Gospel Story Finder

Tracy Nelson of Idaho Falls, Idaho, excels in welding techniques. In high school he took first place in state competition and went on to place second in a national welding competition.
Tracy chose to attend Ricks College because of its outstanding Welding Engineering Technology program. He competed and took top honors in a college welding competition.
He said of his experiences in school, “At Ricks I have trained under instructors who have given me new ideas and trained me in new techniques. It is great to be a part of Ricks College. Here I find myself growing mentally, physically, and spiritually. It is helping me prepare for my mission.”
Tracy is now serving a mission.

When I was about four years old, I fell out of my bed. My father heard me crying and came into my room to check on me. As he helped me get back into my bed, he asked, with all of the compassion of a loving father, why I had fallen out of bed.
He always loved to tell me how I had looked up at him and said, with the eye roll of a rational four-year-old, “Obviously I wasn’t in far enough!”
As a result, that statement became the question that my father would ask me every time I encountered a struggle, trial, or difficult problem. To this day I continue to ask myself, “Am I in far enough?”

As the desire for stability and truth grew in my life, this great desire caused me to turn to the scriptures. It was then that I found a new meaning in Moroni 10:4 [Moro. 10:4]:
“And when ye shall receive these things, I would ask God, the eternal Father in the name of Christ, if these things are not true; and if ye shall ask with a sincere heart, with real intent, having faith in Christ, he will manifest the truth of it unto you, by the power of the Holy Ghost.”
These were words of hope and comfort to me. I began to read the Book of Mormon with a new purpose. The writings of the prophets found a new place in my heart. I read with the desire to learn and know.
I longed for the comfort, purpose, and perspective that the gospel had always given to my life. Each night before I read, I would pray with a great desire to know the truth. I felt that the scriptures were true, but I wanted to know. When I read, I often found scriptures that gave me inspiration on how to live my life better. Many tears were shed as I felt the power and truth of the Book of Mormon.
I began to regard prayer more seriously. My relationship with my Father in Heaven became much closer. I prayed to him with a new enthusiasm. I desired to know if he was there. I prayed for a remission of my sins. I prayed for forgiveness because of my lack of faith.
After reading the Book of Mormon, I knelt in prayer. I had a great desire to know of its truth. I hoped it was true, knowing what joy this would bring me. That night I prayed for hours desiring to know. The following nights I continued in my prayers and began to wonder if I would receive a witness.
My determination in waiting for a witness was a trial of my faith. After many days I came to the realization that I knew the Book of Mormon was true. It came not as a sign or a voice. I knew because in the center of my being I could not deny that it was true. I also knew that God existed and that he is my Heavenly Father, that Jesus Christ is the only begotten son of God.
This came to me, not as new knowledge, but as a peaceful remembrance of that which I already knew. I did not need a further witness. I had always known the truth. My pride in my own knowledge had caused me to forget my testimony.
With this new understanding my life received meaning and peace. Although I still question some of what I hear, I do it for my own good and a desire to learn the truth.

As one of the best center-forwards for his age, this ox-strong young man is said to have the ability to score from anywhere. Surprisingly, watching football (soccer) didn’t interest David when he was young. “My older brothers had to push me into playing with them to make up the numbers,” he remembers.

But by the age of 11, David’s talents for the sport were obvious. Selected as the best player in his school, David was chosen to play for his hometown of Bolton. As one of the best players for Bolton, he was picked by scouts to play for Oldham Athletic. When his four-year contract with Oldham ended, Manchester United couldn’t wait to snatch him up.

As the only Latter-day Saint on the team, he has the opportunity of raising his standards high. “The other players respect me for my beliefs. They don’t tease me about my social life when I don’t follow them to the pubs and booze-ups. They know that I don’t drink and respect that decision.”

In order to keep his testimony strong, David actively attends church each Sunday and weekday activities. “I’ve just been set apart as a stake missionary, and I serve as a home teacher,” he says. His work as a stake missionary should have a positive effect on those in the Manchester area—many of whom follow Manchester United and may recognize David.

The Church plays an important role in my life,” David says. “Participating in seminary helped build my testimony growing up.” Arising at 6:00 A.M. daily, David studied early-morning seminary for four years. His mother, who has taught seminary for 13 years, taught his older brothers with him.

“My brothers set good examples and uplift me,” says David. The strong bond that is so obvious between the Brown brothers likely results from sharing the same room growing up. They wrestle and tease each other as brothers do, but their teamwork is apparent. They care for each other and desire to see each other succeed. One by one, his three older brothers have left to serve missions: Bryce to Oklahoma, Gary to London, England, and Paul to Leeds, England. As each brother graduated from seminary and left to serve a mission, the class became smaller. By his final year of seminary, David was the only student in his mother’s class. However, it didn’t stop him. He knew the importance of grounding his testimony firmly in the scriptures.

As his teacher and mother, Sister Brown has seen David’s testimony develop. “He’s got courage to live the gospel no matter what anyone else says,” she declares.

