Gospel Story Finder

A few years ago I had the opportunity to work with a young girl named Addison. I met Addison at time in my life where things weren't going quite as I had planned. I was taking a semester off from school for various reasons and I felt as if my whole world was caving in around me. My life was not what I had pictured.
Addison was born with a brain deformity called polymicrogyria of the perisylvian region, which by definition, is a malformation of the brain. The doctors warned her parents and family that she could very well be a vegetable for the rest of her life. Because her mother needed to work for insurance purposes, I helped by taking care of Addison during the day. She was just four months old when I started taking care of her.
When I first met Addison I saw how beautiful she was, but I could immediately see some of the challenges that she faced. She had absolutely no control of her arms. As you picked her up, her arms would fall limply back behind her. It was heart breaking. As Addison grew they started to have physical therapists come and work with us on things we could do to help Addison gain the movement of her arms among other things. I had the opportunity to sit through many of these therapy sessions and would do things throughout the day that the therapist taught us.
Many months after Addison started these sessions I witnessed a miracle. She was laying on her back on the floor with toys hanging above her head. I watched in awe, as she was able to hit one of these toys with her hand. Something she was not supposed to be able to do. It was truly amazing, but her therapists and family did not stop there. She had many more therapist visits over the next couple of years. She had a therapist that worked on motor skills and speech, and many more doctor visits than someone her age should have to deal with. All of these many therapists and doctors were truly angels in her life. I watched as they work and cheered her on. Her family never gave up on her.
Today Addison is able to walk and communicate. She has become the happy, bubbly girl that you now see in this photo. Many challenges still lie in her path but she has been able to overcome so much of what life has dealt her.
I told you of the many people that served Addison, but I would like to talk today about how serving her helped me in my own life. I saw Addison's determination to do things her own way and to not let her disabilities stop her from what she wanted. Her disabilities chose her, but she did not let them stop her from developing and growing. As I saw her courage and strength, she strengthened me. I enjoyed my hours that I would spend with her reading, playing, and working on new things. She became, at the time in my life, one of my best friends. How someone so small can do so much for one person is beyond me. Her warm smile in the morning and happy laughter always brightened my day. She was able to help me make meaning out of my own life and give me the determination of overcoming the small things in my life that I needed to overcome. In serving Addison I found light in my life.

After graduating from high school and a short time attending Utah State University, Elder Stevenson was called to serve in the Japan Fukuoka Mission. “I felt anxious about learning Japanese. My concern continued to mount in the missionary training center. Yet after about six weeks, fervent prayer and diligent study led me to a sense of peace that the Lord would bless me to learn Japanese, but not without hard work. This taught me that the gift of tongues is like faith and works and other gospel principles. After you have done all you can do, then you are endowed with the blessing.”

