Gospel Story Finder

Laurie Baldwin wiped at the tears that stung her eyes during the long trip to Denver. Great-grandma, her mom’s grandma, had died yesterday after being sick a long time. The whole family—Laurie, Mom, Dad, and Laurie’s two older sisters—was going to the funeral.
When they arrived at Great-grandma’s house, Laurie met the cousins, aunts, and uncles who had gathered there.
“How are we going to put together a funeral in only two days?” Aunt Christy asked. “We don’t know anyone here.”
Mom didn’t look worried. “I know where we can find help,” she said, reaching for the phone book.
Laurie listened as Mom called the bishop of a Denver ward and explained the situation.
“Why did you call a bishop?” Laurie asked after Mom replaced the phone. “Great-grandma wasn’t a member of the Church.” Mom was the only member of her family who belonged to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
“Even though Grandma wasn’t a member of our Church, we can still ask for help in preparing for her funeral. That’s part of belonging to the Church—being able to go anywhere and know that there are people who are willing to help us.”
Laurie would always remember that.
Soon the phone started ringing. Her mother spent the next hour taking calls and making others. She was smiling after the last one.
“Everything’s taken care of,” she announced to the family. “The bishop called some people. The Relief Society president is going to arrange a meal for the family after the funeral. She’ll also find someone to play the organ and lead the music.”
“Why are they helping us?” Aunt Christy wanted to know. “We don’t live here. We don’t even know them.”
“In our church we call each other ‘Brother’ and ‘Sister.’ That’s because we’re all brothers and sisters in the gospel and help each other whenever we can.”
Laurie thought about that—brothers and sisters in the gospel. She liked the sound of it.
Mom spoke at the funeral and told some things about her grandmother’s life. A lady with a pretty voice sang “How Great Thou Art” (Hymns, no. 86), which had been Great-grandma’s favorite song. Mom was crying and smiling at the same time.
After the funeral, Mom thanked the bishop and everyone who had helped with the music and food. “I don’t know what we would have done without you.”
The bishop took her hand. “We were happy to help. Your grandmother must have been a remarkable woman.”
Laurie heard the quiet sincerity in his voice. The family spent the rest of the afternoon and evening talking about Great-grandma.
“I want to find out more about your church,” Aunt Christy said.
Laurie listened as Mom began to explain. “We belong to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. …”
“Bishops, home teachers, visiting teachers, and members of priesthood quorums and of Relief Societies … all stand ready to help. …
“Of course, your brothers and sisters in the Church are not to solve your problems for you. … But your brothers and sisters will be at your side to strengthen you, encourage you, and help you.”Elder Joseph B. WirthlinFrom an April 2000 general conference address.

Illustrations by Garth Bruner
The cast was blue. Amy had seen a cast on Lee’s arm at school, but she had never seen a cast on an elderly man’s arm. Just before stake conference started, Amy leaned forward and asked the man in the next row what happened to his arm.
The man smiled and turned around. “I have a sore muscle,” he said.
“Ouch,” said Amy. “My name’s Amy. What’s yours?”
“I’m Charlie Young,” he said and used his other hand to shake her hand. “And this is my wife, Nancy.”
Amy sat back in her seat. She knew Mom had brought paper and crayons in her bag, so Amy got them out and colored three pictures for Brother Young to make him feel better.
“Your pictures are beautiful,” Nancy said when Amy gave them to Brother Young.
“I think I feel a little better already!” Brother Young said.
In her prayers that night, Amy prayed that Brother Young’s arm would get better.
Six months later it was time for stake conference again. In the chapel Amy looked all around for Brother and Sister Young.
“There they are!” Mom said, pointing across the room. “Let’s go sit by them.”
“How’s your arm?” Amy asked Brother Young once they sat down.
“All better.” Brother Young held up his arm for her to see. No cast. “I put your pictures on my refrigerator. They helped me feel better. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” Amy said.
Mom nodded and leaned forward. “Brother and Sister Young, we’d like it if you could come to Amy’s birthday party in a few weeks.”
“How old are you?” Brother Young asked.
“I’m turning eight. How old are you?” Amy asked.
“I’m 83. Say, if you’re turning eight, does that mean you’re getting baptized soon?”
“Yes!” Amy said. “Can you come to my baptism too? I’d like you to say the closing prayer.”
“I would be honored,” Brother Young said. “And Nancy and I would be happy to come to your party. We’ll have to think of a very special present for such a special friend.”
A few weeks later, Amy’s birthday finally arrived. Charlie and Nancy Young came, and so did lots of Amy’s school friends. When it was time to open presents, Mom had Amy cover her eyes while Dad brought something into the room.
“OK, you can look now,” Dad said.
Amy opened her eyes and saw that her first present was a brown guinea pig. “Wow, my first pet!” Amy said.
Amy’s second present was from Brother and Sister Young. It was a beautiful blanket that was almost as soft as the guinea pig.
“Yellow, purple, and orange. Those are my favorite colors! How did you know?” Amy asked.
“Your mom told me. I crocheted it myself as a surprise for you,” Brother Young said.
“Thank you!” Amy said, hugging Charlie and Nancy. “I have a surprise for you too, Brother Young. I’m going to name my guinea pig Charlie, after you.”
Brother and Sister Young laughed. “I’m sure you’ve found the very best name,” Sister Young said.
“And the very best friends,” Amy agreed.

