Gospel Story Finder

The Browns are a traveling family. Each summer they take a big trip. They camp along the way, and they always take David’s hand-powered tricycle. David has ridden his trike in many wonderful places: the Lincoln Memorial and the Capitol in Washington, D.C.; the Grand Canyon; Niagara Falls; Disney World; and even across the Royal Gorge Bridge. But David and his family agree that the best trips they have ever taken are the two trips they made to the Hill Cumorah Pageant. Every member of the family had a costume and a part in the pageant. David’s dad even played the part of Lehi one year.
David has many friends in Primary. His favorite Primary song is “I Want to Be a Missionary Now.” He hopes to go on a mission to Germany one day because his dad went there on his mission. David’s big smiles and hugs make Sunday a special day for lots of people.
David says, “I just want to be treated like any other kid.” But his happiness and his love for others make him one of a kind.

Let me give you a more recent and relatable illustration. This story is about an experience I had with a student I will call Jen. I was teaching at a private Catholic college, but Jen, if Catholic, was only a Catholic by record. Jen was a philosophy major and an adamant atheist. She would go about campus and challenge the faith of others, telling them that their faith made no sense and trying to convince them how illogical their beliefs were. For some reason, she was interested in taking some psychology classes. So during her junior year, Jen took classes from myself and another professor who also was a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. She noticed we seemed to be happier than other professors and also how we mentioned regularly with confidence our knowledge of God. She would challenge me saying you can’t prove there is a God. I would talk to her about spiritual ways of knowing.

At the end of the academic year in May, she came to my office just before she left for a philosophy internship at Oxford University. I spoke with her again, telling her if she had an honest desire to know if there is a God, it would happen. She asked how she would know. I simply said, you will know.

At the end of the summer, Jen excitedly entered my office. I asked how her internship went, and of course, she reported it was great, but then she got quiet and simply said, “it happened.” I knew she knew God existed. It totally changed her behavior and attitude. The next several weeks and months, Jen walked from class to class with a smile handing out small pieces of paper with encouraging, kind words expressing her love and God’s love. She was excited and happy.

Illustration by Ellerie Arnold
I had just dropped off my daughter at a friend’s house when I received a call from my husband, Jonathan. He told me that our 11-year-old son, Aiden, had been hit by a car while he and Jonathan were crossing the street.
The driver had made a left turn in front of Jonathan and didn’t see Aiden on his bike. The driver hit the front of Aiden’s bike. He flew up into the air, still holding onto the bike, and hit his head on the side of the car when he came down. Then he landed on the road with his bike on top of him. Thankfully, he was wearing a helmet. The driver and several other people stopped to help while Jonathan called for an ambulance.
My mind and emotions suddenly went into a frenzy. I sped toward the intersection where the accident had occurred, hoping to catch the ambulance so I could be with Aiden.
Thoughts of lashing out at the driver raced through my mind. “What on earth was the driver thinking?” I thought. “Were they drunk? Were they on their phone?” I was furious and beyond worried. I had no idea how badly Aiden was hurt.
When I arrived at the scene, the ambulance had already left. Only a couple of police cars and a car parked on the side of the road remained at the scene. A distressed-looking woman stood next to the car.
I approached her and asked, “Did you see who hit my son?”
She quietly said, “I did.”
I envisioned myself yelling at the careless person who had hit my son, but when I came face to face with the driver, the negativity disappeared. I found myself crying and hugging her. She apologized, and I told her that everything would be OK. I found out later that those were the exact words Aiden had said to her before the police arrived. In the end, Aiden made it through with only some scrapes and bruises.
I am grateful that at that pivotal moment, our loving Heavenly Father blessed me with the strength to extend forgiveness instead of hate, even when I didn’t ask Him to. I know He is aware of us and always offers us His help.

Often when I witness a miracle I don’t immediately recognize it as such, and I think that it was a circumstance or my own ability in accomplishing a certain task. I am glad that the Lord humbles me and that He soon reminds me that it wasn’t I who accomplished it, but that it was His own hand involved. When I think of this, I can’t help but remember an experience, a frightening one, from many years ago. I had a two-year-old boy. That boy is now sitting with his sister in this audience today and has become a handsome young man. (At least I think he is handsome, but I am his proud mother!) That day, 12 years ago and early in the morning, I was busy getting ready to come to school and briefly stepped out of the room where we were. I left the room for just a couple of minutes. I was sure that Alessandro was safe; he was just playing with his toys.

