Gospel Story Finder

Born in England, Sister Lawson emigrated to Australia in 1966 at the age of 30. She suffers from acute arthritic and bronchial conditions, so her doctor had recommended a warmer climate.
First settling in Perth, a major city on the Indian Ocean shoreline of western Australia, Sister Lawson encountered Latter-day Saints in a local theater group. When she took on the job of stage manager, both the manager of the group and the leading male actor were Latter-day Saints.
Every time the group started or finished rehearsals, the manager called them together for prayer, Sister Lawson recalls. “Even though the rest of us were not members, it gave me a very warm feeling—I always used to quietly pray before I went on stage, and this seemed right, somehow.”
An invitation to attend Church meetings followed, and Sister Lawson was soon baptized. Naturally cheerful and enthusiastic, she served as ward and stake drama director in Perth and became thoroughly involved in the Church.
But her health continued to deteriorate. When she finally needed a cane to walk, her doctor told her she should go to the north of Australia, where the climate is distinctly warmer and much more humid. Ever since then, her home has been in Kununurra, where she works as a medical laboratory technician.
In order to maintain her commitment to the gospel and build her spirituality, Sister Lawson set some standards for herself when she moved to Kununurra that she has maintained ever since. She reads two or three chapters from the standard works daily, systematically working her way through each of them. She also reads every piece of Church literature she can get. “I subscribe to all the Church magazines,” she says.
Twice each month, she receives a phone call from the Relief Society president in the city of Darwin, 700 kilometers away—the center of Church activity in Australia’s vast Northern Territory. The phone calls are a welcome morale booster, as are the photocopies of lessons from the Relief Society and Sunday School manuals which are also sent.
Normally, Sister Lawson has an opportunity to take the sacrament only once every six months. When she can get the time off work, she travels to Darwin for district conference—a weekend trip that costs her an average of [U.S.] $350 for air fares. Occasionally, the mission president or another priesthood holder travels through the town, and Sister Lawson often takes that opportunity to ask for a blessing.
Sometimes, because employees in the mining industry tend to be mobile, other members will take up temporary residence in Kununurra. Even one more member is enough for Sister Lawson to consider it a “branch.”
Her advice to people in isolated circumstances is to “make a friend of Heavenly Father.
“You have to study regularly, talk to him as if he is a real friend, and then try to make a friend of others around you. You don’t have to change your standards just because you associate with nonmembers who feel and behave differently.”
Sister Lawson says it’s especially important to become involved in the community. She is president of the local theater group, treasurer of the local Progress Association, and vice-president of the town’s Cultural Coordinating Committee.
Endowed in the London Temple while on leave, Sister Lawson is 3,200 kilometers from the Sydney Temple—too far to travel regularly. However, she recently established Kununurra’s only genealogical society. Her eventual aim: to serve a temple mission in one of the tropical-climate temples.

This story happened in Samoa.
Dark, gloomy clouds hung in the sky. Alex glared up at them.
BOOM!
More thunder rumbled. Big, heavy raindrops crashed down everywhere.
Alex shook his head. This wasn’t good. Not good at all. Sometimes, in Samoa, it could rain for days without stopping. But he wanted his grandpa’s birthday to be perfect!
Alex went to his room and knelt by his bed.
“Dear Heavenly Father,” he said. “Please make the rain go away in time for Papa’s birthday party tomorrow. We already sent out the invitations. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”
When Alex stood up, he saw Mom and Dad standing in his doorway. They were smiling.
“I hope you don’t mind that we heard your prayer,” Mom said.
Alex smiled. “That’s OK. I just want tomorrow to be special for Papa. It won’t be the same if we need to stay inside. We wouldn’t have room to dance!”
Dad squeezed Alex’s shoulder. “No matter what the weather is like, Papa will know how much you love him.”
The next morning, Mom and Dad asked Alex to say the family prayer. It was still raining hard. And it still didn’t look like it would stop.
“Please bless the rain to go away in time for the party,” he said. “And please bless us all to have a good time. Especially Papa!”
Alex watched the sky all morning. For a long time, nothing changed. But then something amazing happened.
“Look!” Alex shouted. “A patch of blue sky!” His family ran out to the yard. The clouds were starting to clear up.
In a few hours, all the clouds were gone! Even the puddles on the ground had dried up. Alex hurried to decorate the yard. Papa and the other guests would be here soon.
When Papa got there, he was surprised. He looked at the lights, the colorful streamers, and all the guests. “Everything looks beautiful,” he said. “Thank you so much!”
The party was just as fun as Alex had hoped. They danced to Papa’s favorite songs. The food was tasty—especially the sweet coconut bread. Alex even got to sing with Papa.
The best part, though, was when it was time for the Siva Taualuga. This dance was always performed by the most important person of the day. And, of course, that was Papa!
Papa got up to dance, but then he looked at Alex. “Come join me, Alex!” Papa called. Alex jumped up and danced next to Papa. Soon all the others were dancing too.
Papa leaned down to hug Alex. “You made me feel very special today,” Papa said. “This was the perfect birthday party.”
After the party ended, Alex looked up at the sky. The thick black clouds were back. Rain started pounding down on them again. But this time, Alex didn’t mind. He knew that Heavenly Father had helped the weather stay nice long enough for Papa’s party.
“Thank Thee for the nice weather,” Alex prayed. “And thank Thee for such a wonderful Papa.”

