Gospel Story Finder

Now, as life would have it—as it sometimes heartbreakingly insists—I needed to put these five principles to the test recently in a situation I never could have imagined. On May 11, my dear and closest friend, Elder W. Mark Bassett, stepped unexpectedly through the veil. For more than a decade, we spoke weekly, even when we served in different countries. We sat next to each other in every meeting we were in together—the last time just in front of President Meredith in our temple meeting in Salt Lake just days before Mark passed. His friendship was steady, familiar, and deep. I miss my friend, but the Lord knew in November, when I received this assignment, what I would need in May.

In the days that followed, I did the only things I could do when life changes suddenly and hearts break. I anchored my hope in Christ, the One who has already descended below all things. I sought solace in the covenants that bind earth to heaven. I prayed with importunity for his wife, Angie, and for their precious children and sweet grandchildren. I reflected on my own family story and on Mark’s, seeing in both the unmistakable fingerprints of a God who keeps His promises. And I tried, however imperfectly, to reach outward to others who were in mourning with me.

And I testify that heaven did not remain silent. There came peace. There came comfort. Not the erasing of loss, but an abundance of hope, a quiet assurance that death is not destruction, separation is not abandonment, and loss is certainly not permanent. It was the kind of comfort that does not deny sorrow but guides you through it.

The first nutcrackers were made over 250 years ago. A favorite story with German children about how this kind of nutcracker came about goes like this:
There once lived a very rich farmer who had no friends because he would not share anything. He would not even share his nuts and fruits with friends at Christmastime, which is a German tradition.
The rich farmer was also very lazy. He did not like to crack his own nuts because he thought it was too much work. Once, when his laziness was stronger than his miserliness, he offered a reward to anyone who could find an easy way to crack nuts. His neighbors made all sorts of gadgets, but the rich farmer did not like any of them.
One day a puppet maker took his invention to the farmer. The puppet maker had carved a wooden puppet that was painted to look like a local miner in dress uniform. The puppet’s mouth opened and shut, and it was strong enough to crack nuts easily.
The rich farmer fell in love with this nutcracker. His love for the little wooden puppet changed his life. He started sharing his nuts and all his riches with his neighbors, and he was soon loved by everyone.

But two young men from Ogden, Utah, set a goal that was a learning experience, a great character builder, and a goal that, as far as we know, has never been achieved before, especially by two brothers. Since they have been Scouts, Chad and Craig Carson, ages 15 and 16, have each earned every merit badge that has been offered by the Boy Scouts of America. Each has 127 merit badges. This is actually more merit badges than are now offered because some have been discontinued since Chad and Craig earned them. Both boys are Eagle Scouts and have found the Scouting program an exciting general education in itself. Their dad has figured that they have done enough reading, research, and study to qualify as sophomores in college.

Craig and Chad didn’t start earning all those merit badges until two years ago. Chad, the younger of the two, had a little catching up to do, but once the brothers were working together, they spent some time almost every day working toward their common goal. During one summer they earned 48 merit badges. It took more than half an hour to read them all at the Court of Honor. They now have all 127, and they each need two merit badge sashes to display their awards because there is only room for 100 per sash.

So, on September 21, 1974, Chad and Craig Carson received the last of the merit badges they could earn. Both brothers give a great deal of credit to their mother and father. Chad said that his mom was always saying, “Come on! You can do it!” She would help them schedule appointments and drive them wherever they had to go. At the beginning of the summer, she would help map out a plan for which merit badges they could earn. Both boys also had high praises for their Scout leaders. The leaders challenged them and helped in every way possible.

Now Chad and Craig think there should be a merit badge given to help Scouts like themselves figure out where they can keep all the projects, models and charts that it takes to earn all those badges.

It was my experience as a small boy to come under the influence of such a teacher. In our Sunday School class, she taught us concerning the Creation of the world, the Fall of Adam, and the atoning sacrifice of Jesus Christ.
One Sunday morning she announced sadly to us the death of a classmate’s mother. We had missed Billy that morning but knew not the reason for his absence. The lesson featured the theme, “It is more blessed to give than to receive.” Midway through the lesson, our teacher closed the manual and asked, “How much money do we have in our class party fund?”
Depression days prompted a proud answer: “Four dollars and seventy-five cents.”
Then she suggested, “Billy’s family is hard-pressed and grief-stricken. What would you think of the possibility of visiting the family members this morning and giving to them your fund?”
Ever shall I remember the tiny band walking those three city blocks, entering Billy’s home, greeting him, his brother, sisters, and father. Tears glistened in the eyes of all as the white envelope containing our precious party fund passed from the hand of our teacher to the hand of a grief-stricken father. We fairly skipped our way back to the chapel. Our hearts were lighter than they had ever been, our joy more full, our understanding more profound. A God-inspired teacher had taught her boys and girls an eternal lesson of divine truth: “It is more blessed to give than to receive.”