I didn’t know that he had gotten hold of a little candy container with a small plastic cap on it. As he put the container in his mouth, as toddlers do, the plastic cap came loose and lodged in his throat. He coughed a couple of times, then the cap went in deeper in his throat and clogged it completely. In the other room I was almost done doing whatever I was doing, and I heard him cough. I thought, “I’ll give Sandro some cough medicine in a moment, as soon as I am done here,” and I continued with my business.

Then I don’t know what happened. Something, someone took me from the room I was in, and I found myself by my son’s side. Up to this day I do not remember consciously deciding to go to him, going through the hallway, and approaching him. I simply found myself at his side. I saw that his lips had turned blue and that he was not breathing. I cannot forget the fearful look in his eyes, pleading for me to help him. I took him and gave him the Heimlich maneuver once, then twice. Nothing happened. I was shaking hard with apprehension. Sandro was becoming limp. I cried to the Lord: “Help me, Lord! Help me save my child!” I tried the maneuver a third time, with a strength that I did not have but the strength that the Lord gave me, and I pushed hard at the bottom of his sternum. The plastic cap came out with the speed of a bullet and dented the kitchen wall. I started crying, and Sandro started crying. He coughed again, spitting some blood. I thought that I had broken something inside his chest, for I had pushed so hard. I then attempted to call Dr. Willis, a dear friend of ours and our family physician. I took the phone receiver in my hand and tried to dial up the number. I could not do it. My hands were shaking so hard that I couldn’t direct them on the right numbers. Finally I managed to call, and the doctor told me not to worry, that probably the cap had scratched the boy’s throat and that the bleeding would cease. In fact, my son did stop bleeding. I sat down on the couch with Alessandro in my arms, crying and thanking the Lord for His help. For the following three days I had absolutely no strength in my whole body. I know that whatever was necessary to save my son never came from me. The Lord loved us so much and came to our rescue when we needed Him the most. I pray that I never, never forget the source of the strength that I needed that day and that I can always remember to be thankful for it.

In the Martin handcart company of 1856, Brother Martin insisted that the people throw away all nonessentials so that they could reach the valley more quickly. Many children had to part with toys that they had brought. One little girl had a small cast-iron toy lion. It, too, was dumped, but she so loved the lion that during the night she went back to where they had left the discarded items, found her pet lion, put it on a string, and wore it underneath her dress all the way to the Salt Lake Valley.

President Lee on several occasions gave wise counsel with respect to following the living prophet. I should like to quote from one of his Brigham Young University devotional addresses:
“Now may I make a personal reference, which I’ll try to treat in such a way as to preserve the confidentiality. It involved a beautiful, young wife and mother from a prominent family. She had gone away from her home and was now in the East. She had gone out into an area where she and her husband had taken up with those in the ghetto, and she wrote me a rather interesting letter, and I quote only a paragraph: ‘Tomorrow my husband will shave off his long, full beard. Because of the request of the stake president and your direction in the Priesthood Bulletin, he must not have the appearance of evil or rebellion if he is to get a recommend to go to the temple. I have wept anguished tears; the faces of Moses and Jacob were bearded, and to me the wisdom and spirituality of the old prophets reflected from the face of my own spiritual husband. It was like cutting out for me a symbol of the good things my generation has learned.’ Then the letter concluded with a challenge to me: ‘We are prepared for clear, specific, hard-line direction as youth. Wishy-washy implications are not heard very well here. We look to you to tell it straight.’
“I don’t know whether she knew just what she was asking for when she asked me to tell it straight, but these are some things I wrote to her: ‘In your letter you address me as, “Dear President Lee,” and in your first sentence you refer to me as the Lord’s prophet. Now, in your letter you tell me that you are saddened because with the shaving off of the beard and the cutting of the hair, which, to you, made your husband appear as the prophets Moses and Jacob, he would no longer bear that resemblance. I wonder if you might not be wiser to think of following the appearance of the prophets of today. President David O. McKay had no beard or long hair; neither did President Joseph Fielding Smith; and neither does your humble servant whom you have acknowledged as the Lord’s prophet.
“‘The inconsistency in your letter has made me reflect upon an experience that I had in the mission field when, in company with some missionaries and the mission president, we were at Carthage Jail, where the martyrdom of the Prophet Joseph and his brother, Hyrum, took place. In that meeting there were recounted the events that led up to their martyrdom. Then the mission president made some significant comments. He said, “When the Prophet Joseph Smith died there were many who died spiritually with Joseph.” Likewise there were many who died spiritually with Brigham Young, and so with others of the presidents of the Church, because they chose to follow the man who had passed on, rather than giving allegiance to his successor upon whom the mantle of leadership had been given by the Lord’s appointment.’
“And then I asked her, ‘Are you following, in looks, prophets who lived hundreds of years ago? Are you really true to your faith as a member of the Church in failing to look to those who preside in the Church today? Why is it that you want your husband to look like Moses and Jacob, rather than to look like the modern prophets to whom you are expressing allegiance? If you will give this sober thought, your tears will dry, and you’ll begin to have some new thoughts.’” (“Be Loyal to the Royal Within You.” Speeches of the Year, Provo, Utah: Brigham Young University Press, 1974, pp. 97–98.)

