Gospel Story Finder

From the islands of the Pacific to the highlands of South America, I’ve seen boys working to turn dreams into reality. In fact, I’ve seen it so often that it merges into one image, one picture. It’s of a small boy, maybe nine or ten, in shorts, barefoot, and with a torn shirt. He’s on a patch of dirt, alone, and he’s looking down at a white-and-black-checkered ball. He takes a step toward it, his leg swings through, and the ball shoots off, about seven feet above the ground, where it might zip past a goalie into the net—except there’s no goalie and no net; there’s just the boy and the ball. And then he runs to the ball, puts it in place with his foot, and kicks it. And he does it over and over again.
You don’t know where he lives, but you know that he’ll take the ball home with him and that more than likely he keeps it near the place he sleeps. He sees it when he gets up and when he goes to bed. He may even dream about that ball shooting toward the goal.
The little boy in my memory keeps kicking that ball, over and over again. I can’t see a goalpost or a goalie. I can’t hear the roar of the crowd. But in his mind, he can. And so he kicks the ball, over and over again.

Growing up, I was raised in a non-denominational Christian home, which I loved. I was, and always will be, incredibly grateful for my family and the things they taught me about God and Jesus Christ. But when I graduated high school, Southern Virginia University reached out to me to play lacrosse on a scholarship. I was hesitant because this school was affiliated with the “Mormon” Church, which I had always been told was crazy.
But for some reason, I knew this was the school I needed to attend.
The first thing I noticed about my classmates who were members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints was that they had genuine intentions to do good. I knew from the Bible that I could assess others’ character by their fruits (see Matthew 7:15–20). And the only “fruit” I saw from these Church members was goodness.
Curious, I started asking questions, particularly to a classmate named Coleman, who talked with me for hours about the gospel. When he began preparing to serve a mission, I joined him in reading scriptures every morning. At first, I was cynical about The Book of Mormon. But I started pondering what we read, and I could see the light in the words. I knew I needed to seek the truth for myself.
That April, I watched general conference for the first time and heard President Russell M. Nelson give a talk on faith. He spoke about tiny mustard seeds, saying:
“The mustard seed represents a small but growing faith.
“The Lord does not require perfect faith for us to have access to His perfect power. But He does ask us to believe.”1
With my growing and curious faith in mind, I developed a desire to deepen the roots of my faith in the true gospel. So, I started going to church with my roommates. I fasted and prayed to really know if the Book of Mormon is true.
When I prayed, I felt the Spirit so strongly. It felt like the Savior and Heavenly Father were sitting with me, Their hands on my shoulders. I knew I had found the truth. And I believe They were comforting me because They knew I had a hard decision to make.
I called my mom and told her I had something important to tell her. She jokingly asked if I was joining the “Mormon cult.” When I told her I was indeed going to be baptized and confirmed a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, we both cried. It was a difficult conversation, but I knew I couldn’t deny the truth I had received.
Coleman was able to baptize and confirm me. His family and all my friends from school came to support me. I felt so much love, especially from Heavenly Father.
But my decision to be baptized really strained my relationship with my family. My parents believe I worship a different God now and am bound to go to hell. My 12 siblings all have their own opinions about me joining another Church too. Sometimes it feels like I’m walking on eggshells in our relationships, so I continue to pray their hearts will be softened. I feel the support of the Holy Ghost, and while my family is still adjusting, we make sure we know that we love each other.
Coleman is serving a mission now, but he, his family, and my other ward friends still support me daily. I don’t think I could have made it through this past year without them. And I recently received my temple endowment. The temple has been so helpful to me when I need peace and guidance.
Though not having support from my family has been incredibly hard, God has blessed me beyond what I expected and has given me many mercies as I move forward with faith.
Like Elder David A. Bednar of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles described, “The Lord’s tender mercies are the very personal and individualized blessings, strength, protection, assurances, guidance, loving-kindnesses, consolation, support, and spiritual gifts which we receive from and because of and through the Lord Jesus Christ.”2
It’s been a long journey, but through my struggles, I’ve turned to Jesus Christ and strengthened my foundation of faith in Him. If you are in a situation where your family doesn’t support your faith in the gospel, you can still have peace and hope in the Savior. I know that as we focus on the daily blessings and tender mercies of the Lord, we will continually become more confident in our testimonies and in His grace. He will always lead us to wonderful blessings like good friends and peace and joy in our hearts. Even in difficult trials, He will always provide us with goodness!

