Gospel Story Finder

Before I close, I would like to share one more personal example of faith.

During my military career, I have learned to rely and depend on my Father in Heaven and my Savior Jesus Christ so very much.

Upon my arrival at my last duty station in Germany, our faith would really be tested. We arrived in the country shortly after Thanksgiving, and we were waiting for housing to become available. Because of the age of my children, we were told that they could not share a room and will need to have their own rooms, Which meant the waiting period for a home would be a little longer. While waiting in guest housing, my children would walk to school. We were hoping to get housing on the base, which would make things easier for everyone. But shortly after, we would be notified that a home was being made ready for my family out on the economy in a small German town called oxenfurt. While waiting for household goods to be delivered, I would again be notified that my unit would be deploying to turkey in a matter of weeks. As we were getting things ready to deploy, I also needed to make sure my family needs were taken care of. And that is when we realized that my wife's german driver's license had expired the month prior.

You see, before living in Germany, if you had an expired license, you could just take the test to renew it with no problem. But this time around, it was different. It was required that you have a valid U.S license also. So a little bit of panic started to set in, and so it was my fault, like everything that goes wrong my wife tells me is my fault. And my wife started to tell me, did you not listen during the briefings? How could you miss this information? Anyway, I already knew what needed to be done.

My wife would have to fly back to the United States and get a U.S. driver's license and come back to Germany and take the German test all before I deployed in a matter of weeks. So with great faith, that is exactly what we did. She would fly to Texas and take the written test, and the next day takes the driving test, and the next day fly home to Germany and take the written test in German. When I picked up my wife at the airport, I figured she would be hungry after a nine-hour flight, but she said, no, I am not hungry, just take me straight to the DMV while the information was still fresh in my mind. A soldier friend of mine who was also taking the test told me she had passed the written test and was ready to take the signs test in German. She would have to get at least 50 signs correct in order to pass. After much praying and fasting during this whole ordeal, a sign of relief, she was issued a German license, and I knew then that my family would be okay while I deployed to turkey. We know for a surety that all that would not be possible without the help of our savior Jesus Christ.

In England, my wife and I became acquainted with Dorothy James, the widow of a clergyman who lived at the Close of Winchester Cathedral. She brought out a family Bible which was lost for many years.
Years before, the possessions of a family member had been sold. The new owner found the Bible in a small desk that had remained unopened for over 20 years. There were also some letters written by a child named Beaumont James. He was able to find the James family and return the long-lost family Bible.
On the title page my wife read the following handwritten note: “This Bible has been in our family since the time of Thomas James in 1683 who was a lineal descendant of Thomas James first librarian of the Bodleian Library at Oxford, who was buried in New College Chapel August 1629. [Signed] C. T. C. James, 1880.”
The margins and the open pages were completely filled with notations written in English, Latin, Greek, and Hebrew. One entry particularly touched her. From the bottom of the title page, she read, “The fairest Impression of the Bible is to have it well printed on the Readers heart.”
And then this quote from Corinthians: “Ye are our epistle written in our hearts, known and read of all men: Forasmuch as ye are manifestly declared to be the epistle of Christ ministered by us, written not with ink, but with the Spirit of the living God; not in the tables of stone, but in fleshly tables of the heart. 2 Cor. 3:2–3.”

We had invited a special guest to join us for the home evening just prior to Christmas. We sat in our living room and I told her why she was there: “Marie, we have watched your actions and as a family have observed that you are one who loves the Savior. Since we could not invite him to join us in person as we celebrate his birth, we decided to invite someone who is striving to be like him. Marie, we chose you.”
Marie is a lovely single woman who, in spite of problems of her own, goes about quietly doing good for others. Tears welled up in her eyes as each of our children told her of the Christlike behavior he or she had observed in her.
But when it was our eight-year-old son’s turn his heart was so full he couldn’t speak. Earlier in the year he had needed extra tutoring in reading, and Marie had worked with him through the summer upgrading his reading skills—and she refused any payment for it. Now, several months later, he was finally achieving success in school.
Everyone in the room sensed the deep feelings our son was trying to communicate. So sacred was this moment that it seemed as though Jesus had come to be with us after all.
The spiritual feeling we all experienced that Christmas helped us determine that each year thereafter we would invite a Christlike person or family into our home to honor the Savior at Christmastime. By so doing we have been inspired to strive more diligently to be like him every day of our lives.