One night before bed I was thinking about what to pray for when I felt prompted to pray for my uncle’s family. I prayed that they would feel the Spirit. Two days later I learned that my uncle had lost his job and that his family would have to move.
It was then I realized that what I had prayed for was a prompting from the Holy Ghost, and I felt grateful that I had listened to the still small voice. In a situation where I could not do much else to help, I felt good knowing my prayers could help. Sometimes instances like this may seem insignificant, but I know that seeking personal revelation, listening to promptings, and following them—even small ones—can increase our faith and strengthen others.

When I was kid, about two weeks before Christmas, my dad said something really weird at dinner. I wasn’t quite sure what Santa was going to bring me for Christmas that year, but the possibilities occupied all my thoughts and time. My dad made the comment that he thought the days leading up to Christmas were more fun than the days after, when all the mystery of what you might be getting is gone.
As a kid I didn’t understand that, but now I think I know what he meant. When I’ve really wanted something and then I am finally able to get it, it’s fun at first, but over time that thing isn’t as cool as it was when I was anticipating getting it.
Maybe you’ve had a similar experience; you’ve wanted something really bad, but then when you finally have it, it doesn’t have the same meaning anymore.

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

Born in January 1951 in Murray, Utah, USA, to Milo Fredrick and Mary Katherine Dyches, he was the second of seven children. When he was a young deacon, his family moved to Elko, Nevada, where he spent time after school working at his father’s pharmacy. As they worked side by side, his father taught him the importance of hard work—something that would serve him well as a young missionary in the Germany South Mission from 1970 to 1972.
“It was a tough mission, but it was a great mission for me,” he said. “I learned the value of hard work and obedience and not giving up.”

When our family lived in Hong Kong, my daughter Erica was turning four years old. When I walked into her room on the morning of her birthday, she was wide-awake and lying quietly on her bed. When I got closer, she said to me, “Mom, I’m no bigger than yesterday, and my hair is not any longer!”

My daughter was very distraught because she thought that when she woke up on the morning of her birthday she would instantly be a year bigger. I was trying very hard not to laugh as I explained to her that the growing doesn’t take place all at once—it happens a little bit at a time and is barely noticeable. But Erica was having a hard time grasping the concept of small growing. There have been times in my life when I have had a hard time with that concept too.

Erica eventually grew into a beautiful and amazing young woman—and, yes, she always had long hair. I clung to that sweet birthday memory when, thirteen years later, our family had to endure losing her when she was killed in a car accident. She was a new university student, like many of you, and had just started taking classes. One day as she was driving on the freeway, she lost control of her car; unfortunately, she had neglected to fasten her seat belt.

I felt as if a nuclear bomb had gone off in my life. She was my youngest child, and she had been so full of life and potential. How could she be gone? My heart was truly broken. How could I go on living? How could I endure the constant anguish? It made it hard to breathe. It made it hard to do the most basic things. I wanted to stay in bed all day. I wanted the world to stop.

