Gospel Story Finder

When I was a deacon, the ominous signs of the Great Depression began to appear. Tens of thousands lost their jobs. Money was scarce. Families had to do without. Some young people did not ask their mothers, “What’s for dinner?” because they knew all too well that their cupboards held very little.
My parents were hardworking. They made every penny stretch as far as possible. That was probably the major reason everything they gave me was always two or three sizes too large.
I was 12 years old when I received my first pair of ice skates, so large that I had to stuff a third of the toe space with cotton.
When I took them out of the box, I looked up and said, “Mother, I can’t skate with these.”
“Be grateful for what you have, Joseph,” she’d say. And then, the phrase I had become so accustomed to hearing, “Don’t worry; you’ll grow into them.”
A year later, what I wanted more than anything else was football shoulder pads and a helmet. On Christmas morning, I opened my packages and there they were, shoulder pads and a helmet, except they were sized to fit Goliath—who, by the way, was six cubits or about nine feet tall.
“Mother, they’re too big,” I said.
“Be grateful for what you have, Joseph,” she said again. “Don’t worry; you’ll grow into them.”
Prior to high school I played a lot of neighborhood football. When I put on the new equipment, the shoulder pads hung so far over my shoulders that about the only things they protected were my elbows.
Even though I stuffed cotton and newspaper in the helmet, it jostled every time I took a step. When I ran, it would turn and turn until the only way I could see where I was going would be to look out through the ear hole.
One time I rambled for a long gain at full speed right into a tree. Each time I was tackled, the helmet would spin 180 degrees and I’d get up looking like my head had spun with it. Then I would have to repack the cotton and newspaper as best I could, put it back on, and head back to the huddle.
My father was truly a great man. I remember one day putting my feet in my father’s shoes. I was amazed at the size. Would I ever be big enough to fill his shoes? Could I ever grow into the man my father was? I wondered.
I think back on those days with some tenderness. Curiously enough, I also look back with tenderness to my dear mother’s encouraging words, “Don’t worry, Joseph; you’ll grow into them.”
In a similar way, we all need to learn how to “grow into” our responsibilities as priesthood bearers.

Three brothers walked away with first prize in the Grand Prix de la Chanson Eurovision 1984. The competition is an important one in Europe, receiving extensive television coverage and generating much interest since each of 19 countries sends one performing group to the competition.
Per, Richard, and Louis Herrey, originally of Sweden but now living in Los Angeles, California, returned to their native country and won the right to represent Sweden at the international competition. At the competition, which took place in Luxembourg, the Herrey brothers took first prize home for Sweden.
Prior to their victory, the boys had received other awards. Per, who served a mission in Chile, was selected to participate in an international song contest in Chile. He sang an original composition. Richard has danced in seven episodes of the television show Fame.
Following their victory, the brothers will tour Sweden and Europe and prepare the songs they want to use in cutting a record album.
The Herrey family is active in the Westwood Second Ward, Westwood California Stake.

I remember when I found information about my great-great-grandmother. While pregnant, she came to Argentina on a ship. During the voyage, she buried her son at sea. She was just a story until I found her name in a record. I became even closer to my grandparents, and I came to know my ancestors as if I had lived with them. I found information about my ancestors, shared the glad tidings of eternal sealing, and helped bless many generations.

