Gospel Story Finder

Christmas was just a month away, and the perfect gift for my wife’s parents was nearing completion in our living room, where it had completely dominated the room for weeks.
Since Susan’s father had a bad back, her parents had a custom-made bed, larger than king size, with a hard side for her dad and a soft side for her mother, Elaine. Since it nearly filled the bedroom, the bed did cause a special problem. Elaine frequently complained. “None of our quilts are large enough. They are always pulling out at the bottom or slipping to one side or the other. I wish I could find a quilt large enough for that bed.”
And so in October Susan had decided to make a giant quilt for the bed.
After a number of trips to town she found just the right material, a festive flower print in warm pink colors that would fit perfectly in their bedroom. A lady in the ward was happy to lend us her large quilting frames. And when we finally got the frames up, and the quilt thumbtacked into place, the living room was totally filled. We pushed the piano into the hallway, and stored the furniture in every available space. And the home teachers visited us in the kitchen.
As for Susan, she spent every extra moment working on the quilt. It was her first, and she stayed up till late hours at night, quilting. When she finally came to bed, and we clasped hands in prayer, I could feel her fingertips, raw from the pin pricks. But slowly the quilting frames moved nearer to each other, as row by row the job got done.
It was hard to keep the quilt a surprise. All the time the quilting frames were up, Susan’s parents had not been invited into our home. This was sometimes embarrassing. One cold day Elaine came to our front door on some errand. Susan wasn’t home, and I answered the door. She must have thought me a very odd son-in-law, not to invite her in, but I passed objects back and forth, always keeping the door closed. Finally she left, obviously perplexed.
The night we took the frames down Susan was so excited and proud of her efforts, she couldn’t suppress a few tears. “I can’t wait to see mother’s reaction,” she said.
But those few tears would turn into a flood before Christmas.
The next morning, after I had left for school, Susan wrapped the nearly finished quilt in a plastic bag for safekeeping and decided to hide it in the partially remodeled family room. A carpenter had been working on new cupboards in there, and that evening he came again. The large plastic bag was in his way, so he moved it to the garage.
I guess I was the real culprit, though. It was the night to put out the garbage, and after I took the garbage cans out and emptied the wastebaskets from the various closets, I finally took out the garbage in the plastic bags.
When I came home the next day, Susan greeted me with red—but dry—eyes. Looking up from the cupboard where she was working, she said quietly, “There’s been kind of a tragedy today.”
Then the tears came. I held her in my arms while she wept, and finally she explained, “I guess the quilt went to the garbage.”
Indeed it had. Through her tears, Susan told me that she had missed the quilt about noon. Since I was away on a field trip and couldn’t be reached, she called her mother, explained about the quilt, the weeks of work, and about the the garbage. She and her mother, with our two-year-old son tagging along, had gone to the garbage dump and searched.
They wandered through row on row of heaped garbage, some of it already covered by dirt pushed there by the large equipment. There were a lot of plastic bags, but none that contained the soft pink quilt with the festive flowers.
“When did they pick your garbage up?” asked the man in charge.
“Early this morning.”
“It’s probably covered up by now, then. We don’t waste much time. Sorry.”
“Thanks anyway.”
There was little I could say to console my wife. The perfect Christmas gift was at the bottom of the garbage dump. It was two or three days before we could laugh about it, and even then, it was hesitant laughter.
There wasn’t time to start over. At least not enough time for one person to start over.
The story spread quickly. One neighbor told another of Susan’s tragedy. Soon the Relief Society president knocked at our door.
“We’ve all decided to help. We won’t take no for an answer. You get some more material, and I’ll have the women here—in shifts.”
Susan couldn’t find the same pink material. But she found a delicate white printed fabric with small red strawberries in squares—perfect for quilting. We got the frames up, and the women came. An army of women!
When I left for school in the morning, they were already there, needles piercing in and out. When I came home, the fourth shift was up. The frames were moving closer together.
Susan marveled at how rapidly some of the women worked; others were slower. But all of them worked carefully. Several worked all day—stopping at intervals to run home, prepare a meal, and then come back. They laughed as they worked, sharing stories. We’d only lived in the ward for a short time. Vague faces became warm and familiar.
In just a few days, they left as they had come. An army had advanced, conquered, and gone. And in the army’s wake, Susan held a second beautiful quilt, an occasional droplet of blood from a soldier’s finger the only evidence of the magic that had passed through our house.
Now we had a real surprise for Susan’s parents. They knew about the tragedy, and also knew that doing another quilt in so short a time was impossible. With real excitement we crammed the quilt into a too-small box and wrapped it. That way, they’d never guess what was in it.
And they didn’t. When Elaine opened the box on Christmas morning, and the strawberries quilted on delicate white fabric popped out, she cried. Susan cried, too. Soon we were all crying.
Six years have passed since that memorable Christmas. Now we are inclined to regard that quilt as the best Christmas present we’ve ever given—or received.