Ben smiled down at the newborn baby in the hospital bassinet. Although he had sisters, he had been waiting nearly 12 years for a brother, and it was worth the wait. He picked Andrew up and cuddled him. “He’s so cute,” Ben whispered.
As Andrew grew, Ben always made time for his younger brother. After school they’d wrestle or play ball. Ben played on the school basketball team, and Andrew was his biggest fan. Ben coached Andrew’s basketball team. They called each other “Bro.” “Bro, come watch me ride my bike,” Andrew would call from the garage door.
“Be there in a second, Bro,” Ben would answer.
One of their favorite games started when Andrew was two years old. Ben would say, “I love you,” and Andrew would reply, “I love you more!” Back and forth they went, each trying to outdo the other. “I love you to the sky.” “I love you a zillion.” “I love you infinity.” Finally it was settled that “I love you the most over forever” was the absolute most you could love anyone. Whoever said that first was the winner.
Years passed, and one day a big white envelope arrived. It was Ben’s mission call! In three months he would be leaving. The family studied maps, went shopping for clothes, and bought luggage. Ben got shots and filled out papers. He had his picture taken for his passport and for the plaque on the bishop’s wall. Andrew became sadder and sadder. A couple of times he cried.
One Wednesday night Andrew went with Mom to drop his sisters off at the church for Mutual. His sister Katie said, “I can’t believe Ben will be on his mission in just three weeks!”
Andrew and Mom returned home with tears rolling down their faces. Mom sat down on the couch and put Andrew on her lap. They both cried and cried.
“I’m going to miss him so much,” Andrew sobbed. “He’s my best friend and my only brother. Besides, no one else knows how to pitch to me just right.”
Mom and Andrew talked about what a wonderful son and brother Ben was and how much they would miss him. They decided to kneel and pray for comfort. During the prayer Heavenly Father’s Spirit gave them peace. They realized that Ben would be an even better son and brother from serving the Lord. Andrew thought about how much he loved Heavenly Father. Although it was a hard thing, he wanted his brother to be a missionary and help families in Argentina.
For the next three weeks Andrew tried to be happy. Ben went to the temple and spoke in church. Suitcases were packed. The night before Ben was to leave, the stake president came over and set him apart as a full-time missionary. The stake president asked Andrew to bear his testimony. Andrew told everyone that he knew the Church was true and he wanted his brother to serve a mission. Then they ate hot cinnamon twists. Andrew called that last day “the day he wanted to never end.”
Early the next morning they all drove to the airport and flew to Salt Lake City, Utah. Then they rented a car and drove to the Missionary Training Center in Provo, Utah. Just a few miles from the center, Andrew’s tears started to drip, but he wiped them away and kept smiling. They unloaded Ben’s luggage in front of the training center and went into a big meeting room where there were hymns and prayers and brief talks. Andrew tried to be brave, but he could not keep the tears away. He sat on Ben’s lap until the mission president said it was time for the new missionaries to walk out one door and the families to walk out another. The “bros” hugged and cried and hugged some more. With tears and big smiles, they each walked out the right door.
Andrew wanted to be brave, but he cried all the way to the car. He called it a happy/sad day. He was happy because it was a good thing for Ben to do and sad because he would miss him so much. Mom and Dad reminded Andrew that because he had faith in Jesus Christ, his heart would soon feel better. Daddy quoted the words Jesus used to comfort His Twelve Apostles before leaving them. “Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you: not as the world giveth, give I unto you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid” (John 14:27).
As they drove away, Andrew called out from the backseat, “Bye, Bro, love you!” There was silence for a minute. Then, in a deeper, faraway voice, Andrew answered himself with a playful grin. “Bye, Andrew, love you the most over forever!”

Last night was Thursday and everyone was home (untypical), and everyone was busy (typical). Rinda, seventeen, had to write a paragraph for English using a wild list of vocabulary words, and she wanted some ideas. Dinny, twelve, was struggling with a report on Treasure Island to be given orally and wondered how to make it interesting. Shelley, fifteen, was sandwiching geometry theorems between preparations for a report in American Problems on movie ratings and pornography, and she wanted my views. Becky, nineteen, wanted to know a good book to read and asked what I thought about the issue of faculty tenure as reported in the college newspaper that day. Megan, eight, needed some poems to take for library day and asked where to find some information on planets.
On a night like that, I am especially glad for some resources provided by my past to bolster my pretty-tattered present.

So, remarkably, just this past week I was privileged to spend a few minutes alone with our living Prophet, President Russell M. Nelson’s office. I told him I was preparing a message for you here today (BYU-H) and mentioned that I had been thinking about his insightful and remarkable statement, “If there is anything I’ve learned in my 94 years of living, it is that a life with God is far better — more filled with hope — than one without Him.” He positively responded, “That is the bottom line, don’t you think?” After responding, “Yes,” I then mentioned that I had been also pondering this intimate and friendly invitation from the Lord to Enoch, “walk with me,” and asked if President Nelson had thoughts about this phrase that he might share with them [you]. He thought for a moment, and then exclaimed, “It’s the covenant path!” Continuing he went through our covenants starting with baptism and on through the ordinances in the temple, explaining that “we come unto Him and walk in His ways, taking His name upon us, thereby.” Then he exclaimed, “As we remain faithful during this very brief period of mortality, which just goes ‘whoosh,’ then we have a little interview, which will be a wonderful, glorious experience, and receive a big welcome!” Finishing on a serious note, he said, “If you have chosen the covenant path, you get all that! If you choose otherwise, you miss all that!”

Two missionaries serving in Mexico crossed a busy street every day. Sometimes they would wait 10 minutes before they had the chance to cross, and they usually had to run! Then they met a very old, very slow less-active member. She wanted to come to church with them, but—here comes the impossible part—she would have to cross the busy street. And no, the missionaries couldn’t carry her across (though they definitely thought about it!). But then they had a miracle. “When we got to the street,” one of the missionaries says, “there were no cars coming. We were able to walk very slowly and safely across.”