Daniel’s panic on the stage at the election convention did not come from shyness. It stems from a fear of microphones and cameras developed when he was interviewed over and over again by television reporters featuring him on TV as an adoptable child. Before the age of 11, he was adopted twice. Both adoptions were terminated. And he lived in many foster homes in between. Then the Larry King family of Bountiful adopted Daniel. He now happily belongs to a loving family of eight children. “I’m an uncle, too!” he proudly exclaims. When it’s mentioned to Daniel that he went through some hard times as a little boy, he says, “Yep,” (his face tenses, then relaxes) “but I got over ’em.”

During a spelling test I looked at someone’s paper and saw that I had spelled the word tease wrong. I changed my answer. During lunch that day my mom took me to my violin lesson. I felt bad about cheating, and even though I was scared to tell my mom about it, I did. She said I needed to tell the teacher what had happened. When we got back to school my mother asked if I needed her to come with me to tell my teacher. I told her no. I was scared for the rest of the school day. I kept walking up to my teacher to tell her and then going back to my desk because I was too scared. Finally at the end of the day I told my teacher what happened. She marked the answer wrong but then gave me a hug and told me, “Thank you for being honest.” I’m glad I told my teacher even though it was very hard. I felt much better afterward. I will never cheat on a test again. I will always try to be honest in everything I do.

During my freshman year of college, I had an amazing experience with the priesthood. I was having the worst day possible—I had heard some bad news about a few friends from home and was waiting to hear more of the details. I was stressed with school and with life in general. I needed comfort.
One of the girls in my dorm suggested that I ask for a priesthood blessing. I hadn’t even thought of it because all my life my dad had been the one to give me blessings. I asked one of my good friends if he would give me a blessing, which he and another young man from my ward did. Afterward, I felt calm and peaceful. Things started to fall into place.
This experience helped me to see that the priesthood is the same wherever you go, and its power can help us no matter where we are.

He gave me the Book of Mormon in 1981, but I did not read it or even open it for two years. One Sunday I was bored when my friends were out of town, so I picked up the book and went to a nearby railway station and read. When I read that day, I could feel the motivation to do good, but what really touched me later on in my reading was 3 Nephi 11. I read about the surviving Nephites who had come through war and turmoil, and then the Savior Jesus Christ appeared to them.
My country had been through our own war for 15 years. Some of the people I had grown up with in my village had gone to war and did not make it back. Others were crippled for life.
So, while reading about the Nephites, I felt as though the Savior Jesus Christ was reaching out to me when He said, “Arise and come forth unto me, that ye may … feel the prints of the nails in my hands and in my feet, that ye may know that I am the God of Israel, and the God of the whole earth, and have been slain for the sins of the world” (3 Nephi 11:14).
I felt as though He was reaching out to me personally, inviting me to come unto Him. It hit me that I could do this. It changed everything.

Elder Joseph B. Wirthlin’s article, “Come What May, and Love It,” in the November 2008 Liahona (p. 26), lent spiritual help to our daughter, who recently went through a difficult ordeal. During her pregnancy, the doctors gave her a grim diagnosis—our grandchild would not survive.
Daily family and personal prayer along with that article gave us hope, and a miracle happened in our family: our grandson was born. He had to stay in the hospital for a while, but a month later the doctors did not confirm the previous diagnosis.
Gennadji and Tatjana Mitchenko, Russia