President Tandiman, a retired government official, was working in a law office in 1970 when he met Latter-day Saint attorneys applying for government recognition of the Church. At their invitation, he accepted the missionary discussions. He was affected by the conduct of the missionaries and their teachings and the fellowshipping he received. “These made a deep impression upon me, an impression that stayed with me and helped me remain active in those early years of my membership,” he says. President Tandiman’s wife and six children also accepted the gospel, and he baptized them. His daughter is now married and has a daughter of her own. Four sons have served missions in Indonesia, and a fifth son is looking forward to a mission call.

One year after his baptism, Brother Tandiman was called as president of the Djakarta Branch, then later as the West Java District president.

She thought back to the first time she had seen them—two young men, “boys” to her, who were about the same age as some of her grandsons. She had been trimming the hedge when she saw them come out of the alley and turn toward her, two well-groomed young men in suits. The sight made her lift her eyebrows in mild surprise and curiosity. It seemed different to see decent kids again, she had thought, picturing her own grandsons who had that awful long hair and were doing things that kids just shouldn’t do. “But,” she said, addressing the hedge, “they are still the best grandkids around.”

She wondered what these two young men did in their suits and on bikes at 9:45 in the morning. She wasn’t left to wonder too long. When they got to where she was working, they stopped. One called out, “Howdy, ma’am.” She stopped snipping and tilted her head way back so as to get a better view of them through her glasses, which always dangled precariously on the tip of her nose.

“Good morning,” she replied.

“Ma’am, my name is Elder Blackburn and this is my companion Elder Lyon.

“We are representatives of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, more commonly known as the Mormon church.” (With the mentioning of the word Mormon, her mind reeled with the many things she had heard. Pictures of wild-eyed religious fanatics with long, flowing beards and thousands of wives raced through her head.)

“Have you ever heard of the Mormon church?” the one called Lyon asked.

“Wha-what was that?” she stammered, as her thoughts popped like an over-occupied toy balloon.

“Have you ever heard of the Mormon church?”

“Well,” she began slowly, trying to think of a way to get out of the situation, “yes, I have, but I’ve got my own church.”

“That’s wonderful,” the one called Blackburn said, cutting her off before she had the chance to say she wasn’t interested. “We are new in the area of Rosmont, and today we are going around talking to our new neighbors. We live over on Richardson Street, behind Mrs. Garrett. Do you know Mrs. Garrett?”

“I know her quite well. I’ve lived here for 48 years.”

Lyon began again: “We are also talking with our neighbors about a visit that the Sav—” This time it was her turn to interrupt.

“Boys, I hate to be rude, but I’ve got a lot to do, and I’m really not too interested right now, but thank you for saying hello. That is very sweet. More young people need to be as nice as you. Good-day.”

“Well, it has been nice talking with you, ma’am.” It was Blackburn again, and with that they were gone to the next house.

So then she knew who they were and what they were doing. As the days went by, she would see them leave between 9:30 and 9:45. They always waved as they passed and said hello. They even stopped every once in a while to chat. In a few months a new face took Elder Blackburn’s place. He was introduced as Elder Daringjer. (Same first name again, she thought.) The one called Daringjer had been a horticulture major before coming on his “mission” as they called it. They became instantly talkative, and she showed him all of her little plants and beauties.

One Monday morning she was surprised to find them in ordinary clothes, waiting in the garden for her. Elder Daringjer explained that they would like to work with her and help if they could. Elder Lyon mowed the lawns and trimmed the walks and hedges, while she and the other cared for her little fragile babies. While they worked, she found out many things about who these boys were and why they came out on missions. She also found out that they didn’t really all have the same first names; it was only a title.

By noon what would have taken her days to finish had been completed. They had wanted to come over and show her a film-strip on something or other, but she had politely refused. The fact that they didn’t push things at her seemed to make her think of them with more curiosity than before. She was thinking of them almost daily.

“Why do I bother with fanatics,” she asked a row of carrots one morning after several weeks of letting the elders come and weed, trim, and talk to her. She was very amazed when they told her that both of their families had vegetable gardens back home, and that their prophet had counseled the people to raise gardens, fix yards, repair homes, and care for their farms.

As the days went by, instead of holding her breath when they turned out of the alley toward her like she had during the first few weeks she had known them, she found herself holding her breath hoping they wouldn’t turn away.

“I wonder what makes young men spend two years visiting with people about a religion that doesn’t even have a professional clergy to give sermons? It sounds rather hastily set up. Some day I’ll just have to ask them inside to talk a little more.”

By 9:00 her morning work was done, and she was kneeling in her chrysanthemums, acting very busy with weeding, looking for any evil little bug that would bring harm to her small, delicate beings. Her thoughts kept wandering to the events that had happened just last week.