Erica passed away many years ago. Now, when I look back on that wrenching time of grief when I struggled to feel my Savior’s love, I can find some grace in that terrible experience. A friend of mine said something to me shortly after Erica died. He told me to look for “tender mercies”6 from our Heavenly Father and promised me that they would come if I would open myself up to receiving them. He was telling me about the rays of light that Elder Dushku spoke about in his conference talk. He was telling me about small learning.

I listened to him and opened up my broken heart. And those rays of light did come to me as I walked through that dark valley of shadow and death. It took a long time—much longer than I expected—and it was the hardest learning that I have ever done, but eventually I emerged with a knowledge that the Savior understands my sorrows and struggles and that He loves me and my daughter. He brought peace and comfort that soothed my heart and soul. He blessed me with His Spirit and the knowledge that I will be with Erica again. He surrounded me with rays of light that I have learned to recognize and gather into a glorious, brilliant pillar. In the darkness and despair, God’s light and love encircled me.

When Daniel was very young, he already had a great sense of humor. He learned to tell hilarious jokes that would make my wife and me laugh. He also often said things that inspired us. Shortly after hearing President Thomas S. Monson announce the change in age requirements for young men and young women preparing to serve missions,1 we were driving in the car. Daniel announced that he would start preparing himself right then, at age six, so he would have 12 years of preparation. Then he said with a smile, “Dad, can I change the song from ‘I Hope They Call Me on a Mission’ to ‘I AM Going on a Mission’?” It was awesome.

A lovely lady who has since passed away visited with me one day and unexpectedly recounted some regrets. She spoke of an incident which had taken place many years earlier and involved a neighboring farmer, once a good friend but with whom she and her husband had disagreed on multiple occasions. One day the farmer asked if he could take a shortcut across her property to reach his own acreage. At this point she paused in her narrative to me and, with a tremor in her voice, said, “Brother Monson, I didn’t let him cross our property then or ever but required him to take the long way around on foot to reach his property. I was wrong, and I regret it. He’s gone now, but oh, I wish I could say to him, ‘I’m so sorry.’ How I wish I had a second chance to be kind.”

As I listened to her, there came to my mind the doleful observation of John Greenleaf Whittier: “Of all sad words of tongue or pen, the saddest are these: ‘It might have been!’” Brothers and sisters, as we treat others with love and kind consideration, we will avoid such regrets.

Alba Lucia Fonseca, a Church member from the United States, saw material online that raised concerns about her religious beliefs, and she went through a rapid loss of faith. At first, she cast out the seed of faith with her doubts, but then she began talking with a caring and knowledgeable member and realized that her unbelief also raised questions.

“My understanding of gospel concepts and of Church history wasn’t nearly as comprehensive as I had assumed,” she explains. “That humbled me and helped me realize that I still had so much to learn and that faith isn’t arriving at having all questions answered.” Alba realized that other “worthwhile things in life—such as family, education, career—involve risk, sacrifice, uncertainty, and lifelong effort. I came back to the Church and can affirm that maintaining faith is also very much worth this kind of effort.”

Our Young Women president gave each of us a challenge to tell our parents that we loved them. It was really hard for me and my sister, because even though our parents knew we loved them, we had never told them.

We decided to prepare dinner and write on their napkins that we loved them. It was a big surprise to our parents and turned out so well that we tell them that we love them every day now.

I believe the key to family unity is family love. Pray, and Heavenly Father will help you find a way to express your love to your family.

