Gospel Story Finder

In the comic strip Peanuts, Charlie Brown told Lucy about his New Year’s resolutions. He said, “You’re going to be proud of me, Lucy. … I’ve decided that this next year is going to be my year of decision! This is a list of things in my life that I’m going to correct. … I’m going to be a better person!”

Lucy’s reply was, “Not me. … I’m going to spend this whole year regretting the past. … It’s the only way, Charlie Brown. … I’m going to cry over spilt milk, and sigh over lost loves. … It’s a lot easier. … It’s too hard to improve. … I tried it once. … It drove me crazy. … ‘Forget the future’ is my motto. … Regret the past! Oh, how I regret the past! Why did I do this? Why did I do that? Why? I regret it all! Oh, what regrets! What remorse! What anguish! What …” Charlie Brown sighs and throws away his resolutions. (Ellipses in the original.)

My family had a similar experience. My two faithful brothers, wonderful sister, and I were raised by exemplary parents. We were taught the gospel in our home, we successfully made it to adulthood, and all four of us were sealed in the temple to our spouses. However, in 1994 our sister, Susan, became disenchanted with the Church and some of its teachings. She was persuaded by those who mocked and criticized the early leaders of the Church. She allowed her faith in living prophets and apostles to diminish. Over time, her doubts overcame her faith, and she chose to leave the Church. Susan has given me permission to share her story with the hope that it might help others.
My brothers and I and our widowed mother were devastated. We couldn’t imagine what possibly could have led her to abandon her faith. My sister’s choices seemed to be breaking our mother’s heart.
My brothers and I had served as bishops and quorum presidents, and we had experienced the joy of success with ward and quorum members as we left the ninety and nine and went after the one. However, with our sister, our persistent efforts to rescue her and to invite her back only pushed her further and further away.
As we sought heavenly guidance as to how we might properly respond to her, it became evident that we had to follow the example of the father in the parable of the prodigal son. Susan had made her choice, and we had to figuratively let her go—but not without her knowing and feeling our sincere love for her. And so, with renewed love and kindness, we watched and we waited.
My mother never stopped loving and caring for Susan. Every time my mother attended the temple, she placed Susan’s name on the prayer roll and never lost hope. My older brother and his wife, who lived closest to Susan in California, invited her to all family events. They prepared dinner in their home each year on Susan’s birthday. They made sure they were always in touch with her and that she knew of their genuine love for her.
My younger brother and his wife reached out to Susan’s children in Utah and cared for them and loved them. They made sure that her children were always invited to family gatherings, and when it came time for Susan’s granddaughter to be baptized, my brother was there to perform the ordinance. Susan also had loving home teachers and visiting teachers who never gave up.
As our children went on missions and were married, Susan was invited to and attended these family celebrations. We tried diligently to create family events so that Susan and her children could be with us and they would know that we loved them and that they were part of our family. As Susan received an advanced degree at a California university, we were all there to support her at her graduation. Although we could not embrace all of her choices, we could certainly embrace her. We loved, we watched, and we waited.
In 2006, after 12 years had passed since Susan left the Church, our daughter Katy moved with her husband to California so he could attend law school. They were in the same city as Susan. This young couple looked to their aunt Susan for help and support, and they loved her. Susan helped care for our two-year-old granddaughter, Lucy, and Susan found herself helping Lucy with her nightly prayers. Katy called me one day and asked if I thought Susan would ever come back to the Church. I assured her that I felt she would and that we needed to continue to be patient. As another three years passed, with continued love, we watched and we waited.
Six years ago this weekend, my wife, Marcia, and I were sitting on the front row of this Conference Center. I was to be sustained as a new General Authority that day. Marcia, who is always in touch with the Spirit, had written a note to me that read, “I think it is time for Susan to come back.” My daughter Katy suggested that I leave and call Susan to invite her to watch general conference that day.

Prompted by these two great women, I walked to the foyer and called my sister. I got her voice mail and simply invited her to watch that session of general conference. She got the message. To our delight, she felt impressed to watch all the sessions of conference. She heard from prophets and apostles she had loved in earlier years. She found new names she had not heard before, such as President Uchtdorf and Elders Bednar, Cook, Christofferson, and Andersen. During this and other unique heaven-sent experiences, my sister—like the prodigal son—came to herself (see Luke 15:17). The words of prophets and apostles and the love of her family moved her to turn and begin the walk back home. After 15 years our daughter and sister who was lost had been found. The watch and the wait were over.
Susan describes this experience just as Lehi described it in the Book of Mormon. She let go of the iron rod and found herself in a mist of darkness (see 1 Nephi 8:23). She states that she did not know she was lost until her faith was reawakened by the Light of Christ, which brightly magnified the stark contrast between what she was experiencing in the world and what the Lord and her family were offering.
A miracle has occurred over the past six years. Susan has a renewed testimony of the Book of Mormon. She has received her temple recommend. She has served as an ordinance worker in the temple, and she currently teaches the Gospel Doctrine class in her ward. The windows of heaven have opened to her children and her grandchildren, and although there have been difficult consequences, it feels as if she never left.