A favorite scripture that keeps David strong in the face of adversity is Doctrine and Covenants 82:10 [D&C 82:10]: “I, the Lord, am bound when ye do what I say; but when ye do not what I say, ye have no promise.” David says, “I know that when I apply this in my life, everything else will fall into place.”

An area in which he has put the Lord first is in Sunday matches. Though football tournaments are often scheduled on Sundays, David decided at the age of 11 that he wouldn’t play on the Sabbath. His coach and manager respected him for this decision and worked around it with him. David relates how the Lord blessed him for his obedience. “In England, matches are often postponed because of bad weather. At the end of one season, all the Sunday matches that had been deferred were played midweek instead. I was able to play in all six games—and scored thirty-two goals.” This earned him the title of top scorer for the season and a reputation as “the boy who never plays on a Sunday.”

David enjoys spending the little free time he has relaxing at home with his parents and brothers. He says, “My best friends are my brothers.” They are all close in age: Bryce is 25, Gary is 22, Paul is 21, David is 18, and Stephen is 15. With no other priesthood holders between the ages of 15 and 20 in their ward, they encourage each other to be active in the gospel.

David finds a good balance between church and football. A key to success is hard work. His mum recalls how independent David wished to be as a boy. “He has always been a worker,” she says. “Whether it was homework or seminary booklets, he would just get on with it without being nagged. David coined the phrase in our house: ‘I’ll do it on me own,’ for which we always tease him. David has the ability to work hard at whatever he does.”

For others who are striving for success in their chosen careers, David offers the following advice: “Try hard in anything you want to do, and always put the Lord first.” His determination to be a star football player has set him on a course for greatness. He wants to develop the athletic talents he’s been given. By following the examples set by his brothers, parents, and team members, David will keep his eyes focused on his goals—both spiritual and physical.

He will do what he does best, stay on the ball.

For the four years Jacob Spori was principal, he not only taught school, but was a friend of the families of the students. He would visit the homes of the Saints, especially when there was sickness there.
“At the time of the diphtheria epidemic in 1891,” his daughter recalls, “he went fearlessly to administer to the sick and comfort the bereaved.” Two of his daughters caught this dreaded disease, but he administered to them, believing they would be spared by the power of God. And they were.

I almost talked myself out of going that evening. I knew that a night of remembrance might help me cope with the loss of my mother, but I also knew that the evening would bring tears as I continued to grieve and mourn her passing.
As the hour for the night of remembrance drew near, I found myself getting ready to go despite my earlier hesitations. I had decided that being there would be good for me.
The night of remembrance, which honored several people who had recently passed away, was held by the funeral home that handled my mother’s burial arrangements. Other than the funeral home director and his family, I knew none of the people in the room. During the evening, each deceased person’s name was read, and a family representative lit a small candle in memory of that person.
After the service, I stood up to make my way to the refreshments. Those who had sat behind me had all left except for a frail lady attached to a breathing apparatus sitting beside her walker. I felt her sadness and pain. I also felt that I needed to give her a hug.
I did not know how she would feel about a stranger giving her a hug, but I followed this simple prompting. I came up to her with my arms outstretched. She reached both her arms toward me and pulled me down to her. She kissed my cheek and said, “Thank you for knowing I needed a hug. You are an angel.” We then visited for a few moments.
This experience cemented in my mind and soul the reason I needed to be there. Would someone else have given this woman a hug that evening if I had not gone? I will never know, but I do know that I was prompted to hug her, and because I did so, we were both richly blessed.

About a year later, Heber’s only living son became sick with a hip disease. One night Heber dreamed that the boy’s mother was waiting to take him to heaven. Heber’s brother woke him from the dream.
Brother: Come quickly, Heber. Your son is dying.
Heber: Was my dream real?
When Heber went into his son’s bedroom, he could feel that his wife’s spirit was there.
Heber: I feel such peace in this room that I can watch my son pass away without shedding a tear.
As President of the Church, he told the Saints of the Holy Ghost’s power to comfort us.
Heber: As I saw my little boy die, I experienced a sweet, peaceful, heavenly feeling greater than I had ever felt. The joy of the gospel robs the grave of its sting.

I have a longtime friend who owned a very successful business. Occasionally, to find relief from the stress of his responsibilities, he would partake of substances forbidden by the Word of Wisdom. As the stress in his life increased, so did his consumption of alcohol. Indeed, he was becoming a prisoner to alcohol.
One afternoon he felt the enticings of the Spirit prompting him to overcome this addiction, which had begun to impair his moral agency. He left his office for several hours and drove to a very secluded spot far removed from the city. There he knelt in humble prayer and pled with the Lord with all the energy of his heart for added strength to overcome this addiction, which robbed his spirituality and threatened to destroy his very soul. He remained on his knees for a very long time, and eventually a sweet, purifying spirit began to distill upon his soul, cleansing him from any desire to drink and fortifying him with a firm resolve to keep the commandments.
A spiritually sensitive bishop noticed a change in my friend and extended a call for him to work with the young Aaronic Priesthood brethren of the ward. He was a natural, enthusiastic leader of youth, and about a year later he was called to be the new bishop, dearly loved by all for his ability to counsel those who were prisoners of sin.

