Gospel Story Finder

There is a story of a wealthy king that had a reputation for being irksome and vexatious. One day, he ordered a massive boulder be placed in the middle of one of the most travelled roads in the kingdom. The king knew it was going to get in people’s way, but he ordered his servants to place it there anyway.
The first group of people who bumped into it reacted with utter annoyance.
“Doesn’t the King have anything better to do than find entertainment in annoying others?” they would say.
Because they thought it was an act that only called for attention, they ignored the boulder in the middle of the road. They walked around it, irritated, and never looked back. Several more groups of people were bothered by the king’s incessant ploys to get attention. And the rest showed apathy and continued walking their path. Years passed without changes to people’s reactions towards the sight of a boulder in the middle of the road.
One day, a peasant carrying loads of vegetables stopped to notice this boulder. Rather than walk past it, he tried to move it to the side of the road. His agenda was to move it from the center of the road in order to get it out of people’s way. Because it was a heavy boulder, it took ingenuity and hours to move. It also took much of his energy, so he sat down to rest before continuing his journey.
But as he was resting, his eye noticed something shiny. It was under the boulder’s original location. He was curious. And so, he went near it. He then discovered it was a purse made of gold. When he opened it, he found a note from the king: “Congratulations! Go to my kingdom and present this note. A pot of gold—your reward—is waiting for you.”
The lesson the king wanted to impart is not all roadblocks are useless. If a person invests time and effort into overcoming them, it won’t be long until they notice these roadblocks can also be blessings in disguise.

Last summer, the Olympic Games were held in Sydney, Australia. Certain rules and disciplines were attached to the various Olympic events: runners and swimmers had to stay in their lanes, shot-putters had to stay within the circle marked on the playing field, wrestlers had to stay on the mat—or the athletes would be disqualified. In addition, the use of performance-enhancing drugs was forbidden.
One young man from Denver, Colorado, who won an Olympic silver medal later was awarded the gold because the gold-medalist in his event was disqualified for using a banned steroid. In his response, he referred to his unfortunate competitor’s loss of the medal:
“I do feel sorry for him. But we all have choices. … He made his choice, and I made my choice. …
“I believe God was watching out for me. I believe he watches out for all of us. I’ve learned so many lessons from how this has taken place. I experienced the agony of defeat before the thrill of victory. That made me so much more of a stronger person, mentally and spiritually.”

The next part of the pattern is that "they met together oft both to pray and to hear the word of the Lord." You are so blessed as women and men to be able, here at BYU-Idaho, to have the opportunity to meet together every day in an environment that builds faith. Your professors and friends can speak freely about the gospel and testimony in your classrooms; you have religion classes where testimony is shared; your church meetings are close at hand. Not all people who attend a university have so supportive a situation. And someday, you, in all probability will not be in such a tightly-knit environment of people of your own faith. In some places that I have visited, just getting to church is very difficult and requires a great sacrifice of time and resources. A few years ago I met a woman in Texas who, with her husband, were living only on their Social Security check, and for her it took a lot of budgeting just to have the money each month to buy gas so that they could make the 80-mile round trip to church each week. And yet, they did.

While my husband and I served as mission leaders in North Carolina, we traveled by plane to a mission leadership conference in Atlanta, Georgia. If you have ever been on an airplane, you know that unless you are sitting in a first-class seat, you get caught in a jam at the front of the plane while waiting for others to move to their seats in the back. Our seats were not in first class, but we were stopped in the aisle next to a woman who was.

I couldn’t help but overhear her loud and frantic cell phone conversation with someone she obviously trusted. It went something like this:

“You know how scared I am to fly. What if something happens to the plane?”

She listened to the person on the other side of the conversation and then responded, “I mean it! I am so nervous. Wait a minute. Jesus Christ is standing right next to me! I’m going to be okay!”

What she saw was my missionary badge, which displayed the name of Jesus Christ in bold letters.

She belted out, “I’m not kidding. It says ‘Jesus Christ’ right on her chest! Everything is going to be alright!”

She obviously knew that I was not Jesus Christ! But we both laughed for a second, and she relaxed. The line moved forward, and we went to our seats—in the back of the plane.

I was still chuckling as I settled into my seat. And then this question came into my mind: If I had not been wearing my missionary badge, would she have recognized me as a disciple of our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ? I pondered that question the entire flight. And I continue to ask myself that question often.