In my growing-up years in Germany, I attended church in many different locations and circumstances—in humble back rooms, in impressive villas, and in very functional, modern chapels. All of these buildings had one important factor in common: the Spirit of God was present; the love of the Savior could be felt as we assembled as a branch or ward family.
The Zwickau chapel had an old air-driven organ. Every Sunday a young man was assigned to push up and down the sturdy lever that operated the bellows to make the organ work. Even before I was an Aaronic Priesthood bearer, I sometimes had the great privilege to assist in this important task.
While the congregation sang our beloved hymns of the Restoration, I pumped with all my strength so the organ would not run out of wind. The eyes of the organist unmistakably indicated whether I was doing fine or needed to increase my efforts quickly. I always felt honored by the importance of this duty and the trust that the organist had placed in me. It was a wonderful feeling of accomplishment to have a responsibility and to be part of this great work.
There was an additional benefit that came from this assignment: the bellows operator sat in a seat that offered a great view of a stained-glass window that beautified the front part of the chapel. The stained glass portrayed the First Vision, with Joseph Smith kneeling in the Sacred Grove, looking up toward heaven and into a pillar of light.
During the hymns of the congregation and even during talks and testimonies given by our members, I often looked at this depiction of a most sacred moment in world history. In my mind’s eye I saw Joseph receiving knowledge, witness, and divine instructions as he became a blessed instrument in the hand of our Heavenly Father.
I felt a special spirit while looking at the beautiful scene in this window picture of a believing young boy in a sacred grove who made a courageous decision to earnestly pray to our Heavenly Father, who listened and responded lovingly to him.
Here I was, a young boy in post–World War II Germany, living in a city in ruins, thousands of miles away from Palmyra in North America and more than a hundred years after the event actually took place. By the universal power of the Holy Ghost, I felt in my heart and in my mind that it was true, that Joseph Smith saw God and Jesus Christ and heard Their voices. The Spirit of God comforted my soul at this young age with an assurance of the reality of this sacred moment that resulted in the beginning of a worldwide movement destined to “roll forth, until it has filled the whole earth” (D&C 65:2). I believed Joseph Smith’s testimony of that glorious experience in the Sacred Grove then, and I know it now. God has spoken to mankind again!

The youth aren’t the only ones getting into the act. Entire families participate in the pageant, either as members of the cast or part of the crew. One family, the Nielsons, voted to audition for the pageant together. “My family said either everyone’s in or no one is. Majority rules,” says David Nielson, 14. “So we all went as a family and tried out—and we all made it!” David played a beggar and a member of the mob in the pageant.

Sometimes we don't do good things to the "least of these my brethren," because we judge them. We put a label on them and then rationalize our misbehavior or our non-behavior toward them. Years ago, we moved in next door to an older couple who yelled so loud at each other, I was first disturbed, then disgusted by what sounded like constant quarreling. My resentment of the couple for all this noise kept me from making their acquaintance. "Little wonder no one visits them," I thought. As time went on, however, I suspected that they must be lonely. I was not aware of any family coming to see them. After many months, I mentioned this to another neighbor and wondered if I should visit them. This neighbor said, "I think it would be a great idea, but when you visit them, you'll have to yell because they are both nearly deaf."

Shortly after my mission, while a student at Brigham Young University, I received a phone call from my dad. He told me that he had been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer and that although his chances of survival were not good, he was determined to be healed and return to his normal life activities. That phone call was a sobering moment for me. My dad had been my bishop, my friend, and my adviser. As my mother, my siblings, and I contemplated the future, it appeared bleak. My younger brother, Dave, was serving a mission in New York and participated long-distance in these difficult family events.
The medical providers of the day suggested surgery to try and curtail the spread of the cancer. Our family earnestly fasted and prayed for a miracle. I felt that we had sufficient faith that my father could be healed. Just prior to the surgery, my older brother, Norm, and I gave my dad a blessing. With all the faith we could muster, we prayed that he would be healed.
The surgery was scheduled to last many hours, but after just a short time, the doctor came to the waiting room to meet with our family. He told us that as they began the surgery, they could see that the cancer had spread throughout my father’s body. Based upon what they observed, my father had just a few months to live. We were devastated.
As my father awakened from the surgery, he was anxious to learn if the procedure had been successful. We shared with him the grim news.
We continued to fast and pray for a miracle. As my father’s health quickly declined, we began to pray that he could be free of pain. Eventually, as his condition worsened, we asked the Lord to allow him to pass quickly. Just a few months after the surgery, as predicted by the surgeon, my father did pass away.
Much love and care were poured out upon our family by ward members and family friends. We had a beautiful funeral that honored the life of my father. As time passed, however, and we experienced the pain of my father’s absence, I began to wonder why my father had not been healed. I wondered if my faith was not strong enough. Why did some families receive a miracle, but our family did not? I had learned on my mission to turn to the scriptures for answers, so I began to search the scriptures.
Moroni brings additional understanding as he shares the words of his father, Mormon. After speaking of miracles, Mormon explains, “And Christ hath said: If ye will have faith in me ye shall have power to do whatsoever thing is expedient in me.” I learned that the object of my faith must be Jesus Christ and that I needed to accept what was expedient to Him as I exercised faith in Him. I understand now that my father’s passing was expedient to God’s plan. Now, as I lay my hands upon the head of another to bless him or her, my faith is in Jesus Christ, and I understand that a person can and will be physically healed if it is expedient in Christ.
But here is the greater lesson I learned. I had mistakenly believed that the Savior’s healing power had not worked for my family. As I now look back with more mature eyes and experience, I see that the Savior’s healing power was evident in the lives of each of my family members. I was so focused on a physical healing that I failed to see the miracles that had occurred. The Lord strengthened and lifted my mother beyond her capacity through this difficult trial, and she led a long and productive life. She had a remarkable positive influence on her children and grandchildren. The Lord blessed me and my siblings with love, unity, faith, and resilience that became an important part of our lives and continues today.
But what about my dad? As with all who will repent, he was spiritually healed as he sought and received the blessings available because of the Savior’s Atonement. He received a remission of his sins and now awaits the miracle of the Resurrection. The Apostle Paul taught, “For as in Adam all die, even so in Christ shall all be made alive.” You see, I was saying to the Savior, “We brought my dad to You to be healed,” and it is now clear to me that the Savior did heal him. The balm of Gilead worked for the Nielson family—not in the way that we had supposed, but in an even more significant way that has blessed and continues to bless our lives.

