Gospel Story Finder

Ivan speaks with great conviction of an experience he had as an 11-year-old. “I had just joined the Church. We were at the chapel when all the lights went out. Someone whispered to me, ‘Why don’t you say a prayer, Ivan?’ I knelt down and said, ‘Heavenly Father, please let the lights come back on so we can continue.’ And the lights came back on.
“Children have incredible faith. Now I’m trying to have that same childlike faith. My life went dark. But I have prayed and believed, and the lights are back on.”

One last story from my father’s account of this mission:
During a conference session while Apostle Cowley was in Tonga in 1950, I was sitting on the stage, with my back to the opening that went all the way around the thatched roof at the eve line for ventilation.
A fellow tapped me on the shoulder and beckoned me to come out and talk with him. He wanted me to get another missionary and go to his home to administer to his wife who was very ill. The fellow was a member of the LDS Church but he had become inactive. His wife was not a member.
When we two Elders arrived at his home [we saw that] they had built a little house in back of their home for his wife. It is a Tongan custom to build these little one room houses about eight feet square as a place to die.
I was told that the doctors had told them there wasn’t anything they could do for her and that the Tongan remedies did not help and that they wanted us to administer to her so she wouldn’t die.
Family members had gathered and were sitting on mats around the entrance of the little house. I think all were non-members. I talked to them for some time explaining the priesthood ordinance of anointing and laying on of hands and the pronouncement of blessings. I told them that the Lord should not be mocked and that the sick were healed by faith, the power of the priesthood and the will of our Father in Heaven. I then asked if they still wanted me to administer to the sick lady. They did.
We Elders went into the little house. The lady was being held in the sitting position by a sister. She was too weak to sit by herself, her eyes had a glossy look and she was having much difficulty breathing. We knelt and had prayer. I asked the Lord to grant us His Spirit to influence us to speak His will and to bless the family members that they would know of His will. We knelt by the sick lady, and my companion anointed her head with the consecrated oil and then we both placed our hands on her head and I spoke the words of the blessing promising her that she would get well.
The next Sunday I visited the Branch where this lady was also a visitor being completely well. She asked to be baptized. [History,48–49]

Not too long ago I was assigned by the First Presidency to interview a man who had been excommunicated from the Church for adultery. It had required eight years for him to work his way through the long and sometimes painful process of reinstatement in the Church, and now he was sitting before me in an interview to determine his worthiness for a possible restoration of his priesthood and temple blessings. I asked him this simple question: “My dear brother, looking back on this traumatic time in your life, how did it happen?”

Tears began to flow freely down his cheeks as he tried to respond. At last he was able to speak. “Brother Ballard ,” he said, “it all started the day I picked up a pornographic magazine in the barber shop. It was the first time in my life I had ever seen anything like that, and it intrigued me. I wanted to see more and more. And then I wanted to see things that were progressively more explicit. And then it wasn’t enough to just look at pictures—I wanted to actually participate in some of the activities I was looking at. Eventually I was untrue to my wife and my family and unfaithful to covenants I had made with my Heavenly Father in His holy house.”

The man continued through his tears: “I’m not trying to shift blame for the choices I made. I knew better than to do what I did, and I alone am responsible for my sins. But there’s no question in my mind that exposure to pornography played a significant role in my spiritual decline.” And then he asked me: “When you talk to the brethren of the Church, please warn them. Please tell them to be careful about the things they read and watch.”

Before the temple near their home was dedicated, Olivia invited her grandma to come with her to the temple open house.
I’m happy you came with us to the open house, Grandma.
Thank you for inviting me. I’ve been a little lonely since Grandpa passed away.
I miss him too.
Mom told me that when she and Dad come to the temple, they wear white clothes.
That’s right.
When you turn 12, you’ll get to come here and do baptisms for the dead.
I’m so excited!
Sealings will be performed in this room. Stand in front of this mirror and look at the mirror across the room. What do you see?
It’s as if we go on and on forever.
Just like our family, right? We’ll even see Grandpa again someday.
You’re right. If we keep the commandments, we can be with Grandpa and all of our family because we’ve been sealed in the temple.
Olivia and Grandma followed the tour guide into the temple’s celestial room.
I like how it feels in here. I feel happy.
I do too.
I love the temple, Grandma. Someday, when I’m older, I’ll come back and be married here. I’m happy that our whole family can be together forever—even Grandpa.
That’s right. I’m very thankful for the temple, for the open house, and for you.

