Gospel Story Finder

President Benson devoted his life to testifying about Jesus Christ and the Book of Mormon. Here are my personal remembrances of President Benson:
First was his ability to sincerely communicate one-on-one directly with each of us who served with him. He would sit at his desk. I would be seated just to his right in a chair facing his large swivel chair. He would sit there with his large from-plowboy-to-prophet hands, our knees almost touching, and look me directly in the eyes with a depth of inner feeling that touched my very soul and tell me what was important for me to know or to do in my life or calling. When I left his office there was no doubt in my mind that I had been instructed by a prophet of the Lord.
Second, President Benson was fearless in the cause of truth and right. He was a living example of the words of the hymn “Do what is right; let the consequence follow” (Hymns, 1985, no. 237). God bless his memory.
On one occasion in Europe I remember kneeling in prayer beside President Benson when we were at the point of selecting a stake president. What a great joy to participate with him in prayer and understand the true order of prayer and what it means to be able to call upon the Lord for revelation.

One of the first things I learned on my mission was how to talk with other people. When I attended high school, I was shy and unsure of myself. I felt uncomfortable around strangers and uneasy in crowds. I found it hard to strike up conversations with people and often wouldn’t try. Serving in the México Mérida Mission helped get me out of my comfort zone. I slowly realized that people are easy to talk to if I put forth the effort. I soon found it easy to speak with strangers, and I had my heart touched by many people with whom I met and talked. When I joined the army, I took with me what I had gained on my mission—the ability to communicate.
Communication is imperative in the army. I am a flight crew chief on Black Hawk helicopters, in charge of the defense and security of aircraft and aiding pilots in their side vision. The lives of the pilots, passengers, and my own life often rely on my communication skills. It was on my mission that I learned to be open and to communicate effectively.

As I neared the end of my missionary service in the Guatemala-El Salvador mission, my last area was in Santa Ana, El Salvador. The branch where I was serving was presided over by a humble and faithful man who was a tailor by trade. He and his wife earned a living by making dresses, pants, and suits. They spent their days using foot-powered, pedal sewing machines. Electric sewing machines were just too expensive – and I assure you when I was a missionary it was well after the discovery of electricity!

At the time, the closest temple was in Mesa, Arizona and each year the mission organized a bus trip so members could come to the temple – anticipating this was to be an once-in-a-lifetime experience. They came at great personal sacrifice. It would take years for them to save enough to make the trip. They traveled by bus day and night for five or six days to arrive in Mesa. They would spend four or five days in the temple – working day and night, doing as much temple work as they could. Then they would get back on the bus for five or six more days back to their homes.

One day we were visiting with the branch president. He told us he had nearly enough to bring his wife and small family – it seems to me he had 3 or 4 children – to the temple on the upcoming trip. He said, “I am very close to having all the money I need for the trip, and I will sell my sewing machines, if necessary to have enough.” I said, President, if you sell your sewing machines you’ll have no way to earn a living when you return. What will you do?” With faith and a smile, he said, “I will gladly sell my sewing machines and then I will find other ways to support my family when we return. I know the Lord will bless us if we make the sacrifice.”

I concluded my mission about two weeks before the annual temple trip. I traveled to Mesa and stayed with a friend from the mission and we were at a multistake center near the temple when these wonderful saints from Central America arrived. One by one we greeted them as they got off the bus. Finally, we saw this humble branch president, a smile filling his face, step off the bus with his wife and his children. He had saved enough – because he had sold every one his sewing machines to make the trip. Truly, this was a family who understood the importance of temple blessings and had their tent turned towards the temple.

As in Christ’s time, some people in our day are not blessed with the actual gift of sight. There was a blind man who, in an effort to sustain himself, sat day after day in his usual place at the edge of a busy sidewalk in a large city. In one hand he held an old felt hat filled with pencils. A tin cup was extended by the other hand. His simple appeal to the passer-by was brief and to the point. It had a certain finality to it, almost a tone of despair. The message was contained on the small sign held around his neck by a string. It read, “I am blind.”
Most did not stop to buy his pencils or to place a coin in the tin cup. They were too busy, too occupied by their own problems. That tin cup never had been filled, even half-filled. Then one beautiful spring day a man paused and added several new words to the shabby sign. No longer did it read, “I am blind.” Now the message read, “It is springtime, and I am blind.” The compassion of human feelings could not now be restrained. The cup was soon filled to overflowing. The coins, however, were a poor substitute for the desired ability to actually restore sight.

