Gospel Story Finder

The Davis County Sheriff’s Department received 100 teddy bears. Captain Simpson said it is policy now for a paramedic or a sheriff on a call to give any child involved under the age of ten a bear. However, young children have not been the only recipients. The paramedics gave a bear to an 80-year-old woman who suffered a stroke. “It was the only thing that calmed her down,” said Captain Simpson. “She wouldn’t let go of the bear.”

A massive hurricane is bearing down on you and your family. Winds exceed 150 miles per hour. Flooding and wind damage are certain. Survival may depend on how well you respond to two questions: What should I do before the hurricane arrives? What should I do after it passes?
For Latter-day Saint youth and their families who live along the Gulf Coast of the United States, dealing with both questions became a terrifying reality in August and September 2005. First, Hurricane Katrina slammed ashore, devastating the New Orleans area and the Mississippi coast. Just weeks later, Hurricane Rita ripped through southeastern Texas and western Louisiana. Both storms damaged homes and businesses for hundreds of miles and created the need for massive clean-up. Youth who had to deal with the devastation will remember it for a lifetime.
“No one ever believes it will happen to them, and neither did we,” says Kim Dohm, 17. Hurricane warnings come so often here they seem routine. “We evacuated, but we didn’t think much about what we took with us, because we expected to be back in a few days. We thought it was just another false alarm.” It wasn’t. The storm smashed through Kim’s hometown of Slidell, Louisiana. Winds tore roofs from buildings and snapped trees like toothpicks. Rapidly rising water flooded major portions of the city.
“The damage seemed so random,” Kim says. “In the same neighborhood some houses were torn apart, while others were mostly undamaged. The main thing I learned was to prepare for the worst and hope for the best. If you have to evacuate, leave early and plan to be gone for a while.” Her family had to stay away not just for days, but for weeks.
“No one can predict exactly where and when a hurricane will come ashore,” says Nolan Moore, 15, of Vidor, Texas. “But if officials say you should leave, then leave. And do it as soon as you can.” Nolan and his family caravanned with other Latter-day Saints and found shelter in an LDS meetinghouse a safe distance away.
Seventeen-year-old Brittany Crossley and her thirteen-year-old sister, Danielle, live in Vidor, Texas. Their father is an emergency room doctor at a hospital in Port Arthur, directly in the projected path of Hurricane Rita. Dr. Crossley prayed and felt impressed that if he would spend the day before the storm evacuating patients, he and his family would be all right. Since the Crossley’s home was in an area of potential danger, he obtained permission from his bishop for the family to stay in their ward building during the storm. “The ward is far enough north to be safe,” Brittany explains.
“When Dad said, ‘We’re going to the church and we’re going to be okay,’ I thought, ‘Trust the inspiration and follow him to higher ground,’” Danielle recalls. Soon they received calls that the mass evacuation had resulted in gridlock on the freeway. “It’s good that we listened to our father,” Brittany says. “Otherwise, we would have been stuck in traffic all through the storm.”
So they “hunkered down” at the church, in an inside room with no windows. “We had food and water. We played a board game to pass the time. At 11:00 p.m., the power went out, so we read scriptures by flashlight and had family prayer,” Danielle recalls. They listened to the wind rattling like a freight train. “At one point someone held a flashlight high so we could all see each other,” Brittany says. “I remember how grateful we were for the light. It made me think of the Savior, the Light of the World.”
Kim Dohm was comfortable at her grandparents’ house in Fort Worth, Texas, 500 miles from her home and parents. Her father and mother were helping with relief efforts in Slidell. But when she heard the news that evacuees wouldn’t be allowed back home for weeks or possibly months, it was more than she could bear. “One day at school, I just started to sob,” Kim says. “Everyone told me things would be okay, but I couldn’t stop crying.” Anxious and uncertain, she prayed. “I felt the most overwhelming peace in my heart,” she says. “I remembered how the Savior calmed the storm and reassured the disciples on the Sea of Galilee. My heart was raging, but His example calmed and reassured me.”
Fifteen-year-old Ashley Clarke of Slidell remembers that reading the Book of Mormon calmed her nerves and brought relief from the uncertainty of living in an evacuation area. So did writing in her journal. “It gave me something productive to do instead of getting annoyed,” she says.
It was almost a month before Emily Smith, 17, who had stayed with relatives, was reunited with her immediate family in Slidell. “Even though we were together, dealing with the destruction was depressing,” she recalls. “All of the downed trees, water-soaked furniture, and ruined clothes piling up in people’s yards—it could get to you. Some of the places where we used to hang out had vanished like they never existed.” Now, 9 months after the storm, things are slowly getting back to normal. “Each day it seems a little better,” Emily says. She and her friends are back in school, back in seminary, and finding new places to have fun.
“We saw that designer clothes, furniture, and even nice houses can be ruined. Material things don’t matter much,” says Samantha Adams, 17. Following the hurricane, she spent a lot of time working in the bishops’ storehouse. “When I saw people come in who had lost practically everything, it didn’t seem important to worry about how my hair looked or if I had makeup on. I was just glad to help them.”
Samantha, along with Ashley Clarke, and her brother Thomas, 17, worked day after day in the storehouse. “They knew the landmarks and locations, and they understood computers,” explains Mike Dohm, field operations coordinator for the command center that was set up there. “We gave them responsibility for mapping out locations so work crews could get where they needed to go. They saw a need, recognized they could do it, and showed up every day to get it done. There’s just no way we could have done as much as we did without them.”
In anticipation of the hurricanes, the Church had moved food, bottled water, generators, chain saws, and other equipment to safe sites near the coast. As soon as the storms passed, supplies and equipment were quickly moved to locations like the storehouse for use and distribution. Stakes and wards in surrounding areas organized thousands of LDS volunteers into work groups that came each weekend from September to November to put tarps on roofs, cut up trees lying across roads, and pull up water-soaked carpets.
Ben Bradley, 13, was on one of these crews. He and his father, sister, and brother drove seven hours each way from Albany, Georgia, to Gulfport, Mississippi, making the trip several times. “We wanted to help,” Ben says. “I learned that all it takes is a willingness to pitch in, and Mormons are good at that.” Often crews would complete a work order at a member’s house and then perform similar tasks in other houses or yards in the neighborhood. The Church was widely recognized for its ability to help its own members and its willingness to help others, too.
Hurricanes Katrina and Rita left reminders of their fury that will endure for a decade or more. But they also left a memory in the minds of these teens who survived the storms. “Sometimes people ask if living through Katrina has made me worried about the future,” Ashley says. “I tell them just the opposite is true. Now I know I can handle emergencies. All I need to do is hold fast to gospel principles and rely on a little help from my family and friends.”
Natural disasters are a possibility no matter where we live. The best way to prepare is to have emergency plans in place, survival supplies prepared, and training completed where it is available. Here are some other lessons learned by those who survived the hurricanes:
Make sure you have fresh batteries and flashlights.
Refrigerators and freezers will provide food for a few days.
Store water, both for drinking and for bathing.
Have important papers in a place where you can easily grab them.
Get to know your neighbors, and have a contact list for emergencies.
Aaronic Priesthood and Young Women camping experience can prepare you for living in emergency conditions.
Remember, “If ye are prepared ye shall not fear” (D&C 38:30).
“The time has come to get our houses in order. … There is a portent of stormy weather ahead to which we had better give heed.”—President Gordon B. Hinckley (“To the Boys and to the Men,” Ensign, Nov. 1998, 53).
To learn more about preparing for emergencies, go to www.lds.org and click on “Provident Living” and then on “Food Storage and Emergency Preparedness.” There you’ll find advice on topics such as how to prepare for the future, both spiritually and temporally; preparing for home emergencies and natural disasters; and a list of emergency preparation resources.