Jacob lunged off the step. “I am Global Guard,” he hollered, arms thrown out, fists clenched, “protector of planet Earth.”
“Mr. Guard,” Jacob’s father called from the kitchen, “do you think you can stop defending Earth long enough to have your bedtime snack?”
“It’s not Mr. Guard, Dad.” Jacob flung himself onto the chair at the kitchen table. “It’s Global Guard, protector of planet Earth. If you watched the show, you’d know that.”
Jacob’s father placed a glass of milk and a plate of graham crackers in front of his son. “You watch enough Global Protector for all of us.”
“It’s not Global Protector, it’s—”
“Eat,” his father ordered, shaking his head.
Jacob popped a piece of cracker into his mouth as his mother shuffled into the kitchen, tying her bathrobe.
“How are you feeling?” Dad asked.
“About the same,” she said, slumping into a chair at the table.
“Wow, Mom,” Jacob exclaimed, staring at her, “you look sick!”
His mother nodded in agreement.
Jacob took a gulp of milk. He imagined himself as Global Guard protecting his mother from evil invaders, mutant monsters, and from any other bad guys. He was picturing himself scaring off vicious villains, when he felt a hand on his head. He glanced up.
“Are you ready for family prayer?” Dad asked.
“Yep.” Jacob pushed himself from the table, swinging his hand within inches of his father’s nose. “I have the power, Dad,” he said with a grin.
“Uh-huh,” Dad said.
Jacob followed his parents into the family room.
Dad offered the prayer. Although he tried to concentrate on the prayer, Jacob’s mind wandered to a Global battle, with himself as the hero.
The next morning, Jacob felt himself being gently shaken. It must be time to get up for school, he thought. He was going to wear his new Global Guard shirt.
“Jacob?”
Jacob’s eyes opened in surprise. It wasn’t Mom’s or Dad’s voice he heard. It was his grandmother’s.
“What are you doing here?”
His grandmother forced a smile. “It’s all right, Jacob. Your parents aren’t here right now.”
“Where are they?” Jacob kicked the blanket off his legs.
“Your mother became very ill during the night, and your father took her to the hospital. After you get dressed and have breakfast, I’ll drive you there to see her.”
At the hospital, Jacob saw that his dad looked tired and worried. Mom was lying on a hospital bed, her eyes closed. A clear fluid went through a thin tube into her arm. Dad explained to Jacob that Mom had a serious infection.
Jacob sat in silence in a large chair. He felt scared and helpless. “I wish I could do something,” he finally said in frustration. “I wish I could make her better.”
His father gave him a tired smile, then glanced at his watch. “Brother Davis ought to be here any minute. We’re going to give your mother a priesthood blessing.”
“Will the blessing help?”
“Yes, Jacob,” Dad said, “if it’s Heavenly Father’s will. The power of a priesthood blessing to help someone is very strong.”
“Power?” Jacob stared at his father.
Both turned as Brother Davis, one of the family’s home teachers, entered the room.
“Thank you for coming,” Jacob’s father said, reaching into his pocket for a vial of consecrated oil.
Jacob watched as his father poured a few drops of oil onto his mother’s head. Dad and Brother Davis then gave his mother a blessing. Jacob relaxed slightly as his mother was blessed that she would recover. As his father continued the blessing, Jacob felt calm for the first time since his grandmother had awakened him.
At home that night, Jacob and his father knelt and prayed that Mom would recover. Jacob concentrated harder than he ever had before on the words his father said.
“Dad,” Jacob said after the prayer. “Before Brother Davis came, you said something about priesthood power.”
“That’s right.” His father sank onto the couch.
“Is that like Global Guard’s power to protect people?”
“No, Jacob.” His father pulled Jacob next to him. “Global Guard is a TV show. We’re talking about something real—the priesthood. Remember, if you are worthy, you will hold the priesthood in a few years.”
“And then I’ll have the power?” Jacob asked, swinging his hand in front of his father’s face.
His father took Jacob’s hands in his. “Actually, Jacob, God has the power.”
“Oh.”
“But if you live right and have faith, you can hold His priesthood and act for Him. That’s an important thing to remember. You’re acting for God.”
After school the next day, Jacob and his father went to the hospital. When they entered his mother’s room, her eyes were open. Smiling weakly, she beckoned them to come closer. Jacob dashed to the side of her bed.
“How are you?” his father asked, taking her hand.
“The doctor said that with some rest, I’m going to be fine.”
“Dad, you were right!” Jacob exclaimed. “The power really works!”
“I know that it does, Jacob.”
“This can’t be talk about Earth Guard,” his mother said, glancing at Jacob’s father.
“Honey,” his father said, looking relaxed for the first time in two days, “you mean Global Guard—”
“That’s not what I’m talking about, Mom,” Jacob interrupted, pushing a chair next to his mother’s bed. “Global Guard’s only pretend.”
Then, kneeling on the chair by the bed, Jacob explained what he had learned about real power—priesthood power.