When I think about what it means to be in this "third class" of men, I think of Saints who have given their all in building up the kingdom of God on the earth. I am so moved by the story of handcart pioneer James Kirkwood. An 11-year-old boy from Glasgow, Scotland, he traveled to Zion in the Willie company with his mother and three brothers. His older brother Robert was crippled, so his mother Margaret and 19-year-old brother Thomas pushed Robert in the handcart. That left James with the charge to care for his 4-year-old brother, Joseph, on the climb over the 7,300-foot Rocky Ridge. This was the same terrible night that Emily and Julia Hill endured, and it was a 15-mile journey that took 27 hours for most. On that night, James fell behind the rest of the party, carrying his little brother. I can see him trying to warm his freezing hands, shifting the weight of his brother on his back. When the pair finally arrived at the campfire that night, James set his brother down and then died from exhaustion and exposure, literally giving his life for his brother.[10] I am so inspired by James. How can I be casual or uncommitted if I expect to go where I believe he now is? Why should we think to earn a great reward if we now shun the fight? His story teaches me that to truly be a saint I must surrender my will to God in whatever way He asks of me.

Thanks for your hard work today. Here’s your pay for the last month.
Thanks! See you Monday.
Yes! Now I finally have enough to buy that bike! I can’t wait to ride around the city with my friends next week.
Hey, I know that look. You got paid today?
Yep!
It was my payday too! I grabbed an extra tithing envelope if you need one.
Oh. Yeah. I forgot about tithing. Can’t I just … pay it next month?
Well, son, that’s your choice to make. But I’ve always felt the blessings that come from paying tithing as soon as I can.
I get what mom’s saying, but … if I pay tithing now, I won’t be able to buy that bike for a whole other month!
But why shouldn’t I buy it now? I have lots of good reasons to do it.
It’ll help me get to school and work faster. …
I can use it to help mom run errands when she’s busy. …
I’ll get lots of exercise riding around with my friends. … Isn’t mom always saying I should spend more time outside?
The next Sunday…
“Consider on the blessed and happy state of those that keep the commandments of God. For behold, they are blessed in all things, both temporal and spiritual.”—Mosiah 2:41
I still wish I had my bike. Think of how fast I could get groceries! But I also feel … happy. Even without it. Does that make sense?
It does to me.
Maybe I’ll start saving for a bike too. Then we can race to the market!
Ha! Only if you like second place!

After years of inactivity, my father abruptly announced one day that we were going back to church. This met with some protest from me. Throughout my childhood I knew only vaguely of the Mormon Church. Basically I knew that there were rules against everything I was currently doing. I viewed the religion as a fanatical organization that demanded self-denial, something that my friends and I didn’t understand and wholly condemned. Besides, what would my friends say if they found out?
Finally my father and I agreed that I would just try going to church for a while and then if I decided against going any more he wouldn’t force me. Sunday came. I sat through sacrament meeting and Sunday School as if I were deaf. Then came Young Women. I sat in the corner of the classroom, arms folded, eyes glaring. (Later I found out that I had actually scared my adviser as much as I had hoped I would.) With that Sunday over I declared I would never go again! In order to avoid going the following Sundays, I claimed I had all kinds of illnesses, from a cold to tonsillitis.
Although I would have denied it at the time, I felt something that first Sunday we went back to church. I felt something from the adviser who really seemed to care about this strange new girl in her class. I felt something, too, from a Latter-day Saint schoolmate who took an interest in my spiritual well-being. From then on, every time I did anything wrong she would remind me that some obscure God was watching my every move. Somehow she convinced me to keep going to church.
Then I met our bishop, a large rancher who seemed too gentle for his intimidating stature. In my first interview with him he asked me to pray. I refused. I knew how to pray, but I couldn’t because I believed God wouldn’t listen to a sinner. The bishop seemed to understand, although I didn’t see how he could because I was sure he had never sinned in his life. But he didn’t condemn me. He seemed to consider me of equal value to all the “saints” in our ward. Feeling so accepted, I continued to attend.
The next couple of months were filled with something I had never felt before. I came to realize that it was the Spirit of the Lord trying to tell me that everything I was hearing and feeling was true. I don’t think I had a testimony at that time. I only knew that I loved my schoolmate and her funny ideas. I loved my Young Women adviser because she loved me. I loved my bishop because he didn’t condemn me. I loved the feeling I had when I was with these people, and I wanted to have that feeling always in my life.