Not long after receiving my blessing, I came home from Sunday School. Our lesson had been about Joseph Smith’s First Vision, and I was wondering if it was really true. My father was leaving for a Church meeting. I stopped him and asked, “Dad, how do we really know that Joseph Smith had that vision?” My father put his arm around me, and we sat on the sofa in our living room. There he shared with me the Prophet Joseph’s account, and my father bore his own testimony of its truthfulness. That experience with my father burns in my heart today. Since then I have never doubted the Prophet Joseph’s account of his First Vision.

It doesn’t take expensive gifts to make Christmas meaningful. I am reminded of a story told by Elder Glen L. Rudd, who served as a member of the Seventy from 1987 to 1992. One day before Christmas a number of years ago, while he was managing a bishops’ storehouse, he learned from an ecclesiastical leader about a needy family that had recently moved to the city. When he went to visit their small apartment, he discovered a young single mother with four children under age 10.
The family’s needs were so great that the mother could not buy treats or presents for her children that Christmas—she couldn’t even afford a tree. Brother Rudd talked with the family and learned that the three little girls would love a doll or a stuffed animal. When he asked the six-year-old son what he wanted, the hungry little boy replied, “I would like a bowl of oatmeal.”
Brother Rudd promised the little boy oatmeal and maybe something else. Then he went to the bishops’ storehouse and gathered food and other supplies to meet the immediate needs of the family.
That very morning a generous Latter-day Saint had given him 50 dollars “for someone in need.” Using that donation, Brother Rudd bundled up three of his own children and went Christmas shopping—his children selecting toys for the needy children.
After loading up the car with food, clothing, gifts, a Christmas tree, and some ornaments, the Rudds drove to the family’s apartment. There they helped the mother and her children set up the tree. Then they placed presents under it and presented the little boy with a large package of oatmeal.
The mother wept, the children rejoiced, and they all sang a Christmas song. That night as the Rudd family gathered for dinner, they gave thanks that they could bring some Christmas cheer to another family and help a little boy receive a bowl of oatmeal.1

