Idaho. Much like other ten-year-old boys, he had a paper route and assigned chores around the house. He loved to play basketball and baseball and ride bicycles with his friends. But during that year his life changed quite dramatically when he suddenly became responsible for assisting with his mother’s care.
Thirteen-year-old Jared still remembers the pain he felt when he heard that his mother had collapsed with a grand mal seizure one April Sunday in 1988. Jared was visiting that day at his grandmother’s home when a phone call came from the hospital. Tests and surgery later that week confirmed that Marcia Anderson had two types of brain cancer. Doctors gave her three months to live. “I was really scared,” Jared recalls. “It was so frightening to hear that my mother was dying. She has been my best friend. She’s always been there when I’ve needed her.” Now it’s Jared who is there when his mom needs him. He is the youngest of four children in Neil and Marcia Anderson’s family and has the most time at home to be with his mom. Jared’s oldest sister, Trina, is married; his brother, Shane, is on a mission in Roanoke, Virginia; and his sister Kim is a senior in high school.
After Sister Anderson’s surgery, she had to relearn everything—walking, speaking, reading, writing, and dressing herself. She has been involved in extensive physical therapy—all of which Jared has learned to help her with. She still suffers from seizures. So nurses taught Jared how to reduce the danger of her seizures by catching her when she would fall and holding her head so it wouldn’t be injured.
“Jared has a kind of sixth sense,” his mother recalls, “and he always seems to get there to help me at the very moment I need him.” But Jared explains that any boy would do that for a mom he loved.
Jared has cheered his mother on as she has outlived the doctors’ predictions. He has helped her progress from bed to wheelchair to walking again. Through it all, Jared has turned to his Heavenly Father for help. “Even when she’s having seizures, I always stop and pray for help, but I remember also to ask Heavenly Father that his will be done.” He adds, “It has taught me a lot about patience.”

I would like to take you back a few years to the time of the Olympics in Salt Lake City. We had spent over two years of incredible efforts trying to get everything ready, in spite of a troubled history. The summer before the Games were to be held, we were finally beginning to feel somewhat confident that we would do well. However, just five months before the Opening Ceremonies were to be held, 9/11 was thrust upon all of us – an unimaginable tragedy. I clearly remember that morning, sitting at our headquarters speaking with Mitt Romney on the phone, who was just then driving by the Pentagon as it was enveloped in smoke, thinking “how are we going to host the world in just five months and keep them safe?”

We then embarked on a full review of our security planning and although we found it to be quite solid, we saw areas that needed enhancements. The law enforcement agencies and members of the Secret Service, FBI, military and FEMA were great partners and became good friends. One area of strength was protecting the athletes, thinking back to the tragedy of Munich – making sure we did everything to ensure their safety. The most vulnerable time for the athletes is when they are been transported to and from the venues. We put in place something called AVLs, or Automated Vehicle Locators, into each athlete transportation vehicle. These AVLs were GPS-based wherein the location of each vehicle was continuously communicated to security headquarters. In addition, each vehicle’s specific route was programmed into our database such that if it went off course by more than 50 feet, alarms would go off at security headquarters. We had Secret Service stationed throughout the Olympic theatre, who could respond quickly to any emergency.

A few days before the Games began, athletes arrived to settle into the Olympic Village and to practice at the venues. During this period, the AVLs were active and one morning, the alarms went off. A bus for a hockey team was off course. We called the driver on the radio and then the cell phone. No response. Could we have trouble already, even before the Games began? The Secret Service was scrambled to the location of the bus and found it empty – in a McDonald’s parking lot. They ended up joining the driver, safe and sound, for breakfast at McDonald’s. Tragedy averted.

When we go off course a little, do the alarms go off for us? Do we have the Spirit with us to warn us? Do we listen to the Light of Christ, or our conscience? Do we recognize when we are heading a little off course and quickly change directions to the straight and narrow path? If we begin to ignore the alarms or if we don’t hear them anymore, we should put our heads up, “look down the track” and recognize where we are headed, especially when we think things are somewhat OK; yet we may, in fact, be off course. The easiest way off course is just a little at a time, when it is barely noticeable. This is a key part of the message of “All is well in Zion.”