I’m bored! Let’s do something!
I’m already doing something. I’m looking at family photos.
But I want to have a party!
How about doing both? We could have a family history party!
It sounds boring.
Let’s go! It’ll be fun.
Should we make some popcorn?
Welcome to the family history party! Our first game is family tree trivia.
Where was Grandma Jensen born?
Now it’s time for the great index race! The team that indexes the most names wins.
Look! That person has the same name as me.
Now we’ve saved the best for last. Family history story time!
When my dad was little, his family lived on a ranch …
Later that night …
That was the best party ever. Let’s do it again tomorrow!

Jared walked home from church in the hot sunshine with Mom and Dad. He thought about his Primary lesson. Since he couldn’t hear very well, Jared had to pay close attention to the pictures his teacher showed and the words she wrote on the board.
That day they had learned that Jesus asked the disciples to be missionaries. Jared wondered what he could do to share the gospel, like Jesus asked. He knew he couldn’t serve a mission yet. Then he had a great idea. Maybe he could start saving money for it!
When he got home, Jared ran right past Umber, his pet goat, and into the house. He got a big plastic jar and carefully cut a hole in the top. He wrote “Mission Fund” on the side. Then he went to his room and got his money from under his bed. One by one he dropped in each coin. But all his coins barely covered the bottom of the jar. How could he earn more money?
Jared thought and thought. He looked out the window at the bright sun. It was so hot in the Philippines. Jared and his friends ate coconut ice candy almost every afternoon after school. “That’s it!” he thought. Maybe he could make ice candy and sell it to other people who wanted to cool down.
Jared ran to find Mom. “Can you show me how to make ice candy?” Jared signed. They used sign language, a language where you talk with your hands. Mom smiled and nodded.
The next day, Jared and Mom walked to the big outdoor market and bought all the supplies. When they got home, Jared took out a big bowl and mixed coconut milk, condensed milk, vanilla, and shredded coconut. Mom and Jared used a funnel to pour the mix into small bags. They put all the bags in the freezer. “Great job!” Mom signed.
The ice candy took a long time to freeze. But the next day after school, it was finally ready! Jared climbed on a chair and got the white cooler off the top of the fridge. He put some towels in the bottom of the cooler and layered the ice candy on top. He couldn’t wait to sell it.
Jared ran outside into the dusty street. His friends were playing with homemade kites and throwing their flip-flops at a tin can to knock it over.
At the side of the road, he set up a table with a big sign that said, “Ice Candy, 5 pesos.” His friend Jhonell ran over and pointed at the cooler. He gave Jared a five-peso coin, and Jared gave him some ice candy. They high-fived.
Soon more of Jared’s friends came to buy ice candy too. A few hours later when Mom called Jared for dinner, there were only a few ice candies left.
Jared picked up the almost-empty cooler and the coins. In one of his pockets, he put some of the coins for his tithing. He put the rest of the coins into his other pocket. He couldn’t wait to see his mission-fund bank fill up.
At home he dropped his mission-fund coins onto the pile at the bottom of the jar. There was still so much more space! But Jared felt warm inside as he thought about serving a mission someday. He decided that he would sell ice candy every day until his jar was full. It felt so good to earn money so he could be a missionary as Jesus asked him to do.

Branch members’ cars slowly follow each other convoy-style down farm lanes past stubble fields toward the beach cliffs. It is a cold Canadian Thanksgiving day, but that isn’t unusual for Prince Edward Island. In a few months occasional Greenland icebergs will further chill the air and water as they lie grounded offshore waiting to melt free.
Everyone scurries to the protection of the cliffs above the beach, and once they are out of the wind, families gather together and wait for the service to begin.
Every family in the Summerside Branch turns out for the baptism of John Simon and Mary Pearl Keeping. It isn’t long before the field looks like a parking lot. Even 90 miles isn’t too much of a drive when you can welcome a new family into the Church.
Brother and Sister Keeping carefully make their way down the rocky cliff to the beach below. They want to be baptized in the sea on this Thanksgiving day.
Occasionally lobster traps break loose and are washed ashore. One such trap is used for a music stand and another one serves as a chair during the confirmation service.
Everyone, including the children, feels a special spirit as the group sings and prays together in a short service before the baptism.
The water is shallow, and it takes several minutes of walking through breakers before the baptismal party reaches water deep enough. The Keepings say they do not notice the cold of the air or the water. After they are baptized, friends lovingly wrap them in warm blankets before they are confirmed members of the Church.