Trust in the Lord. I still remember the feelings that flowed through my heart while I sat next to my bride in the sealing room of the temple: feelings of excitement, joy, and anxiety. Before we knelt at the altar, the temple president counseled us regarding the importance of what we were about to do. He explained that trials would come into our marriage. At the time his words seemed of little importance to me.
Now, years later, as my wife and I struggle with raising our teenage children, those words from the temple president have new meaning. I recall one night walking around our home, turning off lights, and sitting in an easy chair waiting for the last of our children to come home. The hands of the clock over the television set showed me that our son would not be honoring his curfew. The minutes passed, and dozing in my chair was out of the question.
As the hands of the clock moved past 2:45 A.M., I worried, Was my son hurt? Was he lying in the street someplace? At last I heard him come in. What was I to say? The confrontation lasted only a few minutes but seemed an eternity. Later my wife and I began to think more deeply about our role in our children’s lives.
Out of that night’s fear and in other times of conflict with our teenage children, we grew and changed in our approach. We realized that we needed to shift our attitude from worry that a child’s conduct might reflect poorly on us to one of deep and profound concern for his or her eternal welfare. We changed from parents who tried to sweep family problems under the rug to avoid embarrassment to parents who exercised faith as we weathered comments of unsupportive family members and neighbors and turned instead to the Lord for direction.
Through the turmoil of these trials, our marriage has grown stronger. We know that our kind and loving Heavenly Father established a step-by-step process for growth: “He that receiveth light, and continueth in God, receiveth more light; and that light groweth brighter and brighter until the perfect day” (D&C 50:24).
Through placing our trust in the Lord, we have seen this process of growth pull us to higher levels of gospel understanding and forge a deeper commitment to applying the teachings of the Savior in our lives.—Ron Hansen

At the beginning of 2017, I was serving as a full-time missionary in the beautiful city of Duékoué in western Côte d’Ivoire. One morning, after completing my personal study guided by Preach My Gospel, I reread a passage inviting missionaries to pray continually about the truths they already knew so their testimonies could be strengthened. With that thought in mind, my companion and I left for our first appointment of the day, followed by some proselyting.
That afternoon, we visited our elderly friend, Brother Tahin, who was in his 70s. After the usual greetings and an opening prayer, we reviewed the previous lesson, discussed his commitments, and introduced the message we had prepared.
Just as we finished the introduction, a pastor—an acquaintance of Brother Tahin—posed a mocking question, doubting the truthfulness of the Book of Mormon. I looked at my companion, who was still learning the language, and he immediately began to respond.
While he spoke, I prayed silently for him to find the right words. I also prayed for myself, remembering my study that morning. With sincere intent, I once again asked about something I already knew: “Heavenly Father, is the Book of Mormon true? Please confirm it to me again.”
The moment I finished my prayer, a gentle yet firm voice that was not my own spoke within me, accompanied by a spiritual warmth: “If the book is not true, why are you defending it?”
The joy and peace that followed this heavenly whisper deepened and clarified my testimony. When I spoke after my companion, I bore a powerful and renewed witness, with assurance and humility. My words carried such conviction that the pastor who had asked the question remained speechless.
When I finished, he did not speak again. Brother Tahin then said: “My children, I know today that you are true men of God. Your message is the truth. The calm and love with which you speak, even when people resist, show that you serve Jesus Christ. This book, the Book of Mormon, is true. And despite my eye problems, I promise I will make the effort to read it.”
That day was a heavenly moment for us. As we walked home, my companion rejoiced, and we both felt overwhelmed with gratitude. I recorded this experience in my missionary journal, and it has stayed with me ever since.

Kevin took the envelope Christi was waving and quickly tore it open. It read,
“Dear Kevin Richards,
Please forgive that I take so long to write. My name is Tuilolo Tuiaaga. I live with my wife and four children in Pago Pago on Samoan island called Tutuila. One day your missionaries came. I was busy in my bakery and had no time to listen. But my wife listen and keep your book and read it.
Then bad time came to my family. My bakery burn down. Our sick baby got sicker. Doctors try hard, but poor baby Sina die.
My wife say God loves Sina. God loves us. She say He cares. I get very angry. I yell, ‘If He love us, why bakery burn? Why Sina die?’
One night I hurt bad inside. I not sleep. I sit in darkness. By chair was your book. I want to burn book. I pick it up. I see your picture. I read what you write. Then I read and read and read in book. Is hard to read in English for me, but I read till morning. I read again what you write. The Spirit tells me what I read is true. I believe. I wake my wife. We cry and pray. I pray that God forgive my anger. Peace comes to my soul.
Soon will be our family baptism on 30 August. We are very happy. I thank you for sending Book of Mormon.
Peace to you, my brother,
Tuilolo Tuiaaga”