Fifty-one years ago I heard William J. Critchlow Jr., then president of the South Ogden Stake, retell a story concerning trust, honor, and duty.
“[Young] Rupert stood by the side of the road watching an unusual number of people hurry past. At length he recognized a friend. ‘Where are all of you going in such a hurry?’ he asked.
“The friend paused. … ‘The King has lost his royal emerald! … Everyone is searching, for the King has offered a reward … to the one who finds it. Come, we must hurry.’
“ ‘But I cannot go without asking Grandmother,’ faltered Rupert.
“ ‘Then I cannot wait. I want to find the emerald,’ replied his friend.
“Rupert hurried back to the cabin at the edge of the woods to seek his grandmother’s permission. …
“But his grandmother shook her head. ‘What would the sheep do?’ she asked. ‘Already they are restless in the pen, waiting to be taken to the pasture, and please do not forget to take them to water when the sun shines high in the heavens.’
“Sorrowfully, Rupert took the sheep to the pasture, and at noon he led them to the brook in the woods. There he sat on a large stone by the stream. ‘If I could only have had a chance to look for the King’s emerald!’ he thought. Turning his head to gaze down at the sandy bottom of the brook, suddenly he stared into the water. What was it? It could not be! He leaped into the water. … ‘The King’s emerald!’ he shouted.
“With shining eyes Rupert ran to his grandmother’s hut to tell her of his great find. ‘Bless you, my boy,’ she said, ‘but you never would have found it if you had not been doing your duty, herding the sheep.’ And Rupert knew that this was the truth.”

For eg. with a zoom lens, forgiveness looks like something we do for the benefit of someone who has wronged us. For some victims, forgiveness can even look like a way to discount the horrible acts perpetrated against them-almost a way of winking at what they feel has ruined their lives forever.
With a zoom lens, forgiveness looks like a way to help the perpetrator's life-period!
However, with a wide-angle lens, we see that forgiveness is actually for victims!! With a view of the far-reaching effects of true forgiveness, we see that forgiveness is actually the gift that victims can give to themselves!
One woman found that by forgiving her perpetrator, she was finally freed from agonizing questions-questions that had held her mind and heart captive for years: Questions like: "Why did he? Why didn't he? Why did I? Why didn't I?"
When she really prayed for power to forgive the person whom she felt had ruined her life, she discovered that forgiveness was her "get out of jail free" card. She was now able to free herself from the prison of pain and suffering. A prison that her un-forgiveness had built.
So, when you're really ready to do something for yourself-forgive someone! A true slogan could be: Forgiveness: It's not just for perpetrators anymore!

I was standing in line with my mom to pay for our groceries. The line was crowded, so my mom had to bend over this little boy in front of us to buy our things. The little boy started to kick her. The second time he kicked her, she backed away and said, “Will you please stop kicking?”
The boy’s mom turned around and told my mom it was her fault she got kicked. She said all sorts of insulting things to us. I started to glare at her as she turned back around and was rude to the cashier too! I acted calm, but inside I was angry. It bugged me. I knew that what happened wasn’t my mom’s fault or mine, but I still felt hurt.
When we got home, I went to my room and pulled out my scriptures. After reading for a minute, I felt a need to pray. I hardly felt in the mood, but I knelt down and started to pray. Eventually, I found myself praying for this woman who had treated us so awfully. The calmest feeling I’ve ever felt settled all over me. I couldn’t find room in my heart to be angry at her anymore. I felt love.
Teresa G., Idaho, USA

