Gospel Story Finder

I know of a couple who lived thousands of miles from the nearest temple. Although they earned little, they faithfully paid their tithing and saved all that they could to journey to the house of the Lord. After a year, the husband’s brother—not a member of the Church—unexpectedly came forward and offered them two airplane tickets. This temporal blessing made possible the spiritual blessings of their temple endowments and sealing. An additional spiritual blessing came later as the brother, touched by the couple’s humble faithfulness, joined the Church.

It started in the late 1970s and early 1980s when I moved from Eleuthera, Bahamas to the capital of New Providence to live with my mother’s brother and his family.
We lived in a neighborhood called Mount Vernon and it was there that I met Marge and Larry McCombs and their two children, Mark, and Dienna. Our two families struck up an immediate friendship and we were soon invited to Church. Never mind the fact that my family was generations deep in the Seventh-day Adventist belief and I was attending a school they sponsored.
The moment I entered the rental home on West Bay Street that doubled as the meetinghouse and home for the missionaries, I felt the Spirit for the first time in my life and I was converted.
When my family saw how involved I was becoming in the Church they insisted that I stop attending. To honor my parents, exactly as The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints was teaching me, I decided to continue my attendance with my family at the Seventh Day Adventist church on Saturday, and then also attend church on Sunday with the McCombs family. This worked for a little while but when I was about 14, my family put an end to my Sunday attendance. The Spirit was burning strong in my heart, and I was thankful for the McCombs, Church leaders and fellow students that continued to invite me to a seminary class.
After I turned 18 years old, I asked Larry to baptize me. I was baptized in their pool after a Sunday evening seminary class. Anton Ferrier, who was the branch president at the time, conferred the gift of the Holy Ghost upon me. It was a perfect day for the completion of the long-awaited blessing of baptism.
I then went on to attend Brigham Young University-Hawaii, without the support of my family. I did not hear from them for the next few years but as I reached out to them, forgiveness blossomed. My father sent money to help me complete my schooling towards a bachelor’s degree in social work and I continued to be blessed as I chose to serve in the Texas Corpus Christi Mission, Spanish speaking.
I have never regretted my decision in 37 years. I know this gospel to be true and it has continuously blessed my life. I notice the Lord’s hand in my life through people like the McComb family and others, and hope that my light of the gospel is bright enough to encourage others to feel the Savior’s love. I encourage you to look for those who share His love and then listen for the Spirit and trust your feelings, because this is where true joy can be found.

A youngster was assigned by his father to move a large rock. The boy tugged and pushed, and he lifted and struggled unsuccessfully. Some friends were enlisted, but even together they could not move it. Reluctantly he reported to his father that he could not budge the rock.
“Have you done all that you could?” asked the father.
“Yes,” said the boy. “I’ve tried everything.”
“No, Son, you haven’t,” said his dad. “You haven’t asked me.”
Why do so many of us, “heirs of God, and joint heirs with Christ” (Rom. 8:17), fail to go to Him, to keep in touch with our Father? He is anxious to help, but He wants us to learn our need for Him, to open the door to Him.
The prophet Isaiah said, “And therefore will the Lord wait, that he may be gracious unto you, and therefore will he be exalted, that he may have mercy upon you” (Isa. 30:18).

Not long after I was called to be the general Young Women president, I received a letter from a young woman from Nairobi, Kenya, in East Africa. Sylvia, who was fifteen at the time, told me her father had been killed in a road accident. She said:
“When he died, I felt a part of me had been killed also. All this has made me a different person. Someone I don’t like. It has affected my studies and my spiritual nature. My grades are dropping. I hate school. There are times I forget to pray. I am losing my trust in God. All the love, warmth, and security I used to feel is all gone from me.
“Sister Hales, please help me. I feel if I don’t do something or get some help, I am going to destroy myself.”
I felt an urgency in Sylvia’s plea for help, but I was thousands of miles away. Carefully I wrote a letter, hoping my words of faith would help her regain trust in our Heavenly Father. Then I suggested: “Read the scriptures each day. After reading the scriptures each day, please write and tell me if it helps the way you are feeling.”
Weeks later Sylvia said: “I had stopped reading the scriptures; and when I read them, it was like I couldn’t understand and I would put them away. You have given me that desire to … search more diligently the scriptures. I am discovering very precious, spiritual nourishment. Thank you for that suggestion.”
Sylvia received help when she felt desperate and alone, but she also found the scriptures could help her improve her life. She later said: “I have decided to work hard to be a better person. I have to overcome some of my bad traits and replace them with good ones and to withstand people who want to tear me down and tear down my faith, especially in school. I am the only LDS member in our school.”
As Sylvia’s commitment to read the scriptures continued, she realized that Heavenly Father would help guide her in making decisions.
Later she said: “I have become busy, but I have not forgotten my scriptures. I desire to have the faith like the Brother of Jared or Nephi which enabled them to know the Lord’s will for them. I am planning to meditate on ways to strengthen my faith. I turned sixteen.”
As months passed, Sylvia’s understanding of the scriptures grew deeper, and she expressed a desire to help others. She said: “I love going to church, and the most exciting part is when I get to help with the Primary children. I love hearing them sing and read and saying what they feel.”
As Sylvia started to help others, she started to better understand our Savior. She told of reading about Christ’s final ministry on the earth, the Crucifixion, the Resurrection. She came to understand more clearly Christ’s mission on earth and his great love for us.
Sylvia continued to face challenges and peer pressure, but she had found a permanent source of help in the scriptures. When she got word that my mother had passed away, she wrote to encourage me and strengthen my faith.
The resource suggested for her three years ago, reading the scriptures, was much greater help than I could have given. Scripture reading did help her with her immediate crisis, but the scriptures have become a permanent resource to her—a resource that will always be with her. She has learned that our Heavenly Father will not fail her.