Her morning had started as usual, but at 7:30 her phone rang and it was bad news from her daughter. Her grandson, one of those with the long hair and bad habits, had been involved in what started as a stay-out-of-Africa rally and ended in a blood bath between students with rocks, signs, and knives and a local garrison of guardsmen with their clubs, shields, and guns. The rally ended with one dead national guard member and five dead students, of which her grandson had been one.

The shock lingered long after the telephone call. She sat staring at the kitchen wall for an hour, and finally she had dragged herself down to her flowers. There she sat, trying to forget. It was then she looked up, and instead of seeing two young men in suitcoats and on bikes turn out of the alley, only one was coming. His white shirt was missing its usual tie, and his bike and coat were gone. With head down and hands jammed hard in his pockets, clenched in fists of frustration, he was kicking rocks and old cans as he stomped toward her. She could see that he was talking to himself, and as the distance narrowed, she caught snatches of the angry words he was saying.

She sat and listened as he began having a mental battle with himself. First he’d mumble a scripture on patience, or brotherly love, or humility, then a quick comeback on patience being gone, and brotherly love destroyed by this or that, and humility nonexistent. The more he talked, the more the scriptures began to win until he was murmuring only pieces of scriptures and phrases of hymns that she had never heard before.

There had been a disagreement of some sorts; that was obvious. By the time he had reached the spot where she sat staring in the chrysanthemums, he had slowed and stopped. He stood looking at his scuffed shoes, totally unaware of her presence, his mind frantically searching for what to do. Pride said go, but love said stop. The hardness of his brow softened, the firmness around his mouth that had kept his gritted teeth solidly in place weakened, and she could see his eyes fill with tears. She became very conscious of her position and wished she were one of her beautiful little flowers blowing in the breeze.

Then from the alley a voice boomed: “Elder, wait! I—I’m sorry!” The young man near her slowly turned and looked where his partner was standing in his stocking feet.

For what seemed enough time to plant and harvest a section of wheat, the air remained empty of human sounds or movement. Then Elder Scuffed Shoes looked at her and, in a rather husky voice, asked if he could please have a flower. “A flower of forgiveness,” he had muttered. Mutely she clipped one for him and watched as he retraced his steps until he stood in front of the other. They were too far off for her to hear what was said, but she saw the flower exchange hands and watched as they walked back to their apartment in the alley, each with an arm around the other’s shoulder.

She had sat there in the flowers trying to figure out how one young man could know so much about love and have such an abundance of it, while another lay lifeless on a mortician’s table because of his gross lack of it. Both had been searching for what life really was. One had found it; the other hadn’t. Why? She couldn’t answer her own question. Finally she got up and left to prepare for a funeral many miles away. Even as she left, she knew she had to find the answer to “Why?” when she returned.

She was kneeling in the chrysanthemums when she saw them coming.

“Turn up!” she whispered. “Turn up!” They looked right and left, they both saw her and waved, and then together they turned away. Her heart sank like a rock in a lake. She felt as if a building was falling on her, making her hands and mind feel heavy. She watched silently as they rode a little way and then stopped. They were talking to one another. She just sat in the flowers thinking that they were gone and she’d have to try again tomorrow. She considered just going to their small apartment to talk with them.

“I could bring something nice like fresh cookies,” she whispered to her small spade, knowing that she would never find the strength to do it.

The elders sat on their bikes looking back at their neighbor.

“What makes you think she wants to talk to us, Elder? The only things she talks about are her flowers.”

“I know, but did you see the way she was watching us? Did you see her eyes? I have a little sister who used to wait by the big window every day when I came home from work, and I could see in her eyes that she wanted to tell me what had happened to her in kindergarten that day.”

“So?”

“Well, Elder, look at her eyes, and besides that, she didn’t even wave at us. She always waves.”

“Maybe she’s mad.”

“I don’t really think so. Let’s just ask her if we can help her in some way. Look, she’s still watching us.”

“Okay, let’s go chat.”

They turned their bikes around and came back. When they stopped, Elder Lyon said, “Ah, ma’am? Could we help you?”

She just looked at them, and her eyes filled with tears. “Yes, Elder,” she said, through a slightly cracking voice. “Let’s go in the house, and you … well … I’ve got some questions I need some answers to.”

They walked up the stairs and onto the front porch. Before they went in, a thought came to her, and she said, “I hope this won’t take all morning, because there is an old man I must see today, an old man who suffered a stroke in the early spring. He must be awfully depressed watching his beautiful lawn go unattended. I think I’ll take him some flowers, flowers of forgiveness.”

This first photo is of my siblings and me. I’m the medium-sized one smack-dab in the middle. The year is 1952 and the setting is Salt Lake City, where I was born and raised. While I have many fond memories of this stage of my life, one seems to stand out more prominently than the rest.