These words from a sobering, sweet letter written to me by a gallant, but modest, student now at BYU attest to a significant spirituality in one so young—one who rejoices in the many blessings he now has without brooding over those that are temporarily withheld from him.

I have now had leukemia diagnosed for fifteen months, although few people even know about it. My goal has been to lead as normal a life as is possible; hence, the subject rarely gets mentioned because most people I have encountered, doctors, included, tend to treat it as a tragedy rather than as an incentive to get one’s affairs in order promptly.

My parents took the news quite hard, perhaps because my brother died unexpectedly eleven years ago of undiagnosed causes. Most people are pessimistic; however, I have failed to see how pessimism would help me make the best use of my time which is of unknown length, not only for me, but for everyone.

Against medical and parental advice, I have since been married and am at BYU and we’re expecting a baby in July. I feel great and am truly enjoying the blessings that are coming from being married in the temple, studying the scriptures, working hard in school, and living each day rather than simply waiting to die.

Fifteen months ago, my then fiancée and I thought that if I could live long enough for us to be sealed, that would be all we would ask for. Therefore, we consider everything since then as a great gift from the Lord. We still dream and plan for a long family life together, and it gives us a certain comfort to know that our situation is in the Lord’s hands and is not bound by man’s limitations.

Like Job, this remarkable young man has avoided the usual human tendency when under stress to charge God foolishly (see Job 1:22).

Julius Blackwelder, teachers quorum adviser in the Trumbull (Connecticut) First Ward, explained his plan to the quorum members in 1991. He wanted to form a sailing group that wouldn’t just be for the young men’s enjoyment. His vision was to have the youth gather each Friday during the summer at Jennings Beach on the Atlantic Ocean in nearby Fairfield for a day of catamaran sailing. And he wanted it to be a fellowshipping tool—a way to attract the less-active in the ward and the boys’ nonmember friends.
Everybody liked the idea, and the plan, along with the boats, was launched. They called themselves the Sea Rats.
“We start right at the beginning of June. Once school is over we start sailing,” says 17-year-old Aaron Blackwelder, Brother Blackwelder’s son. “We start at ten in the morning, set up the boats, and just go out and sail. We felt we had to be friends with the less-active members first, and this is a way to bring nonmember friends out and make friendships with less-active members.”
In the group’s five-year existence, the Sea Rats now count 50 kids from the New Haven Connecticut Stake who spend the day on the group’s four catamarans. The Sea Rats have a routine that rarely changes—unless a worldwide event rolls into town.
Last July, organizers of the Special Olympics World Games approached the Sea Rats and asked if they would donate the use of their boats for the Games’ sailing events being held at nearby Savin Rock.
“We said, ‘Sure, no problem. We’ll donate the boats,’” says Drew Brown, 17, “but we also told them we wanted to donate our services and work as safety officers for the Olympians.”
As safety officers, the Sea Rats served as dead weight—or ballast—on the boats they loaned. “We made sure [the Olympians] were safe, that they didn’t get dehydrated,” says Drew. “We got to help them out and make sure they didn’t get tangled in the line. Things like that.”
Adds Ryan Brown, Drew’s younger brother, “It was fun getting to know these athletes. They’re a little slower in doing things, but they’re a lot more trusting.”
That’s something Aaron understands. His older sister Liz has both physical and mental handicaps. “I’ve always grown up with a sister with some disabilities, and that’s normal for me. It’s helped me to have patience and to deal with people better,” he says.
After only a few hours at the beach with the Special Olympians, Victor Solis, a member of the Trumbull Spanish Branch, understood why the Sea Rats gave up, not only their boats, but their time for this one week.
“These athletes have a few setbacks, but they’re choice spirits and they’re special. They just can’t get everything to work like we can. Because you have been given much, like the hymn says, you, too, must give. We’re just giving back a little bit more because of all we have.”

Kristin: “The first time I felt totally alone—isolated by the fact that my husband is not a member of the Church—was the day our first baby was blessed. Shortly before the meeting began, the ward clerk handed me a small card to fill out. Most of the questions were routine, but one made my heart leap to my throat: Had my baby been ‘born in [the] covenant’?

“Suddenly all my faith, activity, and service in the Church seemed very inadequate. I had failed, it seemed—failed myself and my innocent child. I have never felt so empty as when I checked the small box that said ‘no.’”