At the invitation of a cousin, 18-year-old Aroldo B. Cavalcante attended a regional conference in 1988 featuring President Gordon B. Hinckley (1910–2008), then serving as First Counselor in the First Presidency.
“I felt something very strong,” he recounted. “I could see a light in President Hinckley.”
Though he attended church for the next three years, he wasn’t baptized. One day missionaries knocked on his door. Holding their area book, they read what past missionaries had written about him. What struck him was the last sentence: “He doesn’t want to commit to Jesus Christ.”
Elder Cavalcante recounted, “I thought I was very committed to Jesus Christ, and that line was too strong for me.”
Wondering whether that was what the Savior also thought of him, he asked, “What can I do to change this, Elders?’”
The missionaries started teaching him, and the 21-year-old was baptized just 10 days later. Elder Cavalcante has been committed to the Savior’s gospel ever since.
“This work is not about us. It’s about the Savior. And I try to do my very best for Him, not for me,” said Elder Cavalcante.

I remember a conversation I had with a friend who is not a member of our faith. He was surprised to learn that any worthy man in our Church could receive the priesthood. He asked, “But how many priesthood holders do you have in your ward?”
I answered, “Between 30 and 40.”
Perplexed, he continued, “In my congregation, we have only one priest. Why do you need so many priests on Sunday morning?”
Intrigued by his question, I felt inspired to reply, “I agree with you. I don’t think we need that many priesthood holders at church on Sunday. But we do need a priesthood holder in every home. And when there is no priesthood holder in a home, other priesthood holders are called upon to watch over and minister to that family.”
Ours is not just a Sunday church. Our worship continues each day of the week, wherever we are and in whatever we do. Our homes in particular are “the primary sanctuaries of our faith.” It is most often in our homes that we pray, we bless, we study, we teach the word of God, and we serve with pure love. I can testify from personal experience that our homes are sacred places where the Spirit can abound—as much as, and sometimes even more than, in our formal places of worship.

The Church is well-known for its missionaries — well-dressed and cheerful young men and women, serving the community, often in lands far distant from their homes.
One of these missionaries is Elder Thomas Holton, born in Dublin, Ireland in 2001, and brought up in County Westmeath. However, because of COVID-19, his story is somewhat different.
Like countless others before him, Thomas had an ambition from his early years to serve a mission. He prepared diligently and faithfully. He was baptised by his father, also Thomas, when eight and ordained an elder by him in spring of 2019. Not long after, with the endorsement of his local leaders, he applied to be considered for full-time missionary service.
In October that year, he received a response. He was invited to serve in the far-off country of Zimbabwe, starting in March 2020, before which, he would spend a few weeks in a missionary training centre.
He looked forward to this with great excitement, but the global COVID-19 epidemic meant that things did not turn out as anticipated. For a start, Elder Holton was one of a dozen young people to attend the first ever virtual missionary training centre in the Church. In his own words, “This was a great occasion”. Then, when it became apparent that travelling to Zimbabwe was not going to be possible in the short or medium term, he was assigned to the Manchester area in the UK. He was excited about this because both of his parents had served their missions in England. But due to COVID-19, that expectation was also short-lived.
The solution came from an initiative, recently announced by the First Presidency of the Church, which focused on providing volunteer opportunities for young people who are unable, for whatever reason, to serve in the traditional way. Called ‘service missions’, they allow young women and young men to continue to live a consecrated life at home, while working in the Church and local community.
According to materials sent with a First Presidency letter, “Service missions are acceptable offerings to the Lord when a proselytizing mission is not possible. … All missionaries represent the Lord and carry out His work.”1
Elder Holton has demonstrated both courage and faith. He has been a pathfinder, ushering in a new generation as the first male service missionary in the whole of Ireland. He expects to have a transformative experience as he serves as the Saviour did. He acknowledges the support, example and love of his family and local leaders, including Mark Coffey, president of the Church’s Dublin Stake.
“The range of service prospects is remarkable, and I feel that this is a great opportunity to serve the Lord, help in the Church, cooperate with the community, and develop skills. Above all, serving a mission, of any kind, is a joy, because I get to be on the Lord’s errand. Among other things, I am teaching an online scripture class for teenagers, helping with financial auditing within the stake and volunteering where I can within the community. We are also implementing the JustServe programme locally and I’m heavily involved with that. And when the temples of the Church reopen fully after COVID-19, I intend to be working there regularly.”
Note