I first met Kim Hye Gook in November 1989 while serving as a missionary in Suwon, South Korea, about thirty kilometers south of Seoul. She was referred to the sister missionaries by Brice Womack, an American soldier stationed in Songtan, some distance away. The missionaries in my zone visited the orphanage where Miss Kim worked. We were impressed with the patience, love, and care she gave each of the children.
At about the same time, we met Pak Hyang Gook while talking with people on the streets in Suwon. A short time later we began teaching her the missionary discussions.
Both of these investigators completed the discussions, developed strong testimonies, and decided to be baptized. The date was set for Sunday, 24 January 1990. We made all of the usual preparations for baptism and met with the meetinghouse custodian and bishop to make sure the details were all settled. Everything seemed to be in order.
The day finally came, and it was very cold, as Korean winter days tend to be. After Sunday School opening exercises, I thought to ask the custodian if hot water would be available from the taps. That’s when he told us the furnace had broken and we wouldn’t be able to perform the baptism.
We were shocked. Some of Miss Kim’s friends had come all the way from Songtan to attend the service. Also, three investigators from the Osan Branch (fifteen kilometers away) were to be baptized at the same service. The whole Osan Branch was planning to attend.
Sister Gu Jean Jaw (a sister missionary) and I tried to remedy the situation. We took apart the furnace and found a fuse that was burned out. We replaced it with an automotive fuse that seemed compatible, then put it all back together.
At first we were elated to find that it worked. But our excitement was to be short-lived. It soon became apparent that no water would flow from the furnace up to the baptismal font. The reason: the water in the pipes had frozen solid. We tried for three hours to thaw the pipes by pouring boiling water over them. It didn’t work. We also tried to find a welder, hoping to heat the pipes and thaw the ice inside. But no one who had a welder was willing to let us use it.
By now it was 2:00 P.M., time for the baptism to begin. The Osan branch president and members had arrived. Sister Gu Jean Jaw called every mogyoktang (bath house) in Suwon to see if we could perform the baptisms there, but none of them would accommodate us.
I talked to Miss Kim. She was disappointed. She said that she had prayed and knew that she was to be baptized. She had set a goal with the sister missionaries to be baptized on this day. She pulled out the Book of Mormon that the sisters had given her when she started the discussions and opened it to the picture of Alma baptizing a girl in the Waters of Mormon. She asked, "Is it possible for me to be baptized in a river or lake?" Voices blurted out that it was impossible, that everything outside was frozen over, that it was too cold.
The bishop called us into his office to decide what should be done. We agreed that the girls themselves should decide when and where they would be baptized. The bishop called them into his office. He said he knew where a lake was, but warned that it would take a long bus ride, followed by a twenty-minute walk, to get to a secluded cove where the baptism could take place.
The room was quiet for a long time. Then Miss Kim spoke. She repeated that she had accepted the gospel and had agreed to be baptized on this day. She believed that if she did her part, the Lord would do his. And if doing her part meant being baptized in an icy lake, then she was willing.
We began preparations for the lake baptism. Elders Forbes and Miner ran home to get blankets. The two investigators changed into baptismal clothes; my companion, Elder Parker, and I did the same. We held the baptismal service at the Church meetinghouse, then climbed on a bus for the ride to the lake. When we arrived, we saw a large group of people ice skating. We knew the ice had to be very thick.
The bishop had gone on ahead in his truck and was already on the other side of the lake. When we reached him, he was futilely trying to break a hole in the ice with a large rock. My companion and I hiked to a little house on the edge of the lake and knocked on the door. A middle-aged man appeared at the door, dressed in a purple hanbok, the traditional Korean dress. I explained in Korean that we needed to cut a hole in the ice. He hurried into the house and returned with an old axe head fastened onto a homemade stick handle. He didn’t even ask us to return it, just smiled and closed the door.
We returned to the lake and cut a small hole in the ice, then tested the depth with a stick. It was too shallow for a baptism. We cut many small holes, testing the depth of the water each time. Finally we found a place where the water was the right depth.
It took another hour to cut a trough big enough in which to perform the baptism. The homemade handle on the axe broke once, but we caught the head before it sunk. The ice was 30cm. Thick. Most of the chunks we cut off were just too big to lift out, so we slid them under the ice on either side of the merging hole.
Finally, Elder Parker baptized Sister Pak, and I baptized Sister Kim in that frozen lake. By now it was late. The ice skaters had all gone home. The sky was clear and the air bitter cold. Yet I remember thinking, as I slid out of the hole back onto the ice, that, amazingly, I didn’t feel cold. Sister Kim had the same experience.
We huddled together to have a closing prayer, after which we bundled in blankets and headed toward the bus stop. The baptized sisters went to the bishop’s house to change clothes, while the other elders and I went home. At 8:30 P.M. we all met at the bishop’s house for dinner. The bishop felt strongly that these two girls should be confirmed right there and then, so we complied.
During and after the confirmation prayers, the room was filled with a sweet feeling of peace. I can’t begin to describe it. I truly believe that for some reason it was important for those girls to be baptized and confirmed that cold, icy day. Their faith and courage typify the attitude of the humble members of the Church in South Korea.

That experience made it somewhat easier for me to make a difficult decision just one year later. Again Christmastime had come. We were preparing for the oven a gigantic turkey and anticipating the savory feast that awaited. A neighborhood pal of mine asked a startling question: “What does turkey taste like?”
I responded, “Oh, about like chicken tastes.”
Again a question: “What does chicken taste like?”
It was then that I realized my friend had never eaten chicken or turkey. I asked what his family was going to have for their holiday dinner. There was no prompt response, just a downcast glance and the comment, “I dunno. There’s nothing in the house.”
I pondered a solution. There was none. I had no turkeys, no chickens, no money. Then I remembered I did have two pet rabbits. Immediately I placed them in a box and handed the box to my friend with the comment, “Here, take these two rabbits. They’re good to eat—just like chicken.”
He took the box, climbed the fence, and headed for home—a Christmas dinner safely assured. Tears came easily to me as I closed the door to the empty rabbit hutch. But I was not sad. A warmth, a feeling of indescribable joy, filled my heart. It was a memorable Christmas.

“Let’s ride our bikes down by the stream,” I said to my friend Amy.
“OK. I just need to ask my mom first,” Amy answered.
A little while later we were happily riding down our street. The stream was just a few blocks from my home. A dirt path ran beside it. We rode our bikes to the end of the path, and on our way back we stopped to toss some rocks into the stream.
“Let’s race sticks,” I said. We both looked for a small twig to toss into the water.
“Ready, set, go!” Amy yelled. We threw our sticks into the water and watched as they floated around a bend in the stream and out of sight.
“I think you won,” I said.
We continued riding our bikes back up the path. I stopped to pick up a stick lying across the path and tossed it in the stream. Before I could spot where the stick had landed, a buzzing cloud encircled me. Within seconds, hundreds of yellow jackets covered my body. Chills of fear ran up my spine. I had stepped on their nest somewhere underneath the brush.
“Run!” Amy yelled. “They’re all over you!”
Just as I was about to swing my arms to try to swat them away, I had a strong feeling not to move. I remembered what I had been taught whenever a bee or wasp was on me: The best thing to do is stay still. They won’t sting unless they feel threatened.
Fighting the urge to run, I felt the yellow jackets crawl into my hair. They walked across my ears and up the sleeves of my shirt. My rapid breathing shook my body, even though I tried not to move.
“Hurry, Amy, go get my dad,” I stammered under my breath. My friend raced up the dirt path.
Suddenly, one of the yellow jackets stung my cheek. Shocked by the sharp pain, I jumped and screamed. The persistent thought remained: “Hold still!”
I continued to stay motionless as the yellow jackets crawled on me. I quietly prayed, “Heavenly Father, please help me escape the swarm. Please, please help me.”
A minute later, a wasp stung my other cheek. Startled once more, I flinched. My body trembled as I began to cry. Then the entire swarm flew away.
Worn out, I picked up my bike and walked up the dirt path as tears streamed down my cheeks. As I reached the paved road, I could see the relief in Dad’s eyes as he ran toward me. Sobbing, I explained everything that had happened.
“You were very blessed,” Dad said as he examined my cheeks. “What made you stand there so still?”
“At first I felt like swatting at them and running, especially when I realized they were crawling in my hair and clothes, but then I had a strong feeling to hold still,” I explained.
“That was the Holy Ghost, Kelly,” Dad said. “The Spirit gives us promptings so we will know in our minds and feel in our hearts what to do. It may not be what we want to do, but if we obey those feelings we will be protected from danger. I’m so grateful you listened and followed His prompting.”
Even though my cheeks throbbed with pain, I felt extremely blessed to be safe from the swarm.