Here are our four older children posing for a picture during family home evening. Our favorite game was the sock-roll race. Each one was given a roll of stockings like this... Joyce and I and the children got on the floor in a line. The object was to push the roll using only your nose to the finish line on the other side of the room. One of my kids wrote recently that, "I suppose I loved this activity because we were all on the floor together. The big people were little people with us." There was lots of teasing and laughing. After a few races, it usually broke down into a tickling frenzy. I guess it was then I remembered my father's words, "You may never be closer to heaven than on the floor playing with your children at home."

I was feeling down one day at Young Women camp, so I decided to sit in the wooded arena where we gathered for skits. I sat there for about 10 minutes when I had the sudden thought to leave and go back to my cabin. At first, I ignored the idea and just remained where I was. The longer I sat, the more uneasy I felt, and the stronger the urge to go became.
Finally, I obeyed the prompting. I walked back up to my cabin and hung out with a few of my friends and some of the cabin leaders. Not more than 10 minutes later, everyone was forced to enter the cabins because there was a grizzly bear in the area. We found out later that the bear was spotted in the same place I’d been sitting moments earlier. I was so relieved that I had been prompted to move and that I had obeyed the prompting. I knew the Lord was watching over me. Then and there I could feel the love that God has for me. I knew that He knew me, and that was such a relief, especially since I had been feeling so sad earlier.

Would you be a little nervous if you were called to be a home teacher to the prophet and his family? This is just what happened to William Cahoon, a young man who lived in Kirtland; and he was, in fact, a bit anxious about this responsibility.
“I was called and ordained to act as a teacher to visit the families of the Saints,” he said. “I got along very well till I found that I was obliged to call and pay a visit to the Prophet. Being young, … I felt my weakness in visiting the Prophet and his family in the capacity of a teacher. I almost felt like shrinking from duty. Finally I went to his door and knocked, and in a minute the Prophet came to the door. I stood there trembling, and said to him:
“‘Brother Joseph, I have come to visit you in the capacity of a teacher, if it is convenient for you.’
“He said ‘Brother William, come right in, I am glad to see you; sit down in that chair there and I will go and call my family in.’
“They soon came in and took seats. He then said, ‘Brother William, I submit myself and family into your hands,’ and then took his seat. ‘Now Brother William,’ said he ‘ask all the questions you feel like.’
“By this time all my fears and trembling had ceased, and I said, ‘Brother Joseph, are you trying to live your religion?’
“He answered ‘Yes.’
“Then I said, ‘Do you pray in your family?’
“He said, ‘Yes.’
“‘Do you teach your family the principles of the gospel?’
“He replied, ‘Yes, I am trying to do it.’
“‘Do you ask a blessing on your food?’
“He answered, ‘Yes.’
“‘Are you trying to live in peace and harmony with all your family?’
“He said that he was.
“I turned to Sister Emma, his wife, and said ‘Sister Emma, are you trying to live your religion? Do you teach your children to obey their parents? Do you try to teach them to pray?’
“To all these questions, she answered, ‘Yes, I am trying to do so.’
“I then turned to Joseph and said, ‘I am now through with my questions as a teacher; and now if you have any instructions to give, I shall be happy to receive them.’
“He said, ‘God bless you, Brother William; and if you are humble and faithful, you shall have power to settle all difficulties that may come before you in the capacity of a teacher.’
“I then left my parting blessing upon him and his family, as a teacher, and took my departure” (quoted in Marion G. Romney, “The Responsibilities of Home Teachers,” Ensign, Mar. 1973, 14–15).