When I was almost eleven, Papa was badly hurt in a mowing machine accident. He had been hurrying to put up his last cutting of hay so he could take a bricklaying job on the new library building. Papa was pleased when they offered him the job. He knew the extra money would come in handy, especially around Christmastime.
Now here he was in traction, one leg suspended from a pulley. But at least he was alive. Whenever he started feeling sad about losing the library job, we’d remind him of how glad we were to have him home.
“Harry, Francis!” he said to Mama. (Harry was papa’s favorite word for emphasis) “I had such wonderful plans on what I was going to do with that extra money.”
“Now, George, there’s no need to worry,” Mama consoled. “You’re alive and getting well, and we’re mighty glad for that. We got along without anything extra last year and the year before that and all those other years. Things are going to be all right.”
“But, Francis, I’d planned to put in those new kitchen cupboards you’ve been wanting for so long. This will put a crimp in Christmas.”
Mama silently regarded Papa’s leg hanging from that ridiculous contraption above his bed. He was a real Christmasy man, and he and Mama always went shopping together. When Mama realized that he wouldn’t be able to go this year, she said, “I’ll tell you what, George. This year we’ll do our Christmas buying right here in this room.”
“Harry, Francis!” Papa shouted. “Have you taken leave of your senses?”
Mama went to the book cupboard and got out the mail-order catalog. “This will be a mail-order Christmas, and you, George, will be the shopping supervisor.”
We weren’t the kind of folks who got lots of presents, but what we did get, we really enjoyed. After supper that night, we drew names for gifts, and Mama told us how much each one of us could spend.
Teena, who was only four, held up her slip of paper and asked, “Whose name did I get, Mama?”
Mama looked at the paper and then whispered something in Teena’s ear. Teena giggled.
This was in mid-November. For the next week or so the mail-order catalog was pored over every minute that we were out of school. When our minds were finally made up, we went, one at a time, to the chair beside Papa’s bed. With a clipboard propped up in front of him, he made out the order, then told Mama the total amount so that she could make out a check. Only Papa knew what the order contained.
The envelope was sealed and mailed just before Thanksgiving. When nothing arrived within two weeks, we became anxious. Days came and went, but still no package.
The week before Christmas Papa had his cast removed, and he was able to hobble about on crutches. Uncle Ed brought us a tree, and we decorated it. The day before Christmas we received a notice from the mail-order company saying that our letter had been missent and that they had just received it. They were sorry about the delay but assured us our order would arrive within a few days.
What a disappointment! My sisters and I felt like sitting down and bawling. We knew now that there would be no presents on Christmas morning. Mama and Papa felt just as bad as we did, so there was no use making a scene. Instead of just moping around, we decided to decorate the house extra special with evergreen boughs sprinkled with glitter.
As we prepared to leave the house to climb the hill after the boughs, Teena begged to go with us.
“You’re too little,” I said.
Her face crumpled like she was going to cry, so Francene said, “Ah, let her come. She’ll be all right.”
Later as we were returning down the steep trail with our arms full of boughs, Teena skidded on a pebble. She couldn’t stop, and fell over the embankment onto a pile of rocks. Francene, Mary Ellen, Doris, and I scrambled down to where she lay, limp and lifeless. Blood from a small cut was already matting the curls on her forehead.
“Oh, Teena! Teena!” Francene sobbed as she pressed her mitten against the cut. Tenderly she lifted her into her arms.
Mary Ellen tied her scarf around Teena’s forehead, and we sorrowfully picked our way down the last little pitch of the hill to the house. None of us spoke, because we were all silently praying.
Mama met us at the door. As Francene laid Teena on the bed, Papa and Mama bent over her.
“Her breathing is shallow,” Papa said.
“We’d better call the doctor,” Mama’s voice quavered.
The doctor said to bring Teena to the emergency room at the hospital. Papa stayed with us, and Mama and Francene took Teena to the hospital. After what seemed hours, Francene came home alone. Mama and Teena would be staying at the hospital overnight.
What a Christmas Eve! I sat in front of the fireplace with my chin cupped in my hands and a lump in my throat. I was certain that in all the world no one had so many things go wrong as we did. Then Papa sat down in his reclining chair, and Mary Ellen, Doris, and Francene pulled their chairs up beside mine. Quietly, Papa began to tell us again about a Christmas Eve almost two thousand years ago when a little baby was born in a stable, because there was no room at the inn.
As Papa talked, I thought about how differently we lived. We had never had to sleep in a stable. The lump in my throat began to go away, and as Papa told about the wicked king who wanted to destroy Baby Jesus, our troubles grew smaller and smaller. A peaceful feeling filled the room. Then Mary Ellen played the organ and we sang until bedtime. After kissing Papa goodnight, we snuggled down in our beds to sleep.
Christmas morning, Francene and I went after Mama and Teena, while Mary Ellen and Doris fixed dinner. Never could there have been a more uncluttered Christmas day—no wrappings and no litter. It was just a beautiful, relaxed, and happy time because all of us were together. Teena was a bit woozy, but the doctor said she would be just fine. And we discovered that day that the very greatest gift of all was love. Oh, how much we enjoyed each other! Papa even clowned around on his crutches to make Teena laugh. We felt more than ever before the love of our Savior and gratitude for His gift of everlasting life.
The mail-order package? It arrived four days after Christmas. But even the excitement of opening those long-awaited gifts couldn’t compare with the memory of our unforgettable Christmas just a few days before.

