Gospel Story Finder

Squeezing the last box into the back of my station wagon, I slammed the door shut and checked my watch. I was on schedule. My last batch of exams was graded, and the car was packed. If I left immediately, I would have to drive only the final hour or so of my trip to Louisville, Kentucky, in the dark.
The last two weeks had been long and unbearably dull in South Bend, Indiana. My husband, Mark, a law student, had already started his summer internship in Louisville. But as a high school teacher in South Bend, I had spent two more weeks finishing the school year before I could join him.
Relieved to be on the road, I drove fast, but about an hour into my five-hour trip, I began to think about Sara and her daughter, Betsy. We had first met in Relief Society nine months earlier. Standing in the back with a baby in her arms, she had introduced herself saying, “Hi, I’m Sara. I’m from Utah. And this is Betsy. She’s from heaven.” I laughed, liking her immediately. Just like me she was the wife of a law student, and I was pleased when she was called to be my visiting teacher.
About a month before my departure, Betsy had suffered a seizure. Tests revealed a large brain tumor that appeared almost inoperable, but doctors insisted that without an operation Betsy had no chance of survival.
My heart ached for Sara. Along with the rest of our ward and stake, we had fasted and prayed for a miracle. Betsy underwent brain surgery and amazed the doctors, who had not expected her to survive the operation. Still, only part of the tumor had been removed, and Betsy progressed slowly. Her parents, meanwhile, faced impossible decisions on how to treat the remaining tumor without destroying her infant body.
The operation had taken place in Indianapolis, the halfway point in my journey to Louisville. Sara was still there with Betsy, while her husband had returned to South Bend to take the final exams he had missed.
I checked my watch. I could think of plenty of reasons to drive through without stopping, but none of them did anything to silence the voice inside telling me I needed to stop. So I pulled off the freeway and called the hospital from a pay phone. My call was directed to Betsy’s room, and Sara answered. I could hear in her voice that she was happy I had called. She would be thrilled to have me stop by. I felt the peace and relief of having followed the Spirit’s prompting.
As I drove toward the hospital I realized I had my violin wedged between a suitcase and a box of books in the backseat. With a measure of guilt I remembered that I had not touched it in weeks, even though I had studied violin from the age of three. Music had always been a source of happiness in my life.
The thought came that I should take my violin with me and play for Betsy. Normally I would never have considered the idea. It seemed a little arrogant to arrive unannounced with my violin and subject all those within listening range to an impromptu recital. But I quickly recognized the feeling that accompanied this thought as the same Spirit that had prompted me to make the visit.
When I arrived, Sara was weary but happy to see me. Betsy had a large tube in her head and another in her throat. As I looked at her tiny body and then into her eyes, I wondered how much pain she had suffered and how much more she would have to endure.
Sara was thrilled that I had brought my violin. For more than an hour I played hymns, Primary songs, classical music, and anything she requested that I could play by ear. As I played, Betsy stared at me, wide-eyed. Sara insisted it was the most alert Betsy had been since her surgery and was eager for me to keep playing. Several patients—children and their parents—stopped by the room and listened for a while.
Time passed quickly without my noticing. And as I stood at the foot of the bed playing “I Am a Child of God” (Hymns, no. 301), I was overwhelmed with the intensity of Heavenly Father’s love for this sick little girl. I knew as I played that He loved Betsy dearly and wanted her to find relief from her pain through the music.
As I left the hospital in the dark that night to complete my trip to Louisville, I remembered the words from my patriarchal blessing that I had not thought about for some time. I had been blessed with musical talent and was expected to develop it so I could bring joy to others.
Through Betsy I was reminded of the Lord’s purpose in giving us gifts. “All these gifts come from God, for the benefit of the children of God” (D&C 46:26). By listening to the Spirit I was given the opportunity to share my talent as the Lord intended and to feel the tremendous compassion He has for His children.

I always wanted to have a testimony of the Book of Mormon. I knew my parents had testimonies because they had read the book and prayed about it. Having never read all of the Book of Mormon, I couldn’t say the same.
I had started attending church when I was small. My faith grew, and I was baptized as an adolescent. I had read several parts of the Book of Mormon that contained beautiful and interesting things, and I had heard the testimonies of my parents and others who said the book was true. But I knew I needed to obtain my own testimony.
In seminary, I set a goal to pay attention to what I was being taught and to spend more time studying the scriptures. During my last year in seminary, we read the Book of Mormon. I started to pray more, to read more, and to pay closer attention. I took careful notes in my seminary notebook.
Eventually, there came into my heart the simple but profound witness of the Holy Ghost that the Book of Mormon is true. I felt in my heart that this knowledge was something precious.