This story happened in the USA.
Bjorn looked around at all the big cardboard boxes in his new home. His family had just moved from Argentina to the United States.
It was scary to move so far away. Everything was unfamiliar. But he knew that if he was with his family, everything would be OK.
As Bjorn helped his family unpack, Mami picked up a big box and smiled. “This one has our Christmas ornaments in it!” she said.
Bjorn smiled. He loved Christmas and was excited to celebrate it with his family. He was still nervous about living in a new place, but knowing that it was almost Christmas cheered him up.
A few days later, Bjorn’s family sat down together for a home evening lesson about Christmas. Papi explained that it is a season for giving gifts.
“Yay! Presents!” Bjorn said.
“Yes, getting presents is fun,” Mami said. “But it’s even more important to give gifts to the Savior.”
“How do we give presents to Jesus?” asked Bjorn.
“When we serve others like Jesus did, it makes Him happy,” said Mami.
The next morning Bjorn heard a knock at the front door. He jumped out of bed and ran to see who it was. But when Papi and Mami opened the door, nobody was there. Instead, Mami picked up a small, shiny gift from the doorstep.
“Where did it come from?” Bjorn asked.
“I’m not sure,” Mami said. “Maybe an angel!”
Bjorn’s eyes got wide. “Like an angel from heaven?”
Papi smiled. “No. Sometimes we call people angels when they do kind things for us. It’s like they are Heavenly Father’s helpers here on earth.”
Bjorn jumped in the air. “I want to be an angel too! I want to do kind things for others. That will be my Christmas gift to Jesus.”
“Great idea!” Papi said. “Jesus will love your gift.”
For the rest of the week, Bjorn woke up every morning to find a new gift on the doorstep. He felt so loved when the angels left gifts for his family. He wanted to show his family that he loved them too.
So Bjorn got to work. He secretly prepared gifts for his parents and siblings. He shined Papi’s shoes while he was at work and drew a heart for Mami. Then he wrapped one of his favorite toy cars for his brother. He got bubble gum for his sister.
Carefully, Bjorn wrote the names on each present and placed them under the Christmas tree. He couldn’t wait to see their happy faces! He felt warm inside just thinking about it.
On Christmas Day, Bjorn gave each family member their gift. He was so excited he could hardly sit still.
When Papi saw his shiny shoes, he said, “Wow, thank you, Bjorn! These look wonderful.”
Bjorn’s brother and sister opened their presents, then jumped up to give Bjorn hugs. “Thanks!” they said.
Mami smiled when she unwrapped the picture Bjorn had drawn for her. “You’ve helped make this Christmas so special, Bjorn. Thank you for being our little angel,” she said.
Bjorn felt happy inside. He knew that showing love to his family was the perfect present to give Jesus!

In early 2002, while I was serving in the Relief Society general presidency, the Church instituted a security system that required those of us who frequented the extended Church campus in Salt Lake City– including Temple Square, the Conference Center, Church Office Building, Relief Society Building, and so forth–to wear ID badges. Because our presidency had served nearly five years, we were easily recognized, and I don’t remember ever actually using my new ID badge.

In one of the Saturday sessions of the April 2002 General Conference, our presidency was released, but we continued to come and go to that conference in the usual manner for General Authorities and general officers–through a series of pedestrian tunnels that connect the various buildings on the Church campus.

I had been assigned to speak early Sunday morning at a devotional for all of the General Conference hosts and hostesses, and I was to be in the Conference Center at 6 AM. As I drove to the Conference Center that morning, it dawned on me that heavy double doors located at various places along the tunnel might not be open that early.

Sure enough, the first door in the tunnel was locked. I noticed an intercom on the wall, pushed the buzzer, and asked the Church Security officer who answered if he would let me through the door. “Sister Dew, do you have your ID badge with you?” I thought but didn’t say, “You know who I am. Why do you need to see my badge?” but I rummaged through my binder and found the badge. The officer then said, “Just wave it in front of the sensor, and the doors will open.”

“Seriously. That’s fantastic! What else will this badge open?”

He laughed and said, “You have a high clearance. Your badge gives you access to most doors throughout the Church campus. Didn’t you know that?”

“Amazing!”

I was already wondering what else my badge would open when he brought me down to earth: “Wasn’t your presidency just released, Sister Dew?”

“Yes,” I answered.

