Gospel Story Finder

Alan Howell, one of two young men holding the Aaronic Priesthood in the Alexandria Minnesota Branch, Fargo North Dakota Stake, is the first branch member to earn the Eagle award. Because there was no Scout program in the branch and the stake center was over 100 miles away, Alan joined a troop sponsored by the Calvary Lutheran Church. (His mother has been a den leader and his father is on the Scout committee of that troop.) To complete his Eagle project, Alan organized the Scouts in cleaning and repairing an old hockey rink for use by the community. The boys cleared weeds and debris, leveled ground, and repaired boards. The park association flooded the area for ice skating, and the facility was used free of charge throughout the winter. Alan serves as priesthood chorister in his branch and as a home teacher in a 43-mile district. He has received his On My Honor award and was elected into the Order of the Arrow. When asked if it was difficult to keep LDS standards in a non-LDS troop, he replied, “No, it wasn’t hard to do. You are always in good company when you’re with Scouts!”

I should like to tell you the experience of one of our young men we will call John, who went east to an officers’ training school. A new commanding officer came into the school, and they put on a banquet to honor him. There, by every plate, was a cocktail glass. When the proper time came, every one of those potential officers stood up with his cocktail glass to toast that incoming officer—that is, all but one boy, and he raised a glass of milk. It would take a lot of courage, wouldn’t it, to stand there with all those officers and see all of those cocktail glasses come up, and stand and raise a glass of milk!
Well, the officer saw it, and he made a beeline for that boy after the entertainment was over and said, “Why did you toast me with a glass of milk?”
“Well, sir,” he said, “I’ve never touched alcohol in my life. I don’t want to touch it; my parents wouldn’t want me to touch it; and I didn’t think you would want me to either. I wanted to toast you, so I thought you would be satisfied if I toasted you with what I am accustomed to drinking.”
The officer said, “Report to my headquarters in the morning.”
I suppose that boy spent a sleepless night, but when he went to the officer’s quarters the next morning, do you know what happened? The officer assigned him a place on his staff with this explanation: “I want to surround myself with men who have the courage to do what they think is right regardless of what anybody else thinks about it.”

“Come on, Jodi! It’s only one little game! God isn’t gonna hate you for playing just this once on Sunday.”

“That’s right,” thought Jodi Allen, a 17-year-old from Sandy, Utah, and the star goalkeeper on her championship soccer team. “It’s only one little game”—nowhere near important enough to break a personal promise she’d made to Heavenly Father years before.

But how could she explain that to the teammates who were pressuring her? They’d worked hard all season, winning the Utah state championship and the right to play in the western regionals in San Francisco. A win on Sunday could mean a chance at the finals. The backup goalkeeper had quit, and the roster was frozen. There was no one to take her place, and the same opponents had beaten them 9–1 the year before.

“Oh Jodi—who do you think you are? Some of us are LDS, and we’re playing on Sunday. Do you think you’re better than we are?”

No, there was never a question about playing on Sunday—not even in this tournament. But making her teammates understand was another story.

“Look,” she tried, “if I don’t play on Sunday, sure, I’ll disappoint my team, and I feel bad about that. But if I do play on Sunday, I’ll disappoint so many more. I’ll disappoint myself, because I’d be breaking a promise. I’d disappoint my parents, who know how important that promise is to me. I’d disappoint my cousins, who don’t play on Sunday because of my example, and I’d disappoint my seminary teachers, who have taught me better. But most important of all, I’d disappoint God. I just can’t do that.”

It was a great explanation, but it didn’t do Jodi much good. All Saturday night the team tried to convince her to play. They made fun of her. They called her every name they could think of. Finally, at about midnight, Jodi called home in tears. It wasn’t that she was tempted to give in. It’s just that she felt so alone.

Her parents listened. Her parents understood. Both her mother and father got on the phone and had a prayer with her. After they hung up, they called an old friend in the Bay area and asked her to give Jodi some support.

The next morning Jodi got up and got dressed—in a dress, which she wore as she stood on the sidelines watching her team play. They ended up tying their opponents, 1–1, and afterwards, many of her teammates apologized for being so critical of her.

The team ended up tying for third in the tournament, which was better than they’d ever done before. Jodi thought this would be a good note on which to end her soccer career, even though she was a junior in high school and could play for one more year.