“Dad, there’s a patrol boat in back of us,” Bob shouted over the noise of their inboard-outboard. “The ranger is signaling.”
Mr. Richards, intent on steering the boat through the choppy waters of Lake Powell, sighted the patrol boat through the thick plastic window. It pulled alongside.
“There’s a storm expected soon,” the ranger announced through the sound system on his boat. “Strong fifty-mile-an-hour winds and rain. No boats will be allowed on the lake. You’d better pull into Bullfrog Marina just ahead and wait it out.”
“Our food and gear are at our camp in Lost Eden Canyon. Can we make it there before the storm hits?”
“If you hurry. Then hole up until it’s over.”
Mr. Richards waved his thanks, turned the boat around, and headed in a northeasterly direction toward Lost Eden.
Bob’s face looked like a crumpled paper bag. “No water skiing today.”
Mrs. Richards looked at the heavy clouds, which had suddenly turned the day into evening. “I hope the storm doesn’t last all weekend. We’ve planned so long for this vacation.”
Just then the boat slapped down on a swell.
Mr. Richards frowned. “Check your life jackets, everyone. Be sure they’re securely fastened.”
Five-year-old Christian began to cry. “I’m scared!”
Merilee pulled him against her on the seat. “Don’t cry, Chris. It’s really exciting. We’ll be all right.”
Bob peered out the front window at the huge red rocks that lined the lake. Some were smooth and rounded; others towered into the sky as if a giant knife had chopped off a chunk. Some of the pinnacles had fantastic shapes and patterns carved by the wind and sand and water.
“I’m glad we have a top on our boat,” Christian said nervously, as the boat hammered down on a swell and sent a spray of water against the windshield.
“I am too,” Bob answered.
Mr. Richards glanced at the threatening sky. “We may not be able to have a fire when we get to our camp, but we do have warm clothing and sleeping bags and plenty of food. We’ll manage.”
Before long Mr. Richards turned the boat between two steep red rock cliffs into a small side canyon where the water was less choppy. Slowing the motor, he steered carefully around the dead branches of some partially submerged trees.
“I see our camp,” Christian shouted, as he untied his life jacket. “We made it!”
Bob unzipped the canvas top. Clutching the mooring rope in one hand, he crawled out on the bow of the boat. When it gently kissed the bank, he jumped out and tied the rope securely to a tree stump. Bob wished he felt as relieved as Christian seemed to feel. The wind was rising. It moaned down the canyon and flattened the sagebrush against the red sand. He squinted to keep the gritty particles out of his eyes.
A clap of thunder cut through the canyon as the family climbed out of the boat. The sound of thunder echoed against the cliffs until it was swallowed by the wind.
“Bob, see that driftwood stump?” Father pointed ahead. “Tie our boat to it, fore and aft.”
Bob pulled the mooring rope taut around the smooth wood, which was bleached white from the sun and water. Everything else around him seemed to be red. He squinted as the wind whipped the cinnamon sand into swirls that powdered their sleeping bags and dusted the boxes of food that were piled together on the shore. Then a few raindrops freckled the sand.
“At least we were able to get off the lake before the storm hit!” Merilee exclaimed.
“Yes,” Bob nodded, “but what happens now?”
He finished tying the rope and fastened the cover on the boat.
“We could build a shelter of some sort, but there are no trees,” Bob said as he looked around. “Wait a minute! What about climbing up under that huge overhang of rock there on the cliff?”
Merilee glanced up quickly. “It looks like a big open cave. We wouldn’t get wet under there.”
Bob called to his father. “Dad, how about taking our gear up under the overhang?”
“I was wondering about that too, but it must be seventy-five or a hundred feet up.”
“We can do it,” Bob urged.
“Let’s!” Christian shouted, as he grabbed his sleeping bag and ran over the sand toward the towering cliff.
The cave had been formed by rocks, large and small, breaking away from the underside of the cliff. The opening was strewn with rocks like a huge lumpy waterfall.
“I can’t tell whether there is a flat place at the top or not,” called Mr. Richards. “And we may have to spend the night. Let’s go. Each one take all he can carry. Hurry, it’s beginning to rain.”
Christian was already on the rocks, pulling himself up with one hand while he dragged his sleeping bag with the other.
Mrs. Richards took a box of food. “Bob, bring some driftwood for a fire. There’s a chill in the air.”
Packing their gear up over the rocks was no easy task. Some rocks were anchored, but others gave way when a hand reached for support.
By now the rain was falling steadily. “It’s a real cloudburst,” Mrs. Richards observed. “I do hope there is enough space at the top for our sleeping bags.”
When they were almost to the top, Bob shouted, “Look in back of you!”
Turning, they saw a cascade of water falling from the edge of the overhanging rock above them to the sandy beach, one hundred feet below.
“It’s like being behind a waterfall,” Merilee laughed.
“Or a silvery curtain of water,” her mother added. “When it rains down here, most of the water can’t seep into the rocks, so it just runs off.”
“It’s a good thing we decided to come up here,” Mr. Richards said. “Now if there is just enough room for sleeping and perhaps a fire …”
“There is enough room for sleeping, if we clear a few rocks,” Bob called to them. “It’s flat and sandy. We could live up here for a week.”
The last few feet of the climb seemed easy after that. Mr. Richards built a fire, and Mrs. Richards put on a kettle of chili. Bob built a low wall of stacked rocks around his sleeping bag. “Just like the Indians used to do,” he chuckled.
As the family sat around the fire, watching the rain and waiting for the chili to heat, they felt a sense of relief. The cave was warm and secure. The danger was over.
Bob grinned. “This has been some storm. We could write a book!”