Why is a superactivity super? Earning the right to go is half the fun. The 17th Ward of the Las Vegas East Stake plans two superactivities for the Explorer-aged boys every year. One activity takes place in the winter and is usually a cross-country skiing adventure or a snowmobiling trip. In the summer, for the past few years, the superactivity has truly been super. It is a scuba-diving water-skiing campout trip to Catalina Island. Qualifying to go on this super outing involves more than just being the right age. During the year each boy fills several requirements before he is allowed to go: 100 percent attendance at MIA with no unexcused absences, and 75 percent attendance at all other Church meetings. Each boy must be dressed in his official Explorer uniform every week. Three nonmembers were included in the group this year, and although they were not required to attend priesthood meeting, they had to attend two sacrament meetings and two Sunday School meetings per month. They also had to have 100 percent attendance at MIA and wear their Explorer uniforms. In addition to these requirements, each boy had to earn five merit badges in the six-month period preceding the activity.
As difficult and rigid as these qualifications may seem, it is interesting to note that fifteen boys met the requirements for this summer’s superactivity trip to Catalina Island and that each boy actually looked forward to completing the necessary requirements.
Camping gear, scuba diving equipment, and plenty of food were packed for the trip to Catalina, and the group of Explorers along with six enthusiastic leaders headed for the California coast. The boats were launched in the early morning when the sea was calm. Proper compass settings were important in reaching their destination. Catalina is some twenty miles from the California coast, and the boat trip to the island is scenic and refreshing.
Instead of camping in or near Catalina’s one large city, Avalon, the group went to the other end of the island and pitched their tents on the large isthmus that protrudes north from the island. Camp was organized, and most important of all, a large cooking area with stoves and necessary kitchen gear was laid out in a central location.
The opportunity for activity seemed to be endless. The early morning hours were spent in the bay water skiing and swimming. This was an ideal time because the water was calm. During the afternoon when the water became rougher, the boats were loaded with skin-diving gear and the boys explored various interesting spots around the island. These diving expeditions were not only enjoyable and exciting experiences but also very practical. Around the island abalone and lobster can be found, and these delicacies made excellent eating for the entire group.
These activities, along with exploring the island, snorkeling, and body surfing, were just a few of the many and varied things that were going on all the time.
One day was spent exploring the tourist city of Avalon. The boys got cleaned up and toured the resort community and that evening saw a movie before returning to camp.
With waves rolling into the shore and the sun shining down on the group, they held a spiritually moving testimony meeting that was one of the highlights of the excursion.
At the end of the fifth day, twenty-one very good friends broke camp and prepared for the long trip back to Las Vegas.
Upon their arrival home, the tired but happy Explorer group was met by grateful parents who by nature seem to worry when their boys are away. Happily there was nothing more serious than a few bruises and sore muscles to report—only memories of a superactivity.