“I’ve achieved just about everything I wanted to with soccer,” Jodi said. She had been ranked as the number one goalie in the state and had been scouted by a number of universities, but when they heard of her policy on Sunday play, they lost interest. “I’d like to try to develop some other talents now—things like music and acting. Plus being on the seminary council will require a lot of time,” Jodi said.

So Jodi’s senior year in high school will be a busy one, despite the lack of soccer, the sport she’s dedicated so much to for so long. She says she won’t miss it too much and that the things she’s learned from it will help her in other parts of her life.

“‘To everything there is a season,’ and the soccer season is over,” said Jodi. “I have no regrets. Because of soccer, many missionary doors have been opened. The Lord has blessed me, and others through me. I haven’t gone unrewarded. I’ve been humbled, pushed, and just about everything else, but I learned that I can stand up to it. The Lord knows he can count on me, and I know I can count on myself.”

Jodi couldn’t be happier knowing that she didn’t let one little game spoil all that.

“My mother is a pioneer,” says Brynnly Anderson, a Laurel from Salt Lake City, Utah. “When I was a baby, my dad worked for the Church and we were asked to move to South America. There my mother had to learn Spanish, a new culture, and a new lifestyle. I have never heard her complain about having to move. She is very giving and unselfish, especially when it comes to her children. She is a great pioneer example to me.”

I have learned, as I have mentioned in previous messages, never to postpone a prompting. On one occasion many years ago, I was swimming laps at the old Deseret Gym in Salt Lake City when I felt the inspiration to go to the University Hospital to visit a good friend of mine who had lost the use of his lower limbs because of a malignancy and the surgery which followed. I immediately left the pool, dressed, and was soon on my way to see this good man.

When I arrived at his room, I found that it was empty. Upon inquiry I learned I would probably find him in the swimming pool area of the hospital, an area which was used for physical therapy. Such turned out to be the case. He had guided himself there in his wheelchair and was the only occupant of the room. He was on the far side of the pool, near the deep end. I called to him, and he maneuvered his wheelchair over to greet me. We had an enjoyable visit, and I accompanied him back to his hospital room, where I gave him a blessing.

I learned later from my friend that he had been utterly despondent that day and had been contemplating taking his own life. He had prayed for relief but began to feel that his prayers had gone unanswered. He went to the pool with the thought that this would be a way to end his misery—by guiding his wheelchair into the deep end of the pool. I had arrived at a critical moment, in response to what I know was inspiration from on high.

My friend was able to live many more years—years filled with happiness and gratitude. How pleased I am to have been an instrument in the Lord’s hands on that critical day at the swimming pool.

As the Church continues to expand throughout the world, many members live where we have no chapels—and may not for the foreseeable future. I remember a family who, because of such circumstances, was required to meet in their home. I asked the mother how she liked going to church in her own home. She replied, “I like it! My husband uses better language at home now, knowing that he will bless the sacrament here each Sunday.”

The children were enjoying their last day before school started. The day was filled with bike riding, baseball games, pizza, and trying to have as much fun as they possibly could. Toward the end of the day, a new boy appeared looking for someone to play with. My son John began playing with him. Soon afterward, John was invited to go swimming, but his new friend was not. Rather than leave the new boy alone, John turned down the offer. I’m thankful for John’s good example.