A young mother of two sons was busy with a part-time job at home and a demanding Church calling. “It seemed I had no time for my small children,” she recalled. She was often so involved in her work that her sons had to go to great lengths to get her attention—and she was often impatient with them.
So she decided to organize an “activity time” she could enjoy with her sons each morning. As she spent that time with them in prayer, singing, and fun activities, she gained a greater appreciation for each and began to really enjoy the time they spent together. She was amazed at what a little love and attention brought about!
This mother had discovered one of the “secrets” to making her home a sanctuary from the world and its cares. The early Saints were told to make the temple they were building “a house of prayer … a house of learning … a house of God” (see D&C 88:119). In the same way, we should make our homes havens of love where we and other family members can grow and learn to practice self-control and to serve, understand, and forgive each other.

Brother and Sister Smith were an elderly couple in their late seventies who had been baptized for one year, had just gone to the temple to be sealed to their family, and had just received their patriarchal blessings. Right before I left on my mission, in a fast and testimony meeting, Brother Smith stood to bear his testimony. He asked for the attention of all the young men and women, pulled out his blessing, unfolded the paper, and read, “Brother Smith. You and your wife would have joined the Church many years earlier except the missionary who was supposed to teach you the gospel decided not to go on a mission.”

To every young man and young woman within the sound of my voice, I challenge you to prepare yourself to accept the sacred call to serve the Lord on a full-time mission!

It was during one of these fishing trips, in late December, that Wilford’s life changed in an unexpected way. Azmon’s wife, Elizabeth, answered a knock on the door of their home. Two missionaries stood on the front step. Wilford and Azmon weren’t home, so the two elders asked Elizabeth to tell the brothers that they would love to have the Woodruffs come that night to the schoolhouse and listen to their message about a newly restored Church and gospel.
When Wilford arrived home and heard about the missionaries, he was eager to hear them preach. He had spent many hours as a boy reading the scriptures and praying, searching for the truth.
Without even waiting for supper, Wilford raced out to his horse and galloped to the schoolhouse. When he arrived, the room was already packed with people. He eased his way through the crowd and finally got a seat at a front desk.
What he saw and heard that night filled his soul with the Spirit of God. “I felt that I had just heard the first true gospel sermon in my life,” he later said. It was exactly what Wilford had been looking for—prophets, apostles, revelation, spiritual gifts. These were things Wilford knew about from studying the Bible, and he knew that they were important. He was so excited that he jumped to his feet at the end of the sermon, turned to the crowd, and said, “Friends and neighbors, I feel to tell you not to oppose these men. They are true servants of God. They have preached to us the pure gospel of Jesus Christ. I witness to you it is true!”