1 Max was a little brown pony who lived all by himself in a beautiful green field. All day long he pranced and danced in the cool sweet grass. All night long he snoozed and snored under the dark, twinkling sky. “I like it here in my beautiful field,” said Max, “and I never want to leave it! Never, never, never!”
2 But one day his owner and some men came in a big truck. They said, “Come on, old fellow. It’s time for you to come with us.”
Max did not want to go with them. He tried to run away. But the men caught him and tied a rope around his neck. Poor Max! He felt terrible.
3 The men took Max to the pony ride place. They led him into a big warm barn and into a stall with his name on it. They brushed the tangles out of his coat. And they gave him lots of good food. “Nice Max,” they comforted. “You will like it here, you’ll see.”
But Max thought—“I do not like it here! I want to go back to my beautiful field!”
4 The men took Max to the pony ride ring. Some children came running. They laughed and clapped their hands when they saw him. “Oh, what a beautiful little pony!” they cried.
Max saw the other ponies trot around the ring—trot, trot, trot.
5 A man climbed onto Max’s back. “Now let’s see what you can do,” the man said.
Max showed the man what he could do all right. He could walk slower than a turtle—w-a-a-a-alk, w-a-a-a-alk, w-a-a-a-alk. He could run faster than the speed of light—gallop, gallop, gallop! And he could stop dead in his tracks without any warning—S-T-O-P!!!
The pony ride man flew through the air and landed on the ground—THUMP! “This one isn’t for us,” he said sadly. “We’ll have to return him to his former owner.”
6 Max went back to his beautiful green field. But then something astonishing happened. He wasn’t happy there any more. He missed the other ponies. He missed the men and the big warm barn. Most of all, he missed the children and all the excitement.
Max was lonely! And two big tears rolled down his nose.
7 Max ran and ran down the familiar road until he finally found the pony ride place. The men there were surprised, of course, but glad to see Max. “Welcome home,” said all the men.
“We’re so glad to see you, Max,” said all the children.
8 They called his owner and got permission for Max to try the pony ride again. This time Max showed the men what he really could do! He did not walk slower than a turtle. He did not run faster than the speed of light. He did not stop dead in his tracks without any warning.
He trotted around the pony ring—trot, trot, trot.
The children were glad to see Max back again. Max, of course, did not say anything. He just stretched out his nose for the children to pet. And he thought—“I will never say never again, for never is a long, long, long time!”

When “I Am a Child of God” was first written in English one of the lines read: “Teach me all that I must know to live with Him someday.” However, Sister Randall changed the words because of a suggestion made by President Kimball.

Several years ago, before Spencer W. Kimball became president of the Church, he was visiting a conference in California where Primary children sang this song. Later, he said to a visiting Primary general board member, “I love the children’s song, but there is one word that bothers me. Would Sister Randall mind if the word know were changed to the word do?”

The change was made, for President Kimball had pointed out a very important truth—that while it is important to know what is right, it is more important to do what is right. Only in this way can we be sure of returning someday to our heavenly home to live always with our Father, His Son Jesus Christ, and our loved ones.

Young men in Uganda start playing football as small boys, using tightly bound branches for a ball. Ever since he was very young, Dennis had a gift for the sport, and his high school gave him a scholarship to play for their team. After he completed high school, a professional team offered him pay, room, and board. It was a dream come true, but Dennis knew this would likely interfere with his plans to go on a mission later in the year.
Dennis’s desire to do what his Heavenly Father wanted him to do was so strong that he did not even want to be tempted to remain on the team when the time would arrive for him to serve a mission. Many people questioned his choice, but Dennis is certain he made the right decision—for himself and others. “My two little brothers and my little sister were just baptized,” he says. “I never thought my sister would hear the gospel. When I see God doing miracles in my family, it gives me a bright hope for my future.”

The chance to share the gospel sometimes came in unexpected ways. This happened once in Taiwan. Without any previous language training, I was struggling daily to learn Mandarin Chinese. Tracting provided the thrill of a lifetime—having someone answer the door when it was my turn to talk! How amazing it was to me those first few times that someone could actually understand some of my sounds!

Then one morning an American woman answered—totally unexpected. Her husband was in the Navy. We were caught off guard and were speechless. Finally she said, “Oh, you must be Mormon missionaries! Come on in—I used to be a Mormon.” And thus began a miracle.

Her husband wasn’t a member and she wasn’t active. A teenage son and daughter had been baptized but weren’t active at the time either. We had the privilege of switching from Mandarin to English and sharing the gospel with this great family. The father was eventually baptized, both children served missions, and now the father and mother are working in a temple. Who would have believed we would meet that wonderful American family in Tainan, Taiwan!