“Well, enjoy your badge today because tonight at midnight, it will be deactivated.”

As promised, my badge opened the doors through the tunnel, and also, as promised, the next day it no longer worked. The privilege was gone.

The irony was unmistakable. For months, I had carried with me a badge that gave me privileges I had never made the effort or took the time to understand.

Over the recent Labor Day weekend, President and Sister N. Eldon Tanner and their family had a family reunion up at Bear Lake. There were sixty-one family members present. Sunday evening one of the members in the area came up to President Tanner and asked to shake his hand and say a word to him. She said that earlier in the day she and her husband had been discussing the proper observance of the Sabbath day. They decided to watch the Tanner clan during that day. They saw all the men and boys get ready and go to priesthood meeting in the morning, and the whole group went to Sunday School and later to testimony meeting. She said that after seeing this, her husband remarked, “Well, I think I had better go in the house and put on my suit and tie.” You see, my young brothers and sisters, the powerful influence of a good example. At all of the meetings during the day, all sixty-one members of the Tanner family had been well groomed, well dressed, and in their Sunday best.

Many of my memories of being a five-year-old consist of volleyball nets, floor polish on gym floors, referee whistles, and roughly scribbled rosters. My dad coached a team of young volleyball players in our ward. I was his “assistant.”
My dad taught the players principles of hard work, team spirit, honesty, trust in self and in others, goal setting, perseverance, and sacrifice. There were prayers before games, 5:00 A.M. practices on Saturdays, and ice cream socials at our house.
One of the most important lessons I learned from my dad and his players was that of honesty. When a player touched the net inadvertently or mishandled a pass, my dad taught that it was important for the player to reveal his error with a raised hand. That lesson would make a lasting impression, not only on the members of the team, but also on a five-year-old “assistant coach.”
Our team had struggled in the beginning. But when the championships were held, we were there to compete. When it was time for the final match, the four years the team had spent playing together paid off. Just one match stood in the way of our winning the championship.
There was a spirited atmosphere at the championship match. Crowds of people came to watch the competition. I took my place next to Dad when the horn sounded to begin play.
I don’t remember much of that match, but I do remember the end of the final game. The crowd cheered as my dad’s team scored the final point. Participants and spectators flooded the floor. Brent, a big, formidable player on our team, had made the final point with a decisive spike. So powerful was his contact with the ball that even the experienced referee didn’t notice that Brent’s finger had brushed the net. It was a penalty that easily could have been forgotten. But amid the excitement, Brent slowly raised his arm into the air.
The teams reassembled, the crowd took their seats, and the game continued. Shortly thereafter, the game ended, and my dad’s team captured the championship they had been working at for four years. They could feel good not only about winning, but also about doing it honestly.
Many years have passed since my days of chasing volleyballs for my father and his players. But the memory of a coach teaching the value of honesty to his team still remains firmly planted in my memory. From my low vantage point on the floor that day, most people seemed tall. But the way I—and everyone else—saw it, Brent stood the tallest.

When Ian woke up, he heard his mother singing. It was “I Feel My Savior’s Love.” That was Ian’s favorite Primary song! He started singing along with her.
“You’re awake!” she said. She was smiling and had tears in her eyes. Ian saw his dad sitting next to her. He looked happy too.
“I’ve been singing your favorite songs to you every day,” Mom said.
Ian smiled back—but his head hurt. Actually, his whole body hurt, especially his leg.
He carefully looked around. He wasn’t at home. He was lying on a metal bed in a strange room. Then he saw a nurse and lots of other beds nearby. “This must be a hospital,” he thought.
“What happened to me?” he asked.
Mom’s face turned sad. “You were in a bad accident. A metal gate fell on you. You’ve been in the hospital for two weeks, but you are going to be OK.”
Two weeks! “Wow, that’s a long time to be asleep,” Ian thought. The last thing he could remember was being at the church building, practicing for the Primary program …
Oh no! The program!
“Did I miss the Primary program?” Ian asked. He had been looking forward to it for so long! He loved singing with his friends.
Mom smiled and shook her head. “No, you didn’t miss it. The ward decided to postpone it until you woke up so you could be part of it.”
“Really?”
“Really,” Dad said. “All the Primary kids asked the bishop to wait. They wanted you to be there. They knew how excited you were for it this year.”
Ian was happy he could still be in the Primary program. But he had to get better first. And that took a long time. He had to stay in the hospital for a while longer. When he finally got to come home, he still couldn’t walk or play.
But his friends got to come visit him. Ian would ask them about school and church. And they would ask him when he was coming back.
“Not until my leg is better,” he would tell them. “I still can’t walk.”
October turned into November, and Ian slowly got better. One day his friends invited him to come over and watch a movie with them. Ian’s mom and dad helped get him there.
“Does your leg still hurt?” his friend Chaís asked him.
“Yes,” Ian said. “But it’s getting better every day.”
“Can you walk yet?” Chaís asked.
“I don’t know,” Ian said.
“Here, let’s try,” Chaís said. She helped him stand up. Carefully, Ian put his foot down. He moved his body forward. He was still standing! It was his first step in over a month! Everyone clapped.
“This means you can come back to church!” Chaís said.
And she was right. In a few more weeks, Ian’s leg finally stopped hurting. The doctors took the cast off his leg and put on a brace instead. When Sunday came, it was time for the Primary program.
During sacrament meeting, Ian walked to the front of the chapel with his friends. He stood up straight and smiled at his mom and dad. During the songs, he sang as loud as he could. When it was his turn, he stood at the microphone and shared his testimony. He was grateful for his Primary friends. And he was glad he could be part of the Primary program after all.