It was soon to be Christmas. My twin brother and I had reached the age when we knew the “truth” about Christmas. Our family’s humble circumstances had always provided little help for Santa Claus. Max and I had decided between us that we would ease Mother’s concern about it and so confided in her our knowledge. She merely replied, “Well, is that so?”
Christmas Eve came. The family decorated the tree, made candy and popcorn balls, and placed our homemade presents beneath the tree. Dad sent us boys downstairs to bed, indicating that we were to stay there until he called us in the morning. Still laughing and giggling from the fun and excitement, Max and I followed our older brother, Lynn, down the stairs. With some effort on our part and some added encouragement from our father, we finally quieted down. Sleep came at last.
It seemed I hadn’t been asleep long when Max awakened me with the news that it was 7:15 A.M.—time to hurry up to the living room. Remembering that Dad had instructed us to await his word, we hesitated at the top of the basement stairs and spent a few moments debating who would go to Dad to ask for permission to turn on the lights. Max lost the debate. He had to ask. I heard our father’s somewhat irritated voice saying it was only 25 minutes before 3:00 A.M. (we had read the clock backwards) and we were to get right back into bed and wait as we had been told earlier!
Max tiptoed his way back through the dark livingroom toward the stairs. It was then that he saw it! Even in the very dim light it was beautiful! He hurried to where I was waiting in the dark of the stairwell, slipped excitedly down beside me, and described a most unexpected surprise—a Hiawatha Streamer bicycle! The fact that there was just one, that there were 10 inches of snow outside and no place to ride, or that he couldn’t read which of the children it was for somehow didn’t matter.
It seemed that we lay there on the stairs for hours, counting each tick of the clock and anxiously awaiting the call of our father. Finally we heard Dad’s heavy footsteps as he walked from the bedroom toward the stairs. He hardly needed to beckon us to come.
There it was—“TO THE TWINS FROM SANTA”—the most beautiful bicycle we had ever seen. It was cream-colored, decorated with a bright red stripe and shiny chrome fenders, and completely outfitted with headlight, tool compartment, fender rack, reflector, and spring seat. We could hardly believe it was ours! Soon my brothers and I were clearing a pathway in the snow (shoveling the driveway had never seemed so easy) and were riding the sleek new Streamer. Cold hands and toes were ignored. What a wonderful time we had!
In my excitement and almost total preoccupation with our wonderful Christmas gift, I had failed to notice that there were few other gifts beneath the tree for other members of the family. Christmas stockings contained an orange in the toe, a few nuts, and some hard candy. Hand-wrapped pieces of honey candy and homemade fudge completed Santa’s treat.
That evening as we went to bed, Max and I talked about the day’s event—the bicycle. We planned how we would use the bike. We would get a paper route. We would have transportation to work during the summer, and we would be able to ride to school during the winter. It could be put to so many uses! Then our wonderment returned. Where had the bicycle come from? We knew Mom and Dad couldn’t afford to buy it. We were also aware of the wartime shortages. Who had made this prized gift possible?
It wasn’t until several years later that we learned the beautiful, heartwarming truth. The sacrifice and concern of a loving mother, brother, and sister had made possible that unforgettable Christmas. Our brother had worked extra hours at a creamery after school. Our sister had done housework for a neighbor. Our mother had saved money from her early morning work at the cannery during the harvest months. Each of them had worked extra hours and had sacrificed his time, his earnings, and his own Christmas gifts to provide a special Christmas for the young twins. The happiness of that Christmas was surpassed only by the discovery of their secret and their love and sacrifice for us. Here was the true spirit of Christmas—an older brother and sister lending unselfish support to parents, desiring to give anonymously that which they’d never had themselves, seeking no credit or praise for their act, expecting no reciprocation. This example of the love of children for parents and brothers I shall always cherish and value as a priceless gift.
The bike is gone, long ago worn out by two robust boys. Its shininess soon faded through constant use and enjoyment. The years, however, have only increased the glow of true Christlike love between family members. This act of love, and others like it, created ties that have brought our family members to the aid and support of one another many times and under every circumstance.

Dr. D. Elden Beck stood confidently before his biology students. In one hand he held a live rattlesnake.
He felt fortunate in having a job—a good teaching position—at a time when the effects of a devastating depression were being felt across the country. He was aware that once again the people of the small southern Utah communities were responding as they usually did during hard times, with determination and stubborn endurance.
Dixie Junior College, the pride of St. George, kept her doors open even though some students, to stay in school, paid their tuition with farm produce.
Dr. Beck was not a native of southern Utah, and neither he nor his family had been involved with the seemingly endless task of subduing the arid desert. Perhaps that was why he was able to see the country not merely as a place to overcome and endure but a place of breathtaking beauty. Like the natural coral, turquoise, and silver of a precious piece of Indian jewelry, the vermilion sands and blue sky dazzled him. A part of the world that had resisted discovery now seemed to him an endless frontier for study, an endless source of wonder.
The snake squirmed and struggled. Dr. Beck prepared to demonstrate to his students how a rattler is “milked” of its lethal venom, an act he had performed many times before. As he attempted to move the snake from one hand to the other, it suddenly lurched and slashed its fangs across his thumb. He reeled back in pain and instantly released the snake. It fell to the floor with a dull thud and lay still. The class was stunned. The rattlesnake slowly revived, and by gracefully throwing loops of its body forward, it began to move across the classroom floor. With shouts and screams, students clamored upon desks and chairs. To everyone’s amazement, it was Dr. Beck who tried to calm them. He gently captured the snake and stashed it away in the classroom snake pit. Then he firmly dismissed the students from the room. Supporting his swelling hand, he walked the two blocks from the college to the St. George Hospital only to find no rattlesnake serum was available.
Dr. McGregor eventually located serum in Cedar City, some 50 miles away, and it was agreed that someone would try to deliver it by car as soon as possible.
Hours passed, and the pain and swelling not only increased but began slowly moving up his arm closer to the elbow. Florence, Elden’s wife, kept a nervous vigil.
Late that night an old bootlegger arrived with the serum. Then Dr. McGregor faced the dilemma of how much of the serum to inject, for the vial was very large. After much concern, the doctor inserted the needle in Elden Beck’s arm and administered it all.
My grandfather, Dr. D. Elden Beck, lived!
The following year Dr. McGregor delivered, in the St. George hospital, the Beck’s baby daughter, Janet Ruth, my mother.