Recently I met a young medical doctor who was completing his medical training as an intern in a hospital. He told us of himself as he bore his testimony in a stake conference. He said that as a young athlete he had set his sights very high. At only thirteen years of age he had started swimming competitively, and during his teen years he spent thirty to forty hours a week training during the summer and twenty to thirty hours a week in the winter. He told us that his desire to become a champion swimmer was so great that he would have done anything to accomplish it. His grades were not what they should have been, and the coach cautioned him; whereon he applied himself and brought them to a satisfactory level. During this period of time he excluded himself from Church activity because, in his words, “Swimming would improve my self-image and give me confidence and the Church would not.”
He went on to become a national AAU champion, winner of a bronze medal in the 1968 Olympics, and an All-American in college for three years. Again in his words:
I did well in college and was able to go to medical school. I would tell myself, “You are an Olympian; you have a good mind; you will become a doctor and have ‘the good life.’” I would tell myself this as I was contemplating suicide. I was full of false and vain pride.
In medical school I dealt with an indigent population. The people were completely different from me; they frustrated me terribly. I dealt with these frustrations first by hating the people, then by pitying them. As a medical student I frequently thought of taking my own life.
A country doctor in southeastern Ohio, with whom I lived for six weeks, talked to me about my family, about returning to my religious heritage and honoring my mother and father. He asked that sometime before I left we pray together. We did, and we started reading the Bible together.
I went back to Cincinnati, feeling very sure I could understand any work of literature, and started reading the Bible by myself. I was halfway through Genesis and was learning very little when I said to myself, “There must be chapters written in a way that will be easier to understand.” I then turned to Numbers and found that I understood even less. I stopped reading and started praying.
He then went on to tell that he fell in love with a lovely young woman, and they were married. This improved the way he felt about himself and gave him time to think about a future family and how to maintain a good family life. Again in his own words: “I knew that the Church helped tremendously in keeping family ties close. I didn’t really want to have to spend the time required to be a good Latter-day Saint. I was hoping to find another church whose gospel was easier to live and didn’t ask so much.”
He further stated that as they were driving west to take up residence, they were discussing the subject of raising their children; and his wife, though not a member of the Church suggested that the children be raised in the Mormon Church. He had hoped that she would wait for a while, as he was going to start his internship and knew he would be extremely busy.
By chance they moved next door to an active Latter-day Saint family—and, I might say, they were in a non-LDS community. He then explained,
The first question they asked us was if we would like to go to church with them on Sunday. Not being able to think of a good excuse, we went. Through this experience my testimony started to grow, first by studying and praying and listening to the testimonies of our stake missionaries. But the fastest growth in my testimony came from the opportunities I had to serve other people.
About six months ago, he was ordained an elder in the Melchizedek Priesthood, and he told of an experience that happened shortly after his ordination. His elders quorum president called him at 5:30 a.m., just before he was to begin a thirty-six-hour call day at the hospital, and asked him if he would please go over to the hospital early to give a blessing to a women who was about to give birth to a child. His first reaction was, “Why me? I’ll lose an hour and a half of sleep.” But he got up and dressed. Realizing that he was not in the proper frame of mind to give a blessing, he knelt and prayed, searching for the proper spirit. Then he said that as he walked to the hospital “the sun was just coming up on a beautiful new day. When I got to the bedside I saw a beautiful mother about to give birth to a beautiful spirit. After the blessing I thanked the Lord for preparing me.”
Do you recognize the miraculous transformation that had taken place in this young man’s life? He had finally achieved a relationship with the Savior. His priorities and values had changed so as to turn his life completely around.

Last summer Scott and 17 other members of his stake went on a three-day handcart trek. The first day they pushed their carts 26 miles. The second day turkeys were turned loose. The members of the companies were blindfolded and told to catch them. Scott caught the turkey for his group.
On the last day of his trip each one went out by himself.
“That gave me a chance to think,” Scott said. “I had a lot to think about—about reaching goals, about what kind of member of the Church I was. I needed to take everything further. I needed to take what I was further. I realized the only thing stopping me was myself.”