It was the day after Christmas, 1946, in Santa Clara, Utah. As a young nine-year-old boy, I asked my mother if I could take my Christmas gift, a new bow and arrow set, and go up on the hill behind our home to hunt for rabbits. It was late in the afternoon, and Mother was reluctant, but with my coaxing she agreed to let me go, but only if I was back home before dark.
As I reached the top of the hill, I put an arrow on the bow and started walking quietly through the sage and chaparral bushes, hoping to see a rabbit feeding at the base of the brush where the tender grass was still green.
I was startled by a large jackrabbit that jumped out from a sage bush right in front of me. I pulled back on the bow, taking a quick aim, and let the arrow fly at the fleeing, darting rabbit. The arrow missed, and the rabbit disappeared through the brush ahead.
I went to where I thought the arrow had hit the ground to retrieve it. Only three arrows came with the bow, and I didn’t want to lose this one. I looked where the arrow was supposed to be, but it wasn’t there. I looked all around the area where I was sure it landed, but I couldn’t find it.
The sun was setting in the west; I knew that it would be dark in about 30 minutes, and I didn’t want to be late getting home. I searched again the area where the arrow should have been, looking carefully under every bush, but it was not to be found.
Time was running out, and I needed to start for home to get there before dark. I decided to pray and ask Heavenly Father to help me find the arrow. I dropped to my knees, closed my eyes, and prayed to my Father in Heaven. I told Him I didn’t want to lose my new arrow, and I asked Him to show me where to find it.
While still on my knees, I opened my eyes, and there in the sagebrush immediately in front of me, at eye level, I saw the colored feathers of the arrow partly hidden by the branches. I grabbed the arrow and began to run for home, arriving there just before dark.
I will never forget that special experience. Our Heavenly Father had answered my prayer. That was the first time I had prayed for Him to help me, and He did! That evening I learned to have faith and trust in my Heavenly Father.

The back windows of our home overlook a small flower garden and the woods which border a small stream. One wall of the house borders on the garden and is thickly covered with English ivy. Most years this ivy has been the nesting place for house finches. The nests in the vines are safe from foxes and raccoons and cats that are about.
One day there was a great commotion in the ivy. Desperate cries of distress came as 8 or 10 finches from the surrounding woods came to join in this cry of alarm. I soon saw the source of the commotion. A snake had slid partway down out of the ivy and hung in front of the window just long enough for me to pull it out. The middle part of the snake’s body had two bulges—clear evidence convicting it of taking two fledglings from the nest. Not in the 50 years we had lived in our home had we seen anything like that. It was a once-in-a-lifetime experience—or so we thought.
A few days later there was another commotion, this time in the vines covering our dog run. We heard the same cries of alarm, the gathering of the neighborhood finches. We knew what the predator was. A grandson climbed onto the run and pulled out another snake that was still holding on tightly to the mother bird it had caught in the nest and killed.
I said to myself, “What is going on? Is the Garden of Eden being invaded again?”
There came into my mind the warnings spoken by the prophets. We will not always be safe from the adversary’s influence, even within our own homes. We need to protect our nestlings.

In the 1990s my employment with the Church took our family to Africa, where I was assigned to help with relief efforts in Burundi, Rwanda, and Somalia. This was during a devastating period of famine, brutality, and war, and the suffering was overwhelming.
Thousands were in refugee camps. Hundreds of orphaned children lived in rudimentary shelters they constructed themselves. Cholera, typhoid, and malnutrition were ever present. The stench of waste and death added to the hopelessness.
I felt driven to offer all the help I could. The Church worked with the International Committee of the Red Cross and other organizations, but I couldn’t help wondering sometimes if our efforts were making a difference in the face of such widespread atrocity and tragedy. It was hard to shake feelings of helplessness and discouragement, and often when I retired for the night, I cried.
It was during this discouraging time that a familiar passage took on a deeper dimension for me. Citing Isaiah, it tells us that the Savior was “anointed to bind up the brokenhearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives, and the opening of the prison to them that were bound” (D&C 138:42).
I had seen and spoken with many people who were “brokenhearted” in the most striking ways. They had lost their loved ones, homes, and peaceful way of life. And yet many of them showed signs of having been “bound up.” For instance, often when we approached a makeshift home, its inhabitants would ask, “Will you pray with us?” The people seemed to find happiness and peace in making supplications to the Lord.
Of course, we cannot look for the impact of the Atonement only in this life. It also comes after. I know there is redemption for the dead and resurrection for all because of the Savior. The pain we experience in this life—however extreme—will be removed and healed through the Atonement.
Mormon and Moroni, who lived in times of great slaughter and death, wrote about having hope anchored in a loving God whose mercy and justice surpass all understanding (see, for instance, Moroni 7:41–42). Studying these prophets’ statements bolstered my own faith. When I wondered if our efforts were making a difference, I felt assurance that the Savior’s grace is the ultimate redemptive power. Our best efforts may be limited, but His are infinite and eternal.
There’s no doubt that the world’s conditions create many forms of despair, but none are beyond the reach of the Redeemer to heal. All of us can have the sure hope that through the Atonement of Christ our hearts can be bound up and made whole. With this knowledge, I could go on in my work, knowing that His efforts always succeed.