February 5Dear Elder Green,
My Primary teacher said that we should write to a missionary twice a month—that you need letters, and we’ll get blessings. She also said that she’d have an ice-cream party for anyone who wrote.
My name’s Jeffrey. I’m eleven. I don’t have any brothers or sisters. Mom thinks that writing to you is good, but my dad thinks that it’s dumb. He doesn’t belong to the Church, and he can’t understand why anybody would give up two years to knock on doors and bother people. Two years is a long time. I know that you’re coming home in a few months. What do you think?
Write back soon.
Sincerely,Jeffrey
February 19Dear Elder Green,
Wow! I never thought you’d write back so fast! Thanks for the cool stamp too. I’m starting a stamp collection with it.
I showed Dad your letter. At first he laughed as he read it, but he stopped laughing after a while. I especially liked what you said about Joseph Smith and the Book of Mormon.
Now Dad wants to know why we need more scriptures when we already have the Bible. I tried explaining, but got mixed up.
School is OK. I made an ashtray for Dad in art.
Sincerely,Jeffrey
March 5Dear Elder Green,
Thanks for the letter and stamps.
Your answer to Dad’s question was interesting. You’re right—how else were the ancient people in America going to get the gospel? And of course they’d write down what their prophets said!
Dad frowned when I showed him your letter, but when I asked him if it made sense, he nodded. Then he said it would make more sense if you could be sure the Book of Mormon was true. Otherwise, it is just a good story. I offered to lend him my Book of Mormon, but he said no.
School is still OK. I got an A in math, but social studies is awful! Who cares about the exports of some strange country, anyway?
Love,Jeffrey
March 19Dear Elder Green,
I couldn’t believe your package arrived with cool stamps and wasn’t for me! I thought it wasn’t fair for you to send something to Dad, but he gave me the stamps and was happy you sent him the Book of Mormon.
I was really surprised. Mom’s tried to give him one lots of times. He always said, “Don’t pressure me,” before—but this time he smiled! He read what you wrote on the inside cover. I wish I had a testimony like that. Dad didn’t know what you meant by saying Moroni 10:4 was the answer to how he could know that it was true, so I showed him where it was. When he read it, he got a funny look on his face and said something about “giving it a try.”
Social studies is still a pain. I work hard and don’t get anywhere. What’s the point?
Love,Jeffrey
April 2Dear Elder Green,
Don’t you get discouraged? You’ve been doing missionary work for almost two years and still haven’t had a single baptism? That’s hard! Why aren’t you sad?
I guess I’ll keep on trying, too, to work on social studies.
Dad says that’s what Nephi did—he kept trying even when it was hard. He read that last week and really liked it. I gave him your list of other scriptures to read in the Book of Mormon. He said that you were “pushy,” but he folded it up and is using it as a bookmark.
Love,Jeffrey
April 16Dear Elder Green,
Was it hard being transferred?
I don’t like changes much. I told Dad that. He said that change is hard sometimes, but that the four sons of Mosiah had to go different places in their mission, too, and the Lord stuck by them.
He also said some changes are really good, even if they’re hard. He didn’t say why he said that, though.
Love,Jeffrey
May 7Dear Elder Green,
Mom’s started planting the garden. I wanted to plant stuff too. When I showed my dad what I wanted to grow, he poured the seeds out into his hand, then said Alma had talked about planting seeds, and if they grew, they were good seeds.
I asked Dad if he was going to plant something too. He got a funny look on his face again and said he just might—but he didn’t even help us with the garden!
Love,Jeffrey
May 21Dear Elder Green,
I laughed at your letter. Dad smiled at the part where you said that good seeds are important but so is preparing the ground. Mom’s been rototilling and fertilizing to beat the band. You don’t just stick seeds into any old dirt and expect them to grow, she said.
I don’t understand what you meant about church meetings being a good soil-preparer. We don’t do gardening at church. We just listen to talks and sing songs and stuff. Dad nodded when he read it, though. He said he’s going to meetings with us next week!
Love,Jeffrey
June 4Dear Elder Green,
Two missionaries stopped by our house! Dad asked if Mom had sent them. They told him you did!
Dad let them in! They were really nice. They didn’t feel like strangers at all. They’ve been here three times already; once was for dinner. I can’t believe how much they ate!
They laugh sometimes, but other times they’re really serious. I told Dad that I want to be a missionary when I grow up. He said I’m doing a pretty good job already, and he went to church with us last week. It was great!
On his birthday, I gave Dad the ashtray I’d made him at school. He said he’d give it a place of honor on his desk—and store paperclips in it!
I know you’re coming home soon. I can’t wait to meet you!
Love,Jeffrey
June 18Dear Elder Green,
You’re coming home on the 27th, so this is the last letter I’ll write to you.
You sent Dad a letter, too, but I don’t know what it said. Dad took it upstairs to his bedroom and didn’t come down for a long time.
I know that you didn’t get to baptize anyone on your mission, but you taught lots of people, and that’s important too. See you soon.
Love,Jeffrey
June 20Dear Elder Green,
I’m glad that you’re returning from your mission on the 27th. Would you be available on the evening of June 29th? I’ve spoken to the bishop here, and I’d like you to be the one to perform my baptism.
Love,Jeffrey’s dad
P.S. Thank you.