Now it’s the day after our report on Finland. Yeah, I know about humility, and I know you shouldn’t take pride in worldly kinds of things, so I’ll just say this once: Joe and I were stupendous. By the end of our presentation, everyone was spooning our fruity kisseli, reading literature from the Finnish Embassy, and enjoying Greg’s slides. Even crusty old Mr. Barnes stood up at the end and said we did a good job. I can see the A on my report card now.
Things are quiet tonight in the Grundy household. I am still basking in the glow of our social studies triumph. Life is sweet right now.
The phone rings. Philip answers it. “It’s for you, Ben. It’s a girl.”
All activity in our household—except for breathing—comes to a stop as every Grundy focuses on me. A girl calling Ben Grundy. This is history.
I slowly rise and stiffly walk to the phone. Destiny beckons. I fumble for the receiver and croak, “Hello?”
“Ben … hi, this is Margaret Gromo. I know it’s late to be asking, but if you aren’t going to the dance, I was wondering if you would want to go with me?”
My mind goes blank. I mean, the blackboard of my brain is wiped clean. Several long, difficult seconds pass. Then one thought comes blasting through the gray matter.
What’s the cool thing to do?
I draw a deep breath. Time for the new version of Ben Grundy to take over. “I haven’t been asked. And I think we’ll have a good time …”
* * *
And Margaret and I do have a good time. I keep thinking about what is cool. Cool really doesn’t have a lot to do with how you talk or how you dress, whether you drive a sports car or a station wagon, or who you’re seen with and where. Cool is how you treat people. Whether you help make them feel good or bad about themselves, if you’re a friend or not. If you remember every one of them is a child of God and treat them the way they should be treated, that’s totally cool. Take it from someone who has been around a lot of cool lately. Cool Ben Grundy.
Has a nice ring to it. And I think it’s entirely within my reach.

I belong to a family of five, and we attend church every Sunday, all except my dad. He is not a member of the Church, and this makes me sad. He is a very good dad and sometimes comes to parties or trips organized by the ward. I would like it if he always came.
My mom taught me in Primary that Heavenly Father listens to our prayers and wants to help us. So I said a prayer that He would help my dad understand how much the gospel means for our family.
On Saturday I was about to watch TV when something happened. My dad came and said there were better things I could be doing instead of sitting in front of the TV. “For example,” he said, “what would you think if I read you a nice story from the Liahona?”
So he sat down with me and my two little brothers and read to us. I don’t know how my dad knew those stories were in the Liahona. But I do know that Heavenly Father had listened to my prayers and answered, touching my dad’s heart so he read something in the Church magazine.
I thank my Heavenly Father because He listens to my prayers.