When you watch Brock and Brittney jitterbugging across a gym-sized dance floor, their agility is impressive. Their moves are challenging. And their jumps and lifts are simply amazing. But they didn’t learn how to dance overnight. Years of hard work, separately, and now as partners for the last four years, have prepared them for their many competitions—and to teach others the joy of dancing. They love teaching youth how to dance. That’s why they volunteer to teach dance lessons at Mutual nights near their homes in Utah.
The youth of the Crescent Second Ward, Sandy Utah Crescent Ridge Stake, were thrilled to have Brock and Brittney perform for them and then teach them some simple footwork they could do on their own, like the cha-cha, the swing, and the waltz.
Jessica Wright, 17, enjoyed their instruction and plans on putting it to good use. “Now I can go to dances and do things instead of just standing around.” But, she says, even if you only have the desire to dance, “you can just have fun even if you don’t know how to dance.”
Jason Ockey, 14, already liked to dance, but he learned some new moves from Brock and Brittney. His advice to those who are shy is the same as Jessica’s: “Just have fun.”
The Crescent Second Ward youth really enjoyed learning from Brock and Brittney, even if they didn’t catch on to all the steps. You can learn a few steps too. But you don’t have to be a national dance champion to enjoy dancing. The next time you’re at a dance, gather up some courage, tear yourself away from the safety wall, and just have a good time being with friends.

Wilford loved to play with his two brothers, Thompson and Azmon. They spent many happy hours playing in the barn or outside in the fields.
One Saturday evening the boys were sitting around the house with nothing to do. Thompson suggested that they explore the attic.
The boys’ father had told them not to play in the attic. It was dark and dangerous. Wilford hesitated because he didn’t want to disobey his father. But the mystery of the attic attracted him, and he agreed to join in the adventure.
The boys raced up the stairs, eager to see what treasures they would find in the forbidden room.
Just before Wilford got to the top stair, he tripped and fell all the way to the bottom of the stairs.
Wilford felt a horrible pain in his arm, and he knew that he had broken it. It took a long time for his arm to heal, and Wilford learned how important it was to be obedient.
From then on, not only did Wilford obey his parents, but he also obeyed the Lord. And many years later, Wilford Woodruff became the fourth President of the Church.

One day I biked home from school. As I got closer to my house, I saw my mom holding our new puppy. I was excited to see them, so I quickly pushed myself off my bike. All of a sudden, I heard a big pop! Pain shot through my right arm. I could barely lift it up.
My mom drove me to the hospital. When we arrived, the doctor took an X-ray of my arm. He told us that I had a cyst in my bone. I didn’t know what that was, so he explained. “A bone cyst is when part of the bone is hollow and filled with fluid,” the doctor said. “That’s why it was so easy to break.”
The doctor said that I might need to have surgery. That sounded scary. He told us that he would see us in a few weeks to decide if I needed surgery or not. Until then, I would need to wear a sling for my arm. On the way back home, I kept saying prayers in my head. Heavenly Father, please help me be brave. This is really scary. Please help me be confident.
A month later, I had a doctor’s appointment to see if I needed surgery. I was still scared. The Friend magazine had just come out for the month, and I started to read it. The Matt and Mandy comic was about how Matt broke his arm (Oct. 2019). He had to have surgery. Just like me!
After I read it, I felt peace. I said a prayer thanking Heavenly Father for answering my prayer. I knew I could be brave no matter what happened. I also thanked Heavenly Father for always listening to me and being there for me, like a true friend.

On registration day several of the young people complained about having the boys and girls on separate campuses, but as the conferences progressed, they all seemed to really enjoy their own activities more without the pressures they usually feel when someone from the opposite sex is around. Bryan Krieger, from Silver Springs, Maryland, felt this separation gave the conference a perfect balance of social, spiritual, and physical activities.
“There is no way we could have accomplished as much all meeting together,” added Randy Tearlink from Charlottesville, North Carolina.
When they did see each other for the first time dressed in their best at the dinner-dance, they appreciated the company even more. Franky Ipsen from Fayetteville, West Virginia, said it was even fun following the advice of the speakers. “The dance really made it worth coming. There were plenty of girls to dance with, and we tried our best to do what we were told in the general sessions, ‘Warm people’s lonely hearts.’”