For Robert, 15 July 1853 was an exciting day; he had completed his apprenticeship and was free to marry the woman he had been courting for several years, Mary Ann Bainbridge. On 29 August, the couple were married in a registry office, before then being married again by Elder Thomas Squires.
“A day never to be forgotten… only thing I felt was deficient [sic], namely, my father and mother, and they knew nothing of it.”
Robert’s family soon found out about the marriage and although his father was happy for him, his mother continued to fret. But a far worse concern was about to grip the family.
Late summer of 1853 saw an epidemic of cholera sweep across the town. In six weeks, more than 1,500 inhabitants died, and now Robert was ill.4 On 8 September, he felt so unwell that he requested a fellow priesthood holder to administer to him. Then, although ill himself, Robert continued to serve others, by visiting and blessing those who were afflicted. Robert recorded:
“In the morning at 6 o’clock, Sister Sutherland knocked me up to lay hands upon her son who was taken ill. I went and administered to him and before I came away, he got out of bed and had his breakfast.”
Robert recovered and returned to full health. As time wore on, Robert continued to worry about his wider family, both temporally and spiritually. “May I do not descend to where they are, but may they ascend to where I am, and all of us go on rejoicing in our journey to Celestial Glory.” Sadly, soon after expressing these thoughts, his mother died; but good followed with the birth of his daughter in September 1854.
In the following months, Robert struggled to find and keep work due to uncertain economic conditions. He considered emigrating with his family. In January 1855, his mind was set: “I have been six weeks out of work, and we expect to emigrate this season for we are heartily sick of this land.” A month later, Robert was still out of work. The Hazen family, now resolved to emigrate and sold their furniture. They looked forward to “Gather with God’s people this year”. However, they still didn’t have enough money. Robert had been without work for over three months; what could they do to pay for passage to the United States of America?
The difference was made up by Robert’s elderly mother-in-law, also a member of the Church, who sold her house and joined them on the journey to Zion. On 25 March 1855, a small group of the Newcastle Saints set off for Liverpool on the first step of their journey. Ultimately, Robert and his family arrived safely in the United States of America and eventually made their way to join the Saints in Utah.
Robert continued to valiantly stand for truth and remained committed to it throughout his life. It was the harsh and sad realities of life in Newcastle that encouraged the Hazens, and many other British Latter-day Saints, to leave the land of their birth and seek Zion with the prospect of living with the main body of the Saints. Robert was just one of tens of thousands of converts who would make their way to America and pioneered the West.

The orange car was wonderful. It had four doors, air conditioning, and no rust holes. It got us through graduate school and on to our first job. But after six years of driving and an additional 80,000 miles (129,000 km), it was now the ugly car I drove to work. The shiny orange paint was looking blotchy from sun exposure, the air conditioning no longer worked, the driver’s side window wouldn’t go down, and my mother was once again shopping for a new car (legitimately this time). The trade-in value of her old car was so little that my parents decided to give it to us.
In the midst of our pleasure in having a newer car, we wondered what to do with the orange car. Yes, it was ugly, but the engine ran reliably. We could get a few dollars for it at a junkyard, but we both felt we should look for someone to whom we could give it.
On Sunday morning I went into the clerk’s office to ask the ward clerk if he needed a car. He and his wife had several teens. He smiled and said no thanks; he didn’t need another car. In the corner of the office, however, was a ward member writing something. He perked up at the mention of a car, so I went through the long list of things that didn’t work. But I assured him it had good tires, the engine was reliable, and it couldn’t be too bad since it had always been driven by a full-tithe payer.
He and his wife had only one car, and he worked nights while she worked days. He had turned down better employment opportunities because he would have needed the car when his wife also needed it. A second car would permit them to increase their income and open up advancement potential for him. So we gave them the old orange car.
This would have remained just a fond memory if it hadn’t been for our conversation three months later. This ward member and his wife wanted us to know more about their circumstances when we gave them the car. As is often the case with young couples, money was scarce, and with the birth of their first child, expenses had increased more rapidly than income. They had gotten behind in their tithing and had felt awful about it. With each passing month they felt worse, but they didn’t see a way out of their dilemma. They had gone six months without paying tithing, and they had prayed and felt that they just had to make things right with the Lord. That Sunday morning when I walked into the clerk’s office, he had been writing out his tithing check, wondering how he was going to meet his financial obligations through the coming month.
My first thought was embarrassment at my joke about the car having been driven by a full-tithe payer. But as I reflected on the situation, I marveled at how the Lord keeps His promises when we keep ours. The ink wasn’t even dry on his check when the means to resolve his dilemma unwittingly walked through the door.
I have often looked back at the example of faith shown by this young couple. It comforts me to know that if I show faith, someone somewhere can be in the right place at the right time to help solve my dilemmas. How grateful I am for a Father in Heaven who knows us so well that He can bless us even before we have finished demonstrating our faith.