My ten year old brother Mike and I who was seven were left in charge of our younger twin brother and sister one night when Mom and Dad went out for their weekly date. In my mind’s eye, I can see the four of us lying on the living room floor in front of our 12-inch black-and-white television set, no doubt watching a favorite program. All these years later, I can distinctly recall a sudden, powerful impression I had to stand up and walk into the kitchen. Once in the kitchen, I had the inexplicable idea that I should get down on my hands and knees and examine the tiny crevice under the kitchen cupboards. What I saw temporarily stunned me: Through that tiny crack, I could make out red, flickering flames!

Frantically, I ran back into the living room to tell my brother what I saw. “Mike! I think there’s a fire in the basement!” He just laughed at me, but I persisted and convinced him to go down into the basement with me to look. He nonchalantly led me through the quiet sewing room and then opened the door into the laundry room. There, in a large box of fabric, we saw flames shooting almost to the ceiling! Mike yelled at me to take the twins across the street to our neighbors and call the fire department. Meanwhile, he quickly unhooked the hose from the back of the washing machine and started dousing the flames.

By the time the two big fire engines arrived at our house, Mike had the fire out. My parents pulled into the driveway at about the same time the firemen did! It was quite an exciting scene for my family and all of our neighbors. We had caught the fire before it was able to do any real damage to our house. The only thing that was burned that night was an insignificant box of mother’s sewing scraps.

Standing outside our family home with the firemen, I knew without a doubt that Heavenly Father loved me and trusted me enough to send seven-year-old me an important message: Go look in the kitchen under the cupboards.

For example, when I was presiding over the Florida Mission some twenty years ago, I received a letter from Sister Flavia Salazar Gomez in Santiago, the Dominican Republic. Originally from Mexico, where she had joined the Church when she was twelve, Flavia had married and moved with her husband to his native country. She believed she was the only Latter-day Saint within Dominican’s population of some five million people. She wrote that she had a year-old baby who had not been named or blessed by the priesthood. She added that she had cancer and doctors did not expect her to live very long. Demonstrating simple faith, she asked if a priesthood holder could travel to Santiago to bless both her and the baby.

Soon after receiving the letter, I had the opportunity to fly to that area. I met with an active Latter-day Saint family we knew of in the Dominican capital of Santo Domingo, Dale Valentine and his wife and children. Brother Valentine and I drove to Santiago, and then realized that we did not have Flavia’s street address with us. I told Brother Valentine to drive into the busy city and turn to the left. Then I told him to make a right turn and proceed toward the center of the city. After traveling several blocks, I said to Brother Valentine, “Go to the next corner; make a right turn; and after you turn, you will find an empty parking space.” He drove as I had directed, and we did find an empty parking space, which was most unusual in all the traffic. “Now what do we do?” he asked.

I said, “Let’s just start asking people.”

Brother Valentine went over to a man standing outside a residence and asked if he knew of a Flavia Salazar Gomez.

Surprised, the man said, “Yes, she’s my wife.”

We went into the home, and met with and interviewed Flavia. In the two years since she had left Mexico and her contact with the Church, she had faithfully kept the Word of Wisdom, and prayed every day.

We blessed the baby. Then I felt impressed that Flavia should be blessed that she should recover from her cancerous condition and become well.

Some six months later, I had the opportunity to meet again with Flavia and her husband. She was in good health; doctors had told her she was completely cured.

When this lovely young mother had needed a priesthood blessing she had exercised her faith, and had written to a mission president whom she did not know. The mission president had done what the Lord told him to do to answer her need. It was just that simple.

Another missionary wrote:
“The mother of a poor family came to me and my companion and asked us when we were going to eat at her home. Knowing of the family’s humble circumstances, I talked to the branch president. He said, ‘Elders, this family has taught us a lot by their example of humility. It is a great privilege to have them in our branch. They are poor, but they really want to participate. We want you to go. If their food isn’t enough, come by my house afterwards and eat with us.’”

Later in my life I was called to be an early-morning seminary teacher, and that year the course of study was the Doctrine and Covenants and Church history. All of our children were in school during the day, and I found myself sitting at our dining room table each day with every book about Church history I could lay my hands on. I sat for hours every day immersed in reading everything I could about the life of Joseph Smith, the early accounts of Church history, and the revelations received. I couldn’t get enough. I was riveted.

It is interesting that as controversial questions have arisen in more recent times about Joseph Smith and some aspects of Church history, I feel grateful for that time in my life. I read all of those things years ago as I studied the life of Joseph Smith and the history of the early days of the Church. I am already familiar with many of the slanderous reports made by the Prophet’s detractors in his time, so when they begin to resurface as “new information,” my response is, “Really? This old stuff again?” Accurate knowledge together with faith is the best defense against skepticism.