I had a somewhat similar experience not long after that visit to the cathedral. While sitting in the waiting room at the dentist’s office, I picked up a copy of a Reader’s Digest, only to discover an insert on how to communicate more effectively with family members. It was prepared by The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I was aware that the Church had begun placing these brief advertisements in the Digest but had never taken the time to do more than peruse them. I read this particular one through. It was nice, had some good pointers on communication, and seemed to be the kind of thing that would leave a positive impression with most readers. My next thought was rather judgmental: “This is quaint, but it really isn’t going to bring many people into the Church. Why waste the Church’s money on such fluff?”

Then there came a very simple but effective chastisement to my narrow mind. It occurred to me that there just might be someone, somewhere, who would be prompted, after reading the insert, to inquire after the Church and its teachings. More important, maybe someone would be helped by the piece. Maybe some father or mother, some son or daughter, would take counsel and take heart from what was written. Oh, they may not join the Church, but what if the insert actually helped their family, resulted in greater harmony, moved their home a little closer to heaven? Wouldn’t that make it all worth it? I sensed a broadening of my views through that experience and again, an awareness that the God and Father of us all will give unto us line upon line, precept upon precept, according to our ability and willingness to receive.

The third area of improvement was finding faith that I could allow our four children, who are now grown, to live their lives without my feeling responsible to make them live a certain way. Some of them were less active in the Church, but I still wanted to influence them for good without infringing on their agency. On one particular visit to the temple, I put their names on the prayer roll and prayed long and sincerely in their behalf. I received a profoundly peaceful assurance that all would be well with them.
When meditating on the experience later, I realized that Heavenly Father loved them even more than I did because He understood them better. He wants to bless them and have them return to Him, and He will provide them with learning opportunities. Now when I begin to worry, I remember that experience and do what I can, knowing the Lord will do the rest.

“Hey, Willard, we’ve got a favor to ask of you,” I mentioned one afternoon as we were changing the oil in Brad’s car. “We’re in charge of a dinner over at the church this weekend.” I shrugged and felt my cheeks turn red. “The kids in the ward are putting on a dinner for some senior citizens. Now I don’t mean that we think you’re a senior citizen or anything like that,” I quickly added, “but we wanted you there. Will you come?”
Willard looked up. His eyes went to each one of us, and then he stared down into the car’s engine. For a long time he didn’t speak. Slowly he pulled a rag from his back pocket and wiped his hands. A feeble smile on his lips. “The last time I was in church was when my wife died. That’s been more than three years. And it was a lot longer before that. There have been times when I wanted to go back, but I couldn’t think of a good enough reason. And there’s nobody there I know.”
“You’ve got an excuse now. We’re having good food. And you know us. We’ll be there,” I pointed out.
“Why would you want me to go to a nice, fancy dinner with you?” he asked without looking at us.
For a moment I didn’t answer, pondering the question. “Because you’re our friend,” I answered simply.
He shook his head. “I don’t know if I could. People would stare. They’d wonder why—”
“You’ll be with us,” Brad spoke up. “The whole time. We promise.”
We all waited, holding our breath. Willard thought for a long time. Finally his face softened into a smile and he said, “Well, I’ll think about it.”
The night of the dinner I was nervous. Brad had promised to bring Willard while Chris and I helped get things ready at the church.
“Did you invite anyone tonight?” Brother Loder asked as I was carrying food from the kitchen to the serving table in the cultural hall.
“Willard Watts.”
Brother Loder sighed. “When are you going to get over this Willard Watts idea?” He smiled and shook his head. “The day you get old Willard inside this church I’ll buy you the biggest meal you’ve ever had in your life.”
Just then Chris and Brad came through the doors on the far side of the cultural hall with Willard between them. Brother Loder had his back to them so he didn’t see them approach until they were right behind him. When he turned around, his jaw almost dropped to the floor he was so surprised.
“Brother Loder,” I started out, “I’d like you to meet a good friend of ours, Brother Watts.”
For a moment Brother Loder could hardly speak. Then he held out his hand and greeted Willard. “I’ve heard a lot about you,” he stammered. “The boys here have talked about you a lot.” He looked at the three of us and then back to Willard. “I guess I can believe everything they’ve told me.”
Willard nodded his head. “They’re good boys. I think you can believe what they say.”
As Brad and Chris led Willard away, Brother Loder turned to me and muttered, “I would have never believed it. I guess I owe you a big dinner.”
I shook my head and struggled to control my emotions. “Forget it,” I smiled. “Some things you don’t do to win a meal.”