I didn’t think I’d ever want another dog after Lady. She was a beautiful black cocker spaniel with a happy smile. She went with me everywhere, following me to the bus stop in the morning and waiting there for me after school.
Then one day Lady wasn’t there. As soon as I burst into the kitchen and saw the look on Mom’s face, I knew. As gently as she could, she told me how Lady had been hit by a car. Dad helped me bury her. I left that little mound in the meadow with a huge, hard hurt in my chest.
Maybe it was harder for me to lose my dog than for some people, because I lived out of town on a little farm. I didn’t get to play basketball or Little League. I had too many chores. But no matter what chores I had, Lady was always with me.
After Lady was killed, I didn’t want another dog. Every night before I went to bed and every morning when I rolled off my mattress, I prayed that the terrible hurt would go away and that I could be happy again. I did that for two weeks straight, but the hurt was still there.
Then one afternoon as I was bringing the cows in from the meadow, she was there, lying under a tree, her tongue hanging out, her ears pricked up.
I looked around, expecting to see her owner. But there was nobody—just that dog, the cows, and me. “What’s your name, dog?”
She started thumping her tail on the ground, just begging me to pet her. I patted her on the head, then scratched her ears. You’d have thought I’d given her ten pounds of steak the way she carried on.
From then on I couldn’t go anyplace without her tagging along. “She’s just like a second shadow,” my little sister, Stephanie, said.
I smiled. “Stephanie, you just named my dog for me—Shadow!”
“What kind of dog do you think she is?” I asked Dad that first evening.
He studied Shadow. “I can’t be sure. I’d guess she’s a German shepherd-collie mix.”
“Daniel,” Mom said, “you shouldn’t get too attached to Shadow. She belongs to someone.”
“Someone just let her loose,” I argued. “People from town do that sometimes. And she didn’t have a collar or anything.”
“Maybe so, but she’s too good a dog to have just been turned loose. She’s been well fed and groomed. Somebody’s probably looking for her.”
“She’s mine,” I said stubbornly. “You’ve told me all along I ought to pray for things.”
“Did you pray for another dog?” Dad asked.
“Not exactly,” I said slowly. “But ever since Lady was killed, I’ve prayed that the hurt would go away. Well, it’s gone, Dad. As soon as I saw Shadow, I didn’t hurt anymore. I didn’t pray for a dog, but I guess Heavenly Father thinks I need one.”
“I still think you’d better try to find the owner,” Mom said. “Then if no one claims her, she’s yours.”
I didn’t want to, but I made some handwritten signs and hung them along the highway in front of our house. But no one ever came.
Shadow was the greatest! When I got up in the morning, she was waiting for me. It didn’t matter if I was milking the cows, weeding, or hauling hay. She swam with me in the creek and lay beside me on the big gray boulder as we dried off.
I could talk to her, and she’d look right into my eyes as if she understood every word I said. Every day I thanked Heavenly Father for her.
One afternoon I went with Mom to the supermarket. While she shopped, I studied the notices on the bulletin board. People were selling beds, washers, dryers, and a bunch of other stuff.
I spotted the corner of a pink flyer—and wished I’d never gotten close to that old bulletin board. “Lost in the Sanderson Park area,” the flyer proclaimed in big, black letters, “a light brown and white dog, German shepherd-collie mix. Answers to the name Trina. $20.00 reward.”
I didn’t want to believe that Shadow was that lost dog. I tore the flyer down, stuffed it into my pants pocket, and headed for the car. All the way home, I tried to tell myself that Shadow wasn’t the missing dog. Sanderson Park was clear on the west side of town. We lived over two miles north of town. How could a dog get way over there?
That evening as I finished feeding the calves, Shadow was at the end of the manger. “Come here, Trina,” I called softly. Shadow’s ears perked up. She gave me a puzzled stare, then looked about as though searching for someone. “Come here, Trina,” I repeated dully. She bounded toward me and began looking around again. A horrible hurt exploded inside me.
“They can’t have her,” I raged out loud. “I found her. I fed her and looked after her. She’d probably be dead now if I hadn’t come along. She’s mine!”
As hard as I argued with myself that I was the rightful owner, I couldn’t convince myself. The hurt that I’d felt when Lady was killed didn’t seem nearly as sharp and painful as what tore at me now.
I hardly touched Mom’s mashed potatoes, gravy, fried chicken, and hot rolls at dinner. “Are you feeling all right, Daniel?” she asked.
“I guess I’m just not hungry. May I be excused?”
I went to my room and lay on the bed, blinking back the tears that kept welling up in my eyes. Slowly I pulled the pink flyer from my pocket. Whoever lost Shadow has probably already given up hope, I argued with my conscience. It’s been weeks since she showed up here. They probably think she’s dead by now.
It was late when I dragged down the hall to the kitchen, where Dad was thumbing through a stack of bills. I pushed the pink flyer in front of him. He glanced at me, then read the flyer. “Do you think Shadow’s this missing dog?” he asked.
“Maybe she was, but she’s mine now. You can’t make me take her back.”
“Daniel, I’m not going to make you take Shadow back. That’s your decision.”
“Why would Heavenly Father take back what He gave me?” I choked out. “She was the answer to my prayers.”
“I believe she was,” Dad agreed. “But,” he added gently, “she might not be the answer you think she is. Do you remember the story of Nephi and the brass plates? When Nephi returned to Jerusalem to get the plates from Laban, he didn’t know how hard it was going to be. He didn’t know he’d have to give up his gold and his silver. He didn’t know his brothers would attack him. He didn’t know he’d have to kill Laban. Those were all things he would rather not have done. Why do you suppose he did them?”
“He was doing what the Lord commanded him,” I mumbled.
“That’s right. He had grasped the iron rod his father, Lehi, later saw in a vision. The iron rod is the word of God. In other words, it’s the things the Lord commands or asks us to do. No matter where that iron rod took him, Nephi was going to follow it because that was what the Lord wanted him to do. When you found Shadow, she was an answer to your prayer, but Heavenly Father might have thought you needed something more than you needed another dog.”
“Like what?” I protested. “What did I need more than Shadow?”
“Maybe the Lord wanted to see if you’d be like Nephi, choosing the right when it was the hardest thing to do. He answered your prayer, Daniel. Now you have to be willing to accept His answer. And maybe you’re the answer to someone else’s prayer. Maybe some other people are praying that Shadow will return to them. How their prayer is answered might depend on what you choose to do.”
I didn’t sleep very well. Most of the night I kept telling myself that no matter what happened, I was going to keep Shadow. But by morning I knew better. “I’m taking Shadow back,” I announced quietly at breakfast.
“I’ll drive you over,” Dad offered.
“I’d like to take her alone,” I answered. “I’ll ride my bike.”
It was all I could do to ride away from the house, with Shadow tagging along. The address on the flyer was for a house at the end of a dirt lane. As I started down it, Shadow yapped twice and darted ahead. Two girls playing in front of the house spotted Shadow. “Trina! Trina’s back!”
A man and a lady came out of the house on the run. The whole family gathered around Shadow, hugging her and burying their faces in her shiny coat. No one even noticed me standing there. Then Shadow dashed over and rubbed against my leg. She was as happy as any dog could be.
“I guess you’re the one who brought Trina back?” the man said, smiling. After I nodded, he said warmly, “We sure appreciate that, Son. We were afraid that she was gone for good.”
I held out the pink flyer. “I saw this down at the store.” I felt a lump form in my throat. “I found Shadow—I mean Trina—a few weeks ago.” I told how I’d put up signs looking for the owner.
“Well, we appreciate your bringing her back.”
“Give him the reward, Dad,” one of the girls called out.
“That’s right!” The man reached for his wallet, pulled out a twenty-dollar bill and handed it to me. I didn’t take it. He pulled out a second twenty-dollar bill. “This is for taking care of her.”
“I didn’t bring her back for the money,” I said softly. “I didn’t want to give her up. I hope you’ll take really good care of her.” I turned and started pushing my bike down the lane to the main road.
“Son,” the man called after me. I stopped and turned. “I know how you feel, giving up a dog that you love.” He glanced down at Shadow. “It won’t be long before Trina’s old enough to be a mom. If you’re interested in a dog, you can have your pick of her pups. That’s a promise.”
There was still a big hurt inside, knowing I was leaving Shadow behind, but I was glad that I’d followed the iron rod Dad had talked about. And I suddenly realized that even though the answer to my prayer was different from what I’d expected, Heavenly Father had known what I needed. “I’d like that, Mister,” I said, my voice cracking a little. “I’d like that a whole lot.”