Church members in Tallinn spent a day helping needy community members perform maintenance on their homes. Some participants chopped wood and shoveled coal, while others cleaned carpets, changed curtains, and washed windows and walls.
Maila Chan went with her family to visit an older woman and chop wood for her. “As a mother I am so happy that our family had such a wonderful experience,” she said. “How great it is that while serving others, you forget your own problems completely. I know that while serving others, we only serve our God.”
Margit Timakov also observed, “Putting aside my own duties and committing myself wholly to helping somebody, I understood what power sacrifice really has. We do not need to ask why or whether we could have done something else. We just reach out and help. We help because we care. We help because we want to follow Christ’s example.”

I’d never been very committed to indexing. I love temple work and have used FamilySearch.org to find family members’ names to take to the temple. I believe the Lord has inspired technological advancements to further and hasten His work. And I understand that indexing performs a critical function of making searchable records accessible. But my efforts at indexing had still been intermittent and weak.
Enter COVID-19 and temple closures. In the April 2020 general conference, President Russell M. Nelson said: “While worshipping in the temple is presently not possible, I invite you to increase your participation in family history, including family history research and indexing. I promise that as you increase your time in temple and family history work, you will increase and improve your ability to hear Him.”1 Right after this invitation was given, I was quarantined because of exposure to someone with COVID-19. I decided to use that time to try indexing again.
At first my experience was the same as before—slow and frustrating. I don’t easily understand other people’s handwriting or the formats of different forms. Then I remembered what I learned in Saints, volume 1, when Joseph Smith was translating the Book of Mormon: “He had to be humble and exercise faith as he studied the characters.”2 At that same time, Oliver Cowdery was unable to translate, in part because he “took no thought save it [were] to ask” (Doctrine and Covenants 9:7). I didn’t want to find myself making the same mistake as Oliver, so I applied myself with a little more enthusiasm and commitment.
Ever since that moment, instead of wincing or shying away from difficult indexing projects, I relish the opportunity to work hand in hand with the Lord in indexing names so that those who have passed can become one step closer to receiving ordinances in the temple. As I study out in my mind the details of the records before me, I feel greater patience in my persistence to understand the records, and I recognize the Lord’s hand in my understanding when it comes. I have felt the fulfillment of President Nelson’s promise—I am increasing in my ability to hear the Lord.
I am thankful for the opportunity to participate in the work of salvation and exaltation! Indexing is an amazing opportunity to emulate the Prophet Joseph Smith in laboring to comprehend what would otherwise be incomprehensible to us but can become clear through the gift and power of God.

When our daughter Erin was in junior high, a hugely popular movie swept the country. It went on to win several major awards, and everyone was talking about it - including my daughter’s friends. Of course, Erin wanted to see the movie and begged to be allowed. I was aware of some inappropriate content and didn’t think it was a good idea. While struggling with this issue, I felt inspired to leave the decision to her. This was NOT something I was used to as a parent. She was our oldest, and so far, things had gone pretty well with the parents making all of the decisions!
We sat down at the computer together and read several reviews which described what kind of violence, sexuality, nudity, and profanity the movie contained. At first, she was defensive because she thought I was simply trying to pile on facts in order to further my side of the argument, but then I told her it would be her decision. She was as shocked as she was elated.
A few days later, she came to me and said, “Dad, I wish you had just told me ‘yes’ or ‘no’ about the movie. Now that it is my decision, it’s a lot harder.”
To her credit, Erin eventually decided not to see the movie. We both learned valuable lessons from this experience. I learned just why agency is so important to our Heavenly Father’s plan. My daughter learned that once we take responsibility for our choices, everything is different. Once we realize that we are “agents that act and not objects to be acted upon,” the game changes.2 Taking responsibility for our choices is a monumental step in spiritual maturity.

When my grandson Jack was 10, he played on a competitive soccer team. Jack talked with his parents and decided to honor the Sabbath and not to play in games on Sundays. He worried that he wasn’t getting better because he was missing those games. Jack’s little brother Charles knew he was worried. One day Charles said the family prayer. He asked Heavenly Father to help Jack not be worried about soccer. Charles knew that a great way to help his brother was to pray for him. He had faith that his prayer would help Jack.
We need help in this life, and Heavenly Father wants to give us that help. He loves us. He will listen when we pray!

After finishing our mission assignment, I was called by President Gordon B. Hinckley to serve as a Seventy in the Church. Part of my early training as a new General Authority included an opportunity to sit with members of the Twelve as they assigned missionaries to serve in one of the 300-plus missions of this great Church.