I guess I was about seven when Mom told me that Heavenly Father hears and answers prayers. Maybe she had told me earlier, but I don’t remember that. (I was very young when I was born.)
“So, if I really want something, and if I’m a really good boy, and I ask for it—Heavenly Father will give it to me?”
“That’s right, son. If your faith is very strong, and if it’s for your own good, he’ll give it to you.”
That hot summer night in 1944 I lay in bed thinking about what I wanted most from Heavenly Father. Another brother? Maybe. A new baseball? I’d probably get one for my birthday anyway. How about an end to the war and my dad coming home? Yes. But Mom was working hard on that one with her prayers.
And then it came to me—the one single, most critical, most desirable, most longed for, most important thing in all the world to my seven-year-old heart: I wanted to fly … like a bird.
And why not? Birds flew. Bats flew. P-51s flew. Kites and paper airplanes and bugs and butterflies flew. Why not me?
How the other kids would envy me! How Miss Gamble would gasp with astonishment and admiration! And wouldn’t Joey Hirschberger next door just turn bright green with envy?
Taking care not to wake my little brother, Lynn, I slid out of bed and dropped to my knees. I folded my arms (like Mom), and squeezed my eyes shut (unlike Lynn). Then I clenched my teeth (a sure sign of great faith) and scrunched up my face (for intensity), and uttered my first all-alone-by-myself, out-loud prayer:
“Heavenly Father, I want to fly. I really, really, really want to fly. Won’t you please bless me so that I can fly? I’ll be a really good boy if you’ll help me to fly. Honest. Amen.”
Then I got off my knees, pulled my chair to the center of the darkened room, and climbed up on the chair. Extending my arms out wide, I whispered it again: “Please, Heavenly Father, help me to fly. Mom said you could do it. I know you can do it.”
With this, I began to flap my arms furiously. Up and down, up and down, faster, faster.
You can probably guess what happened: My arms got tired.
I sat down and thought about it. Maybe I was missing something important. Maybe what I needed was to jump off the chair while I flapped my arms.
I climbed back up on the chair. This time I flapped my arms really hard and then jumped off the chair, upward, outward.
And downward. Thump! Soon Mother appeared at the door, wondering what had caused all the noise.
The next day I pondered the problem until I thought I had it figured out: Heavenly Father must be testing my faith. Maybe the secret was to pray for several nights in a row and to grit my teeth harder and to scrunch up my face tighter while I prayed.
I tried it. Each night for a week I prayed and prayed, my faith and fervor growing. By Sunday night I was sure that I was ready.
Back up on the chair, arms extended, I once more whispered my plea to the Lord, absolutely sure that he would hear and answer my prayer and grant me flight.
My arms began to flap up and down, faster, faster. I jumped upward and outward.
And downward. Thump! Again I was questioned about the loud thump from the upstairs bedroom.
What was missing? I had gritted my teeth and scrunched my face. Why hadn’t it worked? Why hadn’t I soared from the chair and flapped around the room? I lay in bed for a long time thinking, wondering.
The next day I was down in the foxhole-fort-dugout-clubhouse on the shady side of the garage when I heard Mom calling me.
Blackberries. I had promised to pick the berries from the huge wild blackberry bush behind the garage. But it was hot, and I didn’t feel like fighting the vicious brambles and thorns of August to ensure jam next January.
Just for a moment, I pretended I hadn’t heard her. That’s when the inspiration came: How could I expect the Lord to give me flight if I couldn’t give Mom a few minutes for an errand?
From that moment, I became an errand boy possessed. I not only picked blackberries, I chopped kindling wood. I filled the wood box. I swept the porch. I set the table and went to the store. And then I picked more blackberries until my arms and hands were scratched and bleeding from the thorns.
I wore Mom out with demands for more and more errands. How could the Lord deny me now? I had prayed with all my might for two weeks, had exercised enormous faith, had filled my days with good works and gallon buckets of blackberries. Surely, my first flight was now at hand!
That night I mentioned all of this to the Lord in my prayer, then climbed back onto the chair in my darkened bedroom. This time … This time … This time it will work!
It didn’t work. The upward, outward curve again continued into the downward curve, ending in the by now familiar thump. Sure enough, Mother soon appeared at the door, warning me not to awaken Lynn.
I was stumped. For all my prayers and all my faith and all my good works, I remained as earthbound as Joey Hirschberger or Jimmy Johnson. What could be missing?
Without ever mentioning my desire to fly, I put the problem of unanswered prayers to my Sunday School teacher. What followed was a lesson on how to pray and how Heavenly Father answers prayers. And there was the answer. I marveled that I had missed it: I had failed to trust utterly and completely in the Lord.
Up until now, I had jumped off a low chair—a chair low enough that if the flapping didn’t work, I at least wouldn’t break my neck. The Lord must be waiting for me to show real faith by jumping off of something high enough that failure would hurt. That would prove my faith!
And beyond that, I had always made my attempts in the privacy of a darkened bedroom. Next time I would prove real faith by jumping off of something really high—and with an audience and in broad daylight.
All the next week I prepared. The faith, the prayers, the endless helpfulness to Mom continued. By Saturday afternoon I was ready.
Down in the fort I explained my project to Lynn and Joey Hirschberger and Jimmy Johnson. I explained about faith and good works. I explained about the kind of prayers where you grit your teeth and scrunch up your face. I explained about having to risk yourself to show that you trust the Lord absolutely.
And then I started up the ladder to the roof of the garage. Lynn and Jimmy and Joey remained in the fort watching and wondering.
Joey said he thought I was crazy. But what did Joey know about faith and works and prayers?
And now I was on the roof of the garage, looking down. It seemed farther from the roof to the ground than it had appeared the other way around.
Directly below me was the terrible blackberry bush. It looked higher and wider than it ever had from the ground. Great long guard brambles covered with vicious thorns reached up almost to where I stood.
I fought down the doubting thought: “What if it doesn’t work? What if I don’t fly? What if I land in the blackberry bush?” But one mustn’t doubt! The entire effort might fail if one doubted!
For doubt is the opposite of faith. Simple logic dictated that if one removed his protection from the awful blackberry thorns that would prove absolute, unshakable faith.
Off came the shirt. Joey said he thought that was the dumbest thing he’d ever seen, and he was going to tell my mom.
I told Joey to sit down and be quiet, but he left to tell Mom anyway. Now I had to hurry!
I closed my eyes and reminded the Lord about how he answers prayers of faith and how if someone wants something badly enough and is a good boy and helps his mom and goes to Sunday School, his prayers will be answered.
That done, I began to flap my arms, faster and faster. Then, eyes still closed tight, I jumped upward and outward from the roof of the garage—upward and outward over a huge wild blackberry bush—with no shirt on.
Before I opened my eyes, I knew I was lying on my back on the kitchen table. Doc Nichols was just leaving, saying something about how you couldn’t possibly break a bone jumping into an overgrown “pillow”—even if it was covered with stickers. I could feel the cool washcloth as Mother continued washing the blood from my dozens of scratches and cuts.
After Doc Nichols left, Mom chased out all the small, wide-eyed spectators, and I opened my eyes. I saw that my mother’s arms and hands and face were covered with dozens of scratches—and realized the price she had paid to rescue me.
She smiled her special tender smile and held me close in her arms. “For injuries sustained in battle, I award you the purple heart,” she said quietly, “and maybe a bronze star for bravery.”
“Do you have a medal for dumbness?” I asked. “I feel so stupid!”
“I suppose we all feel that way sometimes,” Mother replied. “We make mistakes, we learn from them, and then we go on.”
There was a long pause before I asked the question: “You said Heavenly Father answers prayers …”
Mom finished the sentence: “And now you’re not really sure if he does answer prayers.” Somehow Mom always knew what I was thinking.
“Of course he hears and answers prayers,” she said—and I could tell she really meant it. “Only sometimes we pray for things that aren’t good for us. Sometimes we forget to say, ‘Thy will be done.’ And sometimes his answer is a quiet, firm no. But no is an answer, too, isn’t it, son? He can’t always say yes, can he? Do you understand what I’m saying?”
“I guess so. But, Mom, I wanted so much to fly! And I tried so hard!”
“Someday, son, when your dad comes home from the Navy, you’ll have the answer to your prayers. You and Dad can go to the airport and pay for a half-hour flight. There are many ways Heavenly Father could give you a yes answer to your prayers for flight. But it won’t come through flapping your arms and jumping off garages into blackberry bushes.”
By now all the bleeding had stopped, a small bandage over each cut and scratch. As she turned to tending her own wounds, Mother smiled at me and pretended to be stern, “And speaking of jumping off of garages into blackberry bushes: Young man, if you ever do that again, I’ll take away your purple heart and give you a dishonorable discharge!”
A voice interrupted my daydreaming. “We are on our final approach to Hamburg International. Please fasten your seat belts.”
Funny about that childish prayer for flight all those years ago. For a while it had seemed that Heavenly Father didn’t really answer prayers. My answer hadn’t come just then when I had wanted it so badly. It had come later—flying over Portland in a biplane with Dad. And with the other Scouts in pursuit of a merit badge. And then aboard a huge jet en route to the Germany Hamburg Mission. Funny how the answers always seem to come—though not always at the time or in the way we expect.
I fastened my seat belt and let a little prayer run through my mind: “I thank thee, Father, for hearing and answering the prayer of a seven-year-old boy. I thank thee for giving me flight.”