When Meliton arrived in Salt Lake, he ran into a problem. He could read English but had never spoken it. He couldn’t communicate with anyone! But he decided that if he couldn’t talk to people, he would get their attention another way. Meliton put on his Spanish Army uniform and marched up and down the city streets. Just as he hoped, many people noticed him! Finally he was spotted by a member of the Church named Brother Blanchard, a university professor who spoke Spanish. Brother Blanchard helped Meliton get settled in Salt Lake and taught him the gospel. Soon Meliton was baptized.

“One cow in our team was very intelligent. In fact, she was so smart that she used to hide in the willows to keep from being yoked up but when father found her and yoked her she was a good worker and a good milker. She got very lame at one time and could scarcely travel. My parents were very worried, since they had already lost one. They were afraid they could not travel as fast as the rest of the company, and so Mother said she would make a poultice and put it on as soon as the cow laid down for the night. She made a very large one that covered all of the lame hip. Well, the next morning, when father went out to get the cows up he called out, ‘Why, Mother, you have poulticed the wrong hip.’ Mother said, ‘Don’t worry about it. It’s all right. It has gone clear through.’ And sure enough she (the cow) limped very little that day, and was soon as well as ever. I know there was a great deal of faith mixed up with that poultice.”

For example, years ago, on a small island in Tonga there lived an elderly sister by the name of Vaikato Tavutu. One day a group of Tongan building missionaries came to the island to erect a chapel. After they arrived, they discovered that this sister knew all the details for the design and layout of the building. The missionaries could not understand how she knew all this without ever seeing the blueprints. It turns out that decades before the building missionaries arrived, Sister Tavutu was experiencing an illness when the apostle, George Albert Smith, visited the tiny island and gave Sister Tavutu a priesthood blessing.

During the blessing sister Tavutu said she was able to understand all the words in her own tongue and he promised her that if she would be faithful, she would live to see a beautiful chapel erected on her island. She saw this chapel in a vision and saw that it would have a “gold steeple that shone in the sunlight.”

The supervising labor missionary went on to say:

“One day [many years after her vision, Sister Tavutu] became very ill. Her brother went to her and told her she had better repent of her sins and confess her lies [about her vision about the chapel which had never come]. He told her she knew that she had told lies all those years and now she was going to die with that on her conscience. Well, Vaikato recovered; and after many years, her vision was fulfilled.

“Vaikato was not certain of her age but thought she might be 102 or so. She was on the work site each morning helping to fill the barrels with water with which to mix the mortar; she was also carrying the coral bricks to the builders. I spoke to her through an interpreter and told her not to carry the water. The buckets were too heavy for her and the men could do it. I also asked her to please only carry one brick at a time, as they were about the size of our cinder blocks. However, as soon as I was out of sight, she started carrying two bricks at a time again. One of the Tongan builders came to me and asked for some gloves for Vaikato because her hands were bleeding from the rough blocks. I got down from the scaffold and went to the lady, admonishing her again through the interpreter to only carry one brick at a time. I took off my gloves and gave them to her.

“The tears started running down Vaikato’s cheeks, and I thought I had wounded her feelings. Then I noticed the tears rolling down the interpreter’s face. He told me: ‘The little lady said that the Savior’s hands had bled for her and that she was not ashamed to have her hands bleed for the Savior’s work.’” (Eric Shumway, Tongan Saints: Legacy of Faith, 178-180).