As a young girl I saw commitment in my grandmother, who helped Grandpa homestead our farm on the Kansas prairie. Somehow they outlasted the Dust Bowl, the Depression, and the tornadoes that terrorize the Great Plains. I’ve often wondered how Grandma put up with years of meager income and hard work and how she went on when her oldest son died in a tragic accident. Grandma’s life wasn’t easy. But do you know what I remember most about her? Her total joy in the gospel. She was never happier than when she was working on family history or teaching with her scriptures in hand. Grandma had laid aside the things of this world to seek for the things of a better.
To the world, my grandma was ordinary. But to me, she represents the unsung heroines of this century who lived up to their premortal promises and left a foundation of faith upon which we may build. Grandma wasn’t perfect, but she was a woman of God. Now it is for you and for me to carry forward the banner into the next century. We are not women of the world. We are women of God. And women of God will be among the greatest heroines of the 21st century. As President Joseph F. Smith proclaimed, it is not for us “to be led by the women of the world; it is for [us] to lead … the women of the world, in everything that is praise-worthy” (Teachings, 184).

Years ago one of the members of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles asked me to read a conference talk he was preparing for general conference. I was a junior member of the quorum. I was honored by his confidence that I might help him find the words the Lord would have him speak. He said to me with a smile, “Oh, this is the 22nd draft of the talk.”

I remembered the counsel a loving and kind President Harold B. Lee (1899–1973) had given me earlier with great emphasis: “Hal, if you want to get revelation, do your homework.”

I read, pondered, and prayed over that 22nd draft. I studied as best I could under the influence of the Holy Ghost. By the time that quorum member gave his talk, I had done my homework. I am not sure I helped, but I know that I was changed when I heard the talk given. Messages came to me far beyond the words that I had read and that he spoke. The words had greater meaning than the ones I had read in the draft. And the message seemed to be meant for me, fitted to my needs.

The servants of God fast and pray to receive the message He has for them to give to those who need revelation and inspiration. What I learned from that experience, and many others like it, is that to gain the great benefits available from hearing living prophets and apostles, we must pay the price ourselves of receiving revelation.

Several years ago an investigator gave this testimonial about Joseph Smith. He said that the Word of Wisdom was the revelation that most attracted him to investigate the Church. “There is no possible way,” he said, “that Joseph Smith could have known what we now know in the medical world about the harmful effects of tobacco, alcohol, tea, and coffee. Yet this has all been substantiated by medical science.”
He said that this was the beginning of his earnest investigation of the gospel, for he reasoned that if Joseph Smith could be so accurate on a matter that medical science validated over a hundred years later, the rest of the teachings of the Church deserved investigation. He did so and is now a member of the Church.

In 1907, after seven and a half years of work, the Vernal Tabernacle was completed and ready for dedication. A little seven-year-old named Porter Merrell was there, ready to attend the dedication with his parents. His father had worked as a carpenter on the tabernacle.
Approaching his 98th birthday, Brother Merrell remembers that day. “When it came time for the dedication, there were too many people to fit inside. They rounded up all of us kids about the ages from seven to ten and took us down to the east of the tabernacle. Before I left, I looked down from the balcony. All the ladies wore hats. They decorated their hats, and looking down it looked just like a flower garden.”
President Joseph F. Smith had made the long journey from Salt Lake City to dedicate the tabernacle. Brother Merrell was in the group of children chosen to greet the prophet as he arrived in their city. President Smith also visited every ward in the Uintah Stake. Porter was seated with the other children on the little chairs in front of the prophet. He still remembers what the prophet with the flowing snow-white beard said.
“He told us,” says Brother Merrell, “that he wanted us all to remember. The Spirit of the Lord was going to be poured out upon the world. There would be more development and more progress in the world during the next 30 to 40 years than there had been in the history of the world. He looked at us and said, ‘I want you little fellers to remember that and see if there won’t start to be progress.’”
Once again, 90 years later, Brother Merrell attended a dedication in the Vernal Tabernacle, only this time it was a temple, the house of the Lord.

Several years ago I visited an isolated oasis deep in the Gobi Desert in China. Some 80 miles from the nearest town, the oasis was in a small canyon that had been occupied by a handful of Buddhist monks for hundreds of years. In this incredibly isolated spot, the monks could avoid the temptations of the world and focus only on Buddhist teachings. In Latter-day Saint terms, these monks were trying to flee Babylon.
Most of us have elected not to dwell in total isolation but to live in the civilized world. This decision requires us to interact daily with the world and to face the challenge of doing business in Babylon even as we attempt to follow the Lord’s command to “go . . . out . . . from Babylon, from the midst of wickedness” (D&C 133:14).