As a surgeon I am often asked how I gained my skills. Some suppose that one takes a class, watches an operation, and then is turned loose. There is even an ironic saying in training: see one, do one, teach one. However, nothing is further from the truth.
I gained my professional skill and knowledge under the guidance of many gifted and patient physicians. I began first by watching over shoulders and then up close. After a year of observing, I was given small assignments, helping the surgeon and his or her “first assistant”—the assistant surgeon.
After another year I was allowed to stand across the table from the surgeon and act as first assistant during simple operations. After another year or two, I was allowed to be first assistant in more complicated operations. Then I began to do the simplest operations, such as fixing a hernia, while the experienced surgeon acted as my first assistant.
In my last year of training—seven years after I had completed medical school—I was allowed to do complicated operations while the surgeon acted as first assistant. I discovered that the greatest teachers could make the operation flow smoother through their assistance because they could show me what needed to be done in clear and simple ways—ways they had learned through this same mentoring process.
I did not fully appreciate the guidance of these amazing and gifted expert surgeons who were my first assistants until I finished training and was on my own. However, even 30 years later, my teachers are in my mind as I daily use the skills they so painstakingly taught, demonstrated, and corrected.

Shortly after commencing to translate, I became acquainted with Mr. Peter Whitmer, … and also with some of his family. In the beginning of the month of June, his son, David Whitmer, came … and brought with him a two-horse wagon, for the purpose of having us accompany him to his father’s place, and there remain until we should finish the work. It was arranged that we should have our board free of charge, and the assistance of one of his brothers to write for me, and also his own assistance when convenient. … There [we] resided until the translation was finished and the copyright secured.

Josie yawned as she slowed her jog to a walk. Today was the big race! She had been looking forward to this day for months. But instead of feeling excited during warm-ups, Josie felt tired.
“How’s it going?” her older sister, Christine, asked. She sat down with Josie on the grass so they could stretch their legs.
“I’m really tired today,” Josie said, reaching for her toes.
She had been sick and had to miss several days of school. So last night she stayed up late catching up on her schoolwork.
“I hope I don’t let our team down,” Josie said.
“Just do the best you can,” Christine said. “Looks like we’re about to start!”
The girls jogged over to join their teammates. As they lined up with the other runners, Josie closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She knew her team was counting on her to run fast, as she usually did. The race time from the top five runners on their team would determine whether their team went on to the finals. She barely had time to get in position when the gun sounded to start the race. Bang! The runners pushed off the starting line and sprinted forward.
Josie pumped her arms and lengthened her steps. She knew she needed to get ahead in the beginning if she wanted to be a top finisher. At first Josie could keep up with the other lead runners. But when she tried to run faster, she couldn’t.
Josie breathed harder. She just couldn’t get her legs to move any faster. The runners behind her started passing her. Usually Josie was the one doing the passing! Maybe I should just give up, she thought.
Josie looked down at the ground as she heard another runner pass her. “Keep going, Josie!” the runner said as she ran by. Josie looked up. Then she smiled. It was one of her teammates.
“You can do it!” another teammate said as she ran past. One by one as Josie’s teammates passed her, they encouraged her to keep running.
Josie felt a surge of determination. Maybe she wouldn’t be in the top five, but she could still finish the race. She focused on her steps and didn’t stop until she finally crossed the finish line.
“I’m sorry if I … didn’t help us … qualify for the next race,” she said between big breaths.
“Our team did qualify!” Josie’s coach said as she ran over to the girls. Everyone on the team cheered, and Christine threw her arms around Josie in a big hug.
That night as Josie knelt to pray, she thought about how her teammates had helped her. Their words gave her strength to keep going when she wanted to quit.
Josie looked up at the picture of Jesus hanging above her bed. Jesus does the same thing for us, she thought. She smiled as she imagined the Savior cheering her on. “Keep going, Josie! I am here to help you.”
Josie thanked Heavenly Father for His help in running the race of life. She felt like she could do anything with Jesus cheering her on!