Frédéric, a research biologist from Sandy, Utah, was born in France but his roots are in India. In 1854 his great-great-grandfather, Arokium (he had no last name and his name has become the family surname), left his village of Thanjavur in Tamil Nadu and sailed from Chennai with his parents to Mauritius. His father was an indentured servant contracted to work in the sugar cane fields there.

After the death of his own father two years ago, Frédéric began to wonder about his family history. “We could trace all our family in Mauritius, but the connection to India was lost,” he explained. “I was curious about this great-great-grandfather Arokium, whose first name became my last name, so I asked my aunt for his picture. I had tears in my eyes when I saw it. I took a copy to the National Archives [in Mauritius] to find out where he came from.” That is where Arokium’s quest began.

More than 150 years after his ancestors left, Frédéric returned to India to find out more about them. “Being in Chennai,” he said, “is very emotional for me. This is where all my ancestors boarded ships at different times to come over to a strange land. I believe that it was heart-rending to leave, but they kept moving forward with hope in their hearts. They have sacrificed a lot for us to be where we are today.”

He added, “It is important to know their story to better appreciate my life now and understand the amazing legacy they left to me: courage, hope, hard work, hospitality, strong family values and faith in God.”

Frédéric wants to help others find their Indian roots. For this reason, he has created the Indian Diaspora Genealogy Group on Facebook.

His message to Saints in India is to get a temple recommend; start talking to family members and gather names, old photos and stories; get in touch with a family history consultant; download the FamilySearch app and create an account; enter your ancestors’ names and get their temple work done.

After the fireside in Chennai, Frédéric talked excitedly with a young woman from the audience. It appears that they have ancestors from the same village in Tamil Nadu. Perhaps her research can help him find another generation of family. They exchanged contact information.

“This is a labor of love,” Frédéric said. “After all they have done for me, this is the least I can do for them.”

There were two young boys returning home late one afternoon. It was getting dark, and they should have been home earlier. Knowing they were in trouble, they decided to save a little time and take the shortest way by going through a pasture. The boys were well aware they should not go into the pasture. The property was posted with “no trespassing” signs because of the presence of a large, mean bull. It was getting dark, and since the bull was in an area of the pasture where he couldn’t see the boys, they decided to attempt the shorter way. After they had crawled under the fence, and were about halfway across the pasture—at the point of no return—the bull spotted them and charged in their direction. The boys began running, but one of the stopped and said, “Wait, let’s kneel down and pray for help.” The other boy said, “If you want to stop and kneel down and pray, you do it, but I’m going to run and pray.”
Whether it is talents you desire to develop or gospel standards you want to live, I believe you have to develop this kind of faith in order to be successful. It’s something more than just saying you have faith. You have to work for it. You have to live for it. You have to do all you can, as the little boy did when the bull was after him. He ran as hard as he could. You have to be worthy of it and then develop that eye of faith. It has to be firmly planted in your mind. You must know what you want to do, and how you will do it.

There are others among us who search for light in their lives. One such young man had broken many of the laws of the land and had been punished by a prison sentence. He even escaped from prison, only to be caught and reincarcerated a short time later. His was truly a life of darkness and misery, but through the constant efforts of a caring bishop, this young man decided to change his ways and return to Christ. With a meek and lowly heart he began to repent, and the Spirit of the Holy Ghost touched his heart.
As he prepared to leave prison after serving his term, there to greet him at the gate were his bishop, who had worked with him all those years, and he brought with him his father, mother, brothers, and sisters, who received him with open arms and great rejoicing. What a deep appreciation this young man had for his bishop and his family, who had stood by him even though he had caused them much embarrassment and many sleepless nights with his wayward activities. But their faith never wavered, and indeed a miracle was wrought. Today, this young man serves as the elders quorum president of his ward.

My mother’s name is Tatiafogaega Tausagafou Brown-Fuimaono.
When she was young, Tatia lived in a small faleo’o (house) with her family in Matautu Lefaga, Samoa. Her father, Palauni Brown, was a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, but he had not been active in the Church for a while. Tatia remembers that her dad would still encourage his wife and five children (at the time) to attend his church, even though he didn’t.
Tatia’s mother was a devout member of the Congregational Christian Church of Samoa. When missionaries from her husband’s church would visit their home, she never wanted to have a proper conversation with them, but she did accept their challenge to read the Book of Mormon. This book intrigued her, and before long—even though she still refused to take the missionary lessons—Tatia’s mother was reading from the Book of Mormon daily.
One day, her mother instructed Tatia to collect large, flat stones to hold down the edges of their mosquito nets. Tatia obediently headed out the front of their house, but before she could pick up one stone, she mysteriously collapsed.
Her mother rushed out to her, and then screamed. Tatia was already cold and pale and wasn’t breathing. The very next thought that came to her mother’s mind was to call for the elders, the missionaries from her husband’s church.
By the time the elders arrived, Tatia has been unresponsive for several minutes. The missionaries immediately gave her a blessing of healing, and as she began to wake up, Tatia remembers hearing one elder’s voice saying, “Mother, do not worry. She will be well. Heavenly Father has work for her to do. You and your children will also be blessed because of your faith.”
From that day forward, Tatia’s mother would testify that this event—the miraculous healing of her child—confirmed to her the truthfulness of the Book of Mormon, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, and indeed, the priesthood of God. She was baptised in 1959 and spent the rest of her life dedicated to the Lord’s work, especially the gathering of Israel on both sides of the veil.
Before she passed away in 2019—at the age of 90—Tatia’s mother was blessed to witness the elder’s prophecy come true. She would eventually have nine children and they all became strong, active members of the Church, with six of them serving missions of their own. They in turn are raising their own children in the gospel of Jesus Christ, and another generation of Latter-day Saints can thank a faithful grandmother for giving the Book of Mormon a chance.