“Choose your friends wisely, for you will tend to be like them.” I had seen this little sign a million times and never thought anything of it. It was only one of many strategically placed thoughts and quotes that dotted the walls of our home. This one happened to be in the best location of all—right above the kitchen table.
When friends came over, we naturally congregated in the kitchen. Dates, late night movies, and quick lunches almost all involved the kitchen. Mom knew this and planned her attack accordingly. Years later I realized what a direct hit Mom had scored.
I was blessed with a lot of friends who are also members of the Church. We went to church and school together, and most of us went on missions at about the same time. However, there was one who was not exactly like the rest of us. His parents were divorced, and he was shuffled between their homes and the homes of friends. As a result, I think he always felt a little isolated and alone. He wore his hair long and always had at least one earring. Regardless, we loved him, and he was one of us.
During high school we witnessed him change; it was great. A short time after his 19th birthday he submitted his mission papers and received a call. A couple of months later we really understood the significance of this event.
The realization came on a cold, crisp Sunday in January. My friends and I had gathered to hear this young man speak in sacrament meeting. I had been invited to perform a musical number, so I sat on the stand. As I gazed over the crowd, I saw all of our friends, as well as my family; it was a wonderful sight. As my friend ventured to the pulpit, his eyes were a little red.
His talk opened with a question: “Do any of you know why I am here? Well, it is really very simple. I am here because of the many meals eaten at a friend’s table, a table with a sign above it that reads, ‘Choose your friends wisely, for you will tend to be like them.’ I want my friends to know that without their influence and love I wouldn’t be here today.”
As I looked down into the crowd, I saw my mother with tearful eyes and a smile.
From that day on, I have also thought about the effects my friends have had on my life. I don’t know if I would have served a mission without their example. I don’t know what kind of a person I would be today if it hadn’t been for the strength and love I received from such wonderful people. For that, I will be forever grateful, both to them and to my Heavenly Father.
I know that no one has forgotten the message shared from that pulpit. I also know that that sign, to this day, still hangs above our kitchen table.

My years at Ricks College, during which I tried to seek God’s will and do it, kept the pavilion from covering me or obscuring God’s active role in my life. As I sought to do His work, I felt close to Him and felt assurance that He knew of my affairs and cared deeply for my happiness. But as they had at Stanford, worldly motivations began to present themselves to me. One was an attractive job offer, extended just as I was finishing my fifth year as president of Ricks College. I considered the offer and prayed about it and even discussed it with the First Presidency. They responded with warmth and a little humor but certainly not with any direction. President Spencer W. Kimball listened to me describe the offer I had received from a large corporation and said: “Well, Hal, that sounds like a wonderful opportunity! And if we ever needed you, we’d know where to find you.” They would have known where to find me, but my desires for professional success might have created a pavilion that would make it hard for me to find God and harder for me to listen to and follow His invitations.

My wife, sensing this, had a strong impression that we were not to leave Ricks College. I said, “That’s good enough for me.” But she insisted, wisely, that I must get my own revelation. And so I prayed again. This time I did receive direction, in the form of a voice in my mind that said, “I’ll let you stay at Ricks College a little longer.” My personal ambitions might have clouded my view of reality and made it hard for me to receive revelation.

Thirty days after I was blessed with the inspired decision to turn down the job offer and stay at Ricks College, the Teton Dam burst nearby. God knew that dam would burst and that hundreds of people would need help. He let me seek counsel and gain His permission to stay at Ricks College. He knew all the reasons that my service might still be valuable at the college and in Rexburg. So I was there to ask Heavenly Father frequently in prayer that He would have me do those things that would help the people whose property and lives had been damaged. I spent hours working with other people to clear mud and water from homes. My desire to know and do His will gave me a soul-stretching opportunity.

In order to describe the valuable role of the Holy Ghost as witness, I will continue the story of Fernando and Bayley. If you remember, I shared that Fernando and his brother had been baptized, but his parents and three younger brothers had not. And, despite receiving numerous invitations to meet with the missionaries over the years, each time the family declined.
Upon the painful passing of Bayley and her baby daughter, Fernando’s family was inconsolable. Unlike Fernando and unlike Bayley’s family, they found no comfort or peace. They could not understand how their own son, along with Bayley’s family, could bear their heavy burden.
Eventually, they concluded that what their son possessed and they did not was the restored gospel of Jesus Christ and this must be his source of peace and comfort. Following this realization, they invited the missionaries to teach their family the gospel. As a result, they received their own witness and testimony of the great plan of happiness, which brought them the sweet peace and calming comfort they were desperately seeking.
Two months after the loss of Bayley and their unborn granddaughter, Fernando’s parents as well as two of his younger brothers were baptized and confirmed and received the gift of the Holy Ghost. Fernando’s youngest brother looks forward to his baptism when he turns eight. They each testify that the Spirit, the Holy Ghost, bore witness of the truthfulness of the gospel, leading them to a desire to be baptized and to receive the gift of the Holy Ghost.