Freddie hugged Dad goodbye. “Tell Haraboji we’re praying for him.”
“I will. I’ll call every day to let you know how he’s doing.”
Freddie nodded and swallowed the lump in his throat.
Dad was leaving for South Korea to visit Freddie’s grandparents, Haraboji and Halmoni. He would be gone for almost a month while Freddie and his family stayed home in the United States.
The door closed, and Dad was gone.
“I wish I could go too,” Freddie mumbled. He wiped away a tear. Freddie hadn’t seen Haraboji and Halmoni in a long time. His family had been saving money to spend their next vacation with them in South Korea. But Haraboji was sick, and now he needed surgery.
“I’m sorry, Freddie,” Mom said. “I wish we could all go with Dad, but we haven’t saved enough money yet. And it’s important for your dad to go now, when Haraboji needs him.”
“But what if the doctors can’t help Haraboji? What if he dies and I never get to see him? We should go with Dad now!” He wiped away more tears. He felt sad and angry.
Mom wrapped her arms around him. When he stopped crying, she asked, “Should we say another prayer for Haraboji?”
Freddie nodded, and they folded their arms and prayed together.
Freddie and his family prayed for Haraboji every day. Freddie made sure to always remind them. He tried his best to help out while Dad was gone. He did some of Dad’s jobs, like walking the dog and reading stories to the little kids before bed.
Weeks passed, and Freddie wasn’t so sad anymore. But he still worried about Haraboji.
One night he was talking on the phone to Dad. “What if I never get to go to Korea?” he asked. “What if Haraboji doesn’t get better, and I miss my chance to see him?”
“Freddie, someday you’ll have a turn to visit Korea. But whether or not Haraboji is still alive, you’ll see him again. Our family is eternal.”
“I know,” Freddie said. He felt something warm in his chest. He would see Haraboji again someday, no matter what happened.
“I love you, Freddie,” said Dad. “And I’ll be home soon.”
“I love you too.”
Freddie smiled as he hung up the phone. He knew they would all be together someday. He was glad he had a forever family.

My family and I moved to the island of Dominica in the Caribbean in August 2016. We immediately fell in love with the island’s beauty, culture, and people. We attended the local branch and learned much from the members there.
On Monday, September 18, 2017, a Category 5 hurricane, Maria, hit our small island. My husband and I watched as homes and vehicles were thrown down the street by the powerful storm. The fury of Hurricane Maria passed directly over the island, and the destruction was devastating. The day after the storm, we walked through the streets and found that the lush and vibrant rainforest of Dominica now looked like a wasteland.
That same morning, we walked to our fellow branch members’ homes. Only two homes were unscathed and livable. Six of the eight member families who lived on the northern side of the island lost everything. Eighty percent of the homes and buildings on Dominica were declared uninhabitable. Despite this tragedy, many families still smiled. When we asked how they were doing, they responded, “We are blessed to be alive.”
Because our family heeded the prophet’s counsel to be self-reliant, we had food storage. We were able to feed many neighbors, missionaries, and members of our branch. At each meal, we fed an average of 20 people. As we used our food storage to serve and care for those around us, our own burdens felt lighter.
This experience reminded me of Alma and his people, whose “burdens … were made light; yea, the Lord did strengthen them that they could bear up their burdens with ease” (Mosiah 24:15).
Even though we still lived without running water, electricity, and day-to-day comforts, we were strengthened to overcome and to lift others. In the months since Hurricane Maria, I have realized that while it is important to be temporally prepared, we need to be spiritually prepared as well. As we obey and build our testimonies on faith in Jesus Christ, we will have a solid foundation that will not fail when the winds and tempests of life blow around us.

Christl Fechter moved to another country after war tore apart her homeland. She didn’t speak the language well and didn’t know anyone in her new neighborhood, so at first she felt isolated and alone.

As a member of the Church, she summoned her courage and began attending her new ward. She worried that her thick accent would keep people from wanting to talk to her or that she would be judged for being a single woman.