I can remember well the first time I noticed Jamie. Her long dark hair was braided and pulled neatly behind her small head. Her eyes, large and soft with a brownish luster, peered timidly around the room as Sister Jones, one of the Primary presidency, led her to a seat. It was my first day as a Primary teacher in a new ward, yet even with my many thoughts about my recent marriage, new friends, and new calling, something about Jamie attracted my attention.
After we separated for classes I became absorbed in my lesson for the Valiant A class and for a time forgot that moment when I noticed Jamie. Five minutes into the lesson, however, a quiet knock sounded at the door and Sister Jones escorted Jamie to a chair within the circle we had formed. Her pretty face looked at the floor, glancing up only occasionally to reveal her high cheekbones and fine features. Her expression held a look of innocence and intelligence, which was hidden once more as her attention returned to the tiles on the floor. As the hour progressed, she became more and more involved in the activities, smiling frequently and answering questions about the prophets that we were studying. She listened with complete attention to the entire lesson, keeping her arms folded and talking only when discussion was invited.
When the other children had left for sacrament meeting, I turned from erasing the chalkboard to see her still sitting patiently, as though waiting for me to finish.
“Aren’t you going to sacrament meeting?” I asked, sitting down on the tiny chair beside her.
She smoothed the pleats of her neatly ironed dress and slowly looked up at me.
“Yes. May I go with you?” Her voice sounded wistful, as though the request might displease me.
“Of course,” I replied. “I’ll help you find your parents, but we’ll have to hurry—the meeting will be starting soon.”
“My mom doesn’t come to church.”
“Oh, well, then it must be your grandma. Where is she?”
The small hands ceased their smoothing motions and dropped to her lap.
“No one comes with me. I just come by myself.”
“No one? Surely you have friends or relatives that bring you.”
She shook her head simply and took my hand as if to go. “May I sit with you, please?”
I smiled at the earnest little face. “Of course you may.”
She smiled, a warm expression radiating the love that small children can give spontaneously, and pulled me out the door toward the chapel.
After the meeting, the Sunday School president approached while Jamie was talking to my husband, Dave.
“I see you’ve met Jamie already. I was hoping that she would be assigned to your class.”
I pulled him farther aside. “Jamie told me that no one comes to church with her. How does she get here? Does one of the bishopric pick her up?”
He shook his head and smiled in a funny, confused way. “No. She just shows up on the doorstep of the chapel every Sunday, waiting for the meetings to start—and I mean every Sunday.”
As he left to attend to other business, I sat down and watched Jamie as she spoke to Dave. What inspires a child of her age to such diligent church attendance? Was it possible for a nine-year-old to possess that level of spiritual maturity? I decided to find out more about this puzzling little girl.
The week passed quickly as work and homemaking activities filled my time. Then it was Sunday, and my class was coming into Primary. It wasn’t until five minutes after the meeting had started that I saw Jamie, a little out of breath, slip into the back row. After class, she came up to talk as usual. Seeing her solemn expression, I couldn’t resist teasing her.
“That must be the first time you’ve ever been late to church in your life! You looked as though you had run all the way.”
She gazed up at me, taking in my comment with complete seriousness. “I’m sorry I was late. Last night, my friend invited me to sleep over, and I forgot that today was Sunday until very late. I ran home then, but I must have slept in.”
I was stunned. “You mean that you went home from your friend’s house all on your own?”
She nodded slowly, as though it had been a confession. My attitude of joking was quickly replaced by one of love and admiration. I resolved again to find out more about Jamie’s background.
Late that Sunday afternoon I went to Jamie’s house to deliver some class preparation materials. I walked up to the screen door and knocked. As the door swung open I was overwhelmed by the smell of thick cigarette smoke that hung in the darkened front room. The sour smell of beer blended with it to make my eyes water. Standing at the entrance was a large, heavyset man dressed in faded pants and an undershirt. His face, wide and unshaven, regarded me coldly, looking first at my Primary manual, then directly into my eyes. His own were red and bloodshot, but they gazed unblinking as I stammered to say something—anything.
“Is Jamie here? I have some things to give her for class.” I thought briefly that mentioning the nature of the class might be unwise. To my surprise, however, his features softened slightly. He seemed to have decided that I wasn’t a salesperson of any kind. He motioned for me to enter, so taking a deep breath, I stepped into the room.
The smoke hung about the ceiling, making my throat itch when I breathed. Through the haze I could see a shabby brown couch and matching chair. Sitting there, playing cards on a table, amid a pile of beer bottles, were two other men and a woman. The heavy drapes were drawn closely, allowing no sunlight into the room, which was lit only by a single bulb suspended from the ceiling.
The woman looked up at me with a puzzled expression. Though her hair was much lighter than Jamie’s, I could see features similar to Jamie’s behind the dark lipstick and eye makeup. The men, dressed much like the one who had answered the door, continued their game as if I wasn’t there. I repeated my question to the woman: “Is Jamie here? I have some things from class to give her.”
She nodded slowly and shuffled out of the room, returning in a few minutes.
“She’s not here. I think she’s out playing with a friend somewhere.”
“I see. Well, would you please give her these things? They are from a project that we did in class today.”
She took the pictures and book and placed them on a chair. The man standing by the door opened it for me and I emerged into the bright sunlight and sweet fall air.
As I walked home, my mind was filled with thoughts and pictures. How could that little girl have such spiritual maturity and devotion? Again and again I saw the darkness of the room contrasted with the light that shone from Jamie. Would she be able to continue attending church? How would she learn about the gospel outside of the classroom? What would motivate her to keep trying as the years passed? Then I paused as a scripture suddenly came to mind: “For behold, the Spirit of Christ is given to every man, that he may know good from evil.” (Moro. 7:16.)
The words echoed in my mind—every man, every woman, every girl, every little girl, no matter where she lives! How brightly that light shone within Jamie, magnified to brilliance by the darkness of her surroundings! I resolved to help her small light maintain its glow until it had a chance to grow and stand alone.
From then on, every week after church, Jamie spent some time at our house playing games, eating, and just talking. As time passed, we came to admire her inner strength more and more. She possessed a peace and serenity that affected everyone around her.
Then, as we were walking home one day, unexpectedly she said, “Sandy, I want to be baptized. I’m nine years old, and it’s time for me to be baptized, but I can’t get anyone to do it.”
I was filled with an overwhelming love for her as those big dark eyes gazed up at me with unusual intensity. I gave her a big hug and we skipped home together hand in hand.
Jamie was baptized a few months later by one of the missionaries assigned to our area. He and his companion went through the discussions with Jamie, and her mother consented for her to be baptized. Dave and I sat on the fourth row, just behind Jamie’s mother and sister. Her mother looked different somehow—a little happier since I had seen her at home. At first, she seemed a little uncomfortable in the chapel, but the spirit of the meeting seemed to put her at ease. When Jamie came out dressed in white, my heart swelled with love and wonder. She looked beautiful and pure, walking down the aisle. She smiled as she passed us, the happy smile of a nine-year-old, the loveliness of a daughter of God.
As the missionaries gave talks about faith and obedience, I watched her listening intently as always, and knew that those words were being taught by the Spirit even as the elders spoke. Then it was time to go to the font. Jamie didn’t hesitate as she stepped into the water. A thrill went through me, and the words of Christ, when he spoke, “Suffer [the] little children to come unto me” (Luke 18:16) took on new meaning as I watched a little one do exactly that. She was then confirmed, and I was grateful to hear an inspired priesthood bearer ask Heavenly Father to bless her family to support her as a Church member. I said “amen” to his prayer with particular enthusiasm, knowing that Jamie now had a Companion to guide her throughout her life in any circumstance. With the aid of the Holy Ghost, her tiny light will indeed grow, and she will know great joy in the kingdom of heaven.