During the Korean War missionary service was restricted, so President Eyring served in the U.S. Air Force instead of serving a full-time mission. While in the Air Force, he was called to be a district missionary. He spent his nights and weekends for the next two years serving the Lord and preaching the gospel. After he was released from the Air Force, he went back to school and met his wife, Kathleen. They have six children and twenty-five grandchildren. His family is a most important part of his 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

Mason and Dad are walking in the forest. Mason brought paper and crayons to draw what he sees. Mason draws a squirrel with a fuzzy tail climbing up a tree. Mason draws shiny fish swimming in the river. Mason draws round, red berries that remind him of bouncy balls. Mason and Dad get to the end of the trail. Mason draws a beautiful waterfall! Mason is glad Jesus made such a beautiful world for him.
Mason drew pictures of things he saw on his nature walk. Can you find them in the picture below? What else do you see?

“I recall that when I was eleven years old my father told me that I had to earn all the money for my own clothes and that I should also start saving for my mission. When my mission call came, I told my father that we needed to go down to the bank and make necessary arrangements for my mission money to be withdrawn monthly and sent to me. I will never forget my father saying, ‘You didn’t think I was really going to make you pay for your mission, did you? I just wanted you to learn to work. I wouldn’t want to miss the blessing of supporting you in the mission field. You save your money, son, you’ll need it when you return.’
“My older brother, Ron, has always been an inspiration to me. I recall one evening when he came home from a Church youth meeting and announced to the family that his teacher had told him that he had to gain his own testimony and receive his own witness and to not rely on that of others. He said—almost prophetically—‘I’m going to gain that personal witness and testimony, no matter how long it takes or what the cost.’
“Ron began reading and studying the scriptures and fasting and praying. One morning a short time later, he was suddenly stricken by a paralysis. He could not move his body and his right side was in terrible pain. He was barely able to whisper to Dad that he wanted a blessing. No sooner had Dad finished blessing his son than Ron was miraculously cured! My brother uncoiled his tense body, straightened up, and was free of pain.
“When he was later examined by a doctor, the diagnosis was that he had had what appeared to be a ruptured appendix but that no trace of damaged tissue was found in his body. Later, my brother told me that during this experience he received his special witness that the Book of Mormon and the gospel were true. He wanted me to know, however, that he had received this knowledge before Dad had blessed him before his healing. He truly had shown faith before the miracle.
“This experience really influenced my life and at age twelve I began a fervent study of the Book of Mormon. I, too, received a personal witness and confirmation of the truthfulness of the gospel. I knew then, and have never doubted since, that the Book of Mormon is the word of God and that the gospel is true.
“My message to the children of the world is this: study and pray while you are young so that you, too, might receive this same witness.”

Tom Perry learned early to plan time to be with his family. When they moved to the eastern United States, they decided to buy a home closer to work rather than the “dream home” they’d found earlier because his traveling time to and from work would have been excessive. Later he turned down an attractive job offer because the firm couldn’t guarantee him his Saturdays off—the day of the week he devoted to his family.

When the missionaries taught me the gospel, the friend who gave me the Book of Mormon promised me that if I read it cover to cover in English, I would learn to speak English. I took that promise seriously, so I started reading, even though I didn’t understand much at first. I read and studied the Book of Mormon every day and every night. I even kept it under my pillow so that if I woke up at night, I could start reading again.
Within a year, I spoke English well enough to work in an English-speaking call center. After saving money, I was called to the India Bangalore Mission.
During my mission, I was really concerned about not having all of my family together in the Church. One day I read this verse: “Behold, you have had many afflictions because of your family; nevertheless, I will bless you and your family, yea, … and the day cometh that they will believe and know the truth and be one with you in my church” (Doctrine and Covenants 31:2).
I felt the Spirit so strong that I knew this verse was speaking to me. It took 14 years for that promise to come true in my family. But three years ago, I baptized both of my parents. Now we are all members of the Church except for one of my brothers.
I say this often: “The Church is a place where dreams come true.” Because of the Church, I have the things I desired most. I learned to speak English. I served a mission that was full of miracles. After my mission, I met Radhika, who is now my beautiful wife, and we were sealed in the Bern Switzerland Temple. We have a four-year-old son. My family is with me in the Church. All of my good dreams have come true.