Following my release from my first mission in 1923, I returned home to Whitney, Idaho, on Christmas Eve. It was a joyful reunion with my ten brothers and sisters, and especially with my father and mother in a home that had been as near ideal as a Latter-day Saint home could be.
Father and Mother always made it a practice to hang the stockings, one on each chair, for the children and to place their limited gifts on or under or near each chair.
Father and Mother took me into their confidence that Christmas Eve, which I shall never forget, and we stayed up all during the night. In fact, we didn’t retire at all. We filled the stockings after going to the granary and elsewhere on the farm to get the presents which had been secretly hidden by our devoted and beloved parents. This took a good part of the night. The rest we spent visiting together, with Father and Mother telling me of the progress made by each of the children while I was away, and with me reporting to them and responding to their questions regarding my wonderful mission of thirty months in the British Isles. It was a choice evening. My love for my parents had never been quite so great before as it was that night.
It was agreed that the children could arise early Christmas morning. I don’t remember the hour, but I think it was 5:00 A.M. They were each to go in the kitchen, as I remember it, for a glass of milk and a piece of bread and butter and honey before they came into the living room to partake of the goodies from their stockings and to enjoy the excitement of their presents from Santa. It was a happy morning. I could not hold back the tears as I watched with pride the reactions of my six brothers and four sisters and the loving expressions of my noble parents as they watched their posterity partake of the Christmas spirit and as they felt of the unity which prevailed in our family circle.

John Stephen Akhwari, a marathon runner from Tanzania, competed in the 1968 Summer Olympics. Even though he suffered along the way from fatigue, leg cramps, dehydration, and disorientation, a voice called from within to go on, and so he went on. Exhausted and staggering, John Stephen was the last man to enter the stadium. When asked why he would complete a race he could never win, Akhwari replied, “My country did not send me 7,000 miles [11,200 km] to start the race; they sent me 7,000 miles to finish the race.”

A true story from the USA.
The freezing wind howled, and snow swirled around the handcart. Jane pulled her thin blanket tighter around her shoulders. Her feet felt numb, but she kept walking. They were on their way to Salt Lake City, Utah.
Jane and her family had learned about The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in England. When the prophet asked Church members to come to Utah, her family saved every bit of money they could to make the journey. They sailed across the ocean. Now they were traveling by handcart across the plains. They had walked for several months, and they were running out of food.
Tears slid down Jane’s cheeks. “I’m so hungry,” she told her older brother Thomas. “I don’t think I can walk another step!”
Thomas cut a piece of loose rawhide from the wheel of the cart. “Here, chew on this,” he said. “It will be OK.”
“Thank you,” Jane whispered as she chewed on the tough leathery piece.
Soon it was time to camp for the night. Some of the men left to hunt for buffalo. Jane hoped they would find some. Her stomach felt so empty. While they waited, Jane and her family huddled around a small fire, tired, hungry, and cold.
“Let’s say a prayer,” Jane said.
The family knelt together, and Mother prayed. “Father in Heaven, we have no food for supper. Please help us.”
Jane and her brothers and sisters sat quietly for a moment. Then Mother sat up straighter.
“What is it?” Thomas asked.
“I just remembered something.” Mother hurried to the handcart and opened the family trunk. Then she pulled out a small metal box and opened it. Inside were two very hard biscuits. They were left over from their ocean voyage months before.
Jane felt excitement bubble up inside her. They did have food! “We can break them into smaller pieces to share,” she said.
But when they tried, the biscuits were too hard to even break in half.
“Let’s try this,” Mother said. She put the biscuits in the Dutch oven and poured a little water on them. Then she set the lid on and put the heavy pot over the coals.
Jane and her family prayed again. She thought of the story of Jesus Christ in the scriptures, when He fed the five thousand with only a few loaves and fishes. She knew Heavenly Father could help them too.
After a little while, Mother slowly opened the pot. It was filled to the brim with food! There was plenty to feed their whole family.
Jane hugged her mother tightly. “It’s a miracle!”
About Jane Rowley
She was eight years old when she traveled to Utah.
She traveled in the Willie handcart company and walked 1,300 miles (2,092 km) to get to Salt Lake City.
The prophet Brigham Young sent a rescue team to help them.
Illustrations by Simini Blocker

“I hope each young man who has been ordained to the Aaronic Priesthood is given a spiritual awareness of the sacredness of his ordained calling, as well as opportunities to magnify that calling. I received such an opportunity as a deacon when the bishopric asked that I take the sacrament to a shut-in who lived about a mile from our chapel. That special Sunday morning, as I knocked on Brother Wright’s door and heard his feeble voice call, ‘Come in,’ I entered not only his humble cottage but also a room filled with the Spirit of the Lord. I approached Brother Wright’s bedside and carefully placed a piece of the bread to his lips. I then held the cup of water, that he might drink. As I departed, I saw tears in his eyes as he said, ‘God bless you, my boy.’ And God did bless me—with an appreciation for the sacred emblems of the sacrament and for the priesthood which I held.