But she met others who overlooked her differences and welcomed her into their community of friends. They reached out in love, and she soon found herself busy helping teach a Primary class. The children were great examples of acceptance, and the feeling of being loved and needed strengthened her faith and helped rekindle her lifelong devotion to the Lord.

We were miserable performers as children. We could do all kinds of things together while playing, but for one of us to try to sing a solo before the others was like asking ice cream to stay hard on the kitchen stove. In the beginning, we would laugh and make cute remarks about one another’s performance. But our parents persisted. We sang together. We prayed together. We listened quietly while Mother read Bible and Book of Mormon stories. Father told us stories out of his memory. I still remember one of those stories. I found it recently while going through a book he had published some years ago. Listen to it:

“An older boy and his young companion were walking along a road which led through a field. They saw an old coat and a badly worn pair of men’s shoes by the roadside, and in the distance they saw the owner working in the field.

“The younger boy suggested that they hide the shoes, conceal themselves, and watch the perplexity on the owner’s face when he returned.

“The older boy … thought that would not be so good. He said the owner must be a very poor man. So, after talking the matter over, at his suggestion, they concluded to try another experiment. Instead of hiding the shoes, they would put a silver dollar in each one and … see what the owner did when he discovered the money. So they did that.

“Pretty soon the man returned from the field, put on his coat, slipped one foot into a shoe, felt something hard, took it out and found a silver dollar. Wonder and surprise [shone] upon his face. He looked at the dollar again and again, turned around and could see nobody, then proceeded to put on the other shoe; when to his great surprise he found another dollar. His feelings overcame him. … He knelt down and offered aloud a prayer of thanksgiving, in which he spoke of his wife being sick and helpless and his children without bread. … He fervently thanked the Lord for this bounty from unknown hands and evoked the blessing of heaven upon those who gave him this needed help.

“The boys remained [hidden] until he had gone.” They had been touched by his prayer and felt something warm within their hearts. As they left to walk down the road, one said to the other, “Don’t you have a good feeling?” (Bryant S. Hinckley, Not by Bread Alone [Salt Lake City: Bookcraft, 1955], p. 95).

In 1976 an area general conference was held in Copenhagen, Denmark. Following the closing session, President Spencer W. Kimball desired to visit the Vor Frue Church, where the Thorvaldsen statues of the Christus and of the Twelve Apostles stand. He had visited there some years earlier and wanted all of us to see it, to go there.
To the front of the church, behind the altar, stands the familiar statue of the Christus with His arms turned forward and somewhat outstretched, the hands showing the imprint of the nails, and the wound in His side very clearly visible. Along each side stand the statues of the Apostles, Peter at the front to the right and the other Apostles in order.
Most of our group was near the rear of the chapel with the custodian. I stood up front with President Kimball before the statue of Peter with Elder Rex D. Pinegar and Johan Helge Benthin, president of the Copenhagen stake.
In Peter’s hand, depicted in marble, is a set of heavy keys. President Kimball pointed to those keys and explained what they symbolized. Then, in an act I shall never forget, he turned to President Benthin and with unaccustomed firmness pointed his finger at him and said, “I want you to tell everyone in Denmark that I hold the keys! We hold the real keys, and we use them every day.”
I will never forget that declaration, that testimony from the prophet. The influence was spiritually powerful; the impression was physical in its impact.
We walked to the back of the chapel where the rest of the group was standing. Pointing to the statues, President Kimball said to the kind custodian, “These are the dead Apostles.” Pointing to me, he said, “Here we have the living Apostles. Elder Packer is an Apostle. Elder Thomas S. Monson and Elder L. Tom Perry are Apostles, and I am an Apostle. We are the living Apostles.
“You read about the Seventies in the New Testament, and here are two of the living Seventies, Elder Rex D. Pinegar and Elder Robert D. Hales.”
The custodian, who up to that time had shown no emotion, suddenly was in tears.
I felt I had had an experience of a lifetime.