When I was growing up, each summer our family would drive to Provo Canyon, about 45 miles (72 km) south and a little east of Salt Lake City, where we would stay in the family cabin for several weeks. We boys were always anxious to get on the fishing stream or into the swimming hole, and we would try to push the car a little faster. In those days, the automobile my father drove was a 1928 Oldsmobile. If he went over 35 miles (56 km) an hour, my mother would say, “Keep it down! Keep it down!” I would say, “Put the accelerator down, Dad! Put it down!”
Dad would drive about 35 miles an hour all the way up to Provo Canyon or until we would come around a bend in the road and our journey would be halted by a herd of sheep. We would watch as hundreds of sheep filed past us, seemingly without a shepherd, a few dogs yapping at their heels as they moved along. Way back in the rear we could see the sheepherder on his horse—not a bridle on it but a halter. He was occasionally slouched down in the saddle dozing, since the horse knew which way to go and the yapping dogs did the work.
Contrast that to the scene which I viewed in Munich, Germany, many years ago. It was a Sunday morning, and we were en route to a missionary conference. As I looked out the window of the mission president’s automobile, I saw a shepherd with a staff in his hand, leading the sheep. They followed him wherever he went. If he moved to the left, they followed him to the left. If he moved to the right, they followed him in that direction. I made the comparison between the true shepherd who led his sheep and the sheepherder who rode casually behind his sheep.

When I was 14, I began working for a neighbor who raised bees as a hobby. My job was to take care of his horses, paint fences, mow the lawn, and weed the garden.
The beehives were located in the field behind the garden, and it seemed like every time I was there I’d end up getting stung or chased by some angry bee. I was beginning to wonder if the bees were trying to avenge the death of their long-lost ancestor.
I told my neighbor I was going to need combat pay if he wanted his garden weeded. He told me what I really needed was the right equipment. We went into his basement and he got out his bee suit: thick gloves with sleeves that went all the way up my arms, white pants and shirt because white tends to pacify bees, boots, a hat, and a screen mask that covered my face and head.
Feeling protected, I journeyed outside. Unfortunately it didn’t take long before I felt something crawling around on my head. There was a hole on the top of the mask. I’m not sure who panicked first, the bee or me. I took off running for the house, but before I got very far it was too late.
I guess you could say I got the point that day. But I really got it later when I was reading in Doctrine and Covenants 27:15 [D&C 27:15] where it says, “Wherefore, lift up your hearts and rejoice, and gird up your loins, and take upon you my whole armor, that ye may be able to withstand the evil day, having done all, that ye may be able to stand.”

With the homeless in the streets and refugees sleeping in the parks of Paris, France, the need for help is present daily before our eyes, even during the Christmas season. Two friends and I decided to form a community group called Solidarity to Act Together to help where we can.
With the support of many volunteers throughout the community as well as Latter-day Saints from the three stakes in Paris, we organized Light the World activities to help our brothers and sisters in need.
For three years in a row, we’ve held a year-end Light the World event where artists, volunteers, and guests from a variety of churches and organizations in Paris come to perform and donate supplies to those in need. It takes months of preparation, but volunteers and performers have experienced such immense joy participating in the event. None of them want to miss it. For our third Light the World event, 82 participants came despite a transportation strike!
Before the event, we prepared and gathered backpacks filled with hygiene products to distribute to refugees and homeless people in Paris. We also gathered blankets, sheets, pillows, sporting goods, shower sandals, and even a bicycle, which were given to refugees.
Last year we also put on a fashion show during the event. A 22-year-old stylist who participated said the support he received gave him strength to believe in his abilities. As he spoke with me, I was reminded that everyone needs to feel needed and that all of us are in need in some way.
We look forward to next year. We expect even more participants and activities. Some have even offered warehouses and refrigerated vans to help us as we work with community agencies and partner with a large international catering company to provide balanced meals for those in need. We are also organizing a way to provide free French lessons for those learning French as a second language.
I find that serving in a noble cause brings indescribable joy. Small actions can build individuals in remarkable ways. The smiles and gratitude we have received motivate us to do even more.