Visiting the African continent brought back memories of my earlier assignments to East and West Africa. I thought once again of the special fast by Church members worldwide in 1985. It provided approximately six million dollars to relieve suffering and hunger primarily in drought-stricken Ethiopia. Brother Glenn L. Pace and I witnessed firsthand the fruits of generous contributions by Church members when the First Presidency assigned us to go to Africa, assess the needs of the people, and recommend how to make the best use of these special funds.
We visited refugee camps in that arid country. The land was as barren as any I had ever seen. We visited Red Cross centers and field hospitals where the desperately ill were being cared for. Such dreadful, pitiful suffering broke our hearts. We saw sick mothers lying on cots trying to feed and comfort their children, many of whom had the sunken eyes and pencil-thin arms and legs of those in the advanced stages of starvation. This was one of the most heart-wrenching experiences of my life. I had never seen anything that touched my heart so deeply as the anxious yearning for food and nourishment that I saw there.
Brothers and sisters, even as people in Ethiopia were starving physically because of the lack of food, far too many people in the world are starving spiritually. Sadly, most of them have no idea where to find real spiritual nourishment. They wander to and fro—another form of pathetic refugees. Those who yearn for true spiritual light and knowledge can only find it through the power of the Holy Ghost. The Spirit enlightens and gives understanding of the eternal purposes of life. By the Spirit, Church members know the restored gospel of Jesus Christ is true. We should, therefore, feel compelled to share our spiritual knowledge with all of our Father’s children by inviting them to pull a chair up to the Lord’s table and feast on the words of Christ.
“Come unto the Holy One of Israel,” wrote the great Book of Mormon prophet Jacob, “and feast upon that which perisheth not, neither can be corrupted, and let your soul delight in fatness.” Later Nephi urged his followers to “feast upon the words of Christ; for behold, the words of Christ will tell you all things what ye should do.”
God’s chosen prophet, President Gordon B. Hinckley, recently said:
“Every member of this church is an individual man or woman, boy or girl. Our great responsibility is to see that each is ‘remembered and nourished by the good word of God’ (Moro. 6:4), that each has opportunity for growth and expression and training in the work and ways of the Lord. …
“This work is concerned with people, each a son or daughter of God. In describing its achievements we speak in terms of numbers, but all of our efforts must be dedicated to the development of the individual.”
For The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints to fulfill its divine mission to assist in bringing “to pass the immortality and eternal life of man,” all members need to generate an appetite for gospel sustenance. We must “hunger and thirst after righteousness” before we can be filled. We need to cultivate spiritual strength within ourselves before we can ever hope to engender it in others. Individual, personal testimony of gospel truth, particularly of the divine life and mission of the Lord Jesus Christ, is essential to our eternal life. “And this is life eternal,” said the Savior, “that they might know thee the only true God, and Jesus Christ, whom thou has sent.” In other words, life eternal is predicated upon our own individual, personal knowledge of our Father in Heaven and His Holy Son. Simply knowing about them is not enough. We must have personal, spiritual experiences to anchor us. These come through seeking them in the same intense, single-minded way that a hungry person seeks food.
Once again quoting President Hinckley:
“The gaining of a strong and secure testimony is the privilege and opportunity of every individual member of the Church. The Master said, ‘If any man will do his will, he shall know of the doctrine, whether it be of God, or whether I speak of myself’ (John 7:17).
“Service in behalf of others, study, and prayer lead to faith in this work and then to knowledge of its truth. This has always been a personal pursuit, as it must always be in the future.”
We must fortify ourselves before we can ever hope to offer spiritual nourishment to others. Once we have nourished ourselves with the good word of Christ and feasted personally at His table so that our testimony is strong and vibrant, we are obligated to join with the missionaries in a balanced effort to invite others—beginning with our families—to the spiritual banquet. As the Lord said to His beloved Apostle Peter, “When thou art converted, strengthen thy brethren.” And again speaking to Peter, the Savior asked: “Simon, son of Jonas, lovest thou me? Peter was grieved because he said unto him the third time, Lovest thou me? And he said unto him, Lord, thou knowest all things; thou knowest that I love thee. Jesus saith unto him, Feed my sheep.”
If we are obedient to the Savior’s command given to Peter, we will focus our attention on the spiritual growth and development of those for whom we are responsible. Feeding the Lord’s sheep requires each of us to awaken our interest in others. The duty to invite others to partake of the gospel feast does not rest only on the shoulders of the missionaries. That sober and significant duty belongs to each member of the Church, for “it becometh every man who hath been warned to warn his neighbor.”
Today our prophet is calling for enthusiastic and dynamic love for our Heavenly Father’s children. He asks us to see the spiritual hunger around us and to respond by willingly sharing our abundance. No power on earth can accomplish as much as one righteous man or woman or boy or girl.
The home and family have vital roles in cultivating and developing personal faith and testimony. The family is the basic unit of society; the best place for individuals to build faith and strong testimonies is in righteous homes filled with love. Love for our Heavenly Father and His Son Jesus Christ is greatly enhanced when the gospel is taught and lived in the home. True principles of eternal life are embedded in the hearts and souls of young and old alike when scriptures are read and discussed, when prayers are offered morning and night, and when reverence for God and obedience to Him are modeled in everyday conduct. Just as the best meals are home cooked, the most nourishing gospel instruction takes place at home. Strong, faithful families have the best opportunity to produce strong, faithful members of the Church. The recent proclamation to the world on the family, issued by the First Presidency and the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, makes very clear that the family is ordained of God. The proclamation warns that the disintegration of the family will bring upon individuals, communities, and nations the calamities foretold by ancient and modern prophets (see Ensign, Nov. 1995, 102).
The family is where the foundation of personal spiritual growth is built and nurtured; the Church, then, is the scaffolding that helps support and strengthen the family. While the Church is secondary to the family in teaching gospel principles, much spiritual learning and growth come through the Church. For example, carefully planned sacrament meetings should be a spiritual feast in which we worship and learn of our Heavenly Father and His Beloved Son, our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Bishops, if your sacrament meetings are less than a banquet of spiritual nourishment, I urge you to invite suggestions from your ward council, especially the sisters, on ways to make every sacrament meeting a more reverent, spiritual experience. Let the council also help teach our members that the chapel is a special place in our buildings where we come in a spirit of respect for God and reverence for His holy Son. Let the quiet, peaceful promptings of the Holy Spirit abide in our worship services, causing spiritual enlightenment and nourishment to flow into our lives.
Whether we are teaching in the home or in the Church, we must keep a clear vision of the gospel’s eternal purpose. Not long ago I experienced the kind of faith and spiritual strength the gospel provides when an 18-year-old sister, who was fighting for her life in a battle with cancer, asked me for a blessing. She said: “Brother Ballard, I am not afraid to die. I would like to live. There are things I would still like to accomplish in this life, but I know that Jesus is my Savior and my Redeemer. During these past few years He has become my best friend. I trust Him, and I trust you as His representative. Whatever He wants for me, I am prepared.”
We pled for a miracle but at her request left the matter with Heavenly Father. She died shortly thereafter with the peace of the Lord attending her and her faithful family.
Brothers and sisters, we should teach revealed principles and inspired doctrine in our homes and in our Church meetings. Every parent and class instructor should be well prepared to teach the gospel by the power of the Spirit to ensure that testimonies are renewed and understanding of life and life eternal is fortified.
The First Presidency and the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles ask leaders to emphasize constantly, in priesthood quorums, auxiliaries, and stake and ward councils, the preeminence of the home and family. That is where scriptures are studied and prayers are offered regularly so all family members will strive to follow the Savior in all things.
Leaders also need to emphasize that all adult members of the Church should strive to become worthy to receive the ordinances of the temple. Members should identify their ancestors and perform the sacred temple ordinances for them.
Parents and leaders need to do everything possible to prepare each young man to receive the Melchizedek Priesthood and the ordinances of the temple and to serve a full-time mission. Likewise, young women need to prepare to make and keep sacred covenants and receive temple ordinances. Making and keeping sacred covenants in the house of the Lord is the most delicious course at the Lord’s table. It is the ultimate, satisfying spiritual feast of the gospel of Jesus Christ in mortality; it has eternal consequences. Our living prophet has expressed his great vision of those who qualify for temple ordinances, keep temple covenants, and serve regularly in the house of the Lord:
“We would be a better people,” President Hinckley said. “There would be little or no infidelity among us. Divorce would almost entirely disappear. So much of heartache and heartbreak would be avoided. There would be a greater measure of peace and love and happiness in our homes. There would be fewer weeping wives and weeping children. There would be a greater measure of appreciation and of mutual respect among us. And I am confident the Lord would smile with greater favor upon us.”
Through His prophet, God has promised to replace the spiritual hunger that plagues mankind with untold bounty from His own table. All He asks is that we come unto Christ and then do all we can, through our families and with the support of the Church, to help all of our Father’s children succeed spiritually in this critical journey of mortality.
“Behold,” said the Lord, “I stand at the door, and knock: if any man hear my voice, and open the door, I will come in to him, and will sup with him, and he with me.”
I testify to you that Jesus is the Christ. He lives and invites everyone to partake of the joyful feast of the gospel. Joseph Smith is the prophet of the Restoration of the gospel of Jesus Christ in these latter days. May we all be blessed, my beloved brothers and sisters, with an increased desire to seek after and feast on the things of the Spirit, I pray humbly in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