Photograph by Randy Collier
Our son, David, would be turning eight in less than a year. My husband and I wanted him to be prepared to make the sacred covenants of baptism. That meant doing things like reading the Book of Mormon, studying the baptismal covenants, and reviewing the baptismal interview questions. We had done all this before with David’s older sister, but David has autism, so deciding if he should be baptized was not as straightforward for us.
Yes, we knew what to do to help him prepare, but looming over all of this preparation were the questions: Should David be baptized? Was he ready? Did he need to be baptized? Did he understand what he would be committing to? How could we know for sure that we were doing the right thing?
Like many parents who have a child with a disability, these questions led us on a journey of seeking doctrinal insights and personal revelation.
Doctrine and Covenants 68:27 reads, “And their children shall be baptized for the remission of their sins when eight years old, and receive the laying on of the hands.”
If we relied solely on this scripture, we would conclude that any eight-year-old is ready to be baptized. However, the scriptures also teach:
“Little children are redeemed … through mine Only Begotten;
“Wherefore, they cannot sin … until they begin to become accountable before me” (Doctrine and Covenants 29:46–47; see also Moroni 8:7–22).
How could my husband and I understand if David was accountable? We continued to search.
We learned from Church policy that the individual’s accountability depends on both his wishes and his level of understanding: if David was worthy and desirous to be baptized and demonstrated that he could be held accountable, we should not withhold baptism from him.
We also learned that if David’s disability limited his intellectual capacity to that of a little child, he would not be held accountable and would not need saving ordinances (see General Handbook: Serving in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, 38.2.1.8, ChurchofJesusChrist.org; members who have questions about Church policies can consult with their bishops).
David’s intellectual capacity was actually quite typical. However, I still found myself questioning whether David had reached an appropriate level of accountability. I continued to prayerfully search and hope for direction that would bring me peace.
I know some parents who have a child with a disability who take great comfort from reading that those who pass through mortality without having become accountable retain the status of innocence: “All little children are alive in Christ. … For the power of redemption cometh on all them that have no law; … and unto such baptism availeth nothing” (Moroni 8:22).
The Prophet Joseph Smith also described the condition of children who die and have not become accountable: “And I also beheld that all children who die before they arrive at the years of accountability are saved in the celestial kingdom of heaven” (Doctrine and Covenants 137:10).
I know that for these individuals, baptism is not necessary in this life. I also knew that God would help us to know what would be best for David.
For those with disabilities, there is a large range of abilities. Many individuals with disabilities are above the mental level of eight years and may be baptized and confirmed if they become accountable (see General Handbook, 38.2.3.5, ChurchofJesusChrist.org). Other individuals will not be accountable. I knew my husband and I could consult with our son, with God, and with our bishop, who stands as a “judge in Israel,” to help make the inspired decision concerning David’s readiness to be baptized (see Doctrine and Covenants 107:76).
These words from Alma brought me great peace: “And now, as ye are desirous to come into the fold of God, and to be called his people, … what have you against being baptized in the name of the Lord, as a witness before him that ye have entered into a covenant with him, that ye will serve him and keep his commandments, that he may pour out his Spirit more abundantly upon you?” (Mosiah 18:8, 10).
After all of our preparation, all of our lessons at home and in Primary, I started to ask David questions I knew he would be asked in his baptismal interview.
Sometimes his responses demonstrated understanding, but sometimes he didn’t know how to respond. I found myself wondering if we were doing the right thing.
Finally, the Spirit whispered to my heart, “Why don’t you ask David what he thinks?”
I turned to David and asked, “David, do you want to be baptized?”
He looked right up at me and said, “Yes!”
When I asked him why he wanted to be baptized, he said, “To be like Jesus.”
I was overcome with peace and direction. I knew right then that even if David didn’t understand every question perfectly, he was ready to be baptized and confirmed. He knew what he needed to know, and most importantly, he knowingly had a desire to enter God’s kingdom through baptism.
The day David was baptized and confirmed a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints was full of love, friendship, and peace. The room was filled with family, ward members, school friends, and even teachers from David’s school. The example David set that day of choosing to follow Jesus and be baptized was an example that influenced many for good. Our family is stronger because we had the opportunity to learn how the works of God would be made manifest through our son, David (see John 9:3).