Growing up with parents who are deaf, I was keenly aware that my family was different. When I was young, there was no one to interpret for my parents at Church meetings or activities, so we didn’t attend often.
I always felt like an outsider looking in, wanting what others in my ward had—a family who prayed and studied together.
Near the end of my senior year in high school, however, we became more active in the Church. My parents were sealed in the Mesa Arizona Temple, and two of my four siblings and I were sealed to them.
Five years later, I was preparing to be endowed and married in the temple. The night before my temple sealing, my brother and his wife attended the temple to perform proxy work for my mother’s parents in preparation for their sealing the next day. My mother was a convert of almost 20 years at the time, and she was eager to begin her family’s history and temple work.
The next day, our grandparents were sealed to each other, my brother and his wife again standing as proxy. It was my wedding day, yes, but it held extra significance for me. My grandparents, whom I had never met, were sharing this special day with me.
A few days later, as my husband and I opened wedding gifts, we opened one very special gift from my grandmother’s first cousin. She was a religious woman who had been close to my grandmother. The gift was a picture of my grandmother on her own wedding day. An accompanying card said, “Your grandmother is so happy with you and is looking down upon you.”
This cousin had no idea how much her message meant to me. Nor did she know of the temple work that had recently been performed for my grandmother. I knew in my heart at that moment that my grandmother was pleased with me and happy that our family had started on the important journey of family history and temple work.
We were a forever family now, on the path of gathering our ancestors and led by my mother in blessing our family on the other side of the veil.

With the trusting nature of a child, four-year-old Chitalu Kennedy from Lusaka, Zambia ran into the open arms of Jesus! The moment was later captured on canvas by Latter-day Saint artist Liz Lemon Swindle in a heartwarming painting entitled Worth of a Soul. Since 2008, this painting has found a place in our hearts. We see the Savior draw this young, trusting child to Him. As we look into this young child’s eyes it may really be ourselves that we see. If we allow the Spirit in, it will testify that it is really each one of us that is cradled in His arms.
Kennedy was orphaned when both parents passed passed away from undiagnosed diseases just a couple of months apart. They left behind eight cherished children, the youngest just three weeks old. The lives of Kennedy and his brothers and sisters were forever changed. The emptiness and loss robbed him of hope. That feeling would follow him for many years. His Spirit craved acceptance, love and belonging.
Two years after his parents’ passing, on a sunny day in Lusaka West, Zambia at the Mothers Without Borders Children’s Center, where Kennedy and some of his siblings were being cared for, a man portraying the Savior arrived with the artist and a photographer where an environment was created with the desire to photograph African children with the Savior so that a much-needed painting could be created.
Kennedy was then four years old. With the innocence of a child, and fully believing this man to be the Savior, he broke loose from the grip of his sister Bridget’s hand and ran toward him. He jumped into his outstretched arms. Throughout the day, Kennedy rarely left his side. Was the Spirit whispering to him that something here was familiar?
As a young orphan, Kennedy depended on others for survival. Prior to being brought to the children’s center, he and his siblings were scattered among relatives. As with most experiences in life, some of the times were good, some desperate. Throughout it all, and despite separation from each other, the siblings remain bonded together. His older brother Bwalya was ever present in his life and took on the role of father and protector even though he was only two years older than Kennedy.
Kennedy was introduced to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints when he was nine and became a baptized member at the age of eleven. Five siblings were also baptized.
As a young teenager, life became difficult for Kennedy when no funds were available for his continued housing, food and much desired education. It was at this time that BJ Warnick, Sandra Peters, and Anthony Mulenga—who had all known Kennedy since he was four—were able to take him into their care. Through their Heart to Hands Foundation, he and Bwalya were immediately adopted into their flock. While it was obvious that Kennedy needed the basics required for daily survival, what he really needed was hope and love and they had plenty of that to offer. Kennedy said while he was not officially adopted, it was even better. He now had two moms. With his new family’s help, he was able to complete grade twelve, obtain a driver’s license and complete auto mechanic school. Again, he was wrapped in the arms of his Savior, but it was through the acts of others. Kennedy remarked, “I don’t know who I would have become without the continual love of my enlarged family and friends who have dedicated so much time to me.”
It was a year ago that Kennedy made the decision to serve a mission and to become those arms of the Savior for others. His ‘better than adopted family’, his brother Bwalya and his determined Bishop Michael Simbeya in the Libala Ward helped him prepare. While at the Ghana MTC, before departing to the Kenya Nairobi mission, miracles occurred and he was able to attend the temple and take part not only in his father’s ordinance work, but also to participate in the sealing of his parents and finally his sealing to them for time and all eternity.
Now, as Elder Chitalu, in the mission office he met Sister Stacie Sturt, mission leader for Kenya Nairobi West Mission. She captured this beautiful photo of Elder Kennedy Chitalu standing in front of the picture of his much younger self, cradled in the arms of his Savior. Now he wears a name tag as a representative of Jesus Christ. It is his turn to wrap his arms around others and help bring them to Christ. He testifies: “I know and stand as a solemn witness that Jesus Christ is our Savior, and I know that His Atonement has healing power for all kinds of afflictions”.