Three Christmas trees stand out in the memory of Elder Gary B. Sabin.
The first was a beautiful Christmas tree of his youth. When Gary scaled the tree trying to reach a candy cane, the entire tree crashed to the ground.
The second was an evergreen branch he found as a missionary while serving in Belgium and the Netherlands from 1973 to 1975. Elder Sabin and his companion took the branch home to their apartment and propped it up around the Christmas cards they had received from home.
The third was a tree made of Christmas lights strung on the IV stand next to his daughter’s hospital bed. One of three Sabin children to suffer from cystic fibrosis, his daughter had received a double-lung transplant one year after the death of her brother from the same disease.
“We have learned a lot more from our children than they have learned from us,” says Elder Sabin.
As a General Authority he will remember the Christmas trees and the lessons he learned from them. Each tree highlights portions of his journey—from a young boy wanting a candy cane to a missionary teaching the plan of salvation to a father who relied on the plan and the Savior’s love to sustain his family through mortal trials.

A few years after I had been baptized, becoming better acquainted with some duties in the Church, I was ordained to the Aaronic Priesthood. My father, who had baptized me, had died in the meantime of a heart attack, so the bishop conferred the Aaronic Priesthood upon me and ordained me to the office of a deacon. I remember that I had a wonderful feeling about that as he conferred the priesthood upon me, that I now had responsibilities and would be accountable for my actions and would have things to learn to do as I would progress through life. I did have a special feeling that I now was a little different, that I wouldn’t be exactly the same as friends who did not hold the priesthood or people that you would meet out in the world. I now had some responsibilities, things we would learn on Sundays in church as we would sit around the old coal stove down in the basement of the meetinghouse.
On Saturdays we would clean out the church, fill the coal buckets with coal, and see that the building was ready for Sunday meetings. We had things to do in the lesser priesthood, in all the temporal affairs of the ward—collecting fast offerings and doing duties for the bishop. He and other leaders would teach us about the Aaronic Priesthood and the office of a deacon, then a teacher, and then, of course, a priest as we would advance in the priesthood. It seemed to me that I was developing an interesting understanding, a vision of the work to be done, and that I personally had some responsibility, even though I was just a young boy in a little country town. There was something very important about it.