I was an average Latter-day Saint in high school. I was involved in sports and music and Boy Scouts. And I was quite interested in music. I played the drums in band, and my favorite kind of music at the time was punk rock. I used to practice drumming to CDs until the day came when I formed my own band with three nonmember friends.
Our band started innocently enough. Soon we became quite popular around town, which led us to believe we were the best. I soon found myself skipping Church functions to practice. Then I began ditching church on Sundays to play. During this time we got a phone call from a band we idolized. Members of that band said they saw us play, thought we were good, and offered to help us record our first CD. This sounded too good to be true. We were on our way to the top, and my commitment to the Church dwindled even more. I hardly attended, and I didn’t associate with my LDS friends anymore. I was slipping away.
As the months went on, our band grew more popular, and I quit going to church all together. I started partying all the time and hanging out with a bad crowd. I got to meet every music hero I had. I traveled throughout the United States and Canada. You could walk into any music store and find our CDs on the racks. I thought it was great! If God didn’t want me to be doing this, I rationalized, He wouldn’t have allowed the band to get so big. In the band, I didn’t have to have an outside job; all I had to do was play. We made enough money from our playing to live.
During my four years of playing with the band, I became really unhappy. I didn’t have any direction in life. I was lacking something. I hadn’t stepped inside a church for four years, and I didn’t have a clue about my beliefs anymore. I was really living a life of sin. Serving a mission was the last place I thought I would end up.
The band was on tour, finishing the last couple of shows before we went home. The moment when everything changed for me came in Portland, Oregon, on our way to a show. I was sitting in the passenger seat of our tour van. I was a little homesick, and it was a gray day, raining as it often does in Oregon. We pulled up to a stoplight, and, out of the corner of my eye, I saw two figures in trench coats standing there. There were two missionaries standing on the corner waiting to cross the street. They didn’t notice me, but they must have been sharing a joke because they were smiling and laughing even though it was a miserable day. Before I knew it, I found tears streaming down my cheeks, just like the rain running down the window of our van. These two elders had something about them—a “glow” if you want to call it that. I felt they had what I was looking for.
As I was watching them and trying to conceal my tears from the other band members, I suddenly felt something familiar. I felt the Spirit of the Lord strong within me. I knew what I had been missing. I realized I hadn’t had Heavenly Father or Jesus Christ in my life for five years! This was my wake-up call.
I was very confused about what to do. So I did something I should have done sooner. I got on my knees one night in my apartment and prayed to my Heavenly Father for help. Help came in the form of great Church leaders who worked with me through my repentance.
I quit the band, came back to the Church, and served as a second counselor in the presidency of my young single adult branch. Now at the age of 23, I’m devoting the next two years of my life to serving a mission. Those two missionaries in Portland will never know that just by being there, happy to serve their missions, they helped turn around the life of a desperate person. They didn’t speak a word to me, but their example changed me forever.
God lives and He answers prayers, sometimes on a street corner in Portland in the rain.

Twelve-year-old Louisa Bishop gently rocked her baby sister, Emma, in the old, hand-carved rocker. Their mother lay in bed, her face almost as pale as the white pillows. A deadly illness called diphtheria had struck the children of the family, killing three of Louisa’s five siblings. Exhausted from overwork and grief, Louisa’s mother also became sick. Just when it seemed that happiness would never shine on their world again, little Emma had been born. Louisa, now recovered, lovingly cared for her baby sister so their mother could rest and get well. Emma adored her big sister in return.
As the years passed, Emma and Louisa became closer and closer friends. By the time Emma was 11 years old, Louisa had married, and her husband had left to serve a mission in England. Emma was delighted to go to Louisa’s cabin each day to help out.
One day Emma paused in her sweeping and watched quietly as Louisa emptied the butter out of her sparkling glass butter dish and into a jar. “I hope she isn’t doing what I’m afraid she’s doing,” Emma thought.
Louisa stepped to the washbasin and poured in some clean water from the pitcher. Then she carefully washed the butter dish and laid it on a dish towel to dry. Turning to Emma, she handed her the jar of butter. “Now, Emma dear, I need you to take this to the bishop and pay my tithing.”
Emma folded her arms and shook her head. “I won’t do it!” she exclaimed. “You need that butter more than the bishop does.”
Louisa’s mouth drew into a stern line, but her eyes twinkled with amusement. “Emma,” she softly scolded, “tithing is a law that must be kept. If I am willing to do a big thing like letting my husband serve a mission so far away, then surely I can do a small thing like giving up some butter.”
Emma wasn’t convinced. “But it’s a big thing when you have so little.”
“Don’t worry,” Louisa told her with a smile. “I have faith that the Lord will provide.”
Emma looked closely and saw that her sister’s eyes were glistening with tears. Louisa truly believed what she was saying! Emma took the jar of butter and walked out the door without another word, though she still had doubts.
When she returned to Louisa’s cabin, Emma stopped in the doorway and stared, her mouth wide open. The butter dish was back on the table, and inside was a pound of butter! Emma’s eyes asked the question her lips could not—where had the butter come from?
Louisa smiled. “I told you the Lord would provide,” she said. She took a clean dish from the cupboard and placed the butter in it. Then she stepped again to the washbasin and filled the bowl with clean water. She washed out the beautiful glass butter dish and lid. But instead of setting them on a dish towel to drip dry, she dried them and handed both to Emma.
“I want you to have these,” she said. “And whenever you look at them, I want you to remember that the Lord will always take care of us if we keep His commandments. Remember that, Emma. Tithing comes first.” Emma’s eyes misted with tears as she accepted the butter dish.
All her life Emma remembered the lesson she had learned. Each year as her family gathered on her birthday, she told the story again. After Emma’s death, the butter dish was passed down through the family. And everyone who saw the dish heard the story of how Emma learned to always pay her tithing.