Sutton Coldfield’s royal title dates back to 1528 when Henry VIII was out hunting in the local park. Disaster nearly occurred when a wild boar appeared, charging menacingly at the king. Before any harm could be done, an arrow sped from the undergrowth, killing the boar. The king was surprised when, on asking to see the person who had saved his life, a young lady came before him.
As well as praising the girl, King Henry invited her to name her reward. She requested a pardon for her father, who had been unjustly outlawed, then asked that a royal charter be given to the town. Both these wishes were granted. Henry honoured the young lady with the gift of a rose, which became the emblem of Sutton Coldfield.

Hung Hseng Chr (pronounced Hung Sheng Chur) sat on the grass by the edge of the river and watched the water lapping on the rocks. The sun felt hot against his skin, and the air was thick and humid. A tear ran down his cheek, and he brushed it quickly away with the back of his hand.
Hseng Chr’s ancestors had lived in Taiwan long before the Chinese people had come from the mainland to settle the island. He was proud of his people, for they had once been great warriors, and he wanted to be strong and brave, as they had been.
But it was hard to be brave when his sister, Hung Mei Lin (pronounced Hung May Leen), was so sick. She was in the hospital in Tai Tung, and the doctors didn’t know what was wrong with her except that she had a terrible fever. They had said that there was nothing more that they could do. The last time Hseng Chr had seen her, she had looked as still and frail as a bundle of old rice straw.
“Hello,” said a voice.
Hseng Chr looked up and saw the dark eyes and smiling face of Aunt Hung. She was his father’s sister, and she had recently joined a new church. Hseng Chr remembered that she had been taught by two young men from America who were called Mormon missionaries. Since that time, his aunt hadn’t visited them so often; every time she did, she and his father got into an argument about religion.
“Hello,” Hseng Chr answered her now in a dull voice.
His aunt sat on the grass beside him and gave him a long, hard hug. He suddenly felt better, as he always did when she came to visit. “I was thinking about Mei Lin,” he said.
“Yes,” she said. “So was I.”
“I don’t want her to die.”
His aunt gave his hand a gentle squeeze. “I’m going to ask your father to let my friends give Mei Lin a blessing.”
Hseng Chr stared at his aunt in surprise. “A blessing?” he asked. “What is a blessing?”
“Well,” said his aunt slowly, as if she was trying to explain something very difficult. “A blessing is a special prayer given by men who hold the priesthood.”
Hseng Chr was even more confused. “What is the priesthood?”
“It is the power and authority to act in the name of God. These men—these friends of mine—will pray for Mei Lin, and if God wants her to live and if we believe that God can save her, she will live.”
A strange feeling came over the boy. It was as though something frightened him and exhilarated him at the same time. He knew that he wanted Mei Lin to have a priesthood blessing so that she would get well.
He waited on the grass as Aunt Hung rose and walked toward the house. He watched as she opened the door and called Father’s name. He saw the stern face and stooped shoulders of his father as the door swung open, but he was too far away to hear the words that his aunt spoke. Father shook his head and turned away. Aunt Hung talked some more, her hand on Father’s arm, her face turned up to his. Father shrugged his shoulders and went back inside the house.
Aunt Hung came partway back and waved for Hseng Chr to follow. “He gave his permission,” she called. “Let’s hurry!”
A little while later he stood at his sister’s bedside while two young men from America laid their hands on her head. Their fingers looked long and white against her black hair. They spoke in a language that he couldn’t understand, but as they spoke, a warm feeling came into his chest. When the blessing was over, he and his aunt walked home silently, the hot sun beating down upon their backs.
At suppertime Hseng Chr’s whole family went to visit Mei Lin, as they had at every suppertime for the past week. The boy had grown used to his stomach growling at him all the way to the hospital and back. He didn’t mind the hunger anymore, for lately when he ate, the food seemed to get stuck partway down.
Hseng Chr couldn’t keep from hurrying. The closer his family got to the hospital, the faster his feet moved. Finally he just couldn’t hold them back. He left Father and Mother behind with the younger children and ran the last block by himself. He dashed up the steps and into the hospital. He tore down the hallway and burst into Mei Lin’s room. He stopped. The bed was empty.
He stood for a long moment and stared, not believing his eyes: Mei Lin was sitting in a chair beside her bed, looking at pictures in a book. Her dark eyes were clear, her skin was back to its normal healthy color, and her arms no longer hung limply at her sides. Suddenly he realized that Aunt Hung had been right. There really was such a thing as power from God. He would see his aunt again soon and ask her to explain more about the priesthood.
Mei Lin looked up at him and smiled. Hseng Chr ran forward, his hands reaching for hers.