“Look,” Jessica said, pointing to the window. “It’s snowing.”
We ran to look outside. The tiny flakes started falling faster and faster. Then the flakes got bigger. They fell in swirls and swoops, and sometimes we could hardly see the barn through the curtain of white. By the time we finished lunch, the snow was three feet deep.
We watched from the window, feeling snug and warm inside the house. The cedar trees bent and swayed under their load, and the mailbox wore a thick white muff. Every now and then we heard a sharp crack as a limb broke under the weight of the snow.
Suddenly the lights blinked—once, twice. We held our breaths. Mom hurried about, setting out candles and filling the oil lamp on the mantel. The lights flickered again, then gave up.
“Listen to the quiet,” said Jessica. There was no television, no radio, no hum from the refrigerator. The only sound we heard was the tick of the grandfather clock by the front door.
David brought an armful of wood from the shed for the fireplace and soon had a blaze crackling and popping. We all gathered around the hearth, bundling into our warmest clothes. Our dog, Duke, crept closer to the fire and curled up for a nap.
The wind howled around the house, and I was glad to be inside. “What about the ponies?” asked Jessica. “Will they get cold?”
“They’re safe inside the barn,” said Dad. “I put extra straw in their stalls.”
For supper we roasted hot dogs in the fireplace and ate off of paper plates. It was just like a picnic. We toasted marshmallows for dessert. I let mine burn on the outside so that they were crisp and almost black. Inside they were gooey and hot.
“Mmmm,” said Jessica, licking her sticky fingers. “I wish the electricity would go off every day.”
“I’ll bet you’d soon get tired of that,” Mom said.
“Well, it’s time for family home evening,” Dad said and brought out his guitar. He played while we sang “I Am a Child of God.” David said an opening prayer. Then, by the light of the oil lamp, Mom read us the story of the brother of Jared. The flickering candles made spooky shadows against the walls. I sat close to Dad, glad to be by the fire.
Afterward, we sang “Over in the Meadow” all the way through, and “Bingo” and “Old MacDonald” and “Frosty the Snowman.”
“We can make a snowman tomorrow,” I said.
David turned Duke out. When he came back inside, he looked like a snow dog. Jessica dried him off with a towel.
We knelt together for family prayer, then went to bed early in our warmest pajamas and with extra blankets piled on our beds. “May we have waffles for breakfast tomorrow?” I asked as Mom tucked me in.
“We’ll have cold cereal if the power is still out,” Mom reminded me.
The moon was bright, and I could see its reflection on the snow from my window. Everything looked strange and different. The house sounded different too.
I woke up in the middle of the night. My nose was cold. Suddenly, I heard a click and a hum. The electricity was back on! I heard the furnace start, and I snuggled deeper into my blankets. The house would be warm again by morning. Maybe there would be waffles for breakfast, after all.

A friend shared an experience she had with one of her former mission companions. Since their mission they had seen each other occasionally. On one of these occasions, the mission companion confided in my friend about the difficulties she was facing with one of her children and the trial and heartache this experience created.

In the course of the conversation, the mission companion asked my friend what her greatest heartache was. My friend, feeling that she could safely share her thoughts and feelings about her greatest heartache, proceeded to tell her mission companion about the heartache she was currently facing with one of her own children. Instead of responding with the expected empathy and understanding, the mission companion immediately was critical of my friend, judging her and her situation with harshness.

My friend was surprised and shocked, to say the least, at her companion’s response—especially since it was the mission companion who had asked the question in the first place. My friend thought that she was in “a safe place” while relating her experience to her former mission companion, but instead she found herself exposed to criticism and harsh judgment with no empathy or understanding.

After graduating from high school, they both felt impressed to serve a mission—although neither of them had ever felt a desire to serve before.
For Sister Tuala, it took time to align her will with the Lord’s will. “I was 21 when I made the decision to act on the prompting,” she says. “I was pretty much fighting it until I was on the plane.”
Sister Tuala arrived on her mission in New Zealand during the COVID-19 pandemic, and although it has been difficult, she is very grateful she decided to serve.
“I can’t imagine being the same Sister Tuala that I was when I was 21. I really feel like I’ve grown.”