Approximately 18 months ago, in the fall of 2017, my 64-year-old brother Mike informed me that he had been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. He also told me that he had received a priesthood blessing from his home teacher and that he had met with his bishop. He later texted me a picture of the Oakland California Temple taken from the hospital where he was receiving treatment, with the caption “Look what I can see from my hospital room.”
I was as surprised by his comments about home teachers, priesthood blessings, bishops, and temples as I was about the cancer. You see, Mike, a priest in the Aaronic Priesthood, hadn’t regularly attended church for close to 50 years.
As a family, we were almost as intrigued with his spiritual progress as we were with his progress in fighting the cancer, largely because of his now frequent questions about the Book of Mormon, the sealing power, and life after death. As the months passed and the cancer spread, a need for additional and more specialized treatment eventually brought Mike to Utah and the Huntsman Cancer Institute.
Shortly after his arrival, Mike was visited by John Holbrook, the ward mission leader of the ward that served the care facility where he was now living. John commented that “it was obvious to me that Mike was a son of God” and that they quickly developed a bond and a friendship, which led to John becoming Mike’s de facto ministering brother. There was an immediate invitation to have the missionaries visit, which my brother politely declined, but a month into their friendship, John asked again, explaining to Mike, “I think you’d enjoy hearing the gospel message.” This time the invitation was accepted, leading to meetings with the missionaries, as well as visits with Bishop Jon Sharp, whose conversations eventually led to Mike receiving his patriarchal blessing, 57 years after his baptism.
In early December of last year, following months of procedures, Mike decided to stop the cancer treatments, which were causing severe side effects, and to just let nature take its course. We were informed by his doctor that Mike had approximately three months to live. In the meantime, the gospel questions continued—as did the visits and support of his local priesthood leaders. On our visits with Mike, we often saw an open copy of the Book of Mormon on the bedstand as we discussed the Restoration of the gospel, priesthood keys, temple ordinances, and the eternal nature of man.
By mid-December, with his patriarchal blessing in hand, Mike actually appeared to be gaining strength, and his prognosis of at least another three months seemed likely. We even made plans for him to join us for Christmas, for New Year’s, and beyond. On December 16, I received an unexpected call from Bishop Sharp, who informed me that he and the stake president had interviewed Mike, had found him worthy to receive the Melchizedek Priesthood, and asked when I would be available to participate. The ordinance was scheduled for that Friday, December 21.
When the day arrived, my wife, Carol, and I arrived at the care facility and were immediately met in the hallway near his room and informed that Mike had no pulse. We entered the room to find the patriarch, his bishop, and his stake president already waiting—and then Mike opened his eyes. He recognized me and acknowledged that he could hear me and was ready to receive the priesthood. Fifty years after Mike had been ordained a priest in the Aaronic Priesthood, I had the privilege, assisted by his local leaders, to confer the Melchizedek Priesthood and ordain my brother to the office of elder. Five hours later, Mike passed away, crossing the veil to meet our parents as a holder of the Melchizedek Priesthood.
John, who was Mike’s friend, ministering brother, and a former mission president, used to tell his missionaries that “if someone is on a list that says ‘not interested,’ don’t give up. People change.” He then told us, “Mike changed mightily.” John was first a friend, providing frequent encouragement and support—but his ministering didn’t stop at friendly visits. John knew that a minister is more than a friend and that friendship is magnified as we minister.
Knowing that he would soon die, my brother Mike commented, “It’s amazing how pancreatic cancer can make you focus on what’s most important.” Thanks to wonderful men and women who saw a need, did not judge, and ministered like the Savior, it wasn’t too late for Mike. For some, change may come sooner; for others, perhaps beyond the veil. However, we must remember that it is never too late and no one has ever wandered so far from the path that he or she is beyond the reach of the infinite Atonement of Jesus Christ, which is limitless in its duration and scope.

It started in August 2006, when a little boy drowned during a family trip. After losing their son Ryan, Craig and Alisha Adams wanted to build a swing or maybe a seesaw, something for their other children to remember him by. Within a few weeks, the project grew into a full-fledged memorial park, complete with a rocket ship playground and a dragon slide. It became a community effort to build a monument to all children.
Volunteers from across Cache Valley (in northern Utah) donated time and money to design and build Ryan’s Place Park, but first someone needed to dig the foundations for the playground supports. That’s where the Providence stake youth came in.
The park looks a lot different now that it’s finished. The playground echoes with children’s laughter. In addition, there is a cobblestone path that bears the names of children who left this life all too soon. The bittersweet contrast reminds grieving families that they will be with their loved ones again.
“This park is a fun, happy place to remember our family,” Craig Adams says. “One of these days we’re all going to be reunited, and it’ll be such a happy day. When that day comes, all of our suffering will be worth it because we’ll be with Ryan again.”

Several years ago I received a letter from a woman who had emerged from a long period of Church inactivity. She was ever so anxious for her husband, who as yet was not a member of the Church, to share the joy she felt.

She wrote of a trip which she, her husband, and their three sons made from the family home to Grandmother’s home in Idaho. While driving through Salt Lake City, they were attracted by the message which appeared on a billboard. The message invited them to visit Temple Square. Bob, the nonmember husband, made the suggestion that a visit would be pleasant. The family entered the visitors’ center, and Father took two sons up a ramp that one called “the ramp to heaven.” Mother and three-year-old Tyler were a bit behind the others, they having paused to appreciate the beautiful paintings which adorned the walls. As they walked toward the magnificent sculpture of Thorvaldsen’s Christus, tiny Tyler bolted from his mother and ran to the base of the Christus, while exclaiming, “It’s Jesus! It’s Jesus!” As Mother attempted to restrain her son, Tyler looked back toward her and his father and said, “Don’t worry. He likes children.”