A lot of teenagers today don’t even carry a handkerchief. But when I was a young man, having a handkerchief ready for an emergency (like someone crying, for example) was considered important. At least, my mother certainly thought so.
I was going on one of my first dates and was halfway out the door when I heard my mother’s voice calling my name. I went back inside to find her with a white handkerchief in her hand.
“Do you have a clean handkerchief?” she asked. “Mom,” I said in that special voice reserved for mothers by exasperated sons. I took the handkerchief because I was anxious to be on my way. I stuffed it into my pocket, and I was out the door and into the car without thinking more about it.
Today, a white handkerchief is probably the farthest thing from anyone’s mind before a date. Time tends to change many of our styles and customs, but the courtesy and respect that my mother taught me should exist in dating relationships are just as important today as they have ever been.
I don’t remember much about that date, but I do remember asking my mother afterward why a clean handkerchief was such a big deal. This led to a conversation between us that taught me a lot about establishing good relationships with young women.
Now, I don’t mean that I treated girls like they were just one of the guys; but I had a lot to learn. My mother explained, for example, that as a sign of courtesy young men should (1) walk ahead of a date in a darkened theater or room, (2) walk on the outside of the sidewalk, next to the road, (3) stand when a girl the same age or a woman enters the room and stand when she leaves, (4) stand until all women have been seated and help them be seated before seating themselves, and (5) take a young lady back to her seat and thank her after a dance. I did know, without my mom telling me, that opening car doors and helping girls out are also signs of respect.
At first I suspected my mother’s suggestions that all young men should obey the rules of etiquette might be a female conspiracy transmitted from generation to generation in order to control men. Later, as I listened to my wife make suggestions to our sons, I realized there were some time-honored ways for young men to act, and that young women usually like to be treated in those ways.
After I dismissed the conspiracy theory I selfishly thought that if men did all those nice things for women, we would be the only ones doing all the nice things. “What are they doing for us?” I thought. Girls usually don’t have to ask for dates and risk being turned down, and they don’t have to keep standing all the time, or help seat boys at the table.
Because of my suspicions and selfishness I was undecided about whether I wanted to try all of my mother’s ideas. But I soon learned that when people go on dates there are doors, cars, dances, meals, rooms to stand in, introductions, and movie theaters. There are times during each of these situations when someone needs to do something, and if no one does there is a silent awkwardness which makes you feel like a true klutz. I know.
I was at one of my first dances and somehow I’d gathered the courage to remove myself from the wall to ask someone to dance with me. The young lady I asked said, “Yes,” and suddenly I found myself out on the dance floor feeling rather uncomfortable. Fortunately, however, some of my friends had found partners also and joined us. As we danced, my friends and I made comments to one another and before I knew it, our talking had turned into a full-fledged conversation that excluded our partners. Immersed in the discussion, I became oblivious to the young lady I was dancing with and somehow drifted off of the dance floor without even realizing it. Back at the wall again I glanced out at those still dancing and, to my embarrassment, saw my partner out on the floor, alone. An uncomfortable feeling settled itself in my stomach. I wanted to do something, but I didn’t know what or how to even go about it in an awkward situation like this. So I did nothing. That night I decided that some of my mother’s ideas might be worth trying.
As I did so, the first thing that happened was unexpected. Girls I dated began to think I knew what I was doing and relaxed around me. The nervousness I sometimes felt disappeared too, and I started having more fun. The more we relaxed, the easier it was to talk. Talking comfortably might not seem very important, but it is the way friendships and liking begin and continue. By communicating well, I also began to get to know girls better.
I’ll admit that when I first started dating, I wanted to be seen with girls who wouldn’t tarnish the social image I thought I had to protect. However, after spending time with some young women, having long talks with them and my mother about many things, I found out that girls could be friends (without worrying about all the romantic stuff). In fact, some of the dates I enjoyed most were with girls who were fun and were not worried about trying to make boys like them.
I soon found, though, that I felt better around and preferred the company of some young women over others. After talking about it, my mother suggested that I needed to learn how and why I got along better with some than with others because it would help me when it came time to get more serious about finding someone to marry. So I learned to be observant on a date, to think about why I did or did not feel comfortable.
I began to look at those I dated for the characteristics I thought important, like how well they communicated, their sense of humor, what they believed about religion and what they thought about themselves. I didn’t think much about it then, but I know I was storing up ideas. More important, I also found out that most girls start out wanting to have genuine, fun friendships because they are evaluating young men too. What’s more, as we evaluate others, we’re also evaluating ourselves. Most people feel complimented by genuine interest and questions that give them an opportunity to talk about themselves.
My willingness to treat a young woman with genuine interest and to stop trying too hard to impress her helped me discover that I was often guilty of prejudging. I found after talking to some girls that what I had thought about them at first was later proven untrue.
My mother also taught me that courtesy and acceptance are ways of showing respect, not only toward girls, women, and even toward other men, but also for myself. This knowledge and skill has helped me many times because it has increased my confidence around others. I believe I am less afraid to meet new people, enter new situations, speak in public, and carry on private conversations because manners help me know what to do. Manners have helped me, and many men, overcome a natural shyness.
Women deserve the respect of men. Both men and women are warmed by it and helped to feel secure. In an age when there is much concern about equality of the sexes, some women are receiving unequal amounts of rudeness and disrespect. Many men are using the idea of female equality as an excuse to neglect courtesy.
My mother helped me to learn and show respect for her, and consequently taught me that all girls and women are deserving of it. No one benefits by demeaning or rejecting another person. When young women are ennobled by the respect young men show them, both are elevated.
It never occurred to me as a young man that if a boy treats a girl like a queen, he is raising himself to a higher level too. All men and boys can learn an honest courtesy. And all young men can be known as “good dates,” not because of their social standing or good looks, but because of the respect and kindness they show to those they date.