For example, in wartime missed messages between commanders and soldiers at the front have resulted in great confusion and serious loss of life. In World War I the 308th Infantry was ordered to the front in a desperate attempt to take and hold part of the Argonne Forest at any cost. The battle was so fierce that the supporting troops on the right and the left of one battalion withdrew, and the battalion was surrounded and isolated. Because headquarters lost communication with them, they became known as the Lost Battalion.
The battalion communicated with headquarters by carrier pigeons that flew from the battalion’s location to headquarters with messages. However, as soon as these pigeons were released, they were shot down by the opposing forces. The Lost Battalion’s own artillery, not knowing where they were, opened fire on their position and inflicted heavy casualties. The battalion ran out of food and water, but they held their ground and did not surrender despite their great losses. Finally, one carrier pigeon called Cher Ami, even though it was shot, got through to headquarters carrying the message that identified the battalion’s location. The survivors of the battalion were rescued because that one crucial message got through.

After graduation from college, my wife and I moved to Samoa, where we raised our children and worked to strengthen the Church and the community. My father, not a member of the Church, was actively involved in local business and community affairs. His motto was “If it’s worth doing, it’s worth doing right.” As my siblings and I discovered the gospel and lived it to the best of our abilities, he noticed the changes for good in our lives. In 1999, President Gordon B. Hinckley (1910–2008) stayed in my father’s home on his return from the groundbreaking of the Suva Fiji Temple. During that visit, the Spirit touched my father’s heart, and I was privileged to baptize him when he was 80 years old. He found great joy in the gospel and was unashamed and bold in sharing it with others during the last days of his life.

Parting can be hard, particularly when the parent and the child know that they may not see each other for a long time. I had that experience with my father. We parted on a street corner in New York City. He had come there for his work. I was there on my way to another place. We both knew that I probably would never return to live with my parents under the same roof again.
It was a sunny day, around noontime, the streets crowded with cars and pedestrians. On that particular corner there was a traffic light which stopped the cars and the people in all directions for a few minutes. The light changed to red; the cars stopped. The crowd of pedestrians hurried off the curbs, moving every way, including diagonally, across the intersection.
The time had come for parting, and I started across the street. I stopped almost in the center, with people rushing by me. I turned to look back. Instead of moving off in the crowd, my father was still standing on the corner looking at me. To me he seemed lonely and perhaps a little sad. I wanted to go back to him, but I realized the light would change and so I turned and hurried on.
Years later I talked to him about that moment. He told me that I had misread his face. He said he was not sad; he was concerned. He had seen me look back, as if I were a little boy, uncertain and looking for assurance. He told me in those later years that the thought in his mind had been: “Will he be all right? Have I taught him enough? Is he prepared for whatever may lie ahead?”
There were more than thoughts in his mind. I knew from having watched him that he had feelings in his heart. He yearned for me to be protected, to be safe. I had heard and felt that yearning in his prayers, and even more in the prayers of my mother, for all the years I had lived with them. I had learned from that, and I remembered.