My father seldom went to church, even though his family had been members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints for seven generations. He and my grandfather worked together to build roads in the Mojave Desert, so my father was away from home much of the time. When I was eight months old, my mother died, and I went to live with my mother’s parents, Grandpa and Grandma Baird.
Then my father remarried, and when I was seven, we moved from California to Manti, Utah. There we lived on a big dairy farm. Most important, my Grandma and Grandpa Giles (my new mother’s parents) and several aunts and uncles and their families lived there, too. They were active in the Church, and for the first time in my life, I saw people praying and studying the scriptures in their homes.
One of the people who influenced me most was my Uncle Jimmy. He was 13, just six years older than I was, and he became like my older brother. Uncle Jimmy was lots of fun. He’d hook up a sled to our big dog, Tony, and take me for a ride over the ice and snow.
At Christmastime, we often went together to hunt for a Christmas tree. After finding the right tree, we cut it down and brought it home. Grandmother popped lots of popcorn for us to string and gave us colored paper to make into ornaments.
One of my jobs was to help Uncle Jimmy on his delivery rounds in the milk truck. One of my older uncles drove, and we would run to the doorstep of each house, pick up the empty milk bottles, and leave full bottles in their place.
Wherever Uncle Jimmy went, I went. And since Uncle Jimmy went to church, so did I. Sundays started awfully early. First I went out to help feed and milk the cows. Then I came home, cleaned up, and dressed for church. I didn’t own a suit, but my mom and dad made sure my best clothes were clean. When I turned eight, I was baptized by my Uncle Grant.
After Grandpa Giles died, there was arguing about how to operate the farm. Eventually the family business fell apart, and my family moved to Kaysville, Utah.
When I was 14, our family moved back to Manti. I had a bedroom upstairs, and my only window faced the Manti Temple. I spent a lot of nights looking at the temple, wondering what my future would hold.
When I was in my late teens, I began to think about serving a mission. By then, my father had died and my mother didn’t have very much money. I felt a lot of pressure to stay home and help my mother. Then one night I went up into the hayloft to think and pray. There I had a clear and strong impression: I needed to serve a mission.
That was the best decision I had ever made. It changed my life. Doctrine and Covenants 31:5 became a guide: “Therefore, thrust in your sickle with all your soul, and your sins are forgiven you, and … your family shall live.” I decided to trust that the Lord would take care of my family while I worked hard on my mission. And the Lord was faithful to His promise. My mother was well taken care of while I was away.
While I was on my mission, I traveled for a few days with Elder Spencer W. Kimball, then of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles. I was his temporary driver and companion. It was the first time I had been so close to an Apostle of the Lord. I heard him pray and testify. I saw what he focused on, what he talked about, and what he was like when he was not in public. I saw how he treated other people and how thoughtful he was of their needs. I decided that this was the kind of man I wanted to become.
Boys and girls, if you do good things on your own, your parents will eventually praise you for it. In part because of my mission, my mother became active in the Church. Honoring your parents doesn’t always mean doing exactly what they do. It means doing what Heavenly Father wants you to do. Even if your mom and dad don’t go to church, you still can. Even if they don’t keep the Word of Wisdom, you still can. If you will stand on your own two feet and be good, you will bring great honor to your parents’ name.

Some years ago, Sister Sorensen and I had the privilege of visiting India. At one airport I remember walking across the landing strip and seeing some men sitting in front of wicker baskets, playing flutes. As they started to play the music, they would take the top off the basket and a cobra would appear! As the music continued, the snake would rise higher and higher, nearly reaching its full length until the cobra would collapse back into the basket. Once I noticed a cobra fall outside the basket. The man playing the flute reached over, petted the cobra, and carefully put it back into the basket. I was amazed that a man could handle such a dangerous creature, apparently without being harmed. But our guide quickly told me that this was very risky and told us that a major cause of death in this province was indeed poisonous snakebite.