A heartfelt delivery took place in December as Erina Osborne and Chris Forbes, along with a dedicated team of volunteers from local congregations of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, made their way to Waikato Hospital with 138 beautifully crafted quilts and “angel blankets” for various hospital units.
An angel blanket is an infant-sized blanket provided to mothers of newborn children with life threatening conditions.
The quilts provided comfort and warmth to families and children facing difficult circumstances during the holiday season.
The quilts were distributed across several hospital wards:
Neonatal Ward: 48 quilts
Neonatal Intensive Care Unit (NICU): 76 quilts
Waikids Cancer Ward: 14 quilts
Since 2021, Erina and Chris, along with a network of volunteers, have donated over 750 quilts and angel blankets to various organizations.
Erina and Chris took the opportunity to visit with nurses and doctors, thanking them for their unwavering dedication to the children and families in their care. Many of the healthcare workers were visibly moved by the thoughtful gesture.
Several young women volunteers, many of whom were learning to sew for the first time, bravely took part in creating the quilts for babies while overcoming their own personal challenges to bless the lives of newborn babies.
The quilts were delivered just in time for Christmas, offering families and healthcare professionals a tangible reminder of hope and warmth during a season often marked by hardship and loss.
The quilting project was promoted on the JustServe.org website so volunteers could join in.

Parable of the bicycle
Stephen E. Robinson, has written a wonderful parable, “You Are Priceless - The Parable of the Bicycle”, which I want to share with you.

“Daddy, I need to talk to you,” the little girl said. Seeing her earnest expression, the father set his newspaper aside and looked into his daughter’s eyes.

“All my friends have bikes,” the little girl explained. “Can I get a bike? I could ride it to school and lock it with a lock. I could go to my friend’s house all by myself and you wouldn’t even have to drive me.” Her eyes sparkled with excitement at the thought.

“Well,” he said, “that is an interesting idea. But having a bike is a big responsibility, you know. And bikes cost quite a lot of money.”

The little girl smiled confidently. “I’m going to pay for it myself,” she declared. ”I’m going to save up all my money and not spend even one penny. If I save and save, don’t you think I’ll have enough for a bike someday.”

Her father sat for a few moments without answering. He knew that his little girl had no idea what a bicycle would really cost. There was no way her small allowance would be enough, even if she did extra jobs around the house to add to it.

But she was so excited, so earnest – so priceless – that his heart melted. He took her into his arms and hugged her tightly. “A goal is a good thing to have,” he said. “Why don’t you try it, and let’s see what happens.”

A few days went by, and the father found his little girl sweeping the porch. The following week he noticed her working alongside her mother in the garden, pulling weeds and planting flowers. And once or twice, as the little girl went into her bedroom, he heard the clink of coins being dropped into a glass jar.

After a while, the little girl came to her father and said, “Daddy, I’ve been working and saving up all my money for a long time. Can we get my bike now?” She shook the coins in the bottom of the jar.

The father looked at the little collection of coins, and then he looked into the pleading eyes of the little girl he loved so much. “Let’s go and see what we can find out,” he suggested.

The bicycle shop had a little bell that made a tinkling noise when they walked into the store. They hadn’t looked around very long when suddenly the little girl froze. There it was! The most beautiful bicycle she could ever have imagined! She ran to it, stroking its shiny chrome and running her fingers through the colorful streamers that flowed from its handle grips. Never could there be a more perfect bike than this one. She clapped her hands with the pure delight of it.

Then she reached for the price tag.

The next moment, the sunshine in the little girl’s eyes melted into tears. “Oh, Daddy,” she wept, “I’ll never have enough. Never.” She threw herself into his arms.

Her father cradled her head on his shoulder and gently stroked her hair, letting her cry.

When the little girl finally settled down, her father wiped her tears away and said, “How about this? How much money do you have?”

“Sixty-one cents,” she answered in a forlorn voice.

“Then I’ll tell you what,” he said. “Let’s try a different arrangement. You give me everything you’ve got – the whole sixty-one cents – and a hug and a kiss, and this bike is yours. I’ll make up the difference.”

Hope came back into the little girl’s eyes. “Really, Daddy?” she asked.

“Really, honey.”

“Oh, Daddy!” she said once again, but the words were happy ones now, and the little girl hurried to fill her part of the bargain with several hugs and kisses just to be sure.

The deal was completed, and the Most Perfect Bike Ever was purchased, and the father walked beside his little girl as she wheeled it proudly to the car. In his pockets jingled the sixty-one cents, and in his heart glowed his love for his daughter and the joy he felt in knowing how hard she had worked to reach her goal. When it came down to it, the sixty-one cents – and the hugs and kisses – were exactly enough.

But the story doesn’t end there. . . .