A Relief Society sister who had moved to Texas to continue her education and then was moving again wrote to me this summer. She told of her experience with the sisters in her ward, of their quick action, willing hands, warmth, and kindness. But it wasn’t what they did that prompted her letter; it was why. They loved her, and she could feel it. As they shared with her, multiplying their gifts, she too was strengthened in charity. Listen to her story, because it represents all of you and your quiet goodness:
“As I write these words, I have to squint at my computer screen and keep blinking away tears of gratitude. From the first day I attended the Austin Fourth Ward, I was touched by the spirit of love and caring I felt in the Relief Society. These sisters are very diverse. There are converts and lifelong members, native Texans and Mountain West transplants. They are married, divorced, and single, some with sufficient means, others with very few resources. Yet it doesn’t seem to make any difference.
“I can’t tell you of the untold kindnesses they’ve done for me. They aren’t earthshaking events, but an accumulation of small blessings: stopping by my apartment to take my dog for a walk, offering to take care of some mending, tracking down packing boxes for me, and including me in their personal prayers. This Sabbath day, the words of the hymn ‘As Sisters in Zion’ [Hymns, no. 309] keep running through my mind. I want you to know that the sisters are indeed ‘build[ing] up his kingdom with earnest endeavor,’ and ‘comfort[ing] the weary and strengthen[ing] the weak’” (letter from Katherine Boswell, 11 Aug. 1996).