Not long afterward, John told me he was coming to the San Francisco Bay Area with a singing group from Brigham Young University.
“I’d love to see you,” he said, suggesting we meet at the California Oakland Temple.
Driving around the Bay Area at night, I would often see the temple. It appealed to me spiritually, so I read about it and wanted to go inside. John and I met early one morning on the temple grounds. After our visit, he said it was time for his group to enter the temple.
“Randy, you won’t be able to enter the temple,” John told me.
“I know, I’m a hippie,” I replied, “but I’ve studied Eastern religions, I’m a vegetarian, I live in a commune where we share everything, and I have $20. How much could admission be?”
“Far more than that,” John answered. “You’re not good enough.”
At the time, I considered myself intellectually, philosophically, and spiritually advanced. How could I not be good enough?
For several years, my parents didn’t know where I was. They were good people who tried to give me the best education possible and were understandably disappointed by my choices. When my father became ill, my mother persuaded me to return home to Washington, D.C. When I arrived, John found me a job on a crew building the Washington D.C. Temple.
I didn’t know it, but he had arranged for me to work with a crew of returned missionaries. I was stunned that John Howell, the lead foreman, would ask a crew member to pray at the start of each day’s work—something I had never seen with crews I had worked with previously.
One day at work, several of us were mounting one of the temple’s heavy front doors when it fell and smashed my finger as thin as a dime. John hurried over, looked at my finger, called for some consecrated oil, and gave me a blessing. My finger healed so quickly that I didn’t need to see a doctor.
On another occasion, I was given a razor blade and told to scrape bits of debris off the concrete floors.
“Why?” I asked one of our crew members. “Aren’t they putting carpet down?”
“Randy, you don’t know whose house this is, do you?” he responded. “We’re perfecting it for the Perfect One.”
The world was drowning in cynicism, bitterness, hatred, and fear, but the example and teachings of the young men I worked with filled me with hope. As crew members shared their beliefs with me, I knew they were being honest and authentic. They had given two years of their lives to serve others, and they were intelligently optimistic. I wanted their teachings to be true. I felt I was gaining the enlightenment I had been seeking and that the Lord was preparing me spiritually.
John Howell suggested I meet with the full-time missionaries. Instead, I opted to have my brother and one of his friends, another returned missionary, teach me. As they taught me, I wanted external, incontrovertible evidence that what I was learning was true. Without that proof, I didn’t want any further discussions.
When I asked how they knew the truth, they replied, “We have read and prayed and felt a witness from the Holy Ghost.” They told me I needed that same witness.
That night I went into a grove of trees near my neighborhood. I don’t know how long I prayed, but I did so with absolute intent. I repeatedly asked God the same four questions: “Is the Book of Mormon the word of God? Did You and Your Son appear to Joseph Smith? Is this the true Church of Jesus Christ? Am I good enough to be a member?”
The answer to each question came in a whisper to my soul—“Yes”—four times. Those whispers were accompanied by serene and sublime feelings.
With my head bowed, kneeling in prayer and drenched with tears, I exclaimed: “If this is the answer You will give to me, then I accept it and will commit my life fully to You and this gospel as You reveal it to me.” Words cannot express the thoughts, feelings, and truths that enveloped me.
The witness I received that night was incontrovertible, and it’s as strong now as it was then. Since that prayer, God has proved those answers to me in thousands of miraculous and practical ways.
“The Church is a miracle,” says Randy, pictured here a month after his baptism. “And my life in the Church has been miraculous.”
Soon after I was baptized in 1974, I attended my first general conference in Salt Lake City with my brother, John. I was surprised when Elder Boyd K. Packer (1924–2015) of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, who had met my aunt in New York City three weeks before that conference, referred to John and me during his Sunday morning talk.
Quoting my aunt, Elder Packer said: “Two of my nephews have joined your Church. I can hardly believe the change that it’s made in their lives.”
Because of that profound change (see Alma 5:14), a fire burned inside me that I wanted to share. Soon, I found myself in Idaho as a full-time missionary. Halfway through my mission, my father, who was my greatest hero and best friend, passed away. My mother called my mission president and asked that I come home to give a eulogy. When my mission president left the decision up to me whether to leave, I told him I wanted to pray and fast for 24 hours before deciding.
That night I had a dream. My father appeared to me. In the midst of sublime and meaningful discussions with him, he told me, “Son, stay on your mission.”
I followed Dad’s counsel and stayed.
Because of the profound change that followed his conversion, “a fire burned inside” Randy that he wanted to share as a full-time missionary.
Six months after my mission, I held my mother’s hand as she took her last breath. Decades later, my wife, Lisa, found a letter from my parents in an old box. Dad had written it to me during my mission but died before sending it.
“Our hearts were and are and always will be full of love for you. I realize that things have not always been perfect, but that is life. … Christ did not say, ‘Follow me and it will be easy.’ He said, ‘Take up [your] cross, and follow me’ [Matthew 16:24]. He carried the cross, but we all have our splinters. Perhaps our place in heaven will depend upon how we handle ours. Son, we love you very much.”
Growing up, I was rough on my parents, but I never doubted their love. Since finding the Church, I have worked hard to thank them and honor them.
On February 17, 2018, two weeks before the Washington D.C. Temple closed for renovation, I was sealed to my father and mother, 42 years after they had passed through the veil into eternity. My oldest son, Randall, acted as proxy for my father, and Lisa acted as proxy for my mother. I felt that my parents, who had been sealed to each other earlier, were both there in spirit.
In the temple we find cords that bind us forever to our loved ones. I am certain of that.
When I was young, I didn’t want to get married or have children. But today my wife, children, and grandchildren are my greatest treasures. The Church is a miracle, and my life in the Church has been miraculous. With Joseph Smith, I say, “If I had not experienced what I have, I would not have believed it myself.”
Fifty years ago, I was a construction worker on the Washington D.C. Temple. I was convinced that my life had no happy future. Today I am an ordinance worker in that same temple, having accepted the Lord’s invitation to follow Him, receive His healing, embrace His ordinances, and strive to become like Him.
Randy and his wife, Lisa, serve in the Washington D.C. Temple, which he helped build 50 years ago.
Photograph by Leslie Nilsson
The restored Church is not a theory, a philosophy, or merely a community or culture. It is the true Church of our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.
I thought I would find what I was looking for in San Francisco. I didn’t. I found it in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and in the house of the Lord, “the crowning jewel of the Restoration.”