After departing the center and again making their way along the freeway toward Grandmother’s, Dad asked Tyler what he liked best about their adventure on Temple Square. Tyler smiled up at him and said, “Jesus.”

“How do you know that Jesus likes you, Tyler?”

Tyler, with a most serious expression on his face, looked up at his father’s eyes and answered, “Dad, didn’t you see His face?” Nothing else needed to be said.

As I read this account, I thought of the statement from the book of Isaiah, “And a little child shall lead them” (Isa. 11:6).

Later, a young man moved into our community from Nigeria. I found out that he had recently completed his mission and relocated to my community. I enjoyed coming around him because of his strange accent and his stories about the development happening in Nigeria—the beautiful streets and cities.
One day, while we were arguing, one of my colleagues, Amos Bangura, made a statement: “Liberia is a hell, and if you are born and die in Liberia and go to hell, it is a double punishment. Then God is not fair because things are so tough in Liberia.”
The returned missionary, Brother James Kolue, quickly used that statement as an opportunity to teach us about Heavenly Father’s love for all His children—no matter their location, family background, or country. He taught us that God’s love extends beyond our imagination.
After his teaching, I quickly asked him: “Which church are you attending?”
He replied, “I attend The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Have you heard about this church before?”
I quickly said, “Yes, I sometimes see their missionaries passing by.”
He asked if I would like to learn from the missionaries, and I accepted the invitation. I started meeting with the missionaries. They were friendly and kind, and their message about Jesus Christ and the plan of salvation felt different from anything I had ever heard before.
I spent several weeks learning more about their beliefs and reading the Book of Mormon. There was something about the teachings that resonated deeply with me. I remember the day I prayed for the first time to know if the Church was true, and I felt an overwhelming peace—something I had never felt before.
That was when I knew I had to take the next step.
However, life became tough, and I moved to Logan Town in search of opportunities. There, I met different missionaries and stopped them to explain that I had been learning with missionaries in Brewerville. They contacted the other missionaries and continued my teaching.
The missionaries introduced me to the bishop, who was then Bishop Paul Wrotto. He guided and helped me as I took this new step. Soon after, I was baptized. The moment I emerged from the water, I felt like a new person. My heart was full, my mind clearer, and I was ready to follow the path that Heavenly Father had set for me.
The gospel changed everything in my life, and I felt a strong desire to share it with others—just as the missionaries had shared it with me.
I felt prompted to serve a full-time mission and discussed this with Bishop Wrotto. The decision wasn’t easy. I had doubts about leaving behind the life I knew, especially the part-time job that I struggled to get. But my bishop said two things that remained in my heart:
God knows you personally. “Seek ye first the kingdom of God, and his righteousness; and all these things shall be added unto you” (Matthew 6:33).
You should create time for God. God should not create time for you.
These words kept playing in my mind. I knew it was what I was supposed to do.
I began preparing for my mission, and soon I was called to serve in the Ghana Accra Mission under President and Sister Young. I left my job to fully prepare, but then the unexpected happened: COVID-19.
The pandemic spread rapidly, buildings were shut down, churches were closed, and public gatherings were prohibited. The missionary training center (MTC) was closed, and I was stuck at home—no job, no mission, just frustration.
During this period, I began questioning my decision. But my bishop encouraged me to use the time as an opportunity to study the scriptures and follow the Come, Follow Me program.
Later, we were notified that we would begin online MTC training. Finally, I was blessed to serve in the Ghana Accra Mission.
My mission took me to places where I met incredible people and worked with companions who taught me to be bold in sharing the gospel and patience in helping others find the same joy I had found.
When I returned home, I felt the desire to share the gospel with my family—especially my brother. He had been skeptical when I first joined the Church. He didn’t understand why I was so passionate about it. But instead of forcing him, I decided to live by example.
One evening, I sat down with him and shared my testimony. I told him how the gospel had changed my life. To my surprise, he listened. We discussed the Book of Mormon, the teachings of Jesus Christ, and the Restoration of the gospel. It wasn’t a quick process, but over time he started reading and praying on his own.
Months later my brother made the decision to be baptized. I couldn’t have been happier. I saw him changing, growing, and the same light I once felt began to shine in him.
Eventually, he felt inspired to serve a full-time mission as well. He is currently serving in the DRC Kinshasa West Mission.
It brings me so much joy to see how far he has come. I know he will touch lives and help others find the same peace that comes from knowing Jesus Christ.
The gospel is meant to be shared, and I will continue to share it with those around me—just as I once shared it with my brother.
As I reflect on my journey—from meeting the missionaries, becoming a missionary myself, and helping my brother find his own path—I know that the Lord’s plan is much bigger than we can understand.
I call this story “a journey of faith.”