“Way to go, everyone! Great job on our presentation!” Nathan smiled as he held up their first-place ribbon. The other members of the farming club high-fived each other. “We’d better head out so we won’t get home too late,” Nathan said. He was the club president. The group had a two-hour drive ahead of them, and after leading his team to victory, Nathan was looking forward to getting home in time for Sunday.
“We talked to Mr. Wimple, and he said we could stay another night and go back tomorrow,” Rand said.
Nathan looked at Mr. Wimple, one of the group advisers. “But we’re supposed to be back before Sunday.”
Mr. Wimple shrugged. “Well, everyone seemed to want to stay, so I thought it would be OK this time. I’ll call parents for permission.”
“What’s the big deal, Nathan?” Rand asked. “We can stay and have fun tonight and go home later tomorrow.”
The other club members had gathered around to listen. They looked at Nathan to see what he would say.
“But … we were supposed to go home tonight,” Nathan said. “And I need to be back for church tomorrow.” Nathan liked going to church with his family. Plus, tomorrow he was going to pass the sacrament for the first time! He couldn’t do that if he was stuck here with the club.
“Come on, Nathan, you’re going to ruin it for all of us,” Abby complained. “There’s stuff we wanted to do tonight.”
“Well, maybe not this time,” Mr. Wimple said. “I guess we’d better head home.”
The kids all groaned as Mr. Wimple and his wife led them outside.
On the bus ride home, Nathan sat alone. The others had pushed past him and said some rude things as they headed to the back of the bus. Nathan felt hurt and sad. But he was still glad they were going home.
As Nathan walked into the chapel the next morning, he thought about what had happened yesterday. It felt good to be at church. The Holy Ghost was telling him that he was in the right place on the Sabbath. And he was excited to pass the sacrament!
On Monday, Nathan felt a little nervous going to school. The farming club was meeting early to talk about their next competition. Would they still be mad about what happened on Saturday?
“You’re late, Nathan,” Rand called out from the front of the room.
Nathan looked at the clock. Actually, he was five minutes early.
“We changed the meeting time,” Rand said. “And we changed the president. I’m the president now, and I’ll actually listen to what the rest of the club wants.”
Nathan almost dropped his bag. He couldn’t believe it! He knew the others had been angry, but he hadn’t thought they would find a new president. At least they hadn’t tried to kick him out of the club.
“I wish you’d waited for me so I could at least be part of the vote,” Nathan said as he found a chair and sat down.
“Too late,” Rand said as he turned to the other kids.
Maybe too late to make a choice on the vote, Nathan thought. But he could always choose how to act. Even though he felt sad, he felt peaceful inside too. When it came to choosing where to be on the Sabbath, Nathan knew he’d made the right choice.