At some point sooner or later, our time as mortals on this earth will end and we will learn that we were truly strangers and pilgrims here. This fact became devastatingly clear to me eighteen months ago when my younger brother Kendall died suddenly of a heart attack, seemingly in full health and just a few weeks after being released as bishop of his ward. His ward loved him, especially the youth. Professionally, he worked at the hospital in our small town and was similarly loved by the patients and by his coworkers.

Our family was emotionally shaken to its core by this tragedy, but our faith was not. We knew the promises of the Resurrection and had felt the power of the witness of Mary at the open tomb as she turned in hearing Jesus call her name, of the disciples on the road to Emmaus as their hearts burned within them while they conversed unknowingly with the resurrected Lord, of the apostles gathered together in fear and wonder of the events of that first Easter and then in what must have been utter joy as they felt the prints of the nails in His hands and His feet, and of the Nephite multitude as Jesus ministered unto them in power and glory. Jesus has overcome death, and, as a result, so will we.

This tragedy gave me great cause for reflection about my life and how I should spend the rest of my days. It also motivated me to have my physical heart carefully examined. One test was a cardiac perfusion test, in which you walk on a treadmill to get your heart rate up and then you receive an injection with a radioactive tracer. You are placed in a scanner that follows the tracer as it circulates through your heart. During the test you must lie very still under the scanner for some time so as not to disturb the imaging.

As I lay there, I closed my eyes trying to relax, wondering how my heart was performing in this test. Suddenly, without ­opening my eyes, I saw my brother walk past the ­scanner. He was dressed in his hospital scrubs, looking young and healthy. He moved past me to the other room where the monitor was showing the results of the scan. In my amazement, my first thought was, “What are you doing here?” and then the realization hit me that he was concerned about my well-being and wanted to know the results of the test. This view was gone in an instant, and I was left to contemplate it. The act was so ­typical of him, doing what he did in life, ­caring for others.

From this and many other experiences, I too confess that we are strangers and pilgrims on the earth, that life continues after our mortal bodies fail us, that our loved ones who have gone before know us and are there to help us.

Our angels have trials and challenges, too. My grandmother was a survivor. As a small child her family was called by President Lorenzo Snow to colonize in Canada. They left their comfortable home in Cache Valley, Utah. During the first winter they lived in a tent with blocks of snow surrounding it for insulation and protection.

At night my grandmother would listen to the wolves howl in the darkness. Her early life was filled with hardships. My grandmother married out of the church. The poverty and hardships of Canada were too much for most of her family, and they slowly moved back to the United States, settling in Montana. My grandmother, however, remained in Canada with her husband and young family of four children. My grandfather died when my grandmother was twenty-eight years old, leaving her alone on six hundred and forty acres of land.

For eight years my grandmother ran the farm with the help of neighbors to put in the crops and harvest them. Then one winter day, she sent the children to school on the horse. Shortly after they left a blizzard came up and raged all day. She did not know about the safety of her children and could not go to find them. As night fell, she feared that they were lost and knelt to plead for their safety. She promised the Lord that if He would watch over the children, she would find a way to leave when spring came. The children made it to the small town and were taken in by neighbors, but Esther would not know this for three days when finally her oldest son rode the horse home and told his mother that they were all safe.

My grandmother had little education and worked as a maid to support herself and her children. She buried five husbands and three of her four children, and at the age of sixty-three took my younger sister and me into her home.

How she provided for us, I do not know. She had a small social security check and continued to work for a family in our ward during these years. My grandmother lived through her trials and challenges making a monument of service and example. She accepted what life had given her and made the best of that life. She could create a meal from almost nothing. I often watched her do ironing for others. She ironed the white shirts of the patriarch of our stake; they were a work of art. She was independent and self-sufficient. She found joy in a world in which others found sorrow.