Francisco and Estela Magdaleno of Las Aguilas Ward, Guadalajara México Moctezuma Stake, were baptized in the mid-1960s. The area where they live is strongly traditional with regard to religion. At first, neighbors wanted little to do with them or their faith. The Magdalenos continued to live their religion and tried their best to maintain good relationships with those around them. They and their three children have all served missions in Mexico. The Magdalenos have lived to see the day when neighbors turn to them for advice on questions of faith.

I had that demonstrated to me while welding in a shipyard one winter. One day one of the crew came up to me and with the most friendly smile started to call me all kinds of bad names. I quietly said to him, “Bent, you just don’t call me those names.” He was hurt. He said, “Dan, let me show you something. Come with me.” So I followed him across the deck of the aircraft carrier and over on the other side to a catwalk where another member of the crew was welding. He had raised his hood and was watching us approach when Bent started calling him every name he had called me. The other fellow just grinned and called him back the same names with a few innovations and improvements. Then Bent turned to me and said, “See, I didn’t mean any harm by it.” And he didn’t! He had managed to almost entirely divorce sound from sense in his speech.

In 2002 I learned an important lesson about problems. While in Asunción, Paraguay, I met with the city’s stake presidents. At that time, Paraguay faced a terrible financial crisis, and many Church members were suffering and unable to make ends meet. I had not been to South America since my mission and had never been to Paraguay. I had been serving in that Area Presidency for only a few weeks. Apprehensive about my inability to give guidance to those stake presidents, I asked them to tell me only what was going well in their stakes. The first stake president told me about things that were going well. The next mentioned things that were going well and a few problems. By the time we got to the last stake president, he mentioned only a series of vexing challenges. As the stake presidents explained the magnitude of the situation, I grew increasingly concerned, nearly desperate, about what to say.
Just as the last stake president was finishing his comments, a thought came into my mind: “Elder Clayton, ask them this question: ‘Presidents, of the members in your stakes who pay a full tithing, pay a generous fast offering, magnify their callings in the Church, actually visit their families as home teachers or visiting teachers every month, hold family home evening, study the scriptures, and hold family prayer each day, how many have problems they cannot address on their own without the Church having to step in and solve their problems for them?’”
Responsive to the impression I had received, I asked the stake presidents that question.
They looked at me in surprised silence and then said, “Pues, ninguno,” meaning, “Well, no one.” They then told me that none of the members who did all of those things had problems they were incapable of resolving on their own. Why? Because they lived in the finest homes. Their faithful living provided them the strength, vision, and heavenly help they needed in the economic turmoil that surrounded them.