Joseph was jailed more than 50 times for standing up for the Lord’s word and His ways. What did he do when his jailers with coarse language and abhorrent behavior rabbled around outside his cell? As Parley P. Pratt recorded, Joseph stood and commanded: “Silence!”
Parley P. Pratt went on to describe:
Chained, and without a weapon; calm, unruffled and dignified as an angel, he looked upon the quailing guards, whose weapons were lowered or dropped to the ground. . . .
. . . I have tried to conceive of kings, of royal courts, of thrones and crowns; and of emperors assembled to decide the fate of kingdoms; but dignity and majesty have I seen but once, as it stood in chains, at midnight, in a dungeon in an obscure village of Missouri. [PPP, 1985, 180; emphasis in original]

He’d never forget her first football game. She’d been so excited that she could hardly sit still, dressed in a new red sweater, a matching ribbon on her ponytail. His friends had fought to sit next to her, buying her candy from the concession stand. They’d asked her how old she was and where she went to school. Tessie had loved every minute of it, laughing at his friend Hank’s dumb jokes and cheering more loudly than anyone else when the game got exciting. He’d set her on his shoulders so that she could watch the final few minutes, then held her hand tightly so that she didn’t get lost in the crowd.

That had been the first of many games he and his friends had taken her to, and pretty soon she’d known everybody. She’d loved the football games best, but basketball had been fun, and she could cheer for Hank during the baseball season. David had occasionally taken her to the movies or the beach, and she’d baked him chocolate chip cookies with cereal in them, her own special recipe.

I just started middle school, and it is so much fun. I found so many friends that rock, but lately I’ve been having trouble with a girl. Sometimes I come home crying because of her. But one day I said a prayer and had my dad give me a blessing. Now it’s the second semester of school, and I’ve had no problem with her. I’m so happy I have a Heavenly Father who loves me and a father who can give me a blessing to help me feel better.
September S., age 12, Florida, USA

When President Russell M. Nelson worked as a surgeon, many young people asked him how long it takes to become a medical doctor. He told them that after four years of undergraduate work, they needed four more years of medical school and then another five years to become a specialist.
“That’s too long for me!” some responded.
Then President Nelson would tell them: “Preparation for your career is not too long if you know what you want to do with your life. How old will you be thirteen years from now if you don’t pursue your education? Just as old, whether or not you become what you want to be!”5

Andy Taylor had a problem. And he was worrying about it so much that he hardly noticed anything else going on around him. He didn’t even hear the click-clacking music of his skateboard wheels as he rolled along toward Mr. Weber’s house.
The problem had started right after his baptism. “Now remember, Andrew,” Sister Thomas had said, “every member of the Church should be a missionary. And that’s what you are now—a real member.”
Even though he had always felt like a member, Andy knew now that he really was a member. Still, he’d asked Sister Thomas if even Primary kids were supposed to be missionaries, and she’d said “Yes, even Primary kids.”
When he got home, Andy asked his father the same question and got the same answer. That’s why he was going to see Mr. Weber. Maybe Mr. Weber can help me, he thought. He’s a great thinker.
Andy screeched his skateboard to a stop in front of Mr. Weber’s house, opened the door, and walked in. “Mr. Weber,” he called. “It’s me, Andy Taylor.”
Several months ago, shortly before Andy’s eighth birthday, Mr. Weber had been injured in a terrible automobile accident. He couldn’t walk or talk or do anything now except lie in his bed. He even had a full-time nurse to help take care of him.
Andy had started coming to see Mr. Weber every day after school, just for short visits, to keep him company. At first the visits had been hard for Andy because he had had to do all the talking. Then one day Andy discovered that Mr. Weber could sort of talk to him by blinking his eyes—one blink for “yes” and two blinks for “no.” After that they talked about everything. Well, Andy did all the real talking, and Mr. Weber did all the blinking, but it was almost like they were both talking out loud.
It was because he and Andy had become such special friends that Andy was allowed to walk into Mr. Weber’s house whenever he wanted. And now Andy just had to talk to his friend about his problem. “Hi, Mr. Weber,” Andy said as he seated himself on a stool by the side of the bed. He always sat close enough to clearly see Mr. Weber’s eyes. “Did you get a lot of rest today?”
Mr. Weber blinked his eyes once for “Yes.”
“Great! I have a really big problem that I want to talk over with you. Is that OK?”
“Yes,” Mr. Weber blinked.
So Andy explained about his baptism, about how he was now a real member of the Church, and about how every member of the Church should be a missionary. “But how can I be a missionary when I’m only eight years old?” Andy asked. “Maybe only grownup members are meant to be missionaries. Is that right, Mr. Weber?”
“No,” Mr. Weber blinked.
“You mean kids should be missionaries, too?” Andy asked.
“Yes.”
“That’s what Sister Thomas, my Primary teacher, said, and my father agrees with her. But being a missionary kind of scares me. You see, I don’t know how to be a missionary.”
Mr. Weber blinked once. “Yes.”
“Yes?” Andy repeated, surprised. “I do know how to be a missionary?”
“Yes,” Mr. Weber blinked.
“But I don’t knock on doors like real missionaries do.”
“No,” Mr. Weber blinked twice.
“And I’ve never read to you from the Bible or the Book of Mormon.”
“No,” Mr. Weber answered.
“Boy, am I lost.” Andy tried to think of anything that he might have done that would make Mr. Weber think of him as a missionary, but Andy’s mind was as empty as the time he had flunked a spelling test. He just sat there and couldn’t think of a thing.
Andy glanced up and saw that Mr. Weber’s eyes were closed. It was his way of telling Andy that he wasn’t talking enough. If Andy didn’t talk, Mr. Weber couldn’t blink.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Weber. I know you want to talk, but I’m stumped. How can I be a missionary?”
Mr. Weber’s eyes glanced quickly from one side of the room to the other, then he stared really hard at Andy. Deliberately he did the same thing again.
Let’s see, Andy thought. By first looking at his room and then at me, he’s trying to tell me something. “You want me to figure out some connection between your room and me?”
“Yes,” Mr. Weber blinked.
Andy got excited, knowing that he was close to the answer. “Let’s see. Your room and me, and we’re talking about me being a missionary. Am I being a missionary by visiting you in your room?”
“Yes,” Mr. Weber blinked again.
Andy was pleased with his lucky guess. Suddenly he remembered pictures he had seen of pioneers throwing seeds from sacks slung over their shoulders. “I remember something from a Primary lesson,” Andy said. “Farmers plant seeds that grow. And when I’m good and do good things, maybe I’m planting ‘missionary seeds.’”
“Yes,” Mr. Weber blinked, and his eyes were really shining now. That meant that Andy had it right.
“So even though I’m only eight years old and I don’t knock on doors like real missionaries do, I can still be a missionary by setting a good example and by being kind and thoughtful. And visiting you is one way that I do good—is that it, Mr. Weber?”
“Yes,” Mr. Weber blinked.
“Wahoo!” Andy yelled. “That’s it! I can be a missionary by helping those around me. I’m going to help Mrs. Gandey in her garden and Mr. Thompson with his lawn. And I’m going to keep visiting you. Thanks, Mr. Weber.” Andy jumped down from the stool and added, “I’m glad that we had this talk. I’m going to be the best missionary that you ever saw!”
“And thank you, Andy Taylor,” Mr. Weber’s eyes seemed to twinkle back. “I’m glad that we had this talk too.”