No one could ask for a finer day, Josiah Kimball thought, so clean and sparkling and smelling of summer that it makes me want to stop everything and hold tight to this minute, never to let it slip away.
Josiah smiled at the idea. He tipped his head back and mimicked a meadowlark hidden in the grass.
“Was that you, ’Siah?” Emily Jane exclaimed. “Sometimes you sound more like birds than birds do.”
Josiah laughed at her praise, then tried walking backward on the rocks across the shallow stream. But two of them were too far apart for backward stepping. He had to turn for that space. Tillman Reid dropped down from a tree to try walking the rocks. He couldn’t do even as well as Josiah had, and he fell in the water.
At last Josiah sighed. “I guess we have to get on home to help with chores.”
“I have to pick peas for Mama before dark.” Emily Jane sounded as reluctant as Josiah felt.
“Come play again soon,” Tillman invited.
“We stayed too long, didn’t we, ’Siah?” Emily Jane asked hesitantly.
“Yes, but we can hurry. And the sun’s just about down.”
His sister nodded her head in agreement. When they came to their pasture fence, Josiah suddenly stopped.
“Emie, we could cut through the pasture this once,” he suggested, “and save all that way around by the lane.”
“But ’Siah,” Emily Jane took a quick breath, “Papa wouldn’t like it. He’s told us—”
“I don’t see that old Jersey bull anywhere,” Josiah persisted. “He’s probably grazed his fill and is lying down under the cottonwoods. Come on, Emie, it’s getting late. We can run.”
After a moment Emily Jane followed Josiah under the fence.
Once on the pasture side of the wire strands, they stood without moving. “I don’t see that bull anywhere,” Josiah whispered. The shadows were growing long and heavy but no movement was seen.
“Stay close behind,” Josiah instructed.
He set off at a quick trot, Emily Jane at his heels.
“ ’Siah!” Emily Jane’s voice made no more sound than the whispering of their feet in the grass, but he heard.
At the same moment, Josiah saw a dark shadow move in the cluster of pinon pines. A streak of light glinted from curved horns as the bull gave a menacing toss of his head.
“Run, Emie!” Josiah commanded. “Go back!”
Emily Jane could run fast when she needed to, and Josiah kept right behind her.
They could hear the outraged bellow and the thump of hoofbeats of the bull following them, growing closer.
Almost side by side they dropped to the ground to squeeze under the bottom strand of wire. Josiah’s hip pocket snagged on a barb.
Catching his breath, Josiah turned to his sister. “You all right, Emie?”
She nodded, “Th-that’s why Papa said never to go in the pasture. He knew. And—and—”
They stared at the bull through the wires. The immense animal, knowing they were out of reach, had stopped and was pawing the ground and throwing sand and dirt every which way.
“We’ve got to run, Emie. All that time wasted, and now we still have to go the long way.”
“I can’t, ’Siah. Even if Papa and Mama are cross, I can’t run any more—not for a little while.”
Partway up the lane, Josiah paused. “Emie—” He looked away, then glanced back. “Let’s not mention the pasture. We can just say we were late leaving the Reids.”
“I guess,” Emily Jane agreed.
Mama’s face was set in straight lines as they hurried up to the house and stammered out their excuse.
“Well, you’ll be till dark finishing your work,” she said. And then she smiled. “It has been a lovely day and hard to think of work. But get busy now, or you’ll not finish. Your father’s waiting, ’Siah.”
Papa had more questions than Mama had, but at last he said, “I guess there’s been no harm done this time, son. But you must learn to do as you’re told.”
At supper Josiah had trouble looking straight at Papa or Mama. Twice he glanced at Emily Jane, but she wouldn’t look at him. When the supper dishes were finished, they all went to the front porch to cool off.
“You two are certainly quiet,” Mama laughed. “You must have worn yourselves out with play.”
Papa said, “They act wearier than during haying season. We’d better keep them busy at work from now on.”
Josiah made a laughing sound, but he didn’t feel like laughing. Deep inside of him was a shamed feeling that wouldn’t let go.
“ ’Siah, you tell.” Emily Jane’s voice came out of the darkness.
As if he had been waiting for those words, Josiah started to talk. Papa and Mama didn’t say a word, though the swing had stopped moving.
“At chores, you said no harm had been done. But it had, by our not telling.” Josiah hesitated. There was heavy silence.
After a moment Emily Jane continued. “That bull sounded so close! I’m still scared.”
“It’s been a harsh lesson,” Papa said. “Be sure you’ve learned well.” His voice dropped lower, sounding more like Papa. “And by telling, you’ve made a beginning.”
The swish-away of the swing started up again.
Josiah took a deep gulp of fresh air. It smelled of Mama’s flower garden. This minute was too good to let slip away and be past. He held it for as long as it would stay.