When tragedy strikes in a village in Polynesia, help isn’t very far away. That’s just the way things work in the tightknit communities of the Pacific.
This was especially true for Tevita Lei, a student at Saineha High School in Vava’u, Tonga.
When his family’s home was completely destroyed by fire, they lost everything. The next day, his classmates got together and discussed what the family needed to start putting their world back together.
Mele’ana Mafi teaches computer science at the school, which is operated by The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. She remembers the day she looked around her classroom and noticed someone missing. Students confirmed that Tevita Lei was not there.
The teacher asked, “Why is he not here?”
A soft voice in the back said, “His house burned down last week.”
“Our simple discussions led everyone to think outside the box,” Mele’ana recalls.
“Students started volunteering to donate things for the most urgent needs, such as uniforms, school materials, a new school bag. The rest of the students volunteered to donate other things such as food, clothes and blankets.”
Mele’ana then went to the school principal, Motuliki Fakatava, to tell him about the situation and to see if he could provide transportation for the class members to deliver the items they had collected. He readily agreed.
“As soon as Mele’ana told me this story,” Motuliki reports, “I felt an overwhelming feeling of gratitude. Several months ago, I felt prompted to begin to set aside in storage some food and clothing, but I didn’t know why or who it would be for. As soon as Mele’ana told me this story, I knew this was the right time and purpose.”
The next day, all the members of Tevita’s computer class got on a school bus during home room time and went to see what was left of his home. In addition to Motuliki’s items, the students brought along all that they had managed to collect including some essentials such as rice, flour, sugar, beans and crackers.
They found Tevita and his father there by themselves amongst the charred remains of their home.
“I told his father the purpose of our visit and asked permission to do a short devotional service with them,” Mele’ana says.
“When we started to sing ‘We thank thee, O God, for a Prophet,’ we truly felt the Spirit present and confirmed God’s love for His children. The sincerity of the prayer offered truly touched our hearts and put everyone in tears.”
She continued: “I was so brokenhearted when we arrived to see Tevita and his father outside trying to clean up the ashes and burned remains of their home. I knew in my heart that this was the right thing for us to do.”
Some of the students shared their feelings about their visit to Tevita and his dad:
“Last night I was confused about what I should take to give the family. It came to my mind that it doesn’t matter if it is something small, big, cheap or expensive, but that you tried your best to help. It shows Tevita’s family that this is not the end and that the good Lord loves them. I saw the smiles on their faces, and it reminded me of my family.”
“I hope that what we gave them was a big help to their family. By helping others, we learn to love them as ourselves. I am grateful, and may God bless their family.”
“As we arrived, I just imagined myself in the position that he is in, with such difficulty and struggling to survive. It touched me most when his father said that he is grateful that Tevita has family out of his actual family, meaning us, his computer classmates.”
“Seeing my classmates’ willingness to help him really touched my heart. It showed the love of a family we had in our class. No matter how big our help was to Tevita Lei, that didn’t matter, but what mattered was that our classmates were willing to give a helping hand to our dearest brother. We will never leave anyone behind.”
“I know that Tevita’s dad was so excited and grateful for what we have been able to do. He said that now he can feel that ‘there is a family for his son that still cares about him.’ Everyone in this life is my family.”
“The moment I saw this brother, my heart and soul filled with the spirit of love. I appreciated my teacher for the great spirit that inspired us as a computer class to visit our beloved classmate Ti Lei. I felt the love that Jesus had for His children.”
Mele’ana summarized her thoughts about this experience: “I am grateful for the opportunity to reach out with our class to Tevita. What has happened this morning was a great start of our day. The acts of kindness, working together, love, empathy, and service, does reflect who they really are. They are sons and daughters of Heavenly Father.”
“As I came back to my classroom and reflected on my students and the goodness and mercy of God for His children, the scripture in Alma 26:37 came to mind:
“Now my brethren, we see that God is mindful of every people, whatsoever land they may be in; yea, he numbereth his people, and his bowels of mercy are over all the earth. Now this is my joy, and my great thanksgiving; yea, and I will give thanks unto my God forever.”