With the call to serve as a mission president 12 years ago and this subsequent call that took my wife and me to several international assignments, the long bike rides had to be put on hold for a period of time. I did, however, take my bicycle with me wherever my assignments were in hopes that I would be able to find time to ride occasionally. I wanted to be prepared so if the opportunity for a long ride ever came again I would be able to do it. That opportunity came once again this past fall when I was given permission to take a few days away from the office. At the invitation of that same son who years ago suggested we ride to Flaming Gorge, and now joined by another son and our only daughter, we flew with our bikes to Bozeman, Montana, where we then proceeded to ride to Jackson Hole, Wyoming. At my age, preparation continues to be very, very important in order to survive such a ride.

It was the last day of school before the lengthy holiday break, so the students at my high school attended a special seminary session at a chapel right across the street. At the end of the session, a few kids were asked to bear testimonies before we concluded the program.
One senior boy told us about his tradition of reading 3 Nephi 11 early on Christmas morning, before anybody else in his family woke up and tore into presents. His testimony of the understanding it gave him of everything the Savior means in his life inspired me to do the same thing. I decided to read the chapter the night before, on Christmas Eve, before I went to bed.
I knew that this chapter was about Christ appearing to the people in the Americas, and Heavenly Father testifying of His Son. What I didn’t know or understand was the impact the Spirit would have on my heart that night as I felt a simple but completely powerful feeling of love.
This feeling came through well-known scriptures. In verse 7 I read, “Behold my Beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased, in whom I have glorified my name—hear ye him.”
And in verses 10 and 11 I read: “Behold, I am Jesus Christ, whom the prophets testified shall come into this world. … I am the light and the life of the world; and I have drunk out of that bitter cup which the Father hath given me, and have glorified the Father in taking upon me the sins of the world, in the which I have suffered the will of the Father in all things from the beginning.”
Indeed, these are very simple verses, but I felt an incredible feeling of love that night. I understood that I am important as an individual to Him, just as each one of us is. There may be billions of us on earth, but the Father and Jesus Christ are infinitely concerned about each one of us. We can all realize this because of the Savior’s Atonement.

As I think of these assets that money can’t buy, I must admit that my mind drifts to Sister Edwards, sitting behind me. Oh, I remember those great days when we were seniors during our last quarter at the BYU. We would go to a dance, and after the dance I would put my hand in my pocket and pull the change out. Together we would count, and maybe it would be twenty-five cents. We would ask together, “What can we do this evening with twenty-five cents that would give us the most fun?”

Then I remember when I became rich. Fortunately, I have enjoyed that blessing for a long period of time. I feel sorry for you who think you are poor.

When I came to BYU, my folks were like the folks of most of these faculty members who have earned their doctorate degrees. As I remember, my good mother and my stepfather sent me ten dollars a month for the first three months, and from then on as I was on my own. In the fall of 1924 my roommate and I could not find work, but we were able to borrow a round tub, the kind Grandma used to bathe in, from our landlord. On Saturdays we would go to the farms northeast of here and find people who would let us help harvest their crops. The farmers would let us fill our tub as compensation. The next week we would specialize in vegetables.

But during my last quarter at school I celebrated. I quit working. I quit driving the first yellow cab that was in Provo. I quit working at Hotel Roberts. I quit keeping the fires at the Merrill Hospital. All I did was go to school and I became very well acquainted with a young lady whose name was Catherine Eyring. Unfortunately I incurred some debts. When I graduated and went to New York to take over and conquer Manhattan, as the settlers did who bought it from the Indians, I had to have money. So I made a loan.

I paid that loan off during my first year. To get married, however, I was short of money and again borrowed. This is one purpose for which you can go into debt, and the Brethren will approve of it and the Lord will say, “Bless you.” With three hundred dollars I was able to come west, meet Catherine, go to Idaho to be with my folks, come to the Salt Lake Temple to get married, go to Arizona and enjoy a reception with her folks, and then return back to New York with a thousand dollars. Catherine had taught school the year before and worked at Grand Canyon one summer. Since then we have been rich; that is, we have always had something in the savings account.

We started life together as king and queen. For one hundred dollars I was able to buy the second-hand furniture of a couple moving west. I married a girl who believed that tithing came ahead of food. I married a girl who had magic because, no matter what happened during the day or how I felt when I closed the day, every morning when I left home I started as an optimist. I remember many occasions when I received a telephone call at the office. All my wife had to say was “I love you.” Oh, did I work. Now, I assure you that you cannot buy those things. They are more precious than gold, and you are rich when you have them in abundance.