With the encouragement and permission of President Henry B. Eyring, I would like to relate to you an experience, very special to me, which I had with him several years ago when he was a member of the Quorum of the Twelve. Each Apostle holds the keys of the kingdom and exercises them at the direction and assignment of the President of the Church. Elder Eyring was assigning missionaries to their fields of labor, and as part of my training, I was invited to observe.

I joined Elder Eyring early one morning in a room where several large computer screens had been prepared for the session. There was also a staff member from the Missionary Department who had been assigned to assist us that day.

First, we knelt together in prayer. I remember Elder Eyring using very sincere words, asking the Lord to bless him to know “perfectly” where the missionaries should be assigned. The word “perfectly” said much about the faith that Elder Eyring exhibited that day.

As the process began, a picture of the missionary to be assigned would come up on one of the computer screens. As each picture appeared, to me it was as if the missionary were in the room with us. Elder Eyring would then greet the missionary with his kind and endearing voice: “Good morning, Elder Reier or Sister Yang. How are you today?”

He told me that in his own mind he liked to think of where the missionaries would conclude their mission. This would aid him to know where they were to be assigned. Elder Eyring would then study the comments from the bishops and stake presidents, medical notes, and other issues relating to each missionary.

He then referred to another screen which displayed areas and missions across the world. Finally, as he was prompted by the Spirit, he would assign the missionary to his or her field of labor.

From others of the Twelve, I have learned that this general method is typical each week as Apostles of the Lord assign scores of missionaries to serve throughout the world.

Having served as a missionary in my own country in the Eastern States Mission a number of years ago, I was deeply moved by this experience. Also, having served as a mission president, I was grateful for a further witness in my heart that the missionaries I had received in New York City were sent to me by revelation.

After assigning a few missionaries, Elder Eyring turned to me as he pondered one particular missionary and said, “So, Brother Rasband, where do you think this missionary should go?” I was startled! I quietly suggested to Elder Eyring that I did not know and that I did not know I could know! He looked at me directly and simply said, “Brother Rasband, pay closer attention and you too can know!” With that, I pulled my chair a little closer to Elder Eyring and the computer screen, and I did pay much closer attention!

A couple of other times as the process moved along, Elder Eyring would turn to me and say, “Well, Brother Rasband, where do you feel this missionary should go?” I would name a particular mission, and Elder Eyring would look at me thoughtfully and say, “No, that’s not it!” He would then continue to assign the missionaries where he had felt prompted.

As we were nearing the completion of that assignment meeting, a picture of a certain missionary appeared on the screen. I had the strongest prompting, the strongest of the morning, that the missionary we had before us was to be assigned to Japan. I did not know that Elder Eyring was going to ask me on this one, but amazingly he did. I rather tentatively and humbly said to him, “Japan?” Elder Eyring responded immediately, “Yes, let’s go there.” And up on the computer screen the missions of Japan appeared. I instantly knew that the missionary was to go to the Japan Sapporo Mission.

Elder Eyring did not ask me the exact name of the mission, but he did assign that missionary to the Japan Sapporo Mission.

Privately in my heart I was deeply touched and sincerely grateful to the Lord for allowing me to experience the prompting to know where that missionary should go.

At the end of the meeting Elder Eyring bore his witness to me of the love of the Savior, which He has for each missionary assigned to go out into the world and preach the restored gospel. He said that it is by the great love of the Savior that His servants know where these wonderful young men and women, senior missionaries, and senior couple missionaries are to serve. I had a further witness that morning that every missionary called in this Church, and assigned or reassigned to a particular mission, is called by revelation from the Lord God Almighty through one of these, His servants.