Towards the end of the school year, Karen invited me to a Gold and Green Ball, I had no idea what that was. I had never been to a dance in a church, and I had to dress in a suit! I was amazed to see a gymnasium in a church building.
But what went on in the gym surprised me even more. Adults and teenagers were talking, laughing, and even dancing together. My friends had always thought it was childish to like your parents. All over the nation there was an uproar about communication breakdown between parents and their children. But these people all seemed to be friends, regardless of age.
I asked Karen about it. She said it was because of the Church. As she took me on a tour of the building, I pondered what she had said. By the time I went home that night, I felt these people were unique, they were choice in some way I didn’t fully understand. They had a lot to be proud of.

The Prophet’s ability to sacrifice for others marked his character from his youth. His father gave him his patriarchal blessing in 1834 and looked back to Joseph’s early years before 14: “Thou hast been an obedient son. The commands of thy father and the reproofs of thy mother, thou hast respected and obeyed.” Joseph the man was rarely irritated but regularly shared his bed and board with the stranger and put the comfort of the Latter-day Saints above his own. We see him in the first summer in Nauvoo, when Joseph and family left their home for a tent in the yard and gave their space and time to those overcome with malaria in the new Mississippi environment. Joseph’s generosity was genuine and points to his deepest nature.

Let me share with you visits to two stake conferences where I evidenced the miracle which can take place when we take to heart the words of the pioneer hymn “Put Your Shoulder to the Wheel.”
One visit was to the Millcreek stake in Salt Lake City some years ago. Just over 100 brethren who were prospective elders had been ordained elders during the preceding year. I asked President James Clegg the secret of his success. He was too modest to take the credit. His counselor revealed that President Clegg, recognizing the challenge, had undertaken to personally call and arrange a private appointment between him and each prospective elder. During the appointment, President Clegg would mention the temple of the Lord, the saving ordinances and covenants emphasized there, and would conclude with this question: “Wouldn’t you desire to take your sweet wife and your children to the house of the Lord, that you might be a forever family throughout all eternity?” An acknowledgment followed, the reactivation process was pursued, and the goal was obtained.
The other visit was to the North Carbon stake in Price, Utah, also many years ago. I noted during my visit that they had rescued 86 men from the prospective elders in one year and had taken them and their wives to the Manti Temple. I said to Cecil Broadbent, the president, “How did you do it, President?”
He said, “I didn’t. My counselor, President Judd, did.”
President Judd was a large, ruddy-faced Welsh coal miner. I said to him, “President Judd, will you tell me how you were able to rescue 86 brethren in one year?”
I sat anticipating his answer, and he said, “No!”
I was stunned. I’d never had anyone say no so directly in my life. I asked, “Why not?”
He said, “Then you’ll tell the other stake presidents you visit, and we won’t lead the Church in reactivation.” He was smiling, though, so I knew it was half in jest. He said, “I’ll make a deal with you, Brother Monson. I’ll tell you how we rescued 86 men in one year if you’ll get me two tickets to general conference.”
I said, “You’re on!” And so he told me. What he didn’t tell me is that he intended to collect interest every conference for the next 10 years. He came faithfully every six months for his two tickets.
In both the Millcreek and the North Carbon stakes, as well as in others which have been successful in this phase of the work, four principles have prevailed:
The reactivation opportunity was handled at the ward level.
The bishop of the ward was involved.
Qualified and inspired teachers were provided.
Attention was given to each individual.
In building a bridge to the investigator, the new convert, or the less-active member, when we do our part the Lord does His. I testify concerning this truth.
When I served as a bishop, I noted one Sunday morning that one of our priests was missing from priesthood meeting. I left the quorum in the care of the adviser and visited Richard’s home. His mother said he was working at the West Temple Garage.
I drove to the garage in search of Richard and looked everywhere, but I could not find him. Suddenly I had the inspiration to gaze down into the old-fashioned grease pit situated at the side of the station. From the darkness I could see two shining eyes. Then I heard Richard say, “You found me, Bishop! I’ll come up.” After that he rarely missed a priesthood meeting.
The family moved to a nearby stake. Time passed, and I received a phone call informing me that Richard had been called to serve a mission in Mexico, and I was invited by the family to speak at his farewell testimonial. At the meeting, when Richard responded, he mentioned that the turning point in his determination to fill a mission came one Sunday morning—not in the chapel, but as he gazed up from the depths of a dark grease pit and found his quorum president’s outstretched hand.
Through the years, Richard has stayed in touch with me, telling of his testimony, his family, and his faithful service in the Church, including his calling as a bishop.
My beloved brethren, let us, with faith unwavering and with love unstinting, be bridge builders to the hearts of those with whom we labor. As in the movie Field of Dreams, if we build it, they will come. Of this truth I testify, in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