Nine-year-old Carrie hurried around the corner of the grocery store aisle, trying to keep the cart out of the reach of her six-year-old brother, Andy.
“No fair!” he cried. “You’ve pushed it the whole time we’ve been here.” He tried to grab the cart, but Carrie twisted it away, accidentally hitting a row of ketchup bottles lined up neatly on a shelf. Two of the bottles crashed to the floor and shattered, spraying their bright red contents everywhere. The two children stared in horror at the broken glass and scarlet ketchup.
Mom came around the corner just then, saying, “I want you two to stay with me …” Her words trailed off as she saw the mess on the floor and the misery on Carrie’s and Andy’s faces.
“It looks like there’s been an accident,” she said. “It’s all right. Sometimes things break and have to be cleaned up.”
Mom found a clerk, who cleaned up the ketchup and glass without getting mad at Carrie or Andy. Carrie still felt terrible. She knew it wouldn’t have happened if she hadn’t been swinging the cart to keep it away from Andy. Before they left the store, she quietly told Mom how the bottles had been broken. Mom listened solemnly while Andy stood with a scared expression on his face.
“Are we in trouble?” Andy asked, struggling to keep from crying.
Mom hugged Andy. “No, I think you feel bad enough about what happened that you’ll be more careful in the grocery store from now on. But, Carrie, what do you think you need to do to make up for the store losing those two bottles of ketchup?”
“I think I need to pay for them. I didn’t mean to break them, but it was still my fault,” Carrie replied.
“I think that’s a good idea,” Mom said. “I can lend you the money for now, and you can pay me back at home.”
At the cash register, Mom explained that Carrie had been playing with the cart when the bottles broke, so she wanted to pay for the ketchup. The clerk thanked Carrie for being honest, and Carrie felt much better.
At home, Carrie didn’t feel quite as good when she gave Mom part of the money she had been saving for a tape player, but she was glad she didn’t have that sick feeling she had experienced after the bottles exploded on the floor. She remembered how red everything looked. She had been afraid the ketchup would stain the floor, forever reminding her of her mistake. But it had come clean with a wet mop.
A few months later, Carrie finished Sunday dinner and flopped down on the couch with a big sigh.
“What’s the matter?” Mom asked. “That’s a pretty heavy sigh for a Sunday afternoon.”
“Mom, I have to give a talk in Primary next Sunday on Jesus’ Atonement. I’m not even sure I know what the Atonement is.”
“This sounds like a good Sunday activity,” Mom said, sitting on the couch next to Carrie. “Tell me what you do know.”
Carrie was quiet for a moment. Then she replied, “I think it’s when Jesus suffered for our sins. If we repent, we don’t have to suffer any more for them because He already did. Then we can be forgiven.”
“Good!” Mom said, squeezing Carrie’s arm warmly. “You understand a lot. Tell me about being forgiven. What does that mean?”
“Well, I guess it means that we’re not in trouble anymore.” Carrie thought some more. “I mean, Heavenly Father forgives us, and we can forget about what happened.”
“Do we forget completely?” Mom asked quickly.
“Well, no—we have to remember never to do that wrong thing again. And we have to try to make up for what we did, like me apologizing to Andy if I yell at him or something. But once we’re forgiven, we don’t have to keep feeling bad. But, Mom,” Carrie asked, “how do I explain this to the kids in Primary? The three-year-olds are going to be totally lost!”
Mom was excited, her eyes twinkling. “Do you think they’d like a flannel-board story?”
“Sure. But how can I do that for the Atonement?”
“Think ketchup,” Mom said mysteriously.
Carrie looked at her in confusion, then cried, “Perfect!” as she bounced off the couch and hurried into the kitchen for paper, pencils, and construction paper. Carrie worked on her talk all afternoon, cutting out figures and thinking about her story.
The next week even the Sunbeams forgot to wiggle in their chairs as Carrie gave her talk. She put up a cut-out shape of a ketchup bottle, then the broken container with a big pool of red below it. The children were shocked by the thought of breaking two whole bottles of bright red ketchup.
Carrie explained, “We can make mistakes that seem too horrible to be forgiven. But if we repent, we can become clean from sin, just as ketchup can be mopped up off a floor.” She took down the picture of the broken bottle and replaced it with a picture of a sparkling clean floor.
“Jesus helps us ‘clean up’ when we commit a sin if we feel truly sorry and try to repair the damage we’ve done. He has suffered for our sins, so we don’t have to feel guilty forever. He helps us feel good again after we repent.”
She ended her talk with a scripture from the Bible, explaining that even if our sins are like scarlet, we can become white as snow through repentance, because of the Atonement (see Isa. 1:18).
As Carrie sat down, she looked at Mom sitting on the back row of the Primary room. Mom winked, and Carrie smiled back. This was the best talk she’d ever given. Maybe the rest of the family would like a repeat for family home evening!