Last Sunday, Ruby and I attended a sacrament meeting of a ward here in central Salt Lake. The meeting was most interesting because in that ward there is some affluence as well as people who are living in halfway houses. Just before the testimony meeting, a young lady walked up to the bishop on the stand, holding a little baby in her arms, wanting the baby to receive a blessing. The bishop stepped down and took the little baby, and the baby was blessed.
Later on during the testimony meeting, a little seven-year-old boy, with his five-year-old sister by the hand, walked up to the pulpit. He helped fix a little stool there for her to stand on, his five-year-old sister, and he helped her as she bore her testimony. And as she would falter just a little, he would lean over and whisper in her ear, this little loving seven-year-old brother.
After she finished, he stood on the stool, and she stood watching him, and he bore his testimony. She had that sweet expression on her face as she watched him. He was her older brother, but you could see that family love and relationship with those two little children. He stepped down from the stool, took her by the hand, and they walked back down to take their seat.
Near the end of the testimony meeting, when there were a few moments for me to speak, I asked the young lady who had brought her child up to be blessed if she would come up and stand by me, which she did. In the meantime, while the testimony meeting was going on, I asked the bishop, whispering into his ear, “Where is her husband?”
The bishop said, “He’s in jail.”
I asked, “What is her name?” and he told me her name.
She came up and stood by my side, carrying the little baby. As we were standing at the pulpit, I looked down at this little precious baby, only a few days old, and this mother—the mother of that little daughter, who had brought her to receive a blessing at the hands of the priesthood. As I looked at the mother and looked at that precious little child, I wondered what she might become or what she could be. I spoke to the audience and to this young mother about the proclamation that was issued five years ago by the First Presidency and the Quorum of the Twelve—a proclamation on the family—and of our responsibility to our children, and the children’s responsibility to their parents, and the parents’ responsibility to each other. That marvelous document brings together the scriptural direction that we have received that has guided the lives of God’s children from the time of Adam and Eve and will continue to guide us until the final winding-up scene.
As we talked about it and as I looked at that beautiful little baby, I thought of last summer. Ruby and I were up in Idaho for a short visit, and we met some people from Mountain Home, Idaho—the Goodrich family. Sister Goodrich had come to see us and had brought her daughter Chelsea with her. In part of the conversation that we were having, Sister Goodrich said Chelsea had memorized the proclamation on the family.
To Chelsea, who is now 15 years old, I said, “Chelsea, is that right?”
She said, “Yes.”
I said, “How long did it take you to do that?”
She said, “When we were young, my mother started a program in our house to help us memorize. We would memorize scripture passages and sacrament meeting songs and other types of things that would be helpful to us. So we learned how to memorize, and it became easier for us.”
I said, “Then you can give it all?”
She said, “Yes, I can give it all.”
I said, “You learned that when you were 12 years old; you’re now 15. Pretty soon you’ll start dating. Tell me about it. What has it done for you?”
Chelsea said, “As I think of the statements in that proclamation, and as I understand more of our responsibility as a family and our responsibility for the way we live and the way we should conduct our lives, the proclamation becomes a new guideline for me. As I associate with other people and when I start dating, I can think of those phrases and those sentences in the proclamation on the family. It will give me a yardstick which will help guide me. It will give me the strength that I need.”

"Time to go shopping for Christmas presents!" Mom called. Four-year-old Kirsten hopped to the car. Kirsten liked getting presents. She wanted a new doll with curly hair.
As they drove to the store, Mommy turned around in her seat. "Tonight we are buying presents for another family. They won’t have any if we don’t help," she said.
"What?" asked Kirsten. "And no presents for us?"
"We are going to share our presents. You will still get some, but not as many. Remember, we talked about this in family home evening?"
Kirsten frowned.
"We don’t know the family," Mom said. "But you can help Dad and me find presents."
"Hooray!" Deanna said.
Kirsten frowned harder. Her bottom lip stuck out and the corners of her mouth pushed down as far as they would reach.
At the store, Kirsten helped Britney. They walked up and down the aisles until they saw the games. Kirsten picked one in a gray box for the boy.
"Good choice," Britney said.
Kirsten’s frown started to shrink—but only a little.
Next, Juleen wanted to buy some good-smelling soap for the mom. Kirsten helped Juleen pick a happy peach scent.
"Mmmm," Juleen said as she took a sniff, "my favorite!"
The corners of Kirsten’s mouth got a little higher. She almost smiled.
When they were done buying presents, Kirsten and her family went home and wrapped them. Kirsten wrapped a scarf for the girl and tied it with a fluffy bow.
"That looks beautiful!" Mom said.
Kirsten couldn’t help it—an itty-bitty smile kept sneaking onto her face.
Mommy put all the presents in a big box. They sang Christmas carols all the way to the family’s house. Kirsten’s smile got a little bigger.
Dad started to take the box out of the car. "Can I come?" asked Kirsten.
"Of course," Dad said.
Dad carried the box to the door and Kirsten rang the doorbell. A teenage girl with sad eyes answered.
"Merry Christmas!" said Dad and Kirsten. They put the box in the girl’s hands. The girl smiled, and then Dad and Kirsten ran away before she could ask them questions or find out what was in the box.
Kirsten skipped around the corner to where Mommy and her family were waiting in the car. Kirsten could see her brother and sisters’ smiles through the car windows. "Did you have fun?" Mommy asked.
Kirsten didn’t even have to answer. Mom could tell just by looking at Kirsten’s face—she had the biggest smile of them all.