When residents of Bear Creek called for help, over 175 youth and leaders from the Dallas Texas Stake answered. They helped with the restoration and cleanup of the historic, 150-year-old area, the oldest black community in Dallas County.
The youth worked hard to help restore and preserve some of the historic homes in the area. They also prepared some of the historical buildings that will be moved nearer to a recreation center site.
The residents of Bear Creek expressed their gratitude for the “wonderful job” the LDS youth did in helping them clean up their homes and neighborhoods. They were amazed that so many could be brought together from such distant places in such a short time.

Third, the Master Healer can comfort and sustain us as we experience painful “realities of mortality,”13 such as disaster, mental illness, disease, chronic pain, and death. I have recently become acquainted with a remarkable young woman named Josie who suffers from bipolar disorder. Here is just a little of her journey toward healing as she shared it with me:
“The worst of the darkness occurs on what my family and I have deemed ‘floor days.’ It begins with sensory overload and acute sensitivity and resistance to any type of sound, touch, or light. It is the apex of mental anguish. There is one day in particular that I will never forget.
“It was early in the journey, making the experience especially frightening. I can remember sobbing, tears racing down my face as I gasped for air. But even such intense suffering paled in comparison to the pain that followed as I observed panic overwhelm my mother, so desperate to help me.
“With my broken mind came her broken heart. But little did we know that despite the deepening darkness, we were just moments away from experiencing a mighty miracle.
“As a long hour continued, my mom whispered over and over and over again, ‘I would do anything to take this from you.’
“Meanwhile, the darkness intensified, and when I was convinced I could take no more, just then something marvelous occurred.
“A transcendent and wonderful power suddenly overtook my body. Then, with a ‘strength beyond my own,’14 I declared to my mom with great conviction seven life-changing words in response to her repeated desire to bear my pain. I said, ‘You don’t have to; Someone already has.’”
From the dark abyss of debilitating mental illness, Josie summoned the strength to testify of Jesus Christ and of His Atonement.
She was not healed completely that day, but she received the light of hope in a time of intense darkness. And today, supported by a bedrock understanding of the doctrine of Christ and refreshed daily by the Savior’s living water, Josie continues on her journey toward healing and exercises unshakable faith in the Master Healer. She helps others along the way. And she says, “When the darkness feels unremitting, I rely on the memory of His tender mercies. They serve as a guiding light as I navigate through hard times.”15

Gracie smiled as she closed her science book and slid it into her backpack. Having her homework done meant she could read the next chapter of her Nellie Clue mystery! She grabbed her book and plopped onto her bed. She couldn’t wait to read what happened next.
Wait, Gracie thought. I need to read a few pages of the Book of Mormon first.
For her baptism, her grandparents had given Gracie her own set of scriptures. Her goal was to read the whole Book of Mormon before her next birthday, and that was only a few months away. Nellie Clue would have to wait.
Gracie said a prayer and opened her scriptures. She liked reading, but the chapters in the Book of Mormon took her a bit longer than the chapters in her Nellie Clue books. Gracie frowned as she flipped through all the pages she hadn’t read yet. Would she ever be able to finish?
It was hard to read the scriptures by herself. Mom and Dad helped her sometimes. But Dad worked long hours at the hospital, and Mom was usually busy with the younger kids.
Gracie had only read a few verses when Mom called from the other room. “Gracie! The phone’s for you!”
“Coming!” Gracie said as she ran down the hall. Mom was helping her little brother into his pajamas as she passed Gracie the phone. “Hello?”
“Hi, Gracie girl,” said a familiar voice.
“Grandma!” Gracie loved it when Grandma called. Even though Grandma lived far away, talking to her always made her feel close.
Gracie told Grandma about her last soccer game and the songs she was learning on the piano. Then she told her how frustrated she felt about her Book of Mormon goal. “I’m trying so hard,” Gracie said. “But I don’t think I can do it.”
Grandma was quiet. Then she said, “I have an idea. What if we read together on the phone?”
“I would love that!” Gracie said.
“Me too,” Grandma said. “I’d love to read with you.”
Grandma helped Gracie plan out the number of pages they would read each day. Then every night after dinner, Gracie called Grandma and read out loud to her. New words and chapters that were hard for Gracie to understand made more sense when she talked with Grandma. As the weeks passed, their calls got longer as they shared what they were learning and feeling. Sometimes, Grandma and Gracie even ended up reading more pages from the Book of Mormon than they planned to.
A week before Gracie’s birthday, they finished the very last chapter. A warm, grateful feeling filled Gracie’s heart. “Thanks for reading with me, Grandma,” she said.
“Thanks for letting me read along. I’ve learned so much from you.”
On Gracie’s birthday, Mom made a special cake. It was covered in candles and had a Book of Mormon made out of frosting! But the best part of the day was opening presents. Gracie reached for the package Grandma sent in the mail, pulled open the box, and ripped off the tissue paper. It was a picture of the temple to hang on her wall. Gracie smiled as she read what Grandma had written on the card: “This is to help remind you of the other important goals in your life. I love you, Gracie girl.”
Gracie hugged her picture of the temple close. She knew that setting goals and trying hard was helping her become more like Jesus. And with people like Grandma to help her, there was so much she could do.