Great! I thought sarcastically. I had to come up with a devotional for seminary on service, and I didn’t know any good stories to tell.
“What should I do?” I asked my mom when I got home from school and explained the situation.
“Well, your dad is going over to Grandma’s right now,” she answered. “Why don’t you go with him and ask Grandma for an idea.”
When we arrived at Grandma’s house, she greeted us with her usual smile.
“Do you have any good stories about service?” I asked. “I have to give the devotional in seminary tomorrow.”
“Stories?” Grandma said. “I have a bunch of them. Let me go get my binder.”
She returned, flipped the binder open and said, “Now, here’s one you could use. In fact, I feel like this one would be perfect.” She proceeded to recall the details of an experience she had had many years earlier.
“This happened during the Vietnam War, when we lived in Colorado Springs. Your grandpa, who was flying in Vietnam, was gone, and I was staying busy just trying to keep up with all the kids.
“I was singing in a chorus made up of officers’ wives at the Air Force Academy. During a break at one of the rehearsals, a friend told me about a service project she was doing for wounded servicemen who were recovering at the Fort Carson Army Hospital.”
Grandma explained how her friend would go regularly to read magazines and books to the servicemen. Some of them had birthdays coming up and she wanted to take cakes to them, but she was discouraged because she couldn’t find anyone to help her, and she couldn’t bake them all herself. Grandma volunteered immediately to help her bake some cakes.
The very next day her friend called and asked if she was really serious about helping and could she have one ready to go that afternoon.
Grandma told me, “I was pretty busy myself that day with family and Church responsibilities, but I felt like I should help. I made a chocolate cake from scratch and topped it with white frosting and chocolate swirls.” I knew exactly which cake she was talking about. She had made it before for family gatherings, and it was one of my favorites.
That afternoon Grandma’s friend came by to pick up the cake and take it to the hospital. Two hours later, she called and said, “I thought you would be interested in what happened with your cake. I took it to a 36-year-old sergeant, a veteran of many years in the army. He was recovering from wounds received in Vietnam. He looked like a typical, tough drill sergeant without a kind word in his vocabulary. When I took the cake into his room, handed it to him, and wished him a happy birthday, he looked up at me with a stunned expression on his face. Then the tears started rolling down his cheeks.”
The sergeant told Grandma’s friend that this was the first birthday cake he had ever had. Nobody had ever cared enough to bake him one.
As Grandma listened to her friend, she was amazed that one small act of service could have such an effect. Grandma closed the binder and said, “Tell your seminary class that I’m glad I took time to bake that cake.”
Seminary began as it usually did: we sang a hymn, recited the scripture-of-the-week, and said the prayer. Then I began telling Grandma’s story about service. As I spoke, I kept noticing my seminary teacher, Brother Olsen, in one of the desks on the back row. He looked really serious.
Great! I thought. I hope he’s not mad at me. Maybe this wasn’t what he had in mind when he asked me to do the devotional. I finished the story by saying, “I hope we can all take time to serve others like my grandma did, because we never know how much good one small act of service can do.” Then I quickly sat down in my desk.
My seminary teacher didn’t say anything. He just sat there in the back row. Everyone started looking at him.
“Man, I must have really blown it,” I thought.
Finally Brother Olsen spoke. “Lindsay, what is your grandma’s name?”
“Mary Lois Gunnell,” I answered. What was he going to do—call her and make sure I hadn’t made up the story?
Brother Olsen continued, “Do you know who that sergeant was? That was my sergeant while I was in the service myself, and I was very close to him.” Everyone in the class started whispering.
“No way!” said one of the boys. He thought we had planned this all out before.
“Really,” Brother Olsen said sincerely. “I knew him before he was wounded and after he recovered. He told me that same story himself and said how much that meant to him to have a stranger care enough to bake a birthday cake for him. He wanted to thank the woman, but never knew her name.” Brother Olsen looked right at me. “Lindsay, that cake wasn’t just a birthday cake. It was the beginning of a whole new life for my sergeant.”
I couldn’t believe it, and I couldn’t wait to tell Grandma.
“Class,” Brother Olsen continued, “I want you to know that Lindsay’s Grandma’s act of service literally changed that sergeant’s life. Before he was wounded, he was pretty mean. Every other word out of his mouth was a swear word. After he received that cake in the hospital in Colorado, he decided to change. He told me he was going to try harder to be a better person, and that’s just what he did.”
Until hearing about Brother Olsen’s sergeant, I never realized how much just one kind deed could affect another. My grandma sweetened a bitter man’s life with as simple a thing as a cake. Her story gives me hope that my small acts of service—a smile or a kind word—may also add richness to other people’s lives.