Several horses were dozing against the pasture fence as we turned into the cemetery. A stylish palomino raised its head. It looked like the horse owned by that blonde down in Glenville.
“You better not let her beat you at the barrels,” Grandma had said.
There is something I can do for Grandma, I thought. I can beat the rodeo queen in the barrel racing competition.
I was next. Ginger knew it too. She kept prancing sideways and tugging on the reins.
“Easy, girl. Don’t get all worked up before we get out there.”
The afternoon was warm. Sweat was already seeping from under Ginger’s saddle blanket. The reins felt sticky in my fingers.
The crowd roared as last year’s rodeo queen zoomed out for her turn at the barrels. I could see her blonde braids streaming behind her. She zipped sleekly around the first barrel and bolted for the next.
This blonde and I were the last two barrel racers. The other competitors’ times had been mediocre, so I felt Ginger and I still had a chance.
The rodeo queen circled the second barrel without a hitch. Uneasily, I eyed the last barrel. Maybe she would tip it over and get disqualified.
I could see the girl and her horse lean together around the third barrel. It was too close. The barrel rocked wildly. But it didn’t go over. At least it might have knocked a couple of seconds off her time. The crowd thundered as she spurted toward the finish.
I’ll show them, I thought, as I positioned Ginger for a run into the arena. But I was scared.
I charged out. The flag dropped at the starting line as Ginger and I flashed past. I hadn’t thought of Grandma until that very second. Suddenly I had a feeling that beating this rodeo queen was not what Grandma had in mind.
Ginger’s black mane flew in my face as I reined her low around the right barrel. She veered around it smooth and tight—just like a pro. I didn’t feel as much like a pro. I was slightly off balance and bumpy as we raced down the arena to the far barrel. Ginger went a little wide on this barrel, but we were still on target.
Now for the last barrel. I was in her rhythm again, so my confidence rose. “Dig, Ginger, dig,” I whispered, leaning over her neck.
She flicked her ear back briefly. I felt the tremble before blastoff.
Then we were hurtling toward the last barrel. Too fast. I tried to check her, but we were already swerving steeply around the barrel. I was off balance, askew in my stirrups. Ginger was sliding. Too far. We were falling. In slow motion, we were crashing into the barrel. Grandma’s sad gray eyes flashed before me. “You can do it,” she was saying.
“I’m sorry, Grandma. I thought I could beat her.”
I was falling.
“I was never too good with words,” said Grandma. “But you are.”
“No, my words hurt you.”
Falling. Falling.
“It’s okay,” whispered Grandma. “I know you can write it.”
“Write what?” I muttered.
Then I hit the barrel.
When I came to, I was deep in rodeo arena dirt, and Ginger’s hot breath was in my face. But I knew what I needed to do.
A cowboy was leaning over me. “Write what?” he said.
“Did I say something?” I asked.
“You keep saying you need to write something.”
I rolled to my feet. “That’s right. I do need to write it.”
“You all right?” he asked.
“I’m just fine.”
I started by interviewing Grandma’s seven sons. They each gave me a different view of Grandma’s life.
“Mom was the only widow I knew who could get seven kids ready for church and still be five minutes early,” said Uncle Orvil.
“Mom would feed every hobo who’d come along the tracks,” said Uncle Russ. “I was scared of them and would hide behind her skirts. But she wasn’t scared. She’d just put them to work chopping wood.”
“I remember Mom telling me that she wanted to be Annie Oakley when she was little,” said Uncle Rolfe, “so she took her stick horse and ran away. She was gone for most of the day. Half the county was looking for her. They finally found her fast asleep in a pasture full of unbroken mustangs.”
“Long before anyone had heard of family home evening, Mom had what she called family time once a week,” said Uncle Matt. “There was no getting around it. We had to be there.”
None of my uncles knew much about the chestnut horse or the rodeo saddle.
“Mom kept pretty silent on some things,” said Sid, my oldest uncle. “All I know is that she didn’t have that horse very long.”
He motioned to several boxes of scrapbooks and letters. “But you might find something there. You’re welcome to take them home with you.”
Digging through the scrapbooks, I finally found a small picture of Grandma on her chestnut horse. “Me and Flash, 1930” was scrawled on the back. I was surprised how much Grandma looked like me sitting on that horse. Straight brown hair and freckles.
When my great-uncle Al came to town, I asked him, “Do you know any other stories about Grandma besides the ones you told at the funeral?”
“Oh, I’m chock-full of tales about my sister,” he said. “I remember her first date with your Grandpa.”
Date? It had never occurred to me that someone would actually remember Grandma going on a date.
“To be honest, I remember her second date better. It was almost the last. Her first date was kind of normal. She came home with this goofy smile on her face and walked past me like I didn’t exist. But on her second date, she came home scratching like a hen in the barnyard. I thought she must have fleas. She kept yelling, ‘I can’t stand it,’ all the while yanking at her clothes and peeling down her socks. Come to find out, Harry’s old Plymouth also served as a truck. He’d forgotten to take the chicken feed sacks out in time for his date. Harry and Annie got covered with chicken mites. They were scratching like a couple of dogs all night and didn’t dare say a word to each other. Luckily, chicken mites would rather be on chickens than people, so Annie got over it quick. But it took a few weeks for her and Harry to get back together.”
Uncle Al and my dad were laughing so hard tears were running down their cheeks. Suddenly I remembered the words from the funeral. “Whoever does Annie’s life story is in for a few laughs.”
Uncle Al knew a little more about her chestnut horse. “Oh, yes, how she loved that little mare. Annie’s dream was to become a trick rider and ride in rodeos and wild west shows.”
“A trick rider?”
“Yep, she got pretty good at it too, considering she didn’t have that horse very long. I did watch her fall a few times in the pasture.”
“Did she barrel race too?”
“Oh, no, that was before the days of barrel racing,” he said. “But she did enter some sort of horsemanship event at the rodeo. Maybe you’ve heard about the saddle she won?”
I nodded.
Uncle Al shook his head. “It’s too bad about that saddle. I don’t think she ever got to use it.”
“She didn’t?” I said.
“Nope. She sold Flash right after that.”
“Why?”
“Oh, I have my suspicions. But the person who might know is my brother Bill.”
I hugged my notebook as I entered the rest home. Uncle Bill, Grandma’s next oldest brother, always made me a little nervous. He tended to get confused when he talked. But today he seemed sharp.
“Why did Annie sell her horse?” he repeated, leaning forward in his wheelchair. “Well, the Depression was coming on. I told her it didn’t matter; I could earn the money myself. But she had already made up her mind. Maybe you know how bullheaded she could be. She wanted to do her part for my mission. She said she couldn’t stand watching Flash eat hay in the barn while I might be hungry in England.”
“And she sold her new rodeo saddle too?” I said.
“Well, I don’t recollect that she did,” replied Uncle Bill, scratching the top of his head. “I think she kept that saddle a long time, hoping to buy another horse so she could be a trick rider. Then later on she hoped to have a daughter to give it to. To be honest, I don’t know what happened to that saddle.”
I had almost completed Grandma’s history by the time I found out what happened to her prize saddle. I ran across a letter from Bishop Jensen in the box of papers Uncle Sid had given me.
“Dear Annie: I know how you like your gifts to be anonymous. But I just wanted to tell you how thrilled the Hansens are with your saddle. They were afraid of paralysis after the accident, but now their little Marie seems determined to put that saddle on a horse. I knew you wanted your saddle to go to a girl who loves horses, and there’s no doubt Marie loves horses.”
I finished Grandma’s history and made copies for my family. Everyone was thrilled, including Bishop Jensen, who turned 100 years old the day I gave him his copy.
By the way, I never did beat that sassy blonde from Glenville in the barrels. She got married that summer and moved away. But the next year, I shortened my stirrups a notch like Grandma said and won second place. First place went to Rebecca Williams, who happened to be “little” Marie Hansen’s daughter.
Grandma’s saddle deserved to win first.