Sister Soares: My father and the rest of us in my home were not religious. But my dad always said prayers, every night, kneeling, and I would watch him from when I was very little. He did not teach me with words, but he taught me by action. And when I was little, I also remember that sometimes I said the name of God in vain. I did not know that I was doing something wrong, and my mother taught me that I should not speak in that way. She wasn’t religious but knew what was right and wrong. When I was nine years old, a girl in my neighborhood, who was also nine, invited me to go to Primary for the first time.
Elder Soares: You grew up in the Church without your parents in the Church and still you built your faith in the gospel, and now you have decided to dedicate your life to teaching our children that same faith.

I was sitting in a church meeting one day and caught myself staring at the variety of shoes people were wearing in the chapel. I saw leather dress shoes, black boots, bright sandals, colorful heels, and sparkly flats.
And my favorite pair of shoes? Someone’s pink buckled shoes, complete with embroidered strawberries.
It was then that I remembered the story of Christ washing His disciples’ feet.
In the times of the New Testament, I imagine most people’s feet were dirty, seeing that many wore sandals on the dirt roads and didn’t have access to regular bathing. So washing someone’s filthy feet back then probably wasn’t the most enjoyable act of service.
Thinking about this, I opened my scriptures to John 13 and read the interactions between the Savior and His Apostles as He washed their feet. I found an appreciation for Peter’s response to the Savior when it was his turn to be served. Peter replied, “Thou shalt never wash my feet” (John 13:8).
Perhaps Peter’s reluctance had to do with his love and respect for the Savior. I can imagine that, as a devoted disciple, Peter felt it was wrong to receive such treatment from someone so divine.
I realized then that some of us seem to share Peter’s reluctance to receive the Savior’s help.
The colorful selection of shoes I saw in my ward that Sunday symbolized, for me, what we each bring to our Master.
Everyone is different.
We all come from different walks of life, bringing different struggles, different perspectives, different experiences, and different questions.
However, despite all our differences, we all come to church every Sunday to partake of the sacrament, to renew our covenants, and to allow the Savior to serve us as we repent and, by doing so, accept the gift of our Savior’s atoning sacrifice.
President Russell M. Nelson reminds us that “Jesus Christ … stands with open arms, hoping and willing to heal, forgive, cleanse, strengthen, purify, and sanctify us.”1
So why are we sometimes reluctant to invite His grace and mercy into our lives? And what can we learn from His act of service?
Maybe our reluctance to accept the Savior’s help comes from feelings like shame, unworthiness, or even just our own stubborn pride. President Nelson has taught that “too many people consider repentance as punishment—something to be avoided except in the most serious circumstances. But this feeling of being penalized is engendered by Satan. He tries to block us from looking to Jesus Christ.”2 When we sin, it can be easy to feel like we aren’t good enough or we have too many flaws to be cleansed by Jesus Christ. But this is where we can take a closer look at this specific act of service for His Apostles.
I believe that Christ washing His Apostles’ feet symbolized His great love for us and His willingness to clean the spiritual dirt from our lives. He was willing to humbly serve His Apostles by cleaning one of the dirtiest parts of their bodies. Just hours later, through His atoning sacrifice, He descended below all things so He could wash us clean from the dirtiest parts of our own lives and succor us (see Alma 7:11–12).
This act, along with all His teachings, helps us understand that as we come to Him with repentance in our hearts, accepting His offer of service, we can find healing and redemption through His divine power.
As Sister Amy A. Wright, First Counselor in the Primary General Presidency, recently taught, “Because of Christ, our decision to ‘go forth and change’ can also allow us to ‘go forth and heal,’ for He is the source of healing all that is broken in our lives.”3
After washing His beloved disciples’ feet, the Savior gave them an invitation: “Ye also ought to wash one another’s feet” (John 13:14). In other words, He told them to love and minister to others as He did.
Jesus Christ is our Master Healer and our Savior. As we follow Him, we can also offer love and service to our fellow brothers and sisters in need of healing.
President Thomas S. Monson (1927–2018) taught: “We are surrounded by those in need of our attention, our encouragement, our support, our comfort, our kindness—be they family members, friends, acquaintances, or strangers. We are the Lord’s hands here upon the earth, with the mandate to serve and to lift His children. He is dependent upon each of us.”4
It is my testimony that as we seek the Savior—especially as we renew our covenants on Sunday—we will see that He desires to wash us of our sins, our mistakes, and even our heartaches and sorrows. And we can extend His love to those around us.
We only need to accept His help by exercising “faith unto repentance” (Alma 34:17) and seeking his grace (see Ether 12:27).
We all face circumstances and challenges as different as the variety of shoes on our feet, but we are all in need of the same love and grace our Savior offers.
I am grateful that I can follow in His footsteps and serve those around me who are in need of healing. As I allow myself to be healed and cleansed by Him, He gives me strength to do unto others what He has done unto me.