Brothers and Sisters, I testify that God loves you and knows you personally. Let me share an experience that helped me understand this truth. In the 1980s, my full-time starting salary was only $18,000 a year, so I was living from paycheck to paycheck with no savings in the bank. Does that sound familiar? When the appliances in the home started breaking down, first the refrigerator, then the stove, in order to provide food for my children, I had to use all the money I had to pay for new ones. A few weeks later, when tithing settlement time came around, I had to make an important decision.

Would I get caught up with the house payment, would I buy food and Christmas gifts, or would I use my paycheck to catch up on my tithing? Being a full tithe payer is important to me, not only to show obedience but, even more importantly, to show the love I have for our Heavenly Father and his Son, Jesus Christ. With faith, I chose to use my whole paycheck to pay my tithing and trusted in the Lord that all would be well. I told no one of our trials, but somehow, we had enough food on our table, and when we went to Church the Sunday before Christmas, as we left the chapel, there was a bag of presents left on our car. As we arrived home, there were more gifts left on our porch. I was grateful for earthly angels who listened with their hearts to the promptings of the Spirit to bless our little family. It is one of the most memorable Christmases we ever had.

The story doesn?t end there. though. The day before Christmas, I got a call from my Aunt Peggy, who lived 5,000 miles away in Maryland. Yes, the same persistent loving aunty who was part of our conversion story. When I answered the phone on that December night, she asked me right away, “How are you doing?” Years had passed since I last saw and spoke with her. I was too embarrassed to share my financial struggles, so I mustered up all the courage I had and replied, “Oh, we?re fine.” Then she explained that she had a dream, and in her dream, I was crying. As soon as she said that, uncontrollable tears began to flow, and I started to explain our problems.

She compassionately responded that she would put a check in the mail the very next day for $1,000 to help. For me, that was an incredible amount of money. After thanking her profusely and hanging up the phone, I couldn?t sleep. The Spirit kept stirring in my heart as I contemplated the miracle that just happened. The Lord had answered my prayer through a loving, inspired aunty, definitely one of my earthly angels. I picked up the scriptures and felt prompted to read in Matthew. I started with chapter 1 and kept reading until I got to Matthew 6, the beautiful sermon on the mount. As I read, it was as though the Savior himself was speaking to me.

How would you like to live in a schoolhouse? Minna and her family live in the countryside of southern Sweden. Their home used to be a schoolhouse many years ago. She says the best part is that the house has a room big enough for lots of people. In December, Minna’s family invites neighbors, friends, and family over for a special “sing-in.” About 80 people come to sing Christmas carols together! Then they enjoy treats before everyone goes back out into the cold Scandinavian winter weather.

To Augusto A. Lim, the message being presented by two young missionaries from the United States seemed to confirm principles he already knew were true. A young lawyer and a Christian, Augusto noted that doctrines such as continuing revelation were “things that even when I was in high school and college, I believed in.”1
After several months, Augusto agreed to attend Sunday services and took the challenge to read and pray about the Book of Mormon. “I began to read the Book of Mormon seriously in the same spirit that Moroni advised us [to have]. When I did that with the desire to know if it’s true—after a few lines—I was gaining a testimony,” he recalled.2
In October of 1964, Augusto Lim was baptized and became a pioneer of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in the Philippines, with his wife and family joining shortly. Today, after decades of faithful service in the Church—which included a call in 1992 to serve as a General Authority, the first Filipino to serve in that position—Brother Lim reflects the faith and dedication of hundreds of thousands of Latter-day Saints living in the “Pearl of the Orient.”
The work progressed to the point where the Philippines Mission was organized by 1967. By the end of that year, there were 3,193 members in the mission, 631 of whom had been converted that year. By 1973 the Church in the Philippines had expanded to almost 13,000 members. On May 20, 1973, the Manila Philippines Stake was created, with Augusto A. Lim as president. In 1974 the mission was divided, creating the Philippines Manila Mission and the Philippines Cebu City Mission.