Many lives have been blessed by the success of the Philippines Area’s “I Will Go, I Will Serve: 4600” initiative. Aside from the inspired vision of the Area Presidency, the support of the local priesthood leaders and the efforts of youth leaders, the miraculous success of the campaign was also boosted by the catchy theme song performed by Loredel “Daday” Ducena-Baluyot.
Composing the popular anthem with her husband Justin was a labor of love. After the first Area Presidency fireside premiered on Facebook on May 16, 2021, Daday and Justin felt the spirit and were inspired to write the song. After a few weeks, they presented the song to the Church area production team and offered its use to help sustain the momentum of the campaign. The song was reviewed and approved, and by July they were recording it with some help from Brio Divinagracia on the arrangement and background vocals. The song was officially launched during the follow-up Area Presidency fireside on November 21, 2021.
Aside from the 2021 youth theme song “A Great Work,” Daday’s “I Will Go, I Will Serve,” became popular after being part of youth, YSA, and FSY conferences all over the country. It was also listened to and sung along with the 2022 youth theme song “Trust in the Lord.” Recently, the couple rewrote the song as part of the November 20, 2022 Area Presidency fireside launching a heightened and more comprehensive “Come Unto Christ: I Will Go, I Will Serve” initiative.
“We were so honored when the Area Presidency requested that we rework the song so it can still be part of the relaunched campaign,” shares self-taught musician Justin. “He immediately took a leave from work and we spent an entire weekend brainstorming and working together on the song,” discloses Daday.
April 2020 MTC batchmates, the couple drew from their mission experiences when they first wrote the song. Justin served under the Philippines Bacolod Mission while Daday labored in the Philippines Urdaneta Mission. Upon returning from her mission, Daday was tapped to represent the country in the 2021 Youth Music Festival and eventually became a host of the monthly online program “Hear Him through Music.” They got reacquainted when Justin arrived home from his mission, and the whirlwind romance led to their wedding at the Manila Temple on February 3, 2022.
On working on the song again, they expressed gratitude for the emphasis placed on the temple because it is their favorite place. “As a young couple facing many of life’s challenges, the temple is our safe haven where we receive strength and guidance,” says Justin. “I agree,” adds Daday. “We live far from the temple, but we are always excited to go there and feel the Spirit of the Lord.”
With their love for each other strengthened by their love for music, missionary work, the temple, and the Lord, the Daday and Justin consider themselves very lucky to have found each other along their journey on the covenant path.