Ramón jingled the coins in his pocket as he finished selling his chickens’ eggs at the village market. He thought about the jar at home that held his tithing coins. On Sunday he was going to give the coins to the bishop. Ramón had a warm feeling inside. He was glad to pay tithing.
The market stalls were full of things for sale. Ramón saw a colorful shirt with the logo of his favorite soccer team. He pictured himself wearing the shirt, running down the field, and scoring the winning goal. Ramón looked at the price tag. He could buy the shirt if he spent all his egg money plus his tithing coins.
Ramón noticed the warm feeling was gone. He really wanted the shirt, but he knew Heavenly Father wouldn’t want him to spend his tithing coins. Ramón started walking home. He decided to pay his tithing first. Then he could earn more money selling eggs until he could buy the shirt and pay his tithing like the Lord wanted him to.

On Sunday, 26 November 1990, I was on the bus, on my way home from our Asian branch in Lynnfield, Massachusetts. I sat by an eleven-year-old girl and her six-year-old brother. I had seen them at our branch, but I didn’t know their names. I did know they were not members of the Church yet.
In her hands, the girl was holding a children’s book of Bible stories. She was flipping through the pages, looking at the wonderful pictures. “Look!” she said with surprise, pointing to a picture of Jesus kneeling by a rock, praying, with a look of deep pain on his face.
Turning to me, she asked, “Why does Jesus look like that?”
“Because he is suffering for the sins of the people. He is full of pain.”
Again she asked, “Why?”
So I said, “Here, do you want me to read to you?”
I started from where Jesus was kneeling and praying. And as I read, I explained the stories to them. I knew the children were understanding the stories, because when they saw Jesus nailed to the cross, they were sorry for him. And when they saw he was resurrected, they were happy.
I explained the entire story to them from the book and in my own words. And when I asked them questions, they both kept raising their hands as fast as they could.
Finally, the little girl looked up at me and asked, “Is it true?”
I looked down at her and said, “Yes, yes, it’s true.”
As I nodded my head, I knew myself that it was solid truth. I realized right then and there that I did have a strong testimony of Christ. I bore my testimony of the things that I knew in my heart were true. I know the Spirit was with me. I felt it. I felt the sensation of it—the warmth, the peace, the love.
From then on, I wanted to tell the whole world about Jesus Christ. I wanted everyone to feel that happiness, too.

“When I was a little boy, each December we would go to the home of the bishop—Father and Mother and each of their children. The bishop didn’t have an office in the meetinghouse. We had to go to his home. And then he would call us in individually and find out how much tithing we had paid and how much we wished to pay. It was a very small amount for the children. I think it cost more to keep track of than it was worth, but it did something. When we were little tiny children we were on the tithing records of the Church, and it has never been a difficult thing to pay tithing ever since then.”5

I was a student when I decided to get married. My wife loved me as I was and not because of what I had. Surely, I did not have anything materially—but I had faith in our Heavenly Father and His Son Jesus Christ, and I worked hard every day to provide for myself and my family.

Over the years, Nathalie and I have worked together, and she has made me into the man that I am. We are truly the fruit of our faith and of our daily efforts.

I wasn’t going to read my New Era last month, but I literally fell onto it and felt that maybe I was supposed to read it. I flipped through it and on page 37 of the March 1992 issue was my personal message for the month. The “Skin Deep” Mormonad hit home because for the last few months, whenever I looked in the mirror, I saw ugly brown hair, a bloated body, and blotchy skin. But now I’m happy to say that when I look in the mirror, all I see is a spirit, sent here by a loving God for some super-still-unknown reason.
Name WithheldSan Diego, California