Years ago on a cold night in a train station in Japan, I heard a tap on the window of my sleeper car. There stood a freezing boy wearing a ragged shirt with a dirty rag tied about a swollen jaw. His head was covered with scabies. He held a rusty tin can and a spoon, the symbol of an orphan beggar. As I struggled to open the door to give him money, the train pulled out.
I will never forget that starving little boy left standing in the cold, holding up an empty tin can. Nor can I forget how helpless I felt as the train slowly pulled away and left him standing on the platform.
Some years later in Cusco, a city high in the Andes of Peru, Elder A. Theodore Tuttle and I held a sacrament meeting in a long, narrow room that opened onto the street. It was night, and while Elder Tuttle spoke, a little boy, perhaps six years old, appeared in the doorway. He wore only a ragged shirt that went about to his knees.
On our left was a small table with a plate of bread for the sacrament. This starving street orphan saw the bread and inched slowly along the wall toward it. He was almost to the table when a woman on the aisle saw him. With a stern toss of her head, she banished him out into the night. I groaned within myself.
Later the little boy returned. He slid along the wall, glancing from the bread to me. When he was near the point where the woman would see him again, I held out my arms, and he came running to me. I held him on my lap.
Then, as something symbolic, I set him on Elder Tuttle’s chair. After the closing prayer, the hungry little boy darted out into the night.
When I returned home, I told President Spencer W. Kimball about my experience. He was deeply moved and told me, “You were holding a nation on your lap.” He said to me more than once, “That experience has far greater meaning than you have yet come to know.”
As I have visited Latin American countries nearly 100 times, I have looked for that little boy in the faces of the people. Now I do know what President Kimball meant.
I met another shivering boy on the streets of Salt Lake City. It was late on another cold winter night. We were leaving a Christmas dinner at a hotel. Down the street came six or eight noisy boys. All of them should have been at home out of the cold.
One boy had no coat. He bounced about very rapidly to stave off the chill. He disappeared down a side street, no doubt to a small, shabby apartment and a bed that did not have enough covers to keep him warm.
At night, when I pull the covers over me, I offer a prayer for those who have no warm bed to go to.
I was stationed in Osaka, Japan, when World War II closed. The city was rubble, and the streets were littered with blocks, debris, and bomb craters. Although most of the trees had been blasted away, some few of them still stood with shattered limbs and trunks and had the courage to send forth a few twigs with leaves.
A tiny girl dressed in a ragged, colored kimono was busily gathering yellow sycamore leaves into a bouquet. The little child seemed unaware of the devastation that surrounded her as she scrambled over the rubble to add new leaves to her collection. She had found the one beauty left in her world. Perhaps I should say she was the beautiful part of her world. Somehow, to think of her increases my faith. Embodied in the child was hope.
Mormon taught that “little children are alive in Christ” and need not repent.
Around the turn of the previous century, two missionaries were laboring in the mountains of the southern United States. One day, from a hilltop, they saw people gathering in a clearing far below. The missionaries did not often have many people to whom they might preach, so they made their way down to the clearing.
A little boy had drowned, and there was to be a funeral. His parents had sent for the minister to “say words” over their son. The missionaries stood back as the itinerant minister faced the grieving father and mother and began his sermon. If the parents expected to receive comfort from this man of the cloth, they would be disappointed.
He scolded them severely for not having had the little boy baptized. They had put it off because of one thing or another, and now it was too late. He told them very bluntly that their little boy had gone to hell. It was their fault. They were to blame for his endless torment.
After the sermon was over and the grave was covered, the elders approached the grieving parents. “We are servants of the Lord,” they told the mother, “and we have come with a message for you.” As the sobbing parents listened, the two elders read from the revelations and bore their testimony of the restoration of the keys for the redemption of both the living and the dead.
I have some sympathy for that preacher. He was doing the best he could with such light and knowledge as he had. But there is more that he should have been able to offer. There is the fulness of the gospel.
The elders came as comforters, as teachers, as servants of the Lord, as authorized ministers of the gospel of Jesus Christ.
These children of whom I spoke represent all of our Heavenly Father’s children. “Children are an heritage of the Lord: and … happy is the man that hath his quiver full of them.”
The creation of life is a great responsibility for a married couple. It is the challenge of mortality to be a worthy and responsible parent. Neither man nor woman can bear children alone. It was meant that children have two parents—both a father and a mother. No other pattern or process can replace this one.
Long ago a woman tearfully told me that as a college student she had made a serious mistake with her boyfriend. He had arranged for an abortion. In due time they graduated and were married and had several other children. She told me how tormented she now was to look at her family, her beautiful children, and see in her mind the place, empty now, where that one child was missing.
If this couple understands and applies the Atonement, they will know that those experiences and the pain connected with them can be erased. No pain will last forever. It is not easy, but life was never meant to be either easy or fair. Repentance and the lasting hope that forgiveness brings will always be worth the effort.
Another young couple tearfully told me they had just come from a doctor where they were told they would be unable to have children of their own. They were brokenhearted with the news. They were surprised when I told them that they were actually quite fortunate. They wondered why I would say such a thing. I told them their state was infinitely better than that of other couples who were capable of being parents but who rejected and selfishly avoided that responsibility.
I told them, “At least you want children, and that desire will weigh heavily in your favor in your earthly lives and beyond because it will provide spiritual and emotional stability. Ultimately, you will be much better off because you wanted children and could not have them, as compared to those who could but would not have children.”
Still others remain unmarried and therefore childless. Some, due to circumstances beyond their control, are raising children as single mothers or single fathers. These are temporary states. In the eternal scheme of things—not always in mortality—righteous yearning and longing will be fulfilled.
“If in this life only we have hope in Christ, we are of all men most miserable.”
The ultimate end of all activity in the Church is to see a husband and his wife and their children happy at home, protected by the principles and laws of the gospel, sealed safely in the covenants of the everlasting priesthood. Husbands and wives should understand that their first calling—from which they will never be released—is to one another and then to their children.
One of the great discoveries of parenthood is that we learn far more about what really matters from our children than we ever did from our parents. We come to recognize the truth in Isaiah’s prophecy that “a little child shall lead them.”
In Jerusalem, “Jesus called a little child unto him, and set him in the midst of them,
“And said, Verily I say unto you, Except ye be converted, and become as little children, ye shall not enter into the kingdom of heaven.
“Whosoever therefore shall humble himself as this little child, the same is greatest in the kingdom of heaven.”
“Jesus said, Suffer little children, and forbid them not, to come unto me: for of such is the kingdom of heaven.
“And he laid his hands on them, and departed thence.”
We read in the Book of Mormon of the visit of Jesus Christ to the New World. He healed and blessed the people and commanded that the little children should be brought to Him.
Mormon records, “They brought their little children and set them down upon the ground round about him, and Jesus stood in the midst; and the multitude gave way till they had all been brought unto him.”
He then commanded the people to kneel. With the children around Him, the Savior knelt and offered a prayer to our Father in Heaven. After the prayer, the Savior wept, “and he took their little children, one by one, and blessed them, and prayed unto the Father for them.
“And when he had done this he wept again.”
I can understand the feelings expressed by the Savior toward children. There is much to be learned from following His example in seeking to pray for, bless, and teach “those little ones.”
I was number 10 in a family of 11 children. So far as I know, neither my father nor my mother served in a prominent calling in the Church.
Our parents served faithfully in their most important calling—as parents. Our father led our home in righteousness, never with anger or fear. And the powerful example of our father was magnified by the tender counsel of our mother. The gospel is a powerful influence in the life of every one of us in the Packer family and to the next generation and the next generation and the next, as far as we have seen.
I hope to be judged as good a man as my father. Before I hear those words “well done” from my Heavenly Father, I hope to first hear them from my mortal father.
Many times I have puzzled over why I should be called as an Apostle and then as the President of the Quorum of the Twelve in spite of having come from a home where the father could be termed as less active. I am not the only member of the Twelve who fits that description.
Finally I could see and understand that it may have been because of that circumstance that I was called. And I could understand why in all that we do in the Church, we need to provide the way, as leaders, for parents and children to have time together as families. Priesthood leaders must be careful to make the Church family friendly.
There are many things about living the gospel of Jesus Christ that cannot be measured by that which is counted or charted in records of attendance. We busy ourselves with buildings and budgets and programs and procedures. In so doing, it is possible to overlook the very spirit of the gospel of Jesus Christ.
Too often someone comes to me and says, “President Packer, wouldn’t it be nice if … ?”
I usually stop them and say no, because I suspect that what follows will be a new activity or program that is going to add a burden of time and financial means on the family.
Family time is sacred time and should be protected and respected. We urge our members to show devotion to their families.
When we were first married, my wife and I decided that we would accept the children that would be born to us with the responsibility attending their birth and growth. In due time they have formed families of their own.
Twice in our marriage, at the time of the births of two of our little boys, we have had a doctor say, “I do not think you are going to keep this one.”
Both times this brought the response from us that we would give our lives if our tiny son could keep his. In the course of that offer, it dawned on us that this same devotion is akin to what Heavenly Father feels about each of us. What a supernal thought.
Now in the sunset of our lives, Sister Packer and I understand and witness that our families can be forever. As we obey the commandments and live the gospel fully, we will be protected and blessed. With our children and grandchildren and great-grandchildren, our prayer is that each one of our growing family will have that same devotion toward those precious little ones.
Fathers and mothers, next time you cradle a newborn child in your arms, you can have an inner vision of the mysteries and purposes of life. You will better understand why the Church is as it is and why the family is the basic organization in time and in eternity. I bear witness that the gospel of Jesus Christ is true, that the plan of redemption, which has been called the plan of happiness, is a plan for families. I pray the Lord that the families of the Church will be blessed, parents and children, that this work will roll forth as the Father intends. I bear this witness in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