Chris Yokoyama was 17, and he wanted to be a missionary. Everyone knew it, and if you asked him, he told you so.
Some months earlier, Elder Russell M. Nelson of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles had visited a stake conference in Chris’s hometown, Taber, which lies in the vast farming plains of Alberta, Canada. Elder Nelson had blessed the stake, saying that, with fasting and prayer, the missionary work in the area would flourish. Chris had taken this message to heart, and so had his seminary teacher, Steven Scott.
“After Elder Nelson’s talk, I told my students that the Lord needed us,” says Brother Scott. “Our goal that year was to know the Savior—to understand the Atonement—and to do missionary work. The students invited non-LDS friends to seminary, to lunch, or to dances and activities, and things started to change.”
Chris enthusiastically shared the gospel and invited friends to seminary. He spoke openly of his desire to serve a full-time mission. As he did so, his family noticed a change in him.
“He made up his mind he wanted to serve a mission,” says his father, Rod Yokoyama, “so he wanted to change his life and do all the things a missionary would be doing. It seemed like he was giving us more hugs and telling everyone about the gospel.”
If you ask other teens what they remember about Chris (nicknamed “Beans”), you’ll hear the same things over and over: “He was friends with everyone.” “He was such a great example.” “He loved everyone.”
His 16-year-old sister, Aniko Yokoyama, says, “He cared about me just like a best friend. He showed me how to love everyone. And he included everyone in everything. With everyone he met, he tried to make their day or make them laugh.”
Cody-Lynn Jensen, 17, recalls, “I had English class with him, and when he would show up to class, we’d all be like ‘BEANS!!’ And we’d all gather around him. Everyone sat on the side where Beans was, and there were a couple of rows of empty desks on the other side of the room. He was just that kind of kid.”
Laura Campbell, 16, says, “If I said, ‘Hi, Beans,’ I’d get the best, ‘Hi, Laura!’ with the most enthusiasm. He’d just make your day by saying your name and giving you a smile. Everyone knew how good Beans was.”
“I think he was one of the greatest examples of a Christlike person,” says Reid Walters, 18. “He’d go out of his way completely to help everyone and make everyone happy.”
One Friday night in December 2008, after a Christmas shopping trip with two of his friends, Chris was killed when the car he was riding in slid on some ice and crashed into a truck. News of the accident spread quickly and seemed to affect the whole town. The next day, hundreds of (mostly non-LDS) teens gathered at the stake center, seeking comfort. On Monday those same young people also crowded into the seminary building.
Faced with so many grieving teens, Brother Scott simply told them the truth—that Heavenly Father has a plan, that death is part of that plan, and that Christ’s Atonement makes it possible to return to our Heavenly Father. He taught them that the work of bringing souls to Christ continues even in the spirit world and that perhaps Chris was now doing that work.
Liz Shimbashi, 17, remembers that time well. “Lots of people came to the seminary building after the accident. It was hard at school, but then people would come here, and they realized, ‘Hey, seminary is a good place.’ So we invited them to return, and lots of them did.”
For many of the non-LDS teens, the need to be comforted grew into a desire to know more. And the seminary students, who had already been enthusiastic about sharing the gospel, now did it with a more serious purpose and deeper understanding.
“The biggest reason people came was because they saw how much Beans loved people, and through that they saw his testimony,” recalls Rachel Bennett, 16. “I think they wanted to know what he knew.”
Luke Nelson, 16, says, “Beans’s death made me notice how other people didn’t know what we know and that we’re so comforted because of what we know about the Atonement. I want to share that with everybody so they can be comforted and be peaceful and happy.”
“People wanted to know the answers to questions like ‘Is he going to heaven?’ So they came to seminary to learn just because of his example,” says Megan Fajnor, 17.
Chris’s cousin, Jarred Haynes, 17, who is not LDS, started coming to seminary at that time “because it’s something that he really would have liked me to do. I wanted to learn more about what he believed, and I wanted to do something for him.”
Another non-LDS student who visited the seminary at that time, Shandyn Nakamura, 17, says, “I know Beans wanted us in seminary. He tried so many times to get so many people to come here. He asked me to come. When you come here, you have a whole different feeling. You feel the Spirit, and you feel like you’re in a completely different place. I just feel loved.”
Ashley Meisner, 17, agrees. “I came over because of Beans—at first. I was kind of unsure of where I stood from a religious perspective. So I think I needed to enhance that perspective. Then I came over, and the feeling was amazing. It was so loving. The lessons were just what I needed to hear. It helped me through a lot of things that were hard to get through.”
Having been to other Church activities with her friend Liz Shimbashi, 16-year-old Jessica Stoddart knew the feeling. “It’s a great feeling. I just feel like I know it’s the Holy Ghost.”
Cassie Hull, 18, puts it this way: “I feel the Holy Ghost there. I could tell that’s it, because everywhere else it’s like, sure, you can feel happy, but this is a different happy.”
These and other non-LDS teens who came to seminary experienced long-lasting changes in their lives. Many have continued to attend seminary. Some have even been baptized. “I’m taking the missionary lessons,” says Jarred Haynes. “And if I know that my friends who are members are not praying, I encourage them to pray or to read their scriptures. I guess I’m being a good example to them, even as a nonmember.”
“Since coming to seminary, I don’t get as annoyed or angry as easily anymore,” says Mitchell Geeraert, 15. “I just feel a lot better throughout my days.” And Chelsea Orsten, 15, says, “Seminary’s really made me think of who I want to be and how I want to change. It’s encouraged me and helped me get through a lot of hard things.”
For the seminary students in and around Taber, sharing the gospel is now not only a way to serve Heavenly Father and their fellowmen but also a way to remember and honor their friend Chris. And they believe that in spite of their sadness and grief, Heavenly Father has blessed them in unimaginable ways because of their faith and trust in Him.
“I believe sharing the gospel is why we’re here on this earth,” says Aniko, thinking of her brother. “Chris spent his time well by being an example. Now that he’s gone, we all have to be an example like that. He was an example of Christ. Sharing the gospel is just sharing happiness. If you want your friends to be happy, then you invite them to learn about the gospel.”
Liz Shimbashi agrees. “It’d be amazing to have the love that Beans did and to be that example. That’s how I want to be.”
As she reflects on the events in Taber over the last couple of years, Laura Campbell echoes the thoughts of many others: “Heavenly Father must have had something really important for Chris to do. But at the same time, so many people’s lives have changed because of him.”
Chris Yokoyama was 17, and he wanted to be a missionary. Everybody knew it. And for those who knew him, one thought has brought more comfort and inspiration than perhaps any other: Chris is a missionary.