Moleni hurried to finish weaving his palm-leaf basket. He tucked the last end in and raced toward the water. When the tide was low, he and other boys collected fingota (shellfish) for supper. Their moms would steam them with vegetables from their gardens.
Hurrying home with his fingota, Moleni ran into the yard and picked breadfruit to eat with the shellfish. On the way to his house he had found several coconuts to add to his bounty.
His mother was preparing supper in the kitchen, a small room separate from the house.
“Here, Mother,” he said, giving her the food that he’d brought. “May I go now?”
“Yes, dear, but don’t be gone long. Supper’s almost ready.”
Moleni knew that his mother thought that he was going swimming, but today he had something more important to do!
Moleni needed money to buy a new white shirt. He was to be ordained a deacon on Sunday, and he wanted to honor his priesthood by dressing properly. His father, Tevita Finau, had been a missionary and had been known in the Tongan islands as a very faithful member of the Church. Moleni wanted to be just like him; he wanted to look like the missionary picture his mother had of his father.
Since his father’s death, his mother supported the family by selling crops from their garden. She also sold copra (dried coconut meat). For all her hard work, she earned only fourteen dollars for every ton of copra that she dried. There was never enough money.
Moleni had to earn the money for the shirt himself. He didn’t want his mother to even guess how important it was to him—she had enough to worry about. Only his Primary teacher and his best friend, Sione, knew about his plans.
Weeks ago he had planted talo (taro, a starchy root) in a place in their garden where his mother wouldn’t find it. Now it was ready to take to the market. Sister Fonua, his Primary teacher, had said that she would sell it there for him, and tomorrow was market day.
Swiftly Moleni dug up the roots. He washed off the dirt, wrapped the roots in wet leaves, and placed them in a basket. Gathering up the basketful of talo together with mats and baskets that he had woven to sell, he walked as fast as he could to Sister Fonua’s home.
She pulled back the leaves and looked at the roots. “That’s the best talo I’ve seen,” she said. “I’m sure that it will sell well.” She looked at the empty baskets. “These baskets are tight and well woven too. But, Moleni,” she added unhappily, “this still won’t bring enough money.”
The boy’s heart sank. He had worked so hard. “If I catch some fish to sell, too, will it be enough?” he asked anxiously.
“It wouldn’t be enough for a ready-made shirt,” she said after thinking for a minute, “but I could buy enough material to make you one myself.”
“Thank you, Sister Fonua,” Moleni told her gratefully as he hurried away. “I’ll bring the fish early in the morning.”
On his way home he stopped at Sione’s and asked if he wanted to go fishing too.
“What are you up to?” his mother asked as he gulped his supper. “You’ve been acting funny lately.”
“Sione is going fishing with me,” he answered. “I don’t want to be late.”
“We could use some fish for breakfast,” his mother said, smiling at him as he finished his supper. She was proud of Moleni. She knew that he worked hard to help feed the family.
“There will be fish for breakfast,” he promised her.
Sione was already at the beach when Moleni got there. Neither of the boys owned a fishing pole or a boat, so they speared fish in the shallow water of the tide pools.
Sione was sending fish to market too. He and his brothers helped provide for their family also. They laughed together as they worked, and they worked hard. But by sundown, they had just three kiokio (a kind of fish) each.
“You can have my fish,” Sione offered. “I can catch some more tomorrow.”
“No,” Moleni answered. “Your family needs money too.”
They sat on the sand to think. Suddenly Moleni jumped up. “There is enough fish,” he said.
“Huh? How do you figure that?” Sione asked.
“There’s enough kiokio to send to market if we have something else, too,” Moleni told his friend. “There’s one thing that my family would rather have than kiokio: ‘uo (lobster).”
“Why didn’t I think of that?” Sione exclaimed. “Let’s go get my maama kasa (lantern). We’ll need it to find the ‘uo in the dark.”
The boys ran back to Sione’s home. They put their kiokio in water to stay fresh, then returned to the beach. It was very dark. The light from the maama kasa showed many scurrying ‘uo. Careful to not get pinched by the big claws, they grabbed the lobsters and put them into woven baskets.
“We’ll have a feast tomorrow!” Sione whooped. “These are the biggest ‘uo that I’ve ever seen.”
“There’s enough to give Sister Fonua a basketful, too,” Moleni said happily. “It can be a thank-you gift from me.”
“Sunday is just three days away,” Sione said with concern. “Will she have time to make your shirt?”
“I don’t know. But I know that she’ll do it if she can. And won’t mother be surprised if I show up for church in a white shirt?”
Early the next morning Sione and Moleni took their fish and lobsters to Sister Fonua. She was pleased with the fish and the ‘uo.
“This is enough,” she told Moleni. “And the shirt will be ready for Sunday.”
The next two days seemed to last forever. Moleni could hardly eat or sleep. His mother watched him anxiously, afraid that he was sick.
Finally Sunday came. Moleni slipped out early with his clean clothes and hurried to the meeting-house. There was a trough there where children could bathe—he wanted to be clean for the Sabbath!
Moleni bathed slowly and carefully. When he put on his new shirt, he felt truly special. He knew that his father would be proud of him.
He walked back home and went to the kitchen. His mother turned as he came in the door.
“Moleni! Where did you get that shirt?” Tears rolled down her cheeks as she looked at him. “You look just like your father.”
Moleni grinned. “I earned the money for the material, and Sister Fonua made it for me.”
It was a proud family that walked to church that day. Sister Fonua and Moleni’s mother both beamed when Moleni passed the sacrament. The Finau family had the priesthood in their home again!

There was one time when I found a card that proved to be particularly meaningful for me. I was having a very difficult time and had been praying for help quite a bit. It was during this time that I found a card from my dad. The card read, “We’re praying for you, Justin. Keep up the good work. Love, Dad.” It gave me a taste of home that I missed, and the encouragement from my dad helped me to keep working hard.
As I thought about how grateful I was to my dad, I realized that my Father in Heaven had also had a hand in sending me this message. It had come at the perfect time, when I needed it most. I was then reminded of the talk by Elder David A. Bednar of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles from the April 2005 general conference about the tender mercies of the Lord and how God leaves us little reminders throughout our lives to tell us that He loves us (see “The Tender Mercies of the Lord,” Ensign, May 2005, 99). These “business cards” from Him brighten our smiles and strengthen our faith.