Several years ago Sister Packer and I determined that we should get our records in order. However, under the pressure of Church responsibilities with my travels about the world, and the obligations with our large family and a home to keep up both indoors and outdoors, there just was not enough time. But we were restless about this family history responsibility, and finally we determined that somehow we would have to make more time in the day.
During the Christmas holidays when we had a little extra time, we started. Then as we moved back to a regular schedule after the holidays, we adopted the practice of getting up an hour or two earlier each day.
We gathered together everything we had, and in the course of a few weeks we were amazed at what we were able to accomplish. The thing that was most impressive, however, was the fact that we began to have experiences that told us somehow that we were being guided, that there were those beyond the veil who were interested in what we were doing. Things began to fall into place.
As I have traveled about the Church and paid particular attention to this subject, many testimonies have come to light. Others who assemble their records together are likewise having similar experiences. It was as though the Lord was waiting for us to begin.
We found things we had wondered about for a long time. It seemed as though they came to us almost too easily. More than this, things that we never dreamed existed began to show up. We began to learn by personal experience that this research into our families is an inspired work. We came to know that an inspiration will follow those who move into it. It is just a matter of getting started.
Once we started, we found the time. Somehow we were able to carry on all of the other responsibilities. There seemed to be an increased inspiration in our lives because of this work.
The Lord will bless you once you begin this work. This has been very evident to my family. Since the time we decided that we would start where we were, with what we had, many things have opened to us.

I can remember the first English paper I ever wrote when I was a freshman on this campus. It came back with red marks all over it—suggestions, corrections, sentences obliterated. I had thought I was a good student, that English was one of my best subjects, that I was a good writer. But, no! Now, because of one paper with a bunch of red marks on it, I saw myself as a failure.

Tears rolled down my cheeks as I walked across campus, and I questioned what I was doing here. Wasn’t I being just a little like Christie? Did my Father in Heaven think I was a failure because of one English paper? Of course not. But momentarily I lost my confidence, and with it my eternal perspective. I had lost my ability to be the person Heavenly Father saw in me. When we allow this to happen, the light of Christ that is in us dims. That light is a gift to each of us. We are born with it, and by our acts on earth that light either fades or brightens.

When the weather got warmer, there was time for some mountain climbing with Wallace and LeRoi, the three young men striking out for the “highest point” in the mountains above Brigham City:
“We climbed up some of the roughest places I had ever been over. I took the lead after half of the way had been traveled. LeRoi shot a snake over five feet long. There were large, deep banks of snow, some over five feet deep. Large towering masses of stone began to get very common. I walked over one large bed of rock, jumped from one stone to another. Large, deep holes, many over 25 feet to the bottom, were a common thing amongst this immense mass or field of rock. We rolled large boulders over many precipices, and they seemed to shake the earth on their destructive path, tearing up trees by the roots. I arrived at the top first, 25 minutes ahead of the others. … We could see Logan City and the beautiful white Logan temple from our lofty view. We also saw the small towns in all directions around. I left the top for home 2:10 after writing a few notes down. I ran down a path, flying homeward, arriving one hour ahead of the boys. I enjoyed it very much; wore out my shoes.”