Another week we had a rough time at church; the children were more restless than they should have been, especially during the sacrament. The next night we talked about the sacrament in family home evening. We discussed its purpose and how we should behave as the sacrament is being passed. I asked the children what they thought about during the sacrament. Our 10-year-old, Sharanne, commented that she thought about the life of Jesus Christ and the words from “The Living Christ.” Nothing more needed to be said.

I experience this as the Primary general president. My calling is to care not only for the children in our church, but for the children in all of the world. This is a tremendous responsibility, and at first I could feel only the burden of it. But I seek for the Lord’s help constantly. I pray for enough strength and insight to do the work I have been called to do, and for the leaders around the world, that they might have the Spirit of the Lord to help them love and understand the children for whom they are responsible. I plead with Heavenly Father to give each teacher a sense of deep responsibility, so that they might help the children to know the gospel of love. I pray for parents to love and teach their children.

Then, just the other morning, I thought, “I have been asking for so much. This morning I am not going to ask for one thing. I’m just going to be grateful.” I knelt and thanked the Lord for my good health, for my understanding husband, for our children, for our missionary son, for the privilege of serving, for the board members and staff who assist me, for stake and ward members throughout the world who are serving, and especially for the teachers who give and care so much. I thanked him for the children everywhere. I thanked him for the prophet. And the list went on. My spirit soared. What an astounding experience to know that I have so much! It takes a grateful heart to experience that soaring, that realization of how much Heavenly Father loves you, how much he does for you.