Mom took one look at Josh’s face as he laid his schoolbooks on the table, and knew that it had happened again. She longed to take him on her lap and comfort him, but she knew that he would consider it “little-kid stuff.” After all, as he had informed her many times, he was now nine years old and too grown-up for such things. So she sighed and asked, “What happened this time?”
“Aw, that Tommy just looks for reasons to start fights. Joey and Billy and I were playing marbles, and he came and kicked our marbles out of the circle. It made us all mad. I remembered what you said about forgiving, though.” He looked at her soberly. “But Joey and Billy started hitting him, and when I tried to break it up, Tommy started pounding on me. He’s bigger than I am, and he got me down in the dirt.”
His mother regarded his torn pants and dirt-smeared face. “Son, I guess there will always be bullies in the world. But there is usually a reason for them being that way. What do you know about Tommy’s home life? Maybe he gets picked on there.”
“Well, I know that his folks are pretty poor. At least, his clothes are always too big for him. And somebody said they heard his dad yelling at him and talking bad to him. But that isn’t why nobody likes him, Mom. It’s because all he wants to do is start trouble.”
“Maybe he would just like to have a friend,” Mom said gently.
“How can he expect to have a friend when he picks on everybody?”
“I’ve discovered through the years that some of the people who act the worst are really crying out for attention. They’re the ones we should try to befriend.”
Josh looked doubtful. “He won’t let anybody be nice to him. He just says bad things and starts fights whenever anyone tries.”
“And people get mad and stop trying—right?”
“Right. But I did try today ’cause I remembered what you told me and what our Primary teacher told us last Sunday. So I forgave him. But look what happened—he beat me up!”
“Do you remember how many times you’re supposed to forgive, Josh?”
“Sister Price said that Jesus Christ told this one guy that he had to forgive seventy times seven times. She had us multiply it out on the chalkboard, and it came to 490 times!” He looked up at his mother with a lopsided grin. “Does that mean I have to let Tommy beat me up 490 times? There won’t be much left of me by then.”
“Of course not. You’re supposed to be doing something to make him not want to beat you up.”
“That’s the same thing Sister Price told us.” He frowned. “That’s easy for her to say, because she doesn’t have anyone like Tommy that she has to keep forgiving. And you don’t, either, do you, Mom?”
Josh didn’t say anything right away, but after a few moments, he asked, “Would it be OK if I gave away some of my marbles?” When she nodded, he said, “I’ll call Joey and Billy and see if they’ll give him some too.”
The next morning as Josh left for school with an extra bag of marbles, Mom prayed that his experience would be a good one. That afternoon, a happy Josh rushed into the kitchen. “It worked, Mom! It worked! Joey and Billy and I asked Tommy to play marbles with us, and we said we’d give him some of ours. Tommy acted just like that girl, Ellen, acted—kind of scared and suspicious.
“He asked why, and when we said we’d like to have him for a friend, he said he didn’t have any friends. After we played marbles awhile, he said he was sorry he’d been so mean. We played both recesses and at noon. Can I ask him to come play some Saturday, Mom?”
“Of course.”
He was silent for a moment, then said, “You know, I think that Jesus Christ knew that if we truly forgive someone, we probably won’t need to forgive them 490 times!”
“Yes, Son, I think you have it exactly right.”

For the Cottonwood and Granger groups, coming to the Teton High Adventure Base was something they’d planned for all year. “We power raked lawns all summer to make money for the trip,” David Black explained, “so that everyone could go.” The Brigham City Explorers even paid for their leaders’ expenses as well as their own by pouring concrete for several months. For all the groups, the trip would be a source of memories for a long time. Like guide Bob Burk, they would remember it as the “best summer ever.” As they loaded equipment into their leaders’ cars, there was a difference in them. They’d grown from being here. When they left they were still laughing and talking about the trip.

Six years into marriage, we found that we were expanding our family. We were so excited to raise our son and teach him the gospel. But 24 weeks into the pregnancy, our little boy was born fighting for life. After just eight weeks he returned to Heavenly Father. As I held him for the last time, I recognized yet another wonderful blessing of the temple: our son had been born in the covenant and could be ours forever.