Jeff and Dad were statue-still as a squirrel nibbled crumbs from Dad’s hand; another squirrel approached and demanded its share, then chattered with delight to find crumbs in Jeff’s hand too. He and Dad had been sitting under the tree for about an hour. Two deer had cautiously entered the nearby clearing, shyly watching them.
Jeff loved being in the mountains with his dad. As they hiked to their campsite, Dad taught him the names of the wildflowers and showed him where a beaver had stripped the bark from a tree. After they ate dinner, they sat serenely on top of a little knoll and watched the sun set.
They were just snuggling down into their sleeping bags, with the stars twinkling over their heads, when the peacefulness of the night was shattered by blaring rock music and the roaring of a jeep engine.
A group of people pulled up to the next campsite. They kept revving the engine, shouting, and swearing. Jeff watched, dismayed, as they broke branches from the trees to start a fire, then swore at each other when the fire would not start in the green wood. After a long time, Jeff was able to fall into an uneasy sleep.
Early the next morning, the sun had barely risen when Jeff stood by the lake, reeling in his first fish. He was so excited that he could hardly stand still while his father undid the hook and put the fish in the creel. As the sunlight touched the treetops on the far mountainside, the birds were singing in high spirit, and some chipmunks went scurrying by. The beauty of it all made Jeff want to shout for joy.
He thought about the night before. “Dad, why were those people acting that way last night? They seemed to hate each other, their campsite, and the other campers.”
“Maybe they never learned to be reverent and respectful,” Dad suggested.
“What does reverence have to do with it? That’s a church word.”
Dad was quiet for a moment while he thought. “I love nature. I feel a reverence for nature that is a little like the reverence that I feel for Heavenly Father. I love the mountains so much that I’ve tried to learn about them. I’ve learned the names of the flowers and birds and trees. I’ve learned to walk quietly and sit quietly so that I can watch the animals. I pick up litter whenever I see it so that it doesn’t spoil what’s here, and I’m very careful with our campfire. I do everything I can to show respect for the beauty that is here and try to make sure that my activities don’t interfere with other people’s enjoyment of the area. Every time I come, I love it more. After I’ve been in the mountains, I have a good feeling about myself. I always leave with a feeling of peace. The reverence that I feel for Heavenly Father is similar, only much stronger.”
“I think I understand,” Jeff responded. “When we feel love for Heavenly Father, we want to learn as much about Him as we can. We do everything we can to show respect for Him. The more we learn about Him and respect Him, the more we love Him.”
“That’s right. And after I’ve been worshipping Heavenly Father and praying to Him, I feel good about myself.”
“What about the kids in church who joke about the lessons and don’t pay attention?”
“Well,” Dad replied, “when someone is not reverent in church, it might mean that he isn’t feeling very good about himself, that he wants attention for himself instead of giving it to Heavenly Father.”
“Is that why Jared is always acting like a smart aleck?” Jeff wondered aloud. “Sometimes I hate to be around him.”
Dad put his arm around Jeff. “The thing is, you could probably help Jared be more reverent by being his friend. Maybe we could bring him up here with us sometime. When someone is not reverent, he usually knows that he is doing something wrong, and he feels even worse about himself.”
“Is that why Jared is always trying to get attention?”
“It could be. When someone is not respectful toward Heavenly Father, it’s hard for the Holy Ghost to help him love Heavenly Father and himself.”
Jeff thought for a minute. “We also need the Holy Ghost to help us have a testimony. When you’re not reverent, it must be hard to have a testimony.”
Dad gave Jeff a hug. “You’re right! And now look at the sun! It’s time to go cook some fresh fish for breakfast.”
The Jeep was gone when they got back from the lake. Jeff was amazed at the mess its passengers had left the campsite. There were cans and papers and torn branches everywhere. The fire they had finally started by pouring gasoline on the wood was still smoldering, and a bush was completely crushed where the jeep had been parked.
Dad got a garbage bag, and father and son started cleaning up. “I wonder,” Jeff said, “if those people have ever had a deer come close to them and watch them. Or a squirrel eat out of their hand.”
“I doubt that they have,” Dad said. “I wonder if they like themselves better today. Do you think that they know how truly beautiful these mountains are?”
After a breakfast of fish, pancakes, and hot cocoa, father and son made sure that the campsite was clean and the fire had been put out. Jeff lay on his stomach to enjoy the deep, sweet-smelling grass one more time before they had to go. He was full of love for the mountains, for his dad, and for Heavenly Father. “You know, Dad,” he said, “some people think that reverence just means being quiet. I think that’s sad. There is a lot more to reverence than that.”