Finding the local meetinghouse was the last thing on my mind.
Things like the hot weather, high humidity, and learning Cantonese were much more important.
I was a discouraged, homesick missionary who had just arrived in Hong Kong and I found myself thanking a man for giving me an address I already knew and really didn’t need. And all this because I couldn’t learn Cantonese.
I hadn’t meant for things to happen that way. The missionaries in my district were doing a street display near Hong Kong’s Star Ferry boat just when the commuters were coming home from work. I wanted to get referrals and talk with people—and I tried to—but I was having little success.
My inexperience in speaking Cantonese—the second-most common Chinese dialect was painfully obvious. Speaking to Chinese people seemed impossible, and understanding what people said to me seemed about as easy as walking on water. And because I could neither speak nor understand, I began to think that I was of little worth to the Lord.
I saw Mr. Wong just as he was coming down the steps off of the ferry. He looked like such a nice man. He wore a blue suit and black shoes. His eyeglasses were slipping down his nose. His tie was still tight around his neck—something that looked very out of place in the humid air.
I got up as much self-confidence as I could in the few seconds I had. And I tried to feel confident. With a quick prayer in my heart and a deep breath, I started toward him.
The instructors at the Missionary Training Center had prepared me well for situations like this. I had practiced asking golden questions and getting referrals dozens of times. But all the preparation in the world couldn’t have taught me what I was about to learn.
“Neih hou ma?” I asked. “Good,” he replied in a language I knew was Chinese but bore little resemblance to what I had learned in the MTC.
“I’m a representative of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter day Saints. Have you ever heard of this church before?”
Mr. Wong gave his reply, but—as usual—I couldn’t understand.
“My name is Gong Jeung-louh,” I said. “May I ask your honorable name?”
I didn’t understand much of what he said back to me, but I did understand his last name was Wong. He drew the Chinese Wong character on his hand and raised it to my eyes. His drawings meant nothing to me, but I pretended they did.
“May I tell you a little about our church?” I asked.
“I don’t understand,” he said. That was one of the few things I could understand. I had used that phrase myself several times during the past three weeks.
I showed Mr. Wong my name tag so he could read the name of the Church in Chinese.
“Oh—a church!” he said.
I smiled. “Yes—I am a missionary from this church,” I said, pointing to my name tag. “May I tell you a little about it?”
His reply was long and difficult for a new missionary to understand.
“What is your address?” I asked. I decided I might as well do everything I could and try to get a referral.
“Address? You want address?” he asked.
“Yes. What is your address?” I got my pen and notebook ready to write—or at least to ask him to write—the address down.
“You wait here. I will return in a few minutes,” he said. I barely understood what he was trying to tell me, thanks to his hand gestures.
“You stay right here,” he insisted.
“I will,” I assured him. Off he went, leaving me with no idea of where he was going or why he wanted me to wait.
Mr. Wong reappeared from among the sea of Chinese commuters a full 15 minutes later. He walked briskly—almost at a trot—with a paper in his hand.
He smiled and waved as he approached. I walked to meet him.
“Here,” he said. He handed me a page of an English phone book. The address of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter day Saints was circled.
“Here is your church’s address,” he said.
Now I understood. Mr. Wong had thought I was a lost foreigner looking for my church. I lost my confidence as I thanked him for his trouble.
Mr. Wong offered his hand with a smile of pride and friendliness.
“Thank you very much,” I said.
“No problem,” he replied, and began to walk away.
“See you later,” I said. And then, as an afterthought, “May I give you this?”
I reached into my suit pocket and handed him a Joseph Smith pamphlet. I gave it to him with two hands, and he accepted the gift in the same manner, a Chinese custom.
“At least I learned something in the MTC,” I thought to myself, remembering our classes on cultural customs. Mr. Wong disappeared into the crowd.
I went to sleep that night praying for strength and success. I wanted to preach the gospel with all my heart, but I felt great frustration in learning to speak the language.
The months passed, and as they passed my confidence grew. I was soon transferred out of that area, and new investigators, new companions, new street displays occupied my mind.
A year later I was a zone leader in another part of Hong Kong. One Sunday I was back in my first area taking care of some mission business. Being in that first meetinghouse brought back many good memories. I rejoiced in seeing my old friends from the local ward.
As the meetings ended and people started leaving the building, I watched, hoping to see more of my former friends. Soon my companion and I were the only ones in the foyer.
As we were about to leave, a classroom door opened. My eyes widened as I saw Mr. Wong—the commuter at Star Ferry—emerge from the dark hall!
“Mr. Wong! How are you?” I asked with excitement.
“I’m Brother Wong now, Elder Call,” he said in perfect Mandarin.
“You speak Mandarin? No wonder I couldn’t understand you at the ferry!”
“And you were speaking Cantonese—that is why I couldn’t understand you,” he said.
We sat and talked for several minutes. Brother Wong explained to me that after our encounter at the ferry a year before, he went home and read the Joseph Smith pamphlet. He said he read it out of curiosity more than anything else. The Spirit touched his soul. He telephoned the mission home to ask for more information and two sisters began teaching him the gospel. He gained a testimony and was baptized.
Our reunion was sweet and joyous, even though we had seen each other only once before. My heart was touched and the Spirit bore record to me of the true meaning of Paul’s words to the Corinthians:
“I have planted, Apollos watered; but God gave the increase” (1 Cor. 3:6).