Kelly stepped back from the easel. Something was not quite right about that lower limb of the tree—there! A tiny swirl of brown paint added the knot that had been missing from her painting. Now it was perfect.
“Kelly!” her mother’s voice came through the screen door. “You were supposed to watch Steve while I was at the grocery store. Instead you are painting again. Do you have any idea where your little brother is?”
“He’s probably around at the side of the house,” Kelly answered, putting down her paint box. “I’ll go get him.” She couldn’t understand why her mother worried so. Steve was a handful, but even Mom didn’t watch him every minute. What’s wrong with painting a picture and watching Steve at the same time? she wondered. I only have two more days before the school art contest.
“I’m going to China!” Steve announced proudly from where he was digging.
Kelly groaned. “Oh, no! Did you have to start your trip by going through Mom’s flower bed?”
The smile faded from her little brother’s face. He didn’t know what he had done wrong but he could see Kelly was unhappy with him. “I’ll buy you a present when I get there,” he promised. “I have lots of money.” He put a muddy hand into his pocket and pulled out a nickel and a penny.
Kelly had to smile in spite of the fact that she knew her mother would scold her about the flower bed. “That’s nice, honey, thank you,” she said. “But what will Mom say?”
“I’ll buy her a present, too,” Steve said with a bright smile.
“Do you think any present you could buy would be as nice as the flowers you spoiled when you dug that hole?” Kelly asked.
Steve’s mouth dropped open with surprise. Then he looked down at the ruined flower bed. “They’re not all dead are they?” his eyes and voice pleaded. Tears hung from his lower lashes.
“Well, maybe not. Maybe we can save some of them,” Kelly answered. She picked up the spoon Steve had been using as a shovel and started scooping dirt back into the hole. She picked up the wilted flowers and gently shook the dirt from them. Some of the plants were broken or missing roots but Kelly replanted them all, hoping that at least a few would take hold and start growing again.
“That should do it,” she said as Steve flattened a lump of dirt.
“Maybe the flowers would like a drink of water,” he suggested.
“Oh no!” said Kelly. “They don’t need a drink right now. Let’s go get you cleaned up for supper.”
It was a quiet meal except for Steve’s excited chatter. Mom was still upset because Kelly had been painting instead of watching Steve. Dad was tired because he had worked hard at the welfare farm since six o’clock that morning. Kelly was wrapped up in her own thoughts about the school art contest. I hope I’ll win the prize. It would be great to have a complete set of oil paints, she thought.
“Is that party at the ward tonight?” Dad asked Mom.
“Yes, it starts at eight o’clock,” Mom answered, “and I’ve asked Kelly to watch Steve.”
Kelly felt her mother’s eyes on her. “I’ll take good care of him,” she promised. “I’ll read to him from his storybooks.” Then turning to her little brother, she asked, “Would you like that, Steve?”
Her brother’s head bobbed up and down. He gulped the last of his milk and climbed down from his chair. He raced from the room and came back holding a tattered book. When Mom and Dad left later that evening Kelly and Steve were sitting on the sofa. Their heads were close together so that Steve could “read” the pictures in his book while Kelly read the words.
Later, Kelly closed the book and her little brother sat back with a happy sigh.
“That was a good story,” he said and pleaded, “ ’Nother one?”
Kelly looked up at the clock and saw that it was eight thirty. “Well, just one more, if it’s a short one,” she answered.
Steve ran to his room for another book. While waiting for him to return, Kelly remembered her painting was still outside where she had left it that afternoon. Funny, she thought, bringing it into the kitchen, in this light the green on that side of the tree doesn’t look dark enough. The sun must have been in my eyes.
Kelly rinsed her brush and began to touch up the green of the leaves. She became absorbed in her work, until the sound of their old chiming clock caused her to look up. “Is it nine o’clock already?” she gasped. “Steve went to his room half an hour ago to get another book!”
Kelly hurried to Steve’s room but there was no sign of her brother. She checked all through the house, but he was nowhere in sight.
An icy feeling crept over Kelly. He must have gone outside, she thought. But where would he go? “Mom isn’t going to care about my winning the prize if I let anything happen to Steve,” she muttered to herself, “and I wouldn’t care very much about it either.”
Kelly skidded to a stop. I’ll bet he’s back in that flower bed, she decided. Steve was afraid the flowers would be thirsty.
She found her brother in the flower garden. Dad’s flashlight was lying on the ground and Steve had a cup in his hands. He was giving water to the drooping plants. The dirt in the flower bed was soaking wet and Steve had mud up to his knees. But Kelly didn’t care about that when she picked him up and hugged him.
“I ought to spank you,” she scolded. “And Mom ought to spank me. But oh, I’m glad you’re all right!”
Steve squirmed to get out of her arms. “I was just giving the flowers a drink. Let me down, please. They’re still thirsty.”
“No, they’re not thirsty anymore,” Kelly said. “They’re tired, just like you. Let’s go inside so the flowers can sleep. And I can give you a bath.”
They went to the back door so they could wipe their muddy feet on the porch mat before going inside. On the way through the kitchen Steve stopped to look at Kelly’s painting.
“That’s the tree in our backyard!” he shouted with surprise. “It’s beautiful!”
Kelly was pleased. “Do you really like it?” she asked.
“Oh, yes,” Steve answered. “I wish it was mine.”
There will be other art contests, Kelly thought, and I can always paint another picture. But I’ll never have a sweeter brother than Steve.
“Tell you what,” she said. “You take a bath and let me tuck you into bed and I’ll give you this picture.”
“To keep?” asked Steve.
“To keep,” Kelly answered with a loving smile.