My amazing mother has had dementia-Alzheimers for over 10 years now. My dad’s lovingly taken care of her and attended to her every need at home until the last four years, when she needed to go to a memory care facility. He feeds her every meal because her capacity is so diminished. But she’s been a bright, multi-talented woman all her life…and a wonderful mother. I want to tell you a little about her…

She was an incredible pianist and taught for just $2 a lesson…just so children who couldn’t really afford it could learn to play.
Mom was an awesome seamstress! She’d stay up late making something special for homecoming or other dances. By the time my sister Alicia came along 8 years later—our folks had some money to buy her clothes. But Mom sewed all of mine…through most of college. And she did a great job!
She drove us great distances to music lessons so we could develop our talents—and even joined me playing violin in the orchestra at a Catholic girls’ convent, which my violin teacher conducted.
Mom was such a good homemaker…she was a great cook…and so clean, you could lick her floors and think they tasted good!
As an adult, she was a substitute teacher, a volunteer, and she took voice lessons. She was a renowned choir director in our California stake for decades…and put on more beautiful programs than you can count—both religious and secular. And, after they retired and moved to Utah from California …Mom played the violin in a local symphony orchestra.
She would do anything to help anyone, always serving. And she and my dad served a senior couple mission to Ireland—even though she was a bit nervous. But she was faithful and found she could do that, too…and her sweet personality won many Irish hearts. I love her dearly…and that’s the way I always think of her in my mind. Gentle and fun…never overbearing. Always kind.
Even though Mom still looks much the same…her memory is gone…along with her recognition of most of her family members. She doesn’t speak and can’t really do anything for herself. It is so very sad—yet we are thrilled she is still with us…and she’s still wonderful, beautiful Renée. I often wonder—why her? And, sometimes, I think--why us? Or why me?
But maybe, instead, we should ask the question Elder Maxwell asked when he was diagnosed with leukemia: “Why not me?” And ask…What am I to do? What am I to learn? What am I to change? Whom am I to help?
In time, we all realize that “there are beautiful sunrises even after devastating sunsets.” Heavenly Father continues to pour down blessings, even when we’re in the midst of our trials. And we, too, have seen that in our family.

Let me illustrate with a story that a friend and faculty member at this university shared with me. Several years ago a student came to his office. She was distraught. Tears ran down her face as she outlined her situation. She had not done as well as she thought she would in some of her classes, and if she did not get a high enough grade in his class, she would be deported to her country of origin. She felt as if her whole future rested upon his decision.

With that preface, she pleaded, “What are you going to give me?”

The professor was warm and compassionate, but forthright. “What have you earned?” he responded.

Together they went through the ledger. They tallied her points, even added in some extra credit she had not yet completed, and determined that her scores were far, far below the university’s standard. The professor felt that it would not be fair to other students who had studied, sacrificed, and rightfully earned their grades to raise her mark as high as it would need to go. He counseled with her. They agonized over the situation together. In the end, the professor was sincere and kind, but fair. He could not give her what she had not earned but desperately wanted.

Needless to say, she was quite upset. She had to leave BYU. Upon returning home, she enrolled in a community college. She studied and worked hard. Over the course of time she became committed to academic achievement. She began to recognize the Lord’s hand in her life. She served a mission. Two and a half years later, she returned to BYU a different person. Ready to shoulder the responsibility of her own actions, she had become a conscientious student and a better person. A little more humble and a lot more mature, she looked up her former professor and thanked him for being firm. With love and respect he had invited her to do some soul-searching, and maybe for the first time in her life when confronted with a problem, she had really asked herself the question “What am I going to do about this?” And that made all the difference.