“There’s the steeple!” Natalie called out. She loved going to church. Sunday was her favorite day of the week, except for one thing—she was sad that her brother, Michael, chose not to go to church with the rest of the family.
As Natalie sat quietly during sacrament meeting, she thought about Michael. When he used to come to church, Natalie liked to sit next to him while she looked at her picture books about Jesus. After sacrament meeting, Michael would take her hand and walk her to Primary. “See you later, Sis,” he would always say. But Michael hadn’t been to church in a long time.
Natalie wished she could tie him up with her jump rope and pull him to church in her little red wagon, but she knew he wouldn’t like that. What else could she do?
In Primary, Sister Chang greeted her class cheerfully. “I am so glad you are all here today,” she said. “It makes me happy to see your smiling faces. But who is missing?”
Natalie looked around the room. She raised her hand. “Jed,” she called out. “Jed isn’t here today.”
“You are right,” Sister Chang said. “Jed wasn’t here last week either.”
“Maybe he’s sick,” Lisa suggested.
“Maybe he’s on a trip,” Boyd said.
“Maybe he just didn’t want to come,” Natalie said quietly.
“We need to let him know we love him and miss him when he’s gone,” Sister Chang said.
“How can we do that?” Natalie asked.
“We’ll tell him,” Sister Chang said. “Little things can often make a big difference. I made a card for you to sign, and you can each draw a special picture for Jed.”
Natalie decided to draw a picture of a mountain and trees because she knew that Jed liked the outdoors. And then Natalie asked her teacher if she could draw another picture to take home.
When Natalie got home from church, she found Michael in his room listening to music. “Hi, Sis,” he greeted her. “What’s up?”
Natalie handed him a folded piece of paper. “I made you a card.”
“For me?” Michael smiled. “Why? It’s not my birthday or anything.”
“Sister Chang helped me write the inside. It says, ‘I miss you when you don’t come to church with us. I love you.’ And I signed my name.”
“Thanks,” Michael said softly. “It’s a nice card. You did a good job.”
“You’re welcome.” Natalie gave her brother a hug and hurried off to help Mom fix dinner. She felt happy inside. She loved her brother so much, and now he knew it too.
The following Sunday, Natalie was so excited when Michael decided to go to church. She held his hand as they entered the chapel. She sat quietly next to him during the service. Natalie saw Jed sitting two rows up and gave him a little wave.
Natalie loved going to church, especially when all her friends and family were there. She decided that from now on, if she missed someone, she would say so, because sometimes little things can make a big difference.