Even though his young family lived in the city, President Hinckley’s father bought a farm out in East Millcreek. “My father believed that it was good for boys to learn to work when they were very young,” President Hinckley continued, “so on Saturdays in the early spring and in the fall, we would go out to the farm. And in the summer we would live there. I learned to live around animals and learned the lessons of nature—the beauty that is there and the penalties that come when nature is abused.

“We had large fruit orchards, and we learned how to prune trees. We built stilts that would put us about thirty inches off the ground, and then we could work up in the trees without ladders.

“In January, February, and March we pruned the trees, but we didn’t like it, because it was hard work. Yet we did learn something from it: You can determine the kind of fruit crop that you will have in September by the way you prune the trees in February. That was a great lesson, and it applies to people as well. You can pretty much determine the kind of adults you will have by the way you care for them as children.

For example, after much pondering and prayer, we decided to abandon our new dream home in Dallas, accept a job transfer, and move with six young children to Beijing. But we desperately desired spiritual confirmation for such a momentous move. Divine assurance did come to us, in the temple, as we read these words in the Doctrine and Covenants: “It is my will that you should . . . tarry not many days in this place; . . . think not of thy property. Go unto the eastern lands.”16 The voice of Jesus Christ in the scriptures, accompanied by powerful feelings from the Holy Ghost, unquestionably confirmed that our decision to move to China was right.

I would like to tell you the stories of three groups who really went forth to serve. The first story I want to share occurred in the fall of 2001. On September 11, I, like you, had a full schedule. When the World Trade Center and the Pentagon were attacked, I was on a leave of absence from Brigham Young University for the block, ready to return to Amman, Jordan, as cochair of a Middle Eastern international nursing conference and to complete a research project. Since I obviously could not go to Jordan, and I had no classes to teach, I was able to go to Washington, D.C., as a Red Cross disaster nurse.

Working there with other relief workers and the community at large was a Zion experience for me. I witnessed the selflessness of many people. Spontaneous acts of kindness abounded all around us. When we went shopping for items for our clients, store owners would not take our money, parking lot attendants refused to let us pay, and people approached us on the street to offer money or blood. Obviously we could take neither, but we gave them the addresses of local Red Cross chapters.

One of my roles was to work with burn patients and their families at Arlington Hospital, at Walter Reed Army Medical Center, and at Washington General. As I interviewed patients from the Pentagon and families connected to the events, I heard the heroic stories of dramatic rescues—some of which you saw on television. I watched as a small, dainty woman with two fractured legs was reunited with the young man who caught her when she jumped out of a two-story window. He received the greater of the injuries. I saw an uninjured survivor hug her rescuer, who had burns from the tips of her fingers to the tops of her shoulders. I watched survivors’ families support the families of those who had died. All the time I was there I thought of the scripture from Moses 7:18: “And the Lord called his people Zion, because they were of one heart and one mind, and dwelt in righteousness; and there was no poor among them.” When I looked up that scripture recently, I found a footnote that referred the reader to “unity” in the Topical Guide. Interestingly enough, the name of our operation at the Pentagon was Camp Unity.

As you know, people all over the United States pulled together during that terrible time. Schoolchildren sent thousands of cards and letters that we delivered to families and survivors. We shared the cards with them, and as tears welled up in their eyes, they remarked, “I can’t believe so many people care.” A feeling of unity pervaded the atmosphere as everyone worked together, relentlessly. As one seasoned firefighter put it, “We think we’re the ones who ‘make it all right.’ It didn’t take us many minutes to realize we couldn’t make this one all right.”

We held nightly nondenominational prayer meetings to help us make it better. Local Afghan Muslims organized an interfaith service at the Lincoln Memorial, where beautiful unifying messages were given by Muslim, Jewish, Christian, Hindu, and other religious leaders. As the darkness deepened, everyone sang “God Bless America” while group members carried a giant U.S. flag down to the reflecting pool and we held lighted candles aloft. In the shadow of the monument to a remarkable president who wanted to ensure freedom for all, the symbolism of this event did not escape us. No one wanted to leave when the service was over. We walked around chatting with people we had never met, hugging perfect strangers, and sharing our rich ethnic and cultural diversity. It was truly one moment in time when we felt a healing unity. Of such is Zion made.