Often the real value of something is not recognized until it is taken from us. To illustrate, consider a man who had lost the use of the priesthood through transgression. Later it was returned to him as part of the restoration of ordinances he obtained through full repentance. After the restoration, I turned to his wife and said, “Would you like a blessing?” She enthusiastically responded. Then I looked at the husband, now capable of using his priesthood, and said, “Would you like to give your wife a blessing?” Words cannot express the profound emotion of such an experience and the bonds of love, trust, and gratitude it created. You shouldn’t have to lose your priesthood to appreciate it more fully.

Both of my parents learned English when they were in college, and they wanted to raise my siblings and me to speak English in the home. We learned by reading the Book of Mormon in English. At first we’d just read the Book of Mormon and be done, but my mom said she wanted us to read to understand. She told us to pick a verse that stood out to us and explain how it applied to us. This helped me to be confident in speaking and expressing my thoughts in English.
I’m grateful that my parents helped us understand the importance of learning and that they used the Book of Mormon to teach us the gospel and as the number one tool for teaching us English. It was a resource we all had access to, and it helped prepare us to read other materials in English. I know that I’m able to speak English better now because of our family Book of Mormon study. Knowing another language has helped prepare me for school, a mission, and jobs that require English-speaking skills.
Louena H., Tonga

One of the lessons all the boys were taught in Primary in those days was about Creed Haymond, a young Latter-day Saint who was captain of the University of Pennsylvania track team. The night before a championship meet, his coach had told him to drink a glass of wine to avoid becoming “stale” from overtraining. Brother Haymond refused. He had long ago promised his mother that he would never disobey the Word of Wisdom. The coach insisted, but Creed Haymond stood firm. The rest of the team drank the wine and became violently ill, but Creed went on to win three events, setting a new world record in one of them.

Marci’s Relief Society experience was positive from day one. Any doubts she had about leaving the secure nest of her Laurel class flew when, on her first day in Relief Society, she was spotlighted. Relief Society President Liz Douglas had contacted Marci’s mother and found out all sorts of fun, interesting things about her. Sister Douglas then presented a rose to Marci and presented Marci to the rest of the sisters in Relief Society. Everyone there welcomed Marci with open arms, and she immediately felt the strong bonds of sisterhood.

When I was at my friend’s house, she asked me if I wanted some coffee. I wanted some because some of my other friends said that it was good. I thought for a minute and asked myself if Jesus would do it. Suddenly I felt the Holy Ghost comforting me. I told my friend, “No, thank you.” She said, “Are you sure? It’s really good.” Again, I said, “No, thank you.” I was grateful that the Holy Ghost was there to comfort me. I was also grateful that I could tell my friend no.

I recall so well a young man of great faith and devotion. He was my friend and my mentor during a sensitive period of my life. The manner of his living and the enthusiasm of his service were evidence of his love for the Lord and for the work of the Church. But he was slowly led away by the flattery of associates who saw in him the means of their own advancement in the affairs in which they were engaged together. Rather than lead them in the direction of his own faith and behavior, he slowly succumbed to their enticings in the opposite direction.

He never spoke in defiance of the faith he had lived by. That was not necessary. His altered manner was testimony enough of his having forsaken it. The years passed, and then I met him again. He spoke as one disillusioned. With lowered voice and lowered eyes, he told of his drifting when he cut himself loose from the anchor of his once-treasured faith. Then, concluding his narrative, like Peter, he wept.