One evening while serving as full-time missionaries in Nigeria, my companion and I made plans to visit some of our former investigators. We were filled with the Spirit as we walked down the street. We sang some hymns softly, and I said a prayer in my heart that the Lord would help touch the hearts of these people so they could continue investigating the Church.
Our first attempt was very discouraging, and we wanted to quit. But we summoned our courage and stopped at the home of a family who had been investigating the Church. Unfortunately, nobody was at the house. A neighbor told us that the family was away traveling, and no one knew how long they would be gone. All we could do was stick a note on their door, telling them how much we loved and cared for their family.
A few days later we stopped by the house again and found our note still stuck to the door. We put up another and went on our way. Some days later we found our notes were still there, so we put up another, making three in all. Over the next few weeks we passed the house frequently. We left no more notes, but we prayed for the family.
Some weeks later, to our astonishment, this family attended church. They told us how they wept for joy when they saw our notes at the very time they needed them most. They said our little notes are among their most cherished possessions.
From that experience I learned that with one success, a thousand failures are forgotten and that hearts can be changed by our acts of love and kindness.

My wife’s father, Leslie James Anderson, grew up in the small town of Manti, Utah. In 1919 when Les was only 14 years old, Sanpete County built a road up Manti Canyon using what was then a common method of detonating black blasting powder to remove difficult rocks and sharp canyon walls that could not be subdued any other way. Late that summer, Les, his cousin and best friend, Lyle Anderson, and two other friends decided to go up that new canyon road to fish and camp overnight at the Corduroy Reservoir. These young, adventuresome boys loaded their camping gear in a one-horse buggy and started up the canyon as a foursome, without any adult supervisors.

As you can imagine, these boys were about as happy as Tom Sawyer to be on an overnighter on their own. I can imagine them now, cheerfully and playfully making their way up the canyon road, anticipating all the fun and adventure that awaited them. On the way, the boys found along the side of the road a supply of the explosive black powder that had been left behind by the road builders. Les and his cousin, Lyle, were intrigued and excited by this discovery and instantly imagined the fun they could have with the powder that night around the campfire. They eagerly filled their pockets and a hat with as much black powder as they could hold.

Later on that afternoon when they arrived at the camp, they turned their horse loose to return home to Manti, knowing the horse would be needed at home and that on their return they could pull the little buggy down hill by themselves. After pitching their camp and building a campfire, the boys thought they’d have some fun. At about 9 o’clock that evening, Les and Lyle started throwing some of the black powder into the fire and watching it explode with a bang. But with one of these explosions, a spark landed in the hat filled with powder and ignited it. It exploded and then ignited the powder in their pockets. In an instant, the air was filled with piercing screams, and the boys’ clothing was a mass of flames. The two boys in the tent rushed out to help Les and Lyle, but they couldn’t put out the flames until the clothing was almost entirely burned off, and Les and Lyle were covered with deep burns. The other boys wrapped quilts around Les and Lyle and placed them as gently as possible in the buggy and then started pulling the buggy down the canyon in the dark.