We eagerly climbed the steps to the Upper Room—the traditional site of Christ’s last supper. During our short stay in Jerusalem, our group of American students and teachers had seen the signs of past wars—but also some encouraging signs of peace and hope in this holy, yet often-bloodied, city. Now we had come to the Upper Room to review the quiet moments the Savior had spent during the last Passover of his life.
Gathered in the large room with its high ceilings and graceful arches, we realized that this wasn’t the actual setting of that sacred event: the building we were in had been constructed on this traditional site by Franciscan monks in the 1300s.
But that didn’t matter. Jesus Christ did celebrate his last Passover in an upper room somewhere in this city, he did wash his Apostles’ feet, he did give them the sacrament, and he did urge them to “love one another.” (John 13:34.) We were worshiping the Son of God and the event in his life was very real; the setting was not the important thing.
Whenever we stopped at a biblical site, we hoped there would be time and privacy enough to read the scriptures together and sing hymns as a group. In some cases we were undisturbed; in others, another tourist group came behind us and we politely moved on—or moved to one side out of the way. Since time was precious during our visit to the Holy Land, we began to hope for as few intrusions as possible.
After we had gathered in the Upper Room, someone in our group read Christ’s words from the New Testament, and then we all began to sing the song “Love One Another.” As we sang, another group of visitors entered the room. They were led by a bearded priest wearing a long brown robe, speaking a language I didn’t understand.
I’ll have to admit that while we sang, I thought more about the other group than about the words of the song; because they had come, we would have to leave instead of lingering. And I wondered if they considered our song and our presence as an intrusion into their own brief moments in that room.
We finished and, without a word, began to leave. As I passed the priest, he unexpectedly turned to us. With an accent, he said three short words: “God bless you.”
“God bless you.” The words seemed to be more than a common salutation. They were like a prayer—a blessing spoken in kindness by a stranger in a land that has known more intolerance than peace. Perhaps he had been touched by our simple singing of the Savior’s words. Perhaps he was simply expressing goodwill to a group of fellow worshipers. In either case, his words carried with them the spirit of the Savior’s own words at that Passover meal—words that we had just sung and that I had been too preoccupied to hear.
As I walked back down those steps into the busy city, I hummed the song again to myself—and was thankful for a stranger, a friend, who had gently reminded me of its message.

One night when it was time for home evening, Steve suggested, “Let’s do something exciting tonight—like kickball or something.”
So Becky and Julie went outside to set up bases while the older girls stayed to clean up the dinner dishes. It wasn’t long before eight-year-old Becky flew through the door, her face ashen and her voice trembling in fright. “There’s a bear out there! There’s a bear out there!”
Suddenly everyone was bumping shoulders on the porch trying to catch a good view of the bear. There he was, foraging through the bushes, pausing for a moment to watch the commotion on the Crandalls’ porch. Suddenly, a neighbor pointed his rifle out the side window and fired at the bear several times. The injured bear began to lumber away. Quickly Dad and Steve grabbed their guns to help out. “You don’t leave a wounded bear up here. They can get vicious,” Dad explained.
They never caught the bear that night. But when Mom asked, “Was that enough excitement for you, Steve?” laughter filled the tiny house.

After Hsiao-lung was baptized, she shared the excitement she found in the gospel with her friend Chu Chih-t’ao.
“Everyone in the Church was so friendly to me,” Chih-t’ao, 17, now a member of the Second Ward, said. “But in the beginning my faith wasn’t strong. I read the scriptures when the missionaries taught me, and I prayed. I received an answer from God that the Church is true, so I decided to be baptized. But it was after I joined the Church that my testimony really grew, thanks to help from other members who showed their love and concern. Now I have a very strong faith.”

“Students, here is the math portion of the test,” Miss Higgins said as she handed out papers. “Remember, you need to fill in the circles on the answer sheet completely. Just do your best, and I’m sure you will do fine.”
Most of my fifth-grade class groaned. We had been taking tests all day, and we were tired. But I wasn’t too worried. I was good at math. I took out my pencil and checked the eraser.
“Now, keep your eyes on your own paper,” Miss Higgins said. “The test will end at 1:30. Ready, begin.”
I began working on the problems carefully and took my time to fill in each circle on the answer sheet. Most of the problems weren’t too hard. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Brent scribbling furiously. I laughed to myself. “Slow and steady wins the race,” I thought.
All of a sudden, Miss Higgins’s voice interrupted my thoughts. “Time’s up! Pencils down, everybody.”
I looked at my paper in horror. I still had two columns of circles to fill in! “How could this have happened?” I thought. “I usually do so well!”
I looked down at my scratch paper. I had written the next answer, but I hadn’t filled in the circle yet. I glanced around, then carefully filled in the correct circle.
Trying not to think about what I was doing, I continued working on problems and filling in answers. No one was looking at me. I quickly filled in five or six more circles.
“Lauren!” said a loud voice from behind me.
I jumped and whirled around to see Miss Higgins. The class was silent. I wished I could fall into a hole. I felt my eyes filling up with tears. I quickly erased all the answers that I had filled in after the time was up and handed my answer sheet to Miss Higgins. She took it away, and I put my head on my desk and hid my face in my arms.
I had been cheating! An awful blackness filled me up inside. My whole class had seen me, and now my teacher probably wouldn’t trust me ever again. I knew I was supposed to be honest. Instead, I had disappointed my teacher, myself, and, worst of all, Heavenly Father. And I had pushed away my conscience without really thinking about it.
The rest of the day continued as usual—or, at least I think it did. I didn’t answer any questions or talk to my friends. That same heavy, dark feeling stayed with me. I knew I needed to repent.
After class, I gathered all my courage to apologize to Miss Higgins. I could see the disappointment on her face. “I’m sorry,” I said. I couldn’t say anything more. I ran back to my desk, grabbed my backpack, and started to hurry out the door.
“Lauren,” Miss Higgins called.
I stopped, fearing the worst. “Yes?”
“Promise me you will never cheat again.”
“Oh, I promise!” I said. I had already made that promise to myself a hundred times that day.
“Good,” she said. “Thank you.”
The dark feeling began to leave. After class I said a prayer, asking Heavenly Father’s forgiveness and thanking Him for a kind teacher. Peace filled my heart. It felt good to be clean again.