Recently, the young men and women of the Yap District (Micronesia Guam Mission) got together for a “One-Day Mission,” under the direction of the mission and district presidents.
They started the day by reciting by memory 1 Nephi 3:7 [1 Ne. 3:7] (“I will go and do the things which the Lord hath commanded …”). Then they sang “Called to Serve,” were divided into companionships, and received training. Two by two, they went out to preach the gospel, carrying copies of the Book of Mormon with them.
They found some opposition—it rained throughout the day, and some people they met were unpleasant or threatening. But nothing stopped them.
As a result, 49 copies of the Book of Mormon were distributed on this tiny island. And the youth brought back many referrals for the full-time missionaries. Already some convert baptisms have resulted from these referrals.
The day ended with a testimony meeting.

Most boys go through their whole lives being called by one name, or at most by two. A boy born in Warrington, Lancashire, England, on March 15, 1857, was called Henry as a child. He was called Brigham after settling in Utah, and he is now known throughout the Church as B. H., one of the great writers of Mormon history. The personal life history of B. H. Roberts is almost as interesting to read as the many exciting events about which he wrote.
When his mother joined the Church and decided to immigrate to America, she was able to take only two of her four children. She left twelve-year-old Mary and five-year-old Henry in England. Mary was apprenticed to distant relatives who owned a kiln.
A couple who had just joined the Church agreed to take the boy. They wandered about England with him, working when they could and begging when no work was available. When they found that Henry had an appealing voice, they took him each night into the taverns to entertain the crowd by singing English ballads.
Henry was often lonely and always felt unloved. By the time he was seven the couple were constantly quarreling, neither wanting the boy. They decided to enlist him in the army as a drummer boy. He was measured for a uniform, a ribbon was fastened to his coat, and he was told to report for duty the next morning.
That night Henry dreamed of his mother. He knew the army enlistment would be binding until he was twenty-one, and he wanted to be free when his mother sent for him as she had promised to do when she left. Quietly slipping on his clothes and tucking his wooden clogs under his arms so he wouldn’t make any noise, the boy crept out into the cold dark street.
Two years later Henry’s mother finally secured enough money to pay for the children to join her in Utah. It was months before the elders found the boy at Wolverhampton and arranged for him to sail to America.
After a long and hard journey west, the children finally reached the Salt Lake Valley. Henry was described by his sister as “a thing of shreds and patches.” She tried to hide him in one of the wagons when the party reached the mouth of Emigration Canyon and started toward the city. But the desperately lonely little boy crept out of the wagon and ran through the streets to find his mother. She was waiting at the Tithing Yard. He flew into her welcoming arms. Henry had found a home at last!
With new clothes and a new name (since the family decided he was to be called Brigham now), the nine-year-old boy began a new life. When the blacksmith to whom he was apprenticed gave him time off to go to school and learn to read, Brigham found a new and exciting world. He became a missionary, a mission president, an editor, a writer, a historian, and a General Authority of the Church.

I would like to share a personal experience of the Lord's grace. Please note that I am not the hero in the story; every good thing that came to pass was a gift of the Savior.

After teaching here for two years, I received a distinct prompting-a personal commandment-to get a Ph.D. in Statistics. My wife encouraged me to obey, and the university granted a temporary leave of absence. About two years after the prompting, I began a Ph.D. program in Statistics at Purdue University.

It was terrifying to be in graduate school on a strict timeline. The burden was overwhelming. I could recite the famous words of Nephi, "that the Lord giveth no commandments unto the children of men, save he shall prepare a way for them that they may accomplish the thing which he commandeth them."[21] I knew this was true for other people, but I did not liken it unto myself.[22] President Henry B. Eyring taught, "Faith is not simply to know God could do something. Faith is to know He will."[23] I realized I needed more faith.

Recognizing that my fear was not from God, I sought His help in prayer. In this process, strength was granted. My faith grew, leading to a deepened realization that the Lord knew all things. He already possessed all the statistical, research and writing skills I needed to develop. He knew the questions and answers for exams yet to be written. He knew every detail of my future research. All things are before him continually.[24] It was my responsibility and privilege to learn that our Savior is a personal teacher and tutor, who ministers one by one.[25] After much prayer and fasting that first semester, I received the calm assurance that the Lord would help me complete the degree in the allotted time. Doubt was completely replaced by faith.[26] The program was still difficult, but I approached it with peace and confidence.

We cherished the Sabbath day and enjoyed serving in our callings. Great care was required to balance family, church, and school responsibilities. After giving my best in earnest study and prayer, the Holy Ghost inspired solutions to homework and exam problems.[27] A suitable research topic eventually became apparent.

The process was still difficult, but I knew it would all work out-I just did not know how. The burden was not removed, but it was made light.[28] Our family memorized and recited a scripture that brought us comfort: "Trust in the Lord with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding. In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy paths."[29]

The Savior, by His grace, magnified our offering. The assurance previously seen only with an eye of faith[30] yielded evidence as I completed the degree in the time allowed.[31]

After enjoying several days of exhilarating camp activities, 130 young women from the Sandy Utah Hillcrest Stake shared an evening of spiritual refreshment in their own homemade chapel in the woods. Upon being placed in charge of the project, the fourth year campers (Adventurers) chose a secluded area on the stake-owned campgrounds that was surrounded by a natural shelter of beautiful quaking aspens. With three giant pines as a backdrop, the spot seemed the perfect place for the meetinghouse. The girls spent one entire day clearing out the dense undergrowth, and the next two days sawing, hammering, lashing, and carrying logs to form benches and a pulpit. Gradually the natural amphitheater became what the campers called their “little chapel in the woods.” They were able to participate in two devotionals and one special evening there with the stake presidency and bishoprics before returning home for another year.