Hattie leaned against a trunk in the back of the wagon and watched the woods recede behind them. A sudden gust of wind made the tree branches sway and the green leaves quiver. The trees are waving good-bye, Hattie thought, blinking back tears. I can’t believe I’m leaving the only home I’ve ever known.
Hattie’s Uncle Jed was leading her family to Winter Quarters. From there they would cross the plains to join the other Saints in a barren desert. What would they do without trees? How could they build another log cabin? Where could they hang a swing?
Suddenly the wagon stopped.
“Hattie, are you awake? Come and see this,” her father called.
Hattie climbed slowly out of the wagon and walked around to the front. When she looked up, she gasped. She saw grass, miles and miles of it, taller than she was. It began a little in front of their wagon and stretched clear to the horizon, where it seemed to reach up and tickle the sun.
“Well, Hattie, what do you think?” her father asked. “It’s the beginning of the tallgrass prairie.”
Hattie swallowed hard. “Do we have to go through it?”
Uncle Jed laughed. “Don’t you worry, pumpkin. We’ll sail right across the top of it in our prairie schooner. Trust me.”
Father shaded his eyes against the slowly sinking sun. “However, we’d better set up camp here tonight and start that voyage tomorrow.”
“Hat-tie! Hat-tie!” Violet called from the wagon. Hattie lifted her three-year-old sister to the ground. When Violet saw the tallgrass, she spread her little arms as if greeting an old friend and let out an exclamation of delight.
Hattie grabbed one of her hands. “Come on,” she said gruffly. “We have to gather firewood before we get into the grass, where there won’t be any.”
Violet would not be hurried. She stooped to examine anything that caught her eye. Fortunately there was plenty of dry wood around, and Hattie soon had her apron full of sticks. Then she saw a good-sized branch a few yards away.
“Stay right here,” Hattie said to Violet, who was entranced by a butterfly. Hattie ran over as quickly as she could, snatched up the branch, and ran back. But Violet was gone!
Hattie looked around in panic. Then she saw Violet where an animal’s path led into the towering tallgrass. “No!” Dumping her load of wood, Hattie ran!
Violet gave a shriek of delight and disappeared into the grass.
“Stop, Violet! This isn’t a game.” Hattie took a deep breath and plunged into the grass. Grasshoppers exploded from beneath her feet. Pushing her way down the narrow path, she soon discovered other paths crisscrossing the first. Violet’s laughter always guided her toward her sister until one terrible moment when Hattie could only hear the wind and the insects. Then she heard Violet’s voice so close by that it startled her.
“Ooh! Pretty!”
Hattie pushed aside some grass and saw Violet clutching a blue flower.
“Look, Hattie,” Violet said. “Pretty flower.”
“You and your flowers,” Hattie sighed. “Come on. Let’s take the pretty flower to Ma.”
“OK! Let’s hurry.”
But Hattie had no idea which way to go. Each time they tried to find the right path, they seemed to be going in circles.
Hattie yelled for help, but the curtain of grass muffled the sound and threw it back into her face.
Hattie put Violet on her shoulders and stood on tiptoe. “Violet, can you see over the grass?” she asked anxiously. “Can you tell me where the trees are?”
“Giddap!” Violet bounced on Hattie’s shoulders and pulled her braids.
“Ouch!” said Hattie. They both tumbled backward into the soft grass. Violet was laughing, but Hattie was on the verge of tears.
The clouds above the tips of the tallgrass were edged with pink from the sunset. Hattie knew it would soon be dark. She knelt quietly in the grass.
“We need to pray,” Hattie said. Violet snuggled beside her and squeezed her eyes shut.
“Help us, Heavenly Father. We’re lost and don’t know what to do. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”
Violet opened her eyes and smiled. Hattie smiled back. She felt much better. “We’ll be all right,” she assured Violet. “Someone will find us.”
The air was cooler at the base of the grass, and the ground was spongy. Hattie could almost imagine that she and Violet were lying in the hayloft at home. As the sky darkened, the sounds of the insects changed to a gentle chirp and the wind whispered a lullaby.
When Hattie awoke, it was early morning. A bird sang joyously above Hattie’s head, and sitting in front of her was Uncle Jed.
“Oh, Uncle Jed!” Hattie threw her arms around his neck. “I knew you’d find us.”
“Hold on there, pumpkin. I can’t take credit for finding you. I had to ask Heavenly Father to show me the way.”
“And He did,” Hattie said.
“Yes, Hattie, He did.” Uncle Jed climbed up on his horse, and Hattie handed him a sleepy Violet. Then he reached down to help Hattie up on the horse. “From up here you can see everything.”
Hattie shook her head. “I’ll walk behind you,” she said. “I don’t really need to see everything, when I know there’s someone I can trust leading me.”
As Hattie walked through the tallgrass, gathering prairie flowers, she wondered what kind of flowers they’d find blossoming in the desert Heavenly Father was leading them to.

Things can feel pretty crummy sometimes, but you don’t have to stay down! These simple strategies have helped me conquer my crummy-day woes.

Sometimes it’s hard to see the little ways God shows that He knows and loves you—especially when you’re distracted by the bad stuff. For example, one morning after several people mentioned a zit I had on my forehead (one dubbed it “the volcano”), I could barely respond without an angry outburst. It almost ruined my day.

During difficult times like this, I cultivate gratitude by listing ways I see God’s hand in my life every day. I write down at least three blessings per day, often more.

Sometimes they may seem little or silly, but they are always things that help me know that God is aware of me specifically. For example, that same day at my job a particularly grumpy customer gave me a compliment—I was floored. He didn’t even mention “the volcano”! It went on my list.

What blessings have you seen today? Focus on the positive. Maybe your friend’s text was an answer to your prayers or simply put a smile on your face. Write down the tender mercies you see, and you’ll keep noticing more.

When we physically record these times that we see God’s hand in our lives—rather than just think of them briefly—it shows God that we recognize them and are grateful for them. President Henry B. Eyring, Second Counselor in the First Presidency, described what happened as he engaged in this process:
“Something began to happen. As I would cast my mind over the day, I would see evidence of what God had done for one of us that I had not recognized in the busy moments of the day. As that happened, and it happened often, I realized that trying to remember had allowed God to show me what He had done.
“More than gratitude began to grow in my heart.”1