Tanya had an uncle problem. Her mom had brothers but no sisters. Her new dad had brothers but no sisters. She couldn’t remember her other dad, who had died when she was very young, but he had brothers and no sisters too.
There were Uncle Max, Uncle Al, and Uncle Ed. There were Uncle Gerry and Uncle Bob. There were Uncle Vince, Uncle Rick, and Uncle Tony. Not one of her uncles was married, so there were no aunts for Tanya to visit and no cousins for her to play with.
Tanya’s uncles always made a fuss over her. Uncle Max played football with Tanya, Uncle Al read her stories, and Uncle Ed made her carvings out of soap. Uncle Gerry helped Tanya with her schoolwork, and Uncle Bob helped her with her stamp collection. Uncle Vince sang with Tanya, Uncle Rick played his guitar, and Uncle Tony told Tanya jokes. It was never boring when her uncles were around.
At school concerts, Tanya’s mom and dad sat in the front seats. Next to them sat all her uncles. They took up the whole row. They didn’t just clap when Tanya’s class was on stage—they stomped and whistled and cheered.
“There are Tanya’s uncles,” everyone said. Sometimes it embarrassed Tanya a little bit.
At picnics in the park, her uncles played football, baseball, and tag with Tanya. They raced each other across the park and whooped and hollered and laughed.
“There are Tanya’s uncles,” everyone said. And Tanya would blush.
At Halloween her uncles dressed Tanya up as the front part of a dragon and gave her two flashlights to use for its eyes. Behind her was a lumpy, bumpy, green garbage-bag dragon with eight pairs of uncle legs. The back end of the dragon thumped and bumped and giggled.
“There are Tanya’s uncles,” everyone said. Tanya wished that her uncles wouldn’t be so noisy.
One day Tanya asked her mother, “Can we have just one uncle visit at a time?”
“Why, honey?” Mother asked. “Don’t you think it’s fun when we’re all together?”
“Well, there are so many of them that sometimes it seems noisy and confusing,” Tanya said.
“You’re lucky to have so many uncles, Tanya. Lots of kids don’t have any relatives nearby,” Mother reminded her. “Besides, which ones would we leave out?”
Tanya thought for a moment. She loved all her uncles. “I guess we couldn’t choose just one,” she said with a sigh.
One day Dad came home from work looking worried. “Our company’s closing down here,” he said. “We have a choice—we can move to a city where the company has a job for me, or we can stay here and look for other work.”
“There probably aren’t any other jobs in this area in your field,” said Mom.
“I know,” Dad replied, “but how can we move away? All our relatives are here.”
“I think it would be fun to live in a different place,” said Tanya. “Can we, Dad? Please?”
Tanya and her mom and dad talked it over. The uncles came and talked it over too. Finally they all decided that it would be best for Tanya’s family to move. Tanya could hardly wait.
When moving day came, Uncle Max, Uncle Al, and Uncle Ed carried boxes outside. Uncle Gerry and Uncle Bob helped Dad carry furniture. Uncle Vince, Uncle Rick, and Uncle Tony packed everything carefully into the rented truck. The uncles did not sing or whistle or laugh. One by one they quietly hugged Tanya and Mom and Dad good-bye.
Tanya sat in the cab of the truck between Mom and Dad. Her uncles stood in the driveway and waved as the truck pulled away.
Tanya didn’t sniffle like Mom or look miserable like Dad. She was too excited thinking about the trip to her new home more than a thousand miles away.
Soon they were all settled in their new house. Dad thought that his new job was even better than the one that he had left. Mom loved their new house and neighbors. Tanya liked everything about the new city, especially her new friends at school and at church.
But at school concerts Mom and Dad sat in the front row next to people that they didn’t know. Nobody stomped or whistled or cheered when Tanya’s class was on stage. The audience just clapped politely for every class.
At picnics in the park Tanya’s new friends played football, baseball, and tag with her. They raced each other across the park and whooped and hollered and laughed. But it wasn’t the same as the picnics she remembered.
When Halloween came, Tanya made her own costume; it was just for her. Afterward there was homemade pizza at her home. She and her friends played spooky games together. And though they laughed and yelled together, somehow it seemed too quiet.
“I wonder what the uncles are doing,” said Tanya one day.
“They keep pretty busy,” Mom answered. “Someday we’ll visit them, Tanya, but we have to save the money. It costs a lot to go that far.”
“I know,” Tanya said, sighing a bit wistfully.
The first year there was not enough holiday or vacation time to make the big trip to see the uncles. The next year Mom was sick for a while, and they had to pay medical bills. The third year their old car broke down, and they had to get a new one.
“I guess we’ll have to wait another year, Tanya,” Dad said. “I’m sorry.”
That week there was a public speaking contest at school. Tanya had never entered one before, but the prize was five hundred dollars, so she signed up just before the deadline. The local service organizations that were sponsoring the contest had chosen “Peace in Our World” as the topic.
The day of the contest came, and Mom and Dad sat in the front row. All the other contestants had written careful notes. Their speeches were clear and confident. They talked about world affairs, strong armies, and good government. The audience clapped enthusiastically after each one.
Tanya spoke last. She had not written any notes. She talked about the lumpy, bumpy Halloween dragon. She talked about soap carvings, stamp collecting, singing, and picnics in the park. Most of all she talked about her uncles.
“People all over the world can love each other, look after each other, and have fun together,” she said, “just like families. That’s what peace is all about.”
Tanya sat down, and the audience was quiet. At first she was afraid that everyone thought that her speech was dumb. Then they began to clap—and they kept on clapping! The judges had no trouble making their decision: Tanya was the winner!
“What will you do with all that prize money?” one of the judges asked.
“Buy some plane tickets,” Tanya replied happily, hugging Mom and Dad.
That summer when the three of them left the plane and entered the airport waiting area, there were Uncle Max, Uncle Al, and Uncle Ed … and Uncle Gerry and Uncle Bob … and Uncle Vince, Uncle Rick, and Uncle Tony! They were stomping and whistling and cheering. They were hollering and whooping and laughing. They were thumping and bumping and giggling.
But Tanya didn’t care if they were being noisy. “There are my uncles!” she squealed, running happily toward eight pairs of outstretched uncle arms.