From her bedroom window, Sandra spied a robin tugging at a worm. She ran to the kitchen and told her mother, “There’s a robin in the yard, and I’m going to catch it!”
Sandra scurried out the door and bounded toward the robin. The bird flew away. Sandra thought, I didn’t go fast enough. So when the robin landed in the yard again, Sandra raced as fast as her legs would go. But the robin was in the air before Sandra got halfway to it.
Sandra pushed her hands into her pockets. If I could fly, I could catch that robin, she thought.
Seeing it perched in the tree, she called, “Here, birdie. Here, robin.”
But the robin just flew to a higher branch, where Sandra couldn’t see it at all. Sandra was disappointed. She sat under the tree and squeezed her eyes shut and said, “Heavenly Father, please help me. I just want to see the pretty robin up close. I won’t hurt it, I promise.
Opening her eyes again, Sandra thought, Maybe if I had a worm, that robin would come to get it.
Sandra used her sandbox shovel to dig in the dirt near the porch steps. She turned the dirt over, as she’d seen Daddy do, and found a small, wriggly worm. Sandra picked it up and held it in the palm of her hand. Then she went over to the tree and held out her hand and called, “Here’s a worm, robin! Come and get it.”
But the robin didn’t come.
Sandra sat down on the porch step. She tossed the worm to the ground. A tear ran down her cheek.
Just then the robin landed in the yard. Sandra just sat there. She knew that if she moved, it would fly away again.
The robin hopped closer. Sandra held her breath as it hopped very close to her, snatched the worm, and flew away.
Sandra clapped her hands and laughed out loud. Heavenly Father had answered her prayer. She couldn’t catch a bird, but she could watch it up close if she sat very still and was very quiet. She laughed again and went inside to tell her mother.

A few years ago, our family started going through some trying times. Our daughter, who was two at the time, had received a cancer diagnosis that required ongoing rigorous treatments. We also had a baby who had her own medical complications requiring frequent monitoring and visits to specialists. Life was not going quite as we had planned!
Based on our circumstances, we needed to make a few changes—and do so quickly! Upon the cancer diagnosis, I quit my job, dedicated my time to my children’s health-care needs, and started traveling out of state frequently for my daughter’s treatment.
As a six-year stretch of various cancer treatments for her began, I didn’t know that I was going to get an intensive course on how to be ministered to and in turn how to minister to others.
I’d like to share a few of the lessons that personally helped me when I was the one being served:
Say yes to help—if it actually is helpful. It can be hard to be on the receiving end of service. It is humbling since it can bring up vulnerabilities and weaknesses. But if someone offers something that would be helpful to you, say yes! Some offers may not be helpful, and in those cases, it is appropriate to politely decline. Maybe in that case you can suggest something they could do instead. In the future, you can offer to serve someone else.
Reach out. I am grateful for the organization of the Church because there are people in the ward or branch who are responsible to minister to each one of us. We are not alone. If you are in need, humbly reach out. Speak up and let others know a way that they can help. So many struggles are not public knowledge and not shared, so it might be hard for others to know how to help you if you don’t tell them. One example is that we had a few unexpected treatment appointments come up, and we had not yet arranged childcare. I asked a few friends to have my youngest daughter over for playdates to help ease the burden on Grandma, who was primarily caring for her. They were so kind and willing but would not have known I needed that help if I did not ask.
Be graceful in response to people’s well-meaning comments. No one but our Heavenly Father and the Savior can know exactly what you are going through. Be generous in accepting people’s comments or words of sympathy. We all have been in the position of wishing we could take back something we have said. On the rare occasions when people said something that came across the wrong way, I would try to focus on their good intentions and move on.
When able, share your thanks! When you are in the trenches of your trials, thank-you notes or expressions of gratitude might not be a possibility. In those times, it can feel overwhelming to notice and receive any gifts of generosity or love. If you missed an opportunity to share your thanks, remember there is no expiration date for gratitude. You can always reach out later and let them know how much their service meant to you at the time.
During our daughter’s first few months of treatment, our time and energy were filled with the daily grind of our children’s health-care needs. Normally, I like to give people thank-you notes but didn’t make the time for that. Instead, I kept a list on my computer of some of the gifts and acts of service we received, both to remember to thank later and to remind us of the wonderful people watching out for us. This is a list I hold dear to my heart, and it serves as a reminder on how I can help those around me.
To follow Jesus Christ, our ultimate example of being a minister, includes being “willing to bear one another’s burdens, that they may be light” (Mosiah 18:8). I have received many Christlike acts of service, making my burdens light. Being on the receiving end of this kindness is humbling, and I am grateful to have learned more about our Savior’s love by being ministered to by His disciples.

Finally, consider some more practical and spiritual kinds of lessons we have yet to learn from the Book of Mormon. As bishop of a BYU student ward, I found over and over that answers to spiritual struggles were there to be found in the Book of Mormon, but they did not sink in until we had prayerfully searched the scriptures to obtain an answer to our needs.