I recently received a letter from a sister serving a mission in Siberia that showed how a small group of Russian sisters was engaged in this active kind of love. Sister Okelberry said:
“I am proud to report that the women of Siberia have caught the vision of the Relief Society. Sister Kappenkova, a six-month Church member, has risen to the mighty challenge of Relief Society president of this northernmost group in Russia. She, along with her counselors, understands the importance of visiting teaching and is helping these sisters serve each other and build each other—saving them from the dangers of inactivity. They are teaching each other precious gospel principles and valuable skills in leadership as mothers, wives, and women in the Church. Conditions are not easy for them. Yet they understand and have already embraced those immortal words ‘Charity Never Faileth.’ It has been an honor to watch this develop right before my eyes.
“With only one short and very precious week left of my missionary time, I know that my sisters will be left in good hands—they are all taking care of each other” (letter from Michelle Okelberry, 31 Jan. 1996).

The stake’s program, called Adopt-a-Block, was developed over a period of months as they consulted with Mary and with the city council volunteer program. To lend support, the city donated 2,000 gallons of paint, plus rollers and brushes, and convinced a waste management company to donate the use of a dumpster, a land fill company to donate space at a dump site, and a grocery chain to donate trash bags.
“The point of the program was to expose the youth to a different environment and life-style, within 20 minutes of where they live,” said David Garrett, East Millcreek North Stake Young Men president. “We need to provide service for those in our own community. These are our brothers and sisters, and they need our help.”
By the end of the day, the dumpster was full, several houses had fresh coats of paint and new lawns, and grass, trees, and bushes looked neat and trimmed. But far more important, the youth of East Millcreek had learned about serving others.
“I felt like Mary’s block was my block, too,” said Andrea Ence, 12.
Adopt-a-Block wasn’t an earth-shattering event. It didn’t even last the entire day. But ask Mary Allen if it helped, and her smile will tell you immediately.
“It may not have changed the world,” she said. “But I think it changed some hearts. And that’s the beginning of changing the world.”

I learned a lot about gratitude from my father. To teach us, he would often repeat the quote: "I cried because I had no shoes until I met a man without any feet." While serving as a member of a stake presidency in the Philippines, I recall one Sunday when I had an assignment to visit a ward. A typhoon had just passed, and I was not particularly feeling excited to magnify my calling that morning. I had many burdens on my mind and I would rather attend church with my family. But I went nevertheless, albeit a little grumpy. Afterwards, I was in hurry to get home after the meetings when one of the mothers in the ward stopped me to ask if I can interview her to renew her temple recommend. I grudgingly obliged. She came to the interview smiling and happy. When I asked her first how her family was doing, she replied that their home was flooded nearly up to the roof the night before. They had to tie up and bring all their belongings to the ceiling. They also had to bring their kids in the middle of the night to an evacuation center and then they had to go back to watch over their house. Because of this they did not have much sleep. Yet she said both she and her husband were happy to be able to come to church that Sunday, especially so because she was going to get her temple recommend renewed. As she was telling me the story, I was somewhat confused because the happy expression on her face did not match the tragic adversity she was telling me about. Then I began to be very ashamed because I had murmured and selfishly dwelt on my problems when I still had a warm bed to sleep in. This sister taught me a lesson about gratitude that morning I never forgot. When I remember her I am inspired to always count my blessings.