June 27 of this year marks the 150th anniversary of that solemn event when the first prophet of this dispensation sealed his testimony of the Restoration with his blood. I testify that he was a prophet of God. I have seen the Lord convert people to His plan of salvation through the testimony of the Prophet Joseph. Many years ago I served as the president of the Canadian Mission. In the city of Oshawa, Ontario, Canada, two of our missionaries were proselyting door-to-door on a cold, snowy afternoon. They had not had any measure of success. One was experienced, one was new.
The two called at the home of Mr. Elmer Pollard, and he, feeling sympathy for the almost frozen missionaries, invited them in. They presented their message and asked if he would join them in prayer. He agreed, on the provision that he could offer the prayer.
The prayer he offered astonished the missionaries. He said, “Heavenly Father, bless these two unfortunate, misguided missionaries, that they may return to their homes and not waste their time telling the people of Canada about a message which is so fantastic and about which they know so little.”
As they arose from their knees, Mr. Pollard asked the missionaries never to return to his home. As they left, he mockingly said to them, “You can’t tell me you really believe that Joseph Smith is a prophet of God, anyway!” and he shut the door.
The missionaries had walked but a short distance when the junior companion said, “Elder, we didn’t answer Mr. Pollard.”
The senior companion said, “We’ve been evicted. Let’s move on to greener territory.”
The young missionary persisted, however, and the two returned to Mr. Pollard’s door. Mr. Pollard answered the knock and angrily said, “I thought I told you young men never to return!”
The junior companion then said, with all the courage he could muster, “Mr. Pollard, when we left your door, you said that we didn’t really believe Joseph Smith was a prophet of God. I want to testify to you, Mr. Pollard, that I know Joseph Smith is a prophet of God; that by inspiration he translated the sacred record known as the Book of Mormon; that he did see God the Father and Jesus the Son.” The missionaries then departed the doorstep.
I heard this same Mr. Pollard, in a testimony meeting, state the experiences of that memorable day. He said: “That evening, sleep would not come. I tossed and turned. Over and over in my mind I heard the words, ‘Joseph Smith is a prophet of God. I know it … I know it … I know it.’ I could scarcely wait for morning to come. I telephoned the missionaries, using the address which was printed on the small card containing the Articles of Faith that they had left with me. They returned; and this time, with the correct spirit, my wife and family and I joined in the discussion as earnest seekers of truth. As a result, we have all embraced the gospel of Jesus Christ. We shall ever be grateful to the testimony of truth brought to us by courageous, humble missionaries.”

When Ron was about 17 and I was about 12, his teacher told him that he needed to gain a testimony of his own. He said to me, “I intend to find out for myself if the Church is true. I’m going to pay any price to know for myself.”
Over the next few weeks, I watched him. I’d find him on his knees praying. I’d see him reading the Book of Mormon. I was amazed at how diligent he was.
One morning a few weeks later, I found Ron lying on his bed with his knees tucked up on his chest. He had great pain in his lower right abdomen.
My mom called for an ambulance. As we stood there over my brother, Ron said to my dad through gritted teeth, “Please, I need a priesthood blessing.” I didn’t know if my dad knew how to give a priesthood blessing. I’d never seen him do it. But he laid his hands on my brother’s head and pronounced a blessing of healing. About the time my dad said, “Amen,” Ron jumped off the bed and said the pain was totally gone. He was absolutely thrilled that the Lord had answered his prayer through that blessing.
My parents still took my brother to the hospital to be checked. All the doctors could say was that Ron’s symptoms sounded like he had had a ruptured appendix, but now they could find no trace of a problem.
Later that day, Ron told me, “Gene, I now know that the gift of healing is real. When Dad put his hands on my head, I felt the Spirit of the Lord go through my whole body. I know the priesthood is real.”
Then he said, “I also now know for myself that the Church is true. Not because of the healing, but because of what has been happening to me in reading the Book of Mormon. I’ve got my testimony by reading and praying over every page. I know all that we’ve been taught in the Church is correct, and I am going on a mission.” I’d never heard Ron say that before. It was evident to me, even as a young boy, that he had really been impacted by something.

I take you back to the general conference of October 1856. On Saturday of that conference Franklin D. Richards and a handful of associates arrived in the [Salt Lake Valley]. They had traveled from Winter Quarters with strong teams and light wagons and had been able to make good time. Brother Richards immediately sought out President Young. He reported that there were hundreds of men, women, and children scattered over the long trail from Scottsbluff to this valley. Most of them were pulling handcarts. They were accompanied by two wagon trains which had been assigned to assist them. They had reached the area of the last crossing of the North Platte River. Ahead of them lay a trail that was uphill all the way to the Continental Divide with many, many miles beyond that. …
The next morning [President Young] came to the old Tabernacle which stood on [Temple Square]. He said to the people:
“… Many of our brethren and sisters are on the plains with handcarts, and probably many are now seven hundred miles from this place, and they must be brought here, we must send assistance to them. …
“That is my religion; that is the dictation of the Holy Ghost that I possess. It is to save the people.
“I shall call upon the Bishops this day. I shall not wait until tomorrow, nor until the next day, for 60 good mule teams and 12 or 15 wagons. I do not want to send oxen. I want good horses and mules. They are in this Territory, and we must have them. Also 12 tons of flour and 40 good teamsters, besides those that drive the teams.
“I will tell you all that your faith, religion, and profession of religion, will never save one soul of you in the Celestial Kingdom of our God, unless you carry out just such principles as I am now teaching you. Go and bring in those people now on the plains.”1
That afternoon, food, bedding, and clothing in great quantities were assembled by the women.
The next morning, horses were shod and wagons were repaired and loaded.
The following morning, Tuesday, 16 mule teams pulled out and headed eastward. By the end of October, there were 250 teams on the road to give relief.
Wonderful sermons have been preached from this pulpit, my brethren and sisters. But none has been more eloquent than that spoken by President Young in those circumstances.