Jay Roberts stared out the window and sighed, then slowly stirred his cereal. He could hardly believe that summer was already gone.
“Hurry up, Jay,” Mother called from the hall. “Dad is ready for family prayer before he leaves.”
After the prayer, Jay carried his cereal bowl to the sink, then trudged up the stairs to brush his teeth. Who invented school anyway? he wondered.
When the school bus arrived, he dutifully climbed on. There were only a couple of seats left. He chose the one across the aisle from his best buddy. “Hey, Lance,” he said.
“Yo,” Lance replied. He said “yo” all the time now, after seeing a guy in a movie do it.
“Who do you want for a teacher?” Jay asked.
“Anyone except Mrs. Turnbull,” Lance replied. “I heard she’s really hard.”
Suddenly Jay was aware of a slight groan beside him. He turned around and saw a very small boy sharing the seat. “Hey,” Jay said to his neighbor, “I’m Jay.”
The little boy hesitated a moment before mumbling, “My name’s Rickey.”
“Well, hello, Rick,” Jay answered. “What grade are you in?”
“None.”
“None? What does that mean?”
“I’m just in the kid garden.”
“You mean in kindergarten?” Jay asked, trying not to smile.
Rickey nodded solemnly. “And I’m not sure where the garden is.”
“It’s OK,” Jay assured him. “There will be teachers at school to help you get where you’re going. And if there aren’t, we’ll show you.”
Rickey stared at Jay for a moment and then asked, “What’s your grade?”
“Lance and I are in fifth grade,” Jay replied, motioning toward his friend.
The little boy looked across the aisle and waved to Lance.
“Yo, Rick,” Lance said, nodding his head.
“This bus is pretty scary, huh?” Rickey said. “I mean, I never was in such a big car before.”
“Yeah,” Jay replied, “it’s bigger than anything else on the road. Everybody gets out of the way of the bus. And all the cars have to stop when we’re getting off and on.”
“Oh,” Rickey replied, looking around with a new interest. He turned toward the window. “I do kind of like looking down at all the cars.”
“I’ve been riding the bus for years,” Jay said importantly. “It isn’t too bad.”
Rickey looked at Jay’s bag. “What’s in there?” he asked.
“It’s my lunch—a peanut-butter sandwich, an apple, some raisins, and if I’m lucky, a brownie.”
“How do you know?” Rickey asked.
“I told you, I’ve been doing this a long time. Mom used to pack a different sandwich every day, but then she found out that I just traded them off, so now she just packs peanut butter.”
“Traded?”
Jay nodded. “Right. It works pretty good. Whatever you don’t like, you just trade with someone else. Sometimes you can get some really good stuff.”
Rickey considered this information. “Lunch sounds fun.”
“Did your mom tell you about recess?”
“Yes,” Rickey replied. “That’s playtime. But I don’t know who to play with.”
“You’ll make friends,” Jay replied, looking at Lance. “I guess friends are the best thing about school.”
“How come?” Rickey asked.
“Because they help you solve problems and get you through the tough stuff.”
“Like what?”
“Like when you don’t do so well on a test, and they play with you at recess and help you remember you’re the best soccer player in school. Or when you get a goofy part in a play, and they tell you it’s cool in front of all the other kids. That kind of stuff.”
The bus pulled up in front of the school, and Rickey still looked scared.
“It’s OK, Rick,” Jay told him. “Come on.”
“I’m afraid of the teacher.”
Jay gently pulled Rickey to his feet. “You don’t have to be afraid of the teachers. They’re kind of like your mom or dad away from home.”
“Really?”
“Absolutely,” Lance chimed in. “I even called my kindergarten teacher ‘Mom’ once.”
Jay looked at his friend with a raised eyebrow.
“Well, it was only once,” Lance said, shrugging.
“Let’s go,” Jay said, as the three boys walked toward the door. When they arrived at the kindergarten class, Rickey peered inside and was greeted with a smile from his teacher.
“Gotta go,” Jay said. Lance was already hurrying toward the fifth-grade classrooms.
“Listen, Jay,” Rickey told him, “if anyone makes fun of you about that play or something, just tell them you’re my friend.”
Jay nodded his head. “For sure!” With a wave he started off down the hall. Turning the corner, he saw Lance motioning to him.
“Hey, Jay,” Lance called, “we’re in the same class. We have Mrs. Turnbull!” Surprised by the grin on Jay’s face, he asked, “Did you hear me?”
“Absolutely!” Jay kept on grinning.