Photographs courtesy of the author except where noted
There is peace in Christ
When we learn of Him.
Feel the love He felt for us
When He bore our sins.1
Those are a few of the lyrics from the song “Peace in Christ,” which I played consistently in my home for a full year after my divorce.
My kids may have tired of me playing the same song over and over, but it helped bring me peace through the trials that the four of them and I have endured recently.
“Divorced single mother” is a title I never wished to receive. But life doesn’t always turn out the way you expect, even when you are trying to keep the commandments.
After 16 years of marriage, my husband and I got divorced. I was completely distraught and had to push away thoughts of devastation and worthlessness every morning as I awoke to my new reality. I often wondered if I could have done something differently to avoid this overwhelming course my life had taken.
Because we had moved from Arizona to Idaho several years ago, I had no family nearby to love and support us. I often felt completely and utterly alone in my sorrow.
But I wasn’t alone. The Savior Jesus Christ was with me, even in my darkest days and nights. His face showed through the faces of my ward family. My bishop and his sweet wife met with me and were there the night I realized my husband and I would be getting divorced. They were heartbroken for me and for my children.
My bishop continued to call and check on me in the difficult months that followed that night.
Brother and Sister John ministered to me and my children in so many ways. They have been an example of Christlike love.
My ministering brother had been with us since we first moved to Idaho. He made many efforts to befriend my then-husband. Not only did this good brother visit us monthly, but he also called or texted to offer his assistance when I stubbornly told him I didn’t need anything.
After my separation, he and his wife became ministering partners, and they lovingly, and without judgment, met with me often. They invited us to sit with them at the local Independence Day parade and to join their extended family at a barbecue.
Our ministering brother found out my children’s favorite characters and carved them into plastic pumpkins for Halloween. They have helped us string Christmas lights, prepare our home for winter, spray our weeds, answer the children’s questions about electronics, and dig my van out of the snow. They brought me the softest blanket as a Christmas gift, which has comforted me many nights when I’ve been lonely and uncertain of what life would bring.
But the most important act of service was the many priesthood blessings this kind brother bestowed upon me and my children. He truly was an example of the scripture, “They did watch over their people, and did nourish them with things pertaining to righteousness” (Mosiah 23:18). So many times, when my anxiety felt like it had reached its peak, he and his wife would come over to talk with me, and the conversation would end with my receiving a priesthood blessing.
He gave my children priesthood blessings before the school year started. He participated in my daughter’s confirmation. This loving couple’s generosity has been an example of Christ’s love for me and my kids.
My friendship with my Relief Society president (second from right) and other sisters in Relief Society has become one of the most amazing blessings in my life.
I also saw Christ in the face of my angelic Relief Society president. As soon as she heard I was struggling, she took me to lunch and let me spill my emotions and found ways to relate to me with her own life experiences. She texts me often to make sure my children and I are OK. She and two other women in my ward began inviting me to dinner, to go on walks, and to attend the temple with them. They’ve helped steam-clean my carpets and paint rooms. One of them taught me to dye and cut my own hair so that I could be more self-sufficient. The four of us have created a bond and friendship I never knew was possible during such a difficult trial. Their friendship has become one of the most amazing blessings in my life.
As Sister Elaine S. Dalton, former Young Women General President, said, “Your righteous influence and friendship can have an eternal effect not only on the lives of your associates but also on generations to come.”2 These ladies have made a profound impact not only on my life but on the lives of my children as well; they buoy me up and give me the strength to remain the mother my children need me to be.
Our bishop regularly checked on me and my children.
Though the bishop, ministering couple, and Relief Society president were called to serve our family, it never felt like we were an assignment. And so many others, who had no obligation whatsoever, have shown love to our family.
Two anonymous parties delivered gifts to my children at Christmas. The young men have done yard work, a ward member changed the locks on my doors, and a few others helped with my computer. We’ve received coupons to the pool, been treated to fun at a local water park, and been invited to numerous dinners and movie nights where we could relax with friends and be ourselves.
One sister, while babysitting my children, took them to the store to choose birthday presents to give to me. Another sister did the same with my children at Christmastime.
We’ve also received flowers or treats from people even when there hasn’t been a special occasion; they just wanted me to know I’m loved, thought about, and cared for.
I can testify that what President Jean Bingham, Relief Society General President, says is true: “Sometimes we think we have to do something grand and heroic to ‘count’ as serving our neighbors. Yet simple acts of service can have profound effects on others.”3
Even a small gesture helps me know that Christ hasn’t left me alone to deal with the unpredictability my life has become.
Photograph of simulated Bible scene by Welden C. Andersen
There is peace in Christ. When we sincerely and selflessly care for those around us who are struggling with major life challenges, we really can help them feel the unwavering love and peace of our Savior, Jesus Christ.
I know my Heavenly Father has blessed me and my little family as we made the trek away from family in Arizona to live among strangers in Idaho. Those strangers have become like family. Their Christlike love and examples have helped to keep us strong and where we need to be.
My children and I are eager to serve after seeing how much service impacted our lives. We are living testimonies of what can happen when disciples of Christ follow the pattern of ministering taught in Moroni 6:4: “Their names were taken, that they might be remembered and nourished by the good word of God, to keep them in the right way, to keep them continually watchful unto prayer, relying alone upon the merits of Christ, who was the author and the finisher of their faith.”
I am grateful for my ward family, who remembered and nourished us so that we could keep our hearts turned to the Savior.

One day each of us will finish our earthly journey. Twenty-five years ago, just days before my mother-in-law, Martha Williams, died of cancer, she received a small check in the mail. She immediately asked my wife, Kathy, for her checkbook to pay her tithing. As her mother was so weakened that she could scarcely write, Kathy asked if she could write the check for her. Her mother responded, “No, Kathy. I want to do it myself.” And then she quietly added, “I want to be right before the Lord.” One of the final things Kathy did for her mother was to hand her tithing envelope to her bishop.