All the way down the canyon, the two badly burnt boys kept calling for water. In fact, at one point Les could hear water running in the creek close to the road. The buggy was going quite slowly at that moment, so Les rolled himself out of the buggy and into the water. Les said later that he thought this saved his life as the cool water eased the pain of his burns.

Les’ cousin and best friend, Lyle, was not as fortunate; he stayed in the buggy near death as they returned down the rocky road to Manti, finally arriving home at about 11:00 p.m. Despite a constant vigil of medical attention throughout the night, the next morning Lyle died.

It took Les two years to recuperate, including one full year of missed school. When I met him at age fifty-three, although his face was scar-free, he still had deep scars from his feet all the way up his back and along his arms. Thanks to the fasting and prayers of the good people of Manti and his own sheer will, he healed well enough to embrace the responsibilities of adulthood and live a full life. He served his country in World War II as a Bombardment Squadron Commander in Italy, rising to the rank of colonel in the Army Air Corps. He returned safely after the war, was eventually elected Mayor of Manti, and served faithfully in the Manti South Ward bishopric. The fruit of his faithfulness is manifest today in a large and faithful posterity.

Anna sat quietly in her Primary class. She looked at the picture of Jesus that Sister Albo held.
“Does anyone know what a testimony is?” Sister Albo asked.
Anna raised her hand. “Is it saying that we know the Church is true?”
“That’s part of it.” Sister Albo smiled. “When we share our testimony, we share what we know or believe is true about Jesus Christ and the Church. What do you know is true, Anna?”
Anna thought about it. “I know that Jesus loves me!”
“Yes, He does. You have a testimony that Jesus loves you.”
After church, Mommy asked, “What did you learn in Primary today, Anna?”
“I learned what a testimony is. When can I share my testimony?”
“Any time you want!” Daddy said. “We can have our own testimony meeting in home evening.”
Anna liked that idea. “We can even dress in our Sunday clothes!”
When it was time for home evening, Anna put on her favorite dress.
“Welcome to our family testimony meeting,” Daddy said.
Anna’s brother, Ethan, went first. “I know the gospel is true. I know that Joseph Smith was a prophet. I know that Russell M. Nelson is our prophet today. I know that Jesus Christ lives.”
Then it was Anna’s turn. She stood up. “I love Jesus very much. I know He loves me. He cares about me and makes me happy. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.” Her heart felt warm.
Mommy gave her a hug. “Thank you, Anna. I could feel how much you love Jesus.”
Anna smiled. “Sharing my testimony makes me happy.”

My father was a great teacher. He was a chemist. He even kept a blackboard in our basement for his children. He was eager to teach me mathematics. He spent hours trying to help me solve problems for my physics classes. He pled with me to think more often about those things that then seemed so uninteresting and unimportant. Years later I was called by the Lord to the Presiding Bishopric of the Church and given responsibilities for computing and communications systems. What a blessing I might have had if I had followed with my father the counsel I am giving to you now.

One of these challenges came when I chose to pay an honest tithe when I was away from home. Every year my dad would take us to tithing settlement. He would help us calculate our tithing, and we would pay it. All during the time I was growing up, I developed this habit of paying tithing. If you had asked me at the time, I would have told you that I had a testimony of tithing.

When I finished high school, I had been admitted to Harvard University, so I worked that summer and earned money to pay for the expenses that weren’t covered by my scholarship. By the end of the first semester, I had foolishly spent all the money that I had earned to get me through the whole year.

At the start of the second semester, I got a job. I couldn’t work very much because I was a full-time student, but I worked a few hours a week and received my first paycheck. Of course, it wasn’t very much, but it was all I had to get by until the next paycheck.

Then the question arose in my mind, “What about tithing?” I had been in the habit of paying my tithing but had always had sufficient money to pay the tithing. Here I was faced with the challenge: do I pay my tithing when I don’t know if I’ve got enough money to get through the next two weeks?

As I thought about it, I remembered the scripture in Malachi 3:10, where the Lord promises, “Prove me now herewith, saith the Lord of hosts, if I will not open you the windows of heaven, and pour you out a blessing, that there shall not be room enough to receive it.”

So I realized that was my answer. I would leave it up to the Lord. I paid my tithing, not sure if I had enough money to carry me until the next paycheck. And a miracle happened. I made it through that two weeks.

It came to me so powerfully that the Lord keeps His word. The Lord came through the way He promised. Just as the scriptures say, if we pay our tithing, He will bless us. That same miracle happened every two weeks throughout the rest of the semester. Before, I had thought I had a testimony of tithing, but now, because of my correct decision, I had a powerful testimony of tithing. The Lord always does what He says, so my testimony continued to grow step-by-step.