When times were tough, I learned to take time to feel joy in the little moments—the gifts—that are given to us. When my son cannot help but give me a kiss, I am grateful. When I watched my son ride the bus without anyone to sit with, I was blessed to have this scripture come into my mind: “I will go before your face. I will be on your right hand and on your left, and my Spirit shall be in your hearts, and mine angels round about you, to bear you up” (D&C 84:88). I knew that Brad was not alone and never will be.

Soon after I completed my schooling at Utah State, I was working as a Music Therapist in south Louisiana. I was fortunate, and blessed to become well acquainted with my landlords, MaryAnne and Lindy Hoffmann, in the town of Thibodaux, Louisiana. The Hoffmanns owned the music store in Thibodaux. They had no children of their own, and they treated me like a daughter from the very beginning. Lindy was a drummer, and MaryAnne played the piano and clarinet. They were "my people" immediately. We became fast friends, and my parents back in Utah were very grateful to know that their still quite shy daughter was being looked after. They invited me to join them playing in the community band, which I did, and loved. I taught oboe lessons in the back rooms of the music store, and was invited to an occasional dinner. We spent lovely Sunday afternoons in the upstairs great room. But the thing I enjoyed most were my chats with MaryAnne in the evenings after work on the swing in the back yard of their beautiful southern home. They could see in me the teacher and musician that I had always wanted to be. I was working as a music therapist, but they helped me achieve my true dream of being in front of a band! These wonderful people helped initiate a change in my life that eventually brought me here to BYU-Idaho. When the time was right, I moved back to Utah and began my career as a high school band director.

The Hoffmanns are much like my own parents. They are hard workers, they are committed to serving others, they love their family, they are good, and they are honest people. I love being in their company. I always want to be the best I can be when I am in their presence. Lindy and MaryAnne are not members of our church. They have always been supportive of my beliefs and way of life, and the way they live their lives they might as well be members. One of my greatest hopes is that I have been as positive of an influence in their lives as they have been in mine. I have visited my sweet friends several times over the years, but not enough. I spoke with them on Mother's Day just a few weeks ago. They are aging, and I think of them often. They are givers. Their influence on me was life changing. They have been, and are, a blessing beyond my description, and I love them so!

Recently Sister Nelson and I were in Denmark during the commemoration of the 150th anniversary of the Church in Scandinavia. Between meetings, we took a few hours to search for villages where two of my father’s grandparents were born. They were among the early converts to the Church in Denmark. Father’s paternal grandmother’s family lived in the western part of the country. His paternal grandfather’s family lived in northern Denmark. Thanks to a good driver and a superb map, we found each town on our list and obtained treasured information. During the entire journey, my hands were riveted to that valuable map so essential to achieve our goals.

In our journey in Denmark, we met an unexpected detour that led us astray. In order to get back on course, we stopped the car. We studied the map with great care. Then we made the necessary course correction.

To illustrate this, I’d like to tell you of an experience I had just recently. I received a telephone call from a brother we’ll call John. He wanted an audience, and so I asked him why. He said, “Because the Spirit has told me to come and talk to Elder Rector.”
“Oh,” I said, “what about?”
He said he couldn’t tell me, but he wanted to bring someone to see me.
I said, “Have you talked to your priesthood leader?”
“No, the Spirit told me to talk to Elder Rector.” With some misgivings, I agreed that he could come and see me.
He came in, and he brought his friend with him. We’ll call his friend Bill. It seemed that Bill had driven up to John’s filling station, and when he had gotten out of the car, John immediately saw Bill’s spirit. He said it was a noble and great spirit, bright and shining like Abraham. (I’m not sure how he knew what Abraham’s spirit looked like.) Immediately John began to tell Bill what a great and noble spirit he was, and that he had a great work to do in the kingdom of God. Then he asked Bill what he was doing in the Church. It turned out that Bill had been a convert some years ago, but he was having a bit of a problem with his testimony: he wasn’t living the Word of Wisdom, he wasn’t paying his tithing, and he wasn’t doing very much of anything in the Church. Then John immediately called Bill to repentance and told him that he was supposed to be a great leader in the kingdom of God, even a bishop and a stake president, and I’m not sure what else he promised him. But it was very exciting to Bill, and he got all worked up about it. But since John couldn’t go beyond what he had told Bill and he definitely felt he should, he had prayed about it and the Spirit had told him to come and see Elder Rector! Now he said, “Why did the Spirit tell me this about Bill?”
I said, “Well, I’m not really sure that the Spirit did tell you that. To begin with, are you his bishop?”
“No.”
“Are you his quorum president?”
“No.”
“Are you a priesthood leader at all with respect to Bill?”
“No.”
“Are you his home teacher?”
“No.”
“Are you his patriarch?”
“No.”
“Then I seriously question that you had any right to tell him the things that you told him.”
This kind of situation develops many times because people want to do something good in the kingdom of God, but they don’t recognize the fact that you must act within the bounds the Lord has established.
But let me hasten to say I don’t believe that my visitor John was malicious in what he was trying to do. I think he was deceived. When we got that understood, Bill was angry. He said, “Well, what about me?”
I said, “Well, all you have to do is repent and keep the commandments, and you’ll be all right. I’m not going to say you won’t be a bishop or a stake president, but we’ll let the Lord decide that! We do not decide in areas where we do not have authority to act.”