The truth is, there’s something we all want, and we want it more than any child ever wanted any bicycle. We want the kingdom of God. We want to go home to our Father in Heaven worthy and clean.
At some point in that spiritual voyage, we recognize the full price of admission into that kingdom, and we also realize we cannot pay it. We’ll never have enough - - never. The tremendous price of perfect performance is hopelessly beyond our means.
And so we despair.
Only then can we fully appreciate the One who comes to save. For Him, each soul is priceless. When we finally feel the pain of our own shortcomings, the Savior, Jesus Christ, steps in and lovingly says, “Let’s try a different arrangement. How much do you have? You give me exactly that much (the whole sixty-one cents) and do all you can do, and I will provide the rest for now. You give me all you’ve got, and a hug and a kiss (signifying the love that cements this covenant), and the kingdom is yours. Perfection will still be our ultimate goal, but until you can achieve it on your own, I’ll let you use mine. What do you say?”
To all who want to serve God and keep his commandments, who hunger and thirst after righteousness, we declare, this is the “good news” of the gospel. Christ is the answer. He is the bridge from here to there. He is our hope when we feel cut off and alone. He is our Savior.”[20]

Mother took pieces of wood from a dwindling pile on the kitchen floor and put them through the open door of the cookstove. She was heating the oven to bake bread. Six loaves were rising on the warming shelf along the top of the stove. A rush of warm air met Jack, my brother, who was five, and Uncle Bob, who was ten, as they brought in armloads of wood and stacked them carefully beside the stove. In my dad’s family, boys were considered men when they were ten years old, and they were expected to do a full day’s work.
Uncle Bob is my dad’s youngest brother. Dad was about seventeen when Uncle Bob was born. Dad always had a special love for him. No matter where we lived, Dad would get lonesome to see Uncle Bob and would often go home to his parents’ place just to see him.
As he was growing up, Uncle Bob often came to our home. He helped Dad with the haying and the fieldwork. He carried wood for my mother. He really enjoyed eating all the delicious food Mother prepared.
The rest of Dad’s family had been converted to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints after Dad was grown and had left home. Uncle Bob was the youngest member of Dad’s family, and he had a special testimony of the Church.
One day Uncle Bob stacked an armload of wood and turned to my mother. The Spirit was strong in his heart as he began to explain the things he had been learning in church and through study of the scriptures and personal prayer. He told her many things about the gospel of Jesus Christ and about Joseph Smith’s praying to know which church was true and discovering that not one of the churches in his day had the fullness of the gospel. Uncle Bob told her how Joseph Smith had been privileged to see God the Father and his Son, Jesus Christ, and to know for himself that they had bodies of flesh and bone, just as he had. Uncle Bob’s eyes never wavered from my mother’s face as he bore his strong testimony.
Mother didn’t believe a boy so young as Uncle Bob could know these things. She became angry at the words she was hearing and told Uncle Bob, “You may come back to my house anytime, but never mention these things here again.”
Uncle Bob loved my parents and wanted to come as often as he could. He agreed. “Aunt Ruth, I will never mention these things again in your home, I promise. I also promise you that someday you will ask me to baptize you.”
Now, this was many years ago, when young people did not speak their minds. They were expected to show respect to those who were older than they. It took a lot of courage for Uncle Bob to speak to my mother this way.
We spent many happy times with Uncle Bob. He stayed with us occasionally while our parents went to visit my mother’s family. He never broke his promise to my mother by again speaking of the great truths of the gospel or bearing his testimony, not even when both of our parents were away.
One year, Uncle Bob came to stay for two weeks. My sister, Jeannie, made spice cake every day. We whipped a half-gallon canful of pure cream for the topping. The smells seemed to curl around the corners of the room and out to the fields where Jack and Uncle Bob worked. It made your mouth water, it was such a tangy odor. But not even then, with a stove full of wood and stomach full of sweet spice cake did Uncle Bob break his vow to my mother.
The years kept going by, one by one. Uncle Bob grew up, married, and had six sons and one daughter. He always stayed close to the Church. He knew that it was true. He held many callings over the years. He served wherever he was needed, and in later years he became a stake patriarch and a temple worker in the Portland Oregon Temple.
In 1971 Uncle Bob was fifty years old and my mother was sixty-four when she telephoned him one day. It’s curious—after all those years, she still remembered! Mother said, “Will you come, Bob. Will you come and baptize me?” On April 15, 1971—forty years after my uncle had made his promise to her—he baptized my mother a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.