When the initial quarantine began in March of 2020, I had just met with my stake president to finalize my return to finish the remaining year of my mission to Kansas. This was after a multiple month absence due to a couple of shoulder surgeries.

When I returned to my mission, I reluctantly adapted to virtual finding, teaching, and serving. However, my mission president would always remind us that “we would never go back to the way things were before.”

So, I ultimately decided to humble myself and accept these changes. As I began this process, I quickly began to see the truth in Elder Dieter F. Uchtdorf’s words when he said, “That the recent pandemic may have been a ‘divine reset’ that could help us recalibrate our efforts to reach more people.”[3]

Even as I prepared to return home from my mission, we still had strict COVID-19 guidelines to follow. I was excited to return home and not have to worry about them anymore. But I quickly realized that BYU–Idaho’s policies were no less strict.

I had followed the mission guidelines religiously because I trusted the direction of my mission president and the leaders of the Church. However, I found myself irritated with these same guidelines after I arrived here, and I spent a lot of time thinking about them. After a while, I came to the following conclusion.

Wearing a mask and following the other guidelines was no worse than a minor inconvenience. Even if I didn’t think it would do any good, others did. If wearing a mask and social distancing was all it took to help others feel more comfortable coming to campus, then that was the least I could do. I also reasoned that I had committed to BYU–Idaho, and the Lord, that I would keep all the standards set by this institution, the same way I had when I committed to serving a mission.

Part of being human is not understanding why everything happens the way it does. Oftentimes our role is to simply trust that God has a plan and that He is lovingly invested in our lives. It is not our job to know everything right now. Our only responsibility is to do the best we can to follow the Savior and learn from what we experience.

Do you remember the story of him reaching out as a young bishop to someone who was not attending church?

President Monson said:

When I was called as a bishop, I recognized I was the president of the priests quorum, and I wanted to get every boy out. There was one boy that never came, and I thought to myself: “I’m sitting here with the priests. They’ve got an adviser. I’ll leave them to get the lesson from the adviser. I’m going to go find Richard Casto.” And I went over to his home. His mother and dad were home, and they said he was working over at the West Temple Garage.

I went over to Fifth South and West Temple, and the door was open but nobody [was] there. And so I started looking around, you know, and nobody. So I went around the back, and there was one of these old-fashioned grease pits.

And I looked down into the darkness, and I could see two eyes looking at me. He said, “You got me, Bishop. I’ll come up.” And he came up out of the grease pit.

And we had a nice little visit there together. And I said, “Richard, we need you. You have a way with people. And I want to have every priest in attendance. Will you come?” He said, “I’ll come.” And he came.