Reminiscing of boyhood days, President Benson recalls:
“Mother was Relief Society president in the ward, a small but solid country ward. I remember how important Father considered her work in that assignment.
“Father gave to me, as the oldest [child], the responsibility of harnessing the horse and getting the buggy ready for Mother’s … weekly Relief Society meetings. …
“At that time I was not tall enough to buckle the collar or put the bridle on the horse without getting on the fence or [standing on] a box.
“In addition, I was to take half a bushel of wheat from our granary and put it in the back of the buggy. In those days the Relief Society sisters were building up a storage of wheat against a time of need. …
“When Mother was called to visit the sick in the ward or to help mothers with new babies, it was always by horse and buggy. As the buggy rolled down the dirt road, the circling wheels left a track that stayed even after the buggy had disappeared. Mother’s influence has also stayed—in my life and in the countless lives she blessed through compassionate service and example.”

In 1895 my great-grandfather, Abinadi Olsen, was called on a mission to the Samoan Islands. Obedient to the call of the prophet, he left his wife and four small children, including my maternal grandmother, Chasty Magdalene, in the town of Castle Dale, Utah. He traveled by train and ship to the mission headquarters in Apia, Samoa, a journey of 26 days. His first assignment was to labor on the island of Tutuila.

After many weeks of living in what he called a grass hut, eating strange food, suffering severe illnesses, and struggling to learn the Samoan language, he seemed to be making no progress in his missionary work. Homesick and discouraged, he seriously considered getting on board a boat back to Apia and telling the mission president he didn’t want to waste any more time in Samoa. The obstacles to the accomplishment of his mission seemed insurmountable, and he wished to return to his wife and children, who were struggling to support him in the mission field.

A friend who heard Abinadi Olsen describe the experience some years after his return, quoted him as follows:
“Then one night, as I lay on my mat on the floor of my hut, a strange man entered and in my own language told me to get up and follow him. His manner was such that I had to obey. He led me out through the village and directly up against the face of a perpendicular solid rock cliff. ‘That’s strange,’ thought I. ‘I’ve never seen that here before,’ and just then the stranger said, ‘I want you to climb that cliff.’
“I took another look and then in bewilderment said, ‘I can’t. It’s impossible!’
“‘How do you know you can’t? You haven’t tried,’ said my guide.
“‘But anyone can see’—I started to say in objecting. But he cut in with, ‘Begin climbing. Reach up with your hand—now with your foot.’
“As I reached, under orders that I dared not disobey, a niche seemed to open in the solid rock cliff and I caught hold. Then with my one foot I caught a toe hold.
“‘Now go ahead,’ he ordered. ‘Reach with your other hand,’ and as I did so another place opened up, and to my surprise the cliff began to recede; climbing became easier, and I continued the climb without difficulty until, suddenly, I found myself lying on my pallet back in my hut. The stranger was gone!
“‘Why has this experience come to me?’ I asked myself. The answer came quickly. I had been up against an imaginary cliff for those three months. I had not reached out my hand to begin the climb. I hadn’t really made the effort I should have made to learn the language and overcome my other problems” (Fenton L. Williams, “On Doing the Impossible,” Improvement Era, August 1957, p. 554).

It is hardly necessary to add that Abinadi Olsen did not leave the mission. He labored for three and a half years, until released by appropriate authority. He was an exceptionally effective missionary, and he was a faithful member of the Church for the rest of his life.

María Coj was a seventeen-year-old member of the Church, the oldest of eight children. She was sick with cysticercosis, a parasitic infection that comes from eating contaminated food, that with time spread to her brain, causing terrible headaches and then blindness. To give her relief from the pain, it was necessary to move her from her home in Sololá to Guatemala City. Because of convulsions caused by the advances of the illness, her condition worsened, and it was only with life-support systems that she was kept alive. It was evident that she could not live long under those conditions.

At this same time, Erika Alonzo, a twelve-year-old and partially blind member of the Church, traveled twenty-two hours by bus from Honduras to Guatemala City to receive an eye operation. For two weeks she waited for an acceptable cornea from the United States to be transplanted to her eye, but none was available.

At this same time María died. Because her blindness was caused by pressure to her brain, her corneas were healthy. María’s father and mother authorized the cornea donation. The operation was a success.

On the twelfth of July 1993, Erika traveled to Sololá to meet the Coj family for the first time. The surprised family asked her, “Can you see?” She answered, “I see everything clearly.” It was a spiritual meeting. Sister Coj, who did not understand much Spanish because her native language is Cakchiquel, felt the love and the spirit of the conversation.

Because of the donation of María’s eyes, Erika can now see and enjoy everything around her. The death of one person and the love of her parents blessed the life of another. The medical miracle of one person being able to look through eyes of another is a surprising reality.