At one privately owned and operated care facility, compassion reigned supreme. The proprietress was Edna Hewlett. There was a waiting list of patients who desired to live out their remaining days under her tender care, for she was an angelic person. She would wash and style the hair of every patient. She cleansed elderly bodies and dressed them with bright and clean clothing.
Through the years, in visiting the widows of the ward over which I once presided, I would generally start my visits at Edna’s facility. She would welcome me with a cheery smile and take me to the living room where a number of the patients were seated. I always had to begin with Jeannie Burt, who was the oldest—102 when she died. She had known me and my family from the time I was born.
On one occasion, Jeannie asked with her thick Scottish brogue, “Tommy, have you been to Edinburgh lately?”
I replied, “Yes, not too long ago I was there.”
“Isn’t it beautiful!” she responded.
Jeannie closed her aged eyes in an expression of silent reverie. Then she became serious. “I’ve paid in advance for my funeral—in cash. You are to speak at my funeral and you are to recite ‘Crossing the Bar’ by Tennyson. Now let’s hear it!”
It seemed every eye was upon me, and surely this was the case. I took a deep breath and began:
Sunset and evening star,
And one clear call for me!
And may there be no moaning of the bar,
When I put out to sea.
Jeannie’s smile was benign and heavenly—then she declared, “Oh, Tommy, that was nice. But see that you practice a wee bit before my funeral!” This I did.

Too often we hear the lame, mediocre, slack-handed excuse to give up on marriage: "We just drifted apart. We just aren't the same people we were when we fell in love." My wife and I started our life together with a rich vision. We had a distant dream we were working toward and we've worked every day together toward our goals. If you set your sights on a star and you work together in the same spaceship every day to reach that star, you will not drift apart, but will truly become one. The day of our marriage in the Idaho Falls Temple, after everyone else had congratulated us and left the room, my mother hugged me and said, "Son, a celestial marriage was not made today. A celestial marriage is made every day for the rest of your life."

Paul ran down the school steps and got into Mom’s car.
“How was school?” Mom asked.
“Great!” Paul exclaimed. “We have a new girl in our class named Cristina. She is from another country, and she is just learning to speak English.”
“I hope you will help her feel welcome,” Mom said.
“I’d like to, but how can I do that if she can’t understand me?” Paul asked.
“That’s easy,” Mom said. “Just smile.”
“Smile? What do you mean?”
“A smile can mean hello, how are you, or have a nice day. It is an international sign,” Mom said.
“I never thought of it that way before,” Paul said.
A few days later, Paul was excited to tell Mom about his day.
“Mom, remember when you told me that if I couldn’t talk to Cristina, I should just smile?” Paul asked. “Well, it worked!”
“That’s great!” Mom said. “What happened?”
“During recess I noticed that Cristina was standing by herself. She had a jump rope in her hand, but she wasn’t jumping. I wanted to be nice, but I didn’t know what to say. Then I remembered what you said and I smiled at her. She smiled back. Then she started jumping rope, and for the rest of recess she looked happy.”
“That’s wonderful!” Mom said. “I’m proud of you for being nice to Cristina.”
About a month later, Paul went to a school party at the roller-skating rink. As he skated around, he noticed that Cristina was standing alone at the side of the rink. Then there was an announcement over the loudspeaker: “Find a buddy to skate with for the next song.”
Paul skated over to Cristina. She looked surprised. He gave her a big smile and motioned for her to join him. Just like that day on the playground, she smiled brightly. As they skated with their classmates, Paul realized Mom was right. A smile means friendship in any language.

Francisco is sometimes tormented at school because he is a member of the Church. One day two boys he was playing with started to hit him. One of them hit him very hard in the head. “I didn’t fight with them,” he said, “because I don’t like to fight and I know that it is bad. Also something told me not to fight with them. It was the Holy Ghost.”
The director of the school called in the parents of all three boys to help solve the problem. After the meeting, the director told Francisco’s parents how impressed she was with him for not fighting, for telling the truth, and for his good example for the other children. “My friends were punished for what they had done—they couldn’t go out at recess for one or two weeks.” Francisco is grateful that the Holy Ghost prompted him to do what was right.