Years later, Richard Casto shared what happened after that incident:

After that I served a mission. I was sealed to my wife in the temple. We have five great children—two of them have served missions. I’ve served as a bishop twice. My children have a great love for him, and my wife has a great love for him because of what he did for me. It’s probably one of the greatest blessings that I had ever received in my life.14

Some young people want to rebel against restraints. Some of you think it isn’t “cool” to be obedient to your parents or to follow the counsel of your bishop or quorum president. Bishop Richard C. Edgley shared an experience he had as a young boy about the consequences of being reckless and disobedient:
“When I was a young boy, our garage and the neighbor’s garage were about five feet apart. The neighbor’s garage was very old and dilapidated, and some of the boards were breaking. I, on occasion, would climb onto our garage and jump from one garage to the other and play on top of them. My father had told me, ‘Stay off the garages,’ but I didn’t. One time when I was playing on them, I jumped from our garage and fell through the roof of the neighbor’s garage, scraping my back and legs badly. Because I had been disobedient, I foolishly decided not to tell anyone that I had hurt myself. I went in the house and washed the scrapes and scratches as well as I could, but I couldn’t reach the ones on my back to put antiseptic on them or even wash them clean. I bore the burden of pain, worry over infection setting in, and guilt for several days while the healing process took place.”

For her second pregnancy, the doctor recommended performing an abortion before she was four months along; she flatly refused. After prolonged hospitalizations, the child was born without signs of life and without responding to neonatal resuscitation. But her husband, who is a doctor, “began to breathe on him with his mouth and to give him heart massages and I heard him say, ‘let’s go champion, champion up,’ and after a long time the baby screamed. It was a miracle, it really was a miracle,” said Yanet.

On June 6, 1944, Hyrum Shumway, a young second lieutenant in the United States Army, went ashore at Omaha Beach as part of the D-day invasion. He made it safely through the landing, but on July 27, as part of the Allied advance, he was severely injured by an exploding anti-tank mine. In an instant, his life and future medical career had been dramatically impacted. Following multiple surgeries, which helped him recover from most of his serious injuries, Brother Shumway never did regain his sight. How would he respond?
Following three years in a rehabilitation hospital, he returned home to Lovell, Wyoming. He knew that his dream of becoming a medical doctor was no longer possible, but he was determined to move ahead, get married, and support a family.
He eventually found work in Baltimore, Maryland, as a rehab counselor and employment specialist for the blind. In his own rehabilitation process, he had learned that the blind are capable of much more than he had realized, and during his eight years in this position, he placed more blind people into employment than any other counselor in the nation.
Now confident in his ability to provide for a family, Hyrum proposed to his sweetheart by telling her, “If you will read the mail, sort the socks, and drive the car, I can do the rest.” They were soon sealed in the Salt Lake Temple and ultimately blessed with eight children.
In 1954 the Shumways returned to Wyoming, where Brother Shumway worked for 32 years as the State Director of Education for the Deaf and Blind. During that time, he served for seven years as bishop of the Cheyenne First Ward and, later, 17 years as stake patriarch. Following his retirement, Brother and Sister Shumway also served as a senior couple in the London England South Mission.
Hyrum Shumway passed away in March 2011, leaving behind a legacy of faith and trust in the Lord, even under trying conditions, to his large posterity of children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren.
Hyrum Shumway’s life may have been changed by war, but he never doubted his divine nature and eternal potential. Like him, we are spirit sons and daughters of God, and we “accepted His plan by which [we] could obtain a physical body and gain earthly experience to progress toward perfection and ultimately realize [our] divine destiny as heirs of eternal life.” No amount of change, trial, or opposition can alter that eternal course—only our choices, as we exercise our agency.

As with the learning that accompanies the acquisition of information, there is great power in the kind of learning that comes from doing. Elder Bruce Hafen illustrated this principle when he shared an experience from his family life at a conference on family law a number of years ago.

"One of our children once was in great difficulty in his fourth-grade class." Elder Hafen related. "If he didn't complete a certain hand-made project by the next day, he would face certain disaster. After dinner, my wife, Marie, told me she had thought of a way to help him. I ushered our other children into another room for other activities, and the handicraft project began in the kitchen. Periodically, I heard outbursts from our fourth-grader, who kept tormenting his mother and insisting he wouldn't do another thing. I was ready to send him to his room and forget it, but my wife calmly proceeded with her plan.

"After about three hours, as I was tucking the other children into bed, the little builder and his mother entered the bedroom. Carrying his project as proudly as if it were a birthday cake, he invited his two brothers to come and see it. It was obvious from looking at it that he had made every stitch of it himself. He placed it on a counter and started for his bed. Then he looked back at his mother with a broad, boyish grin. He ran across the room, threw his arms around her waist, and hugged her tightly. As he grinned at her again, the two of them exchanged glances that carried great meaning. He went back to his bed, and we left the room.

"What happened?" I asked Marie. "How did you do it?" She replied that she had simply made up her mind that no matter what he said or did, she wouldn't raise her voice or lose her patience. She had just decided that leaving him was not an alternative, even if the project took all night. Then she made this significant observation: "I didn't know I had it in me."

Those kinds of experiences teach us truths about ourselves that no amount of abstract study will ever reveal. I'm confident that after that night Sister Hafen had a more complete understanding of both her own potential destiny and Heavenly Father's great patience and love for His children. Such experiences—which require that we do something—provide a more complete knowledge of who we really are.