It was storming outside, and the only sound in the cabin was Father’s voice quietly explaining why he had given flour to those who had come by during the day. There was much sickness in the little community and a mixture of flour and water seemed to be the best possible medicine.
Patiently Father reminded the children that they had been especially blessed because none of them had had the strange “winter sickness.” Even though the crops had failed in the fall, it had been possible for him to trade flour for the wagons he made for his neighbors or for pioneers going through Fillmore on their way to the west coast.
Early that morning Mother said, “Please don’t give away any more flour, Father. There’s only enough left for a little bread for our own children.”
Before Father could answer, a knock came at the door. A neighbor stood outside. He said he needed some flour for his sick wife.
Even the youngest child was touched by the look of gratitude on the neighbor’s face when Father filled a cup with flour, gave it to him, and said, “Be of good faith; the Lord will provide.”
A few minutes later another knock was heard and when Father opened the door, a young man hurried in. The family knew Father could not refuse help when the worried young father said, “Oh, Brother Carling, my baby is dying! I must have some flour.”
After the young man left with the flour, Mother started to cry. Father gently put his arm around her and suggested that the family kneel with him in prayer. A feeling of peace and hope came into the little cabin as Father expressed thanks for health, for warmth, and for safety on such a cold November day. Then he prayed that in some way it might be possible for them and their neighbors to get food, especially some flour.
After the prayer, Father suggested that Mother try to scrape together enough flour from the box to make a little gravy. To her surprise there was plenty for that and some flour was still left over.
While the family was eating, another knock was heard at the door. The man standing outside said he needed the services of a good wagonmaker and had been told Father might be able to help. “I have twenty tons of flour here,” he said. “I wonder if I could trade flour for wagons!”

I was almost 13 when my family moved to Pendleton, Oregon, which was a big town to me with about 6,000 people in it. My dad ran the agricultural experimental station for Oregon State University. It was 168 acres in size, and it was fenced all the way around. I had a job hoeing the weeds from under the fence, and initially I hated that job.
One afternoon I was hoeing weeds with a friend named Arlen Jenkins. I was complaining and moaning and groaning about the hard work, but he looked at me and said, “You know, you really need to consider that if we weren’t doing this, we might be doing something worse.” That was his attitude. He was always happy doing any type of work because he knew he could be doing something worse. I have tried to reflect that attitude in every job I have had since that time.

President Benson has always loved temples and temple work. When he felt better, each Friday he and Sister Benson would enter the temple to participate in a session. We knew our First Presidency meeting that morning must accommodate this commitment. One morning I commented that I had to get busy and do some of my own family names that were prepared. With a smile and a twinkle in his eye, the President said, “Brother Monson, if you’re too busy, why not let Sister Benson and me do your names for you.” Needless to say, we found time to do the work ourselves.

I was baptized in Mexico on 26 June 1976 with my son Carlos León, whom we call Kali. We quickly became accustomed to the many principles of our new faith and desired to participate fully.
I remember well our first fast Sunday. My daughter Jovita, who was already a member of the Church, explained what we should do. We were to go without food or drink for two consecutive meals in a spirit of prayer. In return the Lord promised to bless our family.
Around 11:00 A.M. that day, Kali climbed to the roof of the house—about nine meters above the ground—with his younger brother. While lying on the roof, peeking over the edge, he fell. Halfway down, he grabbed some power lines and started to swing. But feeling his hands burning, he let go and landed on the sidewalk.
Although others immediately ran to help him, I could not run, cry out, or do anything. The only thing I could manage was to fall on my knees and pray with all the strength of my soul. I remember saying, “My son! Father, let Thy will be done.”
At that moment, I clearly heard a voice say to me, “Nothing has happened to your son; he is alive.” When I felt that clear, soft voice penetrate my whole being, I arose unafraid. I knew it was the Spirit I had heard. I felt calm.
Just as I finished praying, my younger son approached me. “Mama, don’t cry. Nothing has happened to Kali; he is alive,” he said, using the same words I had just heard.
When everything had calmed down and we had comforted Kali and been assured that he was all right, I told him, “God has saved your life.”
We finished our fast that day and gave thanks to God for the miracle that Kali was unharmed.
Kali suffered no lasting effects from his accident. When he was old enough he shared the gospel message as a full-time missionary in the Mexico Mérida Mission.

The youth Sunday School class in the Hyde Park Ward, Sydney Australia Mortdale Stake, in New South Wales, doesn’t just meet on Sunday. They have other activities. Their first was at the Audley National Park, where they were divided into teams, played games, boated, and had a “Great Australian Barbecue.”
The best part about the day was that it provided an opportunity to “get to know each other and our teacher even better, and to build closer friendships with one another,” said several class members.