The children of the Calderón family started a great transition for their family. Jared, age 15, was the first to join the Church, followed a year later by his sister, Angie, 13. Their parents joined the Church three years after Angie’s baptism.
At first this family from Costa Rica had no idea how much the gospel of Jesus Christ would change their lives. They were introduced to the Church by a family member in 2002, and for many months afterward the Calderóns regularly invited the missionaries to their home so they could learn more. As they did so, the family experienced a transformation—a true conversion.
Before the family joined the Church, the Calderóns were concerned that Jared and Angie were having a hard time getting a moral and spiritual education in a world that downplays religion.
The gospel, the Calderóns found, had answers to the problems they were facing. “When we came to understand the gospel and started applying its teachings, that knowledge changed the way we lived,” says Brother Calderón. “We learned who we are and how we can return to our Heavenly Father. Because of what we found, we have lived a richer spiritual life.”
It wasn’t always easy to accept readily what they were learning from the missionaries, but as they tested gospel principles, they gained a testimony of them. “As we learned about gospel standards,” says Sister Calderón, “we tried to stay within the boundaries of worthiness. I gave up drinking coffee. (And I drank plenty of coffee before then!) We made goals as a family to not swear, to speak kindly to each other, and to keep other good principles.
“The main sacrifice we made was our pride,” she continues. “We had to learn to be humble, but as we’ve tried to learn and live with humility, we’ve received many blessings and experienced great progress as individuals, as a couple, and as a family.”

My husband, Jason, has been working in the mining construction industry as a fly-in-fly-out worker for about 12 years. When Jason started this job, I was working full-time, and we had four young children. With Jason’s working away and my working full-time, I struggled to look after the kids, keep the house in order, and get the kids to church on my own.
We discussed if I should continue working or stay home with the kids. I worried about fulfilling my role as a wife and a mother, but I also worried about how leaving work would affect our family. Not knowing what to do, I got down on my knees and I prayed to Heavenly Father, “I actually need help because I can’t do this by myself.”
I decided to step away from work, but the Lord made sure that we were taken care of. So many people came to my aid to help around the house and with the kids. The Lord was always there in my struggles, hastening His angels who strengthened me.

Elder David A. Bednar told a story about two of his sons. Once, when the younger brother got a little hurt playing outside, the older brother took care of him. He washed the scrape, put on medical ointment, and bandaged his brother’s whole arm. The younger brother was so happy to feel better that he went outside and started putting ointment and bandages on his friends, so they could be happy too! Elder Bednar explained that this is like missionary work. Because the gospel has blessed our lives in many ways, we want to share that blessing with others.

In January of 1961 we were expecting our second child. We already had a son, so we hoped for a daughter. My wife Anne went to the doctor and he became concerned because he could not hear a regular heartbeat and sometimes not a heartbeat at all. As my wife went into labor and we went to the hospital, I waited a particularly long time before the doctor asked me to come and speak with him.

The cord had been wrapped around our daughter’s neck. She had not had an ample supply of blood for a number of hours, perhaps for several days. He gave no promise that she would be normal. I left feeling lonely, frightened, and concerned, with tears streaming down my face. I drove home at three in the morning praying that if our Heavenly Father would let her be normal, all that we had and all that we ever would be would be the Father’s.

I also had an unforgettable spiritual experience when I was seventeen years old the night I received my patriarchal blessing. Several marvelous experiences in the mission field also had turned me toward the Lord, but that night I knew everything was our Heavenly Father’s. We named and blessed the daughter of that daughter today.

Somehow in our lives, brothers and sisters, we must commit ourselves to building the kingdom where suddenly wealth, position, and status do not matter. What matters is that we are part of this great work and have surrendered ourselves to Him.

One weekend last November, Heidi, a young Mormon mother here in Salt Lake City, left her large and gracious home on a gray morning and drove over to Pioneer State Park and entered the restored home of Mary Fielding Smith.
Heidi was costumed in a dress reminiscent of one Mary might have worn, and for the entire day she welcomed young children from a nearby school into this small home, where she helped them learn to dry apples.
After the children left, the sun broke through the clouds overhead, illuminating not only the afternoon sky, but casting a reflective glow on the events of the day. That evening Heidi recorded in her journal, “I was overwhelmed by the exceptional beauty I could see from that little adobe house on the hill. … I could hardly contain the light that streamed through the wavy glass window into my soul bringing feelings that were both very warm and very bright!”
She told about the contrast she felt between the small home in which she stood with its meager appointments and her own lovely house on another hill not far away. She wrote, “I hope my home is my family’s place of strength, of faith, and of refuge, a place where truth is confirmed and testimony is strengthened, as Mary’s little home had been for her family so long ago.” She continued, “Despite life-styles so different, I was overcome by hearts so similar. My soul pleads to make the similarities count for my family, as they had for hers.”