For example, I had one member in my ward who could not feel completely forgiven, even though she had sincerely tried. It occurred to us how Benjamin had counseled and commanded his people that they must impart of their substance to the poor in order to retain a remission of their sins from day to day (Mosiah 4:26). This turned out to be the answer. Giving offerings to the poor has long been a part of holy Israelite fast days on which they sought atonement for their sins. Perhaps here is a lesson we all should learn, a forgotten step in the repentance process, to remember the poor and the needy.

Not long ago I visited a high priest in his home. He is no longer able to come to our quorum meetings. He lives alone. His beautiful wife died, and his children live far away from him. Time and illness limit his ability to serve. He still lifts weights to keep what he can of his once-powerful strength.
When I walked into his home, he stood up from his walker to greet me. He invited me to sit in a chair near him. We talked of our happy associations in the priesthood.
Then with great intensity he said to me, “Why am I still living? Why am I still here? I can’t do anything.”
I told him that he was doing something for me. He was lifting me with his faith and his love. Even in our short visit, he made me want to be better. His example of determination to do something that mattered had inspired me to try harder to serve others and the Lord.
But from the sad sound of his voice and the look in his eyes, I could sense that I had not answered his questions. He still wondered why God let him live with such limitations on his ability to serve.
In his usual generous way, he thanked me for coming to see him. As I got up to leave, the nurse who comes to his home a few hours every day walked in from another room. During our private conversation, he had told me a little about her. He said she was wonderful. She had lived among the Latter-day Saints most of her life but was still not a member.
She walked up to show me to the door. He motioned toward her and said with a smile, “See, I can’t seem to do anything. I have been trying to get her baptized into the Church, but it hasn’t worked.” She smiled back at him and at me. I walked outside and turned toward my home nearby.
I realized then that the answers to his questions were planted long ago in his heart. That valiant high priest was trying to do his duty, taught to him through decades in the priesthood.
He knew that the only way that young woman could have the blessing of salvation through the gospel of Jesus Christ was to make a covenant by being baptized. He had been taught according to the covenants by every president of every quorum from the deacons to the high priests.
He remembered and felt his own oath and covenant in the priesthood. He was still keeping it.
He was a witness and a missionary for the Savior wherever life would take him. It was already in his heart. The desire of his heart was that her heart could be changed through the Atonement of Jesus Christ by keeping sacred covenants.
His time in the school of the priesthood in this life will be relatively brief compared to eternity. But even in that short span, he has mastered the eternal curriculum. He will carry with him, wherever the Lord will call, priesthood lessons of eternal worth.

Despite having been raised with a solid foundation of daily scripture study, as an adult I have had periods where I have struggled to keep this up. Falling behind, I would devote a few hours to study as much as possible. Like a recharged battery, that spiritual nourishment would keep me going for a few days. But every day that I let that study slip by the wayside, the light that I felt would diminish. At that point, I’d commit to another one-off study session. And so, the pattern continued. However, inspired by the introduction of the Come Follow Me programme in 2018, I have established a pattern of daily study. I feel strengthened and uplifted in a way I never have had before. The feeling of closeness with my Saviour and Heavenly Father that such study has brought me is indescribable—my hope grows, and I have been able to have peace amidst the turbulence of life.

An example of such service was the missionary experience of Juliusz and Dorothy Fussek, who were called to fill a two-year mission in Poland. Brother Fussek was born in Poland. He spoke the language. He loved the people. Sister Fussek was English and knew little of Poland and its people.

Trusting in the Lord, they embarked on their assignment. The living conditions were primitive, the work lonely, their task immense. A mission had not at that time been established in Poland. The assignment given the Fusseks was to prepare the way that a mission could be established, that other missionaries be called to serve, people taught, converts baptized, branches established, and chapels erected.

Did Elder and Sister Fussek despair because of the enormity of their assignment? Not for a moment. They knew their calling was from God, they prayed for His divine help, and they devoted themselves wholeheartedly to their work. They remained in Poland not two years, but five years. All of the foregoing objectives were realized.

Elders Russell M. Nelson, Hans B. Ringger, and I, accompanied by Elder Fussek, met with Minister Adam Wopatka of the Polish government and we heard him say, “Your church is welcome here. You may build your buildings, you may send your missionaries. You are welcome in Poland. This man,” pointing to Juliusz Fussek, “has served your church well. You can be grateful for his example and his work.”

Like the Fusseks, let us do what we should do in the work of the Lord. Then we can, with Juliusz and Dorothy Fussek, echo the psalm: “My help cometh from the Lord, which made heaven and earth. … He that keepeth thee will not slumber. Behold, he that keepeth Israel shall neither slumber nor sleep” (Ps. 121:2–4).

The Vershinin family from Nizhniy Novgorod first visited the Stockholm Sweden Temple in 2000. After traveling to St. Petersburg, Sergey, Vera, and their daughter, Irina, joined a group of Russian Latter-day Saints from various cities and traveled by bus and ferry to reach the temple. At the temple, Irina participated in baptisms for the dead and was sealed to her parents. “The trip gave us testimonies and many blessings,” she recalled. “They were small testimonies received individually by each person. But as a whole they helped us and gave momentum for further spiritual growth.”12