One summer my father said that he had a big job for me and my brother, Clay, to do. Pointing to a nearby field with a bunch of lambs in it, Dad said that he’d share any money that we made from raising them and selling them in the fall.
We were excited. There were about 350 lambs, and all we had to do was feed them. However, none of the lambs had mothers. They had all been lost in a violent storm. To feed one or two baby lambs is easy, but to feed 350 of them was a real job. There was plenty of grass, but the lambs needed milk. So we made some long, V-shaped troughs out of boards. Next, we got a tin washtub, ground up some grain, and put it into the tub. Then we added milk to make a thin mash.
We herded the lambs to the troughs and, pointing to the food, said, “Eat!” They just stood there looking at us. We tried pushing their noses down into the milky mash, hoping that they’d get a taste and want more. We tried wriggling our fingers in the mixture to get them to suck our fingers. Some of them would drink, but most of them ran away.
Many of the lambs were starving to death. The only way that we could be sure they were eating was to pick them up two at a time, hold them in our arms like babies, and feed them.
At night the coyotes would sit up on the hill and howl. The next morning we’d see the results of their night’s work, and we’d bury two or three more lambs.
Clay and I soon forgot about becoming rich. All we wanted to do was save our lambs. It really wasn’t too bad until I made a pet of one of the lambs and gave it a name. It was always under my feet, and it knew my voice. I loved that lamb. One morning it didn’t come when I called it. Later that day I found it under the willow trees by the creek. It wad dead. With tears streaming down my face, I picked up my lamb and went to find my father. Looking up at Dad, I said, “Isn’t there someone who can help us feed our lambs?”
After a long moment he said, “Jayne, a long time ago, Someone Else said almost those same words. He said, ‘Feed my lambs. … Feed my sheep.’” (John 21:15–16.) Dad put his arm around me and let me cry for a long time, then went with me to bury my lamb.
Many years later, while pondering Moses 1:39, I came to understand Dad’s words. The scripture reads: “For behold, this is my work and my glory—to bring to pass the immortality and eternal life of [all mankind].” As I thought about the mission of the Savior, I remembered the summer of the lambs, and I sensed how the Savior must feel with so many lambs to feed, so many souls to save. And I knew in my heart that He needed my help.

They started to raise their family from a very humble single attic-room apartment in the heart of Amsterdam. After several years of washing their clothes by hand, they had finally saved up enough money to purchase a washing machine. Just before they would make the purchase, the bishop visited them, asking for a contribution to build the meetinghouse in Amsterdam. They decided to give all they had saved for the washing machine and continued to do the laundry by hand. As a family we went through some hardships, just like any other family. These have only made us stronger and have deepened our faith in the Lord Jesus Christ, just like when Alma was sharing his story with his son Helaman, where he told him that he had been “supported under trials and troubles of every kind” because he had put his trust in the Lord Jesus Christ. How did two people who experienced so many trials in their younger years become the very best parents I could ever wish for? The answer is simple: they fully embraced the gospel and live by their covenants to this very day! After more than 65 years of marriage, my mother, who suffered from Alzheimer’s disease, passed away in February. My father, at the age of 92 and still living at home, visited her as often as he could until she passed away. Some time ago he mentioned to my younger siblings that the dreadful experiences in the camp in Indonesia during World War II had prepared him to patiently care for his wife for so many years as she fell ill and deteriorated from this horrible disease and also for the fateful day he had to entrust her primary care to others and could not be by her side anymore. Their motto has been and still is to “Just carry on,” having a perfect hope in Christ to be raised up at the last day and to dwell with Him in glory forever.

Before the Helsinki temple was dedicated, members of the Church traveled to the Stockholm Sweden Temple, which sometimes included a two-hour bus ride and an 11-hour overnight ship ride. Aleksi says that at first, he was disappointed to lose the fun youth trips to Sweden, but after attending the Helsinki temple, concludes that these temple trips are special in their own way. “It is fun to see how other members honor the same things I do,” he says.

Here in Salt Lake City in 1985, Bishop Steven Christensen, through no fault of his own, was cruelly and senselessly killed by a bomb intended to take his life. He was the son of Mac and Joan Christensen, the husband of Terri, and the father of four children. With his parents’ consent, I share what they learned from this experience. After this terrible deed, the news media followed members of the Christensen family around relentlessly. On one occasion this media intrusion offended one of the family members to the point that Steven’s father, Mac, had to restrain him. Mac then thought, “This thing will destroy my family if we don’t forgive. Venom and hatred will never end if we do not get it out of our system.” Healing and peace came as the family cleansed their hearts from anger and were able to forgive the man who took their son’s life.

Consider the experience of Admiral Chester W. Nimitz. When he graduated as an ensign, he was given an old, decrepit destroyer as his first command. It was named the Decatur. It was all he could do to prepare the old destroyer for sailing and on one of its first voyages, Ensign Nimitz ran the ship aground. It resulted in an immediate court martial. Had Chester Nimitz not been the kind of man he was, that defeat could have ruined his career. But what did he do? He put that defeat behind him and went on to becoming the commanding admiral of the greatest sea force ever assembled in this world—the Pacific Fleet. He showed everyone that one defeat could not keep a good man down.