A man came into the mission home one day asking to know more about our church. “I sat on an airplane next to one of your members,” he said, “and I don’t think I’ll ever be the same again. He told me about his family and the love they had between them. His face almost glowed as he talked.”
This man was far more worldly than the average man on the street. “I know I will have to make some drastic changes in my life, but I want what that man has. My family means a lot to me,” he said.
If we live what we believe, our example may serve as an effective missionary for us and for the Church, especially for those who are searching for the “more excellent way” (Ether 12:11). There are many people who admire our way of life and our standards of conduct. They want this way of life for themselves and for their families.
Doctrine and Covenants 123:12 [D&C 123:12] tells us that “there are many yet on the earth among all sects … who are only kept from the truth because they know not where to find it.” So how can we help them find it? How can we be effective member missionaries?
It just might be that your best method is to be your best self. Be friendly and be sharing. Invite those around you who are not members of our church to share with you the fun and the joy that they may be secretly wishing they could also have.
Instead of losing friends, you may develop friendships that will endure through this life and the life to come.

Elliot Grow had it made. The summer before his senior year of high school, he was an aspiring lacrosse player with a promising future, and it looked like he just might land a starting spot on his school’s basketball team as well. But calamity struck for Elliot one day in June when he tore the meniscus cartilage in his knee during a recreational league basketball game.

Surgery came shortly thereafter, followed by three months of intense physical therapy. It was a lot of hard work, but Elliot persisted. Eventually he made it off the crutches and back onto the basketball court. Some people would probably complain about the months of lost training and the pain, but Elliot feels a sense of gratitude.

“I feel blessed that I am still able to do what I love. I love playing lacrosse. I love playing basketball. I don’t take that for granted anymore. When I am out there, I play as hard as I can and I don’t only play for me. My little brother had a brain tumor when he was three, so he can’t do some of the things that I’ve been able to do. Now I play for him.

“Before my injury, I would have thought, ‘My body is mine. I can do whatever I want with it,’” he says. “But after this surgery, I have realized that my body is a gift and I should take care of it the right way.”

In October of 1998, Hurricane Mitch devastated many parts of Central America. President Gordon B. Hinckley was very concerned for the victims of this disaster, many of whom lost everything—food, clothing, and household goods. He visited the Saints in the cities of San Pedro Sula and Tegucigalpa, Honduras; and Managua, Nicaragua. And like the words of the loving prophet Elijah to a starving widow, this modern prophet’s message in each city was similar—to sacrifice and be obedient to the law of tithing.
But how can you ask someone so destitute to sacrifice? President Hinckley knew that the food and clothing shipments they received would help them survive the crisis, but his concern and love for them went far beyond that. As important as humanitarian aid is, he knew that the most important assistance comes from God, not from man. The prophet wanted to help them unlock the windows of heaven as promised by the Lord in the book of Malachi (see Malachi 3:10; Mosiah 2:24).
President Hinckley taught them that if they would pay their tithing, they would always have food on their tables, they would always have clothing on their backs, and they would always have a roof over their heads.
When serving a meal, it is much easier to set one more plate at the beginning of the meal than it is to find food for a latecomer once the meal is over and the food has been served. Likewise, isn’t it actually easier to give the Lord the firstlings or the firstfruits than it is to hope that there are sufficient “leftovers” for Him? As the founder of our feast, shouldn’t He be the guest of honor, the first to be served?
My loving mother, Evelyn Robbins, taught me the law of tithing when I was four years old. She gave me an empty Band-Aid box, the tin kind with a snapping lid. She taught me to keep my tithing pennies in it and then take it to the bishop. I am eternally grateful for her, for that Band-Aid box, and for the blessings that have come from paying tithing.
In A Christmas Carol, Mr. Scrooge changed his ways—he was not the man he had been. Likewise, this is the gospel of repentance. If the Spirit is prompting us to more fully obey the law of sacrifice in our lives, may we begin making that change today.
I am so grateful for the Savior, who was the perfect example of obedience through sacrifice—who offered “himself a sacrifice for sin” and became, in Lehi’s words, “the firstfruits unto God” (2 Nephi 2:7, 9; emphasis added). I bear witness of Him and of these, His doctrines, in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.