The world is full of people in need. It can seem overwhelming. Victims of disasters need food, clothing, hygiene supplies, and often shelter. Students in impoverished areas need school materials. And the list goes on. What can one person do?
Actually, each person, by combining efforts with many others, can accomplish a lot. Assembling humanitarian kits is a great example of this principle.
There are several different types of humanitarian kits, such as hygiene kits, school kits, and simple games for children. These kits are sent to areas of the world to help with basic needs and relieve suffering. The contents may seem simple (for example, hygiene kits* consist of unbreakable combs, toothbrushes, soap, and hand towels), but when these kits reach someone who has lost everything, they provide not only needed personal care items, but also comfort that comes from knowing someone cares and took time to put them together.
When the Murray Utah West Stake decided to make hygiene kits as part of their youth conference, Amy Woodland, of the 13th Ward, was one of those asked to collect and organize supplies for her ward.
She says of the experience, “When I was asked to help with my youth conference and gather items for a humanitarian project, I sat down with my mom and talked about how I was going to organize the project and get all the items I could. I started by passing out flyers that told what items we needed and took them to each house in my neighborhood. I also went into priesthood meetings, Relief Society, Primary, Young Men, and Young Women to announce the items needed.
“Before I knew it, I had people dropping items off at my house, calling me to find out more about the humanitarian project, and giving me money to purchase supplies that we needed the most. Then, when youth conference came around, we had tons of items that other girls had collected from other wards in the stake.
“Being able to participate in this project was amazing! It felt so good knowing that these hygiene kits were sent out to children, adults, and families who were really in need of them. Service is something that really should be spread throughout the world. It has helped me want to serve others more. I learned that by serving others we are serving Heavenly Father.”
Maria Sanchez of 11th Ward agrees, “My experience doing the hygiene project was great. I have to say that my favorite part was getting together as a stake to put the kits together. Everyone had fun, and having so many people to help made the project go very fast. I learned that when everyone helps in little ways, it can help a lot of people.”
On the day of the youth conference activity, the young men and young women met to put the hygiene kits together. They had hoped to assemble 300 kits and ended up assembling more than 600. Reagan Eisert, 15, of the Liberty Ward said, “I never knew that there were so many specifications in gathering hygiene products to put into a plastic bag. When I saw the generosity of my ward members, I realized how much love they had for people they didn’t know and were likely to never see. As I watched the kindness of so many people, my own testimony grew. I’m so grateful that I was a part of this service project and that the hours I spent really helped someone else.”

One pleasant Sunday afternoon on my mission in the Korea Seoul West Mission, my companion, Elder Ricks, and I were saying good-bye to members after church and were about to set out proselyting when the ward mission leader introduced us to a small, solemn 12-year-old boy, Kong Sung-Gyun, who had attended church that day and wanted to learn more about the gospel.
Of course we were excited about the prospect of teaching him, though we did not typically teach children so young. We immediately called his home to seek his parents’ permission, and I talked briefly with his mother, Pak Mi-Jung. I was pleasantly surprised when she said she was pleased her son was looking into attending church and that she would be happy to have us come and teach him.
The next evening we arrived at Sung-Gyun’s home, and we were surprised to discover that Mi-Jung also wanted us to teach her daughter, Kong Su-Jin. Since we were strangers in her home, Mi-Jung wanted to sit in on the lessons too. Of course we were happy to teach as many as wanted to listen!
After they had served us some simple refreshments, we sat down together and began to get to know each other. Elder Ricks and I shared a little about our families and why we were serving a mission, and then Mi-Jung told us about the recent trials and hardships her family had been through, including her son’s battle with cancer. He had successfully gone through radiation treatments, and the cancer was in remission, but the doctors warned them that the cancer could still return. Of course this took a big toll on their family. They were a working-class family, and their father worked extremely hard to provide the simple necessities for his family.
My heart was heavy as I learned of the many trials and hardships in their lives. However, while life was not easy for them, their family was extremely close and relied heavily on each other. We left their home that evening having gotten to know this very special family much better and having had the opportunity to share a simple gospel message of love and hope with them.
Elder Ricks and I went back to teach several more times in the following weeks, each time experiencing the same warmness and generosity we had experienced on our first visit. When the topic of baptism came up, the children were both eager to join the Church. Additionally, their mother, Mi-Jung, was supportive of her children’s desires. However, though our teachings resonated with her, she personally did not feel that she could make and keep the kind of commitments that joining the Church required. She also did not feel that it would be appropriate for her to get baptized without her husband, whom we had yet to meet. However, she was more than willing to continue to meet with us and also wanted to join her children each week in attending church.
As we continued to teach in their home, we met Mi-Jung’s husband, Kong Kuk-Won—a humble, gracious, and generous man. He joined us for the final few discussions and instantly believed everything we taught, including principles and teachings others often find difficult, like tithing and the Word of Wisdom. The father’s only obstacle was that he had to work at the airport every Sunday and was unable to attend church with the rest of his family. Despite his busy work schedule, he and his wife arranged to attend their children’s baptisms the following Sunday afternoon, and it was a wonderful occasion!

It’s easy to say, “The time isn’t right.” But there is danger in procrastination. Years ago I worked for a man in California. He hired me, he was kind to me, he seemed to regard me highly. I may have been the only Latter-day Saint he ever knew well. I don’t know all the reasons I found to wait for a better moment to talk with him about the gospel. I just remember my feeling of sorrow when I learned, after he had retired and I lived far away, that he and his wife had been killed in a late-night drive to their home in Carmel, California. He loved his wife. He loved his children. He had loved his parents. He loved his grandchildren, and he will love their children and will want to be with them forever.

Now, I don’t know how the crowds will be handled in the world to come. But I suppose that I will meet him, that he will look into my eyes, and that I will see in them the question, “Hal, you knew. Why didn’t you tell me?”