During my early days in the church, I remember hearing about one Brother, who was the only member of the Church in his family and faced much opposition when he decided to serve a mission. His parents, siblings, and relatives all strongly criticized his decision as a sign that he was discarding his identity for an alien faith. His parents were so disappointed and heartbroken that they disowned him the night before he reported to the mission office.

As a new convert, hearing stories like this Brother’s really made me wonder if the gospel of Jesus Christ really was as foreign and alien to Chinese beliefs as some tend to think.

Sister Whang’s dream of serving began much earlier, when she was a young girl in Japanese-occupied Korea. A devout Presbyterian, Whang Keun-Ok worked on a farm by day, and by night prayed that she might be able to go to school so that she could work for God. She hoped to study medicine, because her people were dying from lack of proper health care. But because of the subordinate role women occupied in Korean society, this seemed an impossible goal.
In time, however, her prayers were answered. She was able to attend junior high school in Jeryung and in Seoul, working at the same time so she could pay her tuition. She studied hard and was an honor student. After graduation, she enrolled in nursing school.
But life was difficult in her country. Poverty was widespread, and the Korean people were not allowed to speak their own language or practice their cultural customs. Sister Whang herself was expelled from school for not worshipping the Japanese emperor. Because of such persecution, Whang Keun-Ok and several friends made an oath to dedicate their lives to making sure others wouldn’t have to endure the same struggles. Later, after Korea won its independence, they converted that oath to caring for those who had suffered in the wars that ravaged Korea—particularly the children.

There are many today who harbor in the deep recesses of their hearts a canker, a hurt, a feeling of resentment, a dislike, or in some cases even a hate because of unpleasant experiences with past and present associations. Some have been taken advantage of in a business sense. Others have had their feelings hurt by neighbors, or relatives, or friends. A few have been lied to or had a trust of long standing betrayed. Some children, young and now grown, have been offended by harsh or dictatorial parents. Husbands and wives may have deep schisms between them caused by criticism and a resulting resentment. The list of sad experiences goes on and on—yes, it is too long. To those of you who have been nursing the wounds of hurt feelings from the past, even from the little things, I would like to tell an experience which happened some time ago.
For much of our lives, we lived in central Arizona. Some years ago a group of teenagers from the local high school went on an all-day picnic into the desert on the outskirts of Phoenix. As some of you know, the desert foliage is rather sparse—mostly mesquite, catclaw, and palo verde trees, with a few cactus scattered here and there. In the heat of the summer, where there are thickets of this desert growth, you may also find rattlesnakes as unwelcome residents. These young people were picnicking and playing, and during their frolicking, one of the girls was bitten on the ankle by a rattlesnake. As is the case with such a bite, the rattler’s fangs released venom almost immediately into her bloodstream.
This very moment was a time of critical decision. They could immediately begin to extract the poison from her leg, or they could search out the snake and destroy it. Their decision made, the girl and her young friends pursued the snake. It slipped quickly into the undergrowth and avoided them for fifteen or twenty minutes. Finally, they found it, and rocks and stones soon avenged the infliction.
Then they remembered: their companion had been bitten! They became aware of her discomfort, as by now the venom had had time to move from the surface of the skin deep into the tissues of her foot and leg. Within another thirty minutes they were at the emergency room of the hospital. By then, the venom was well into its work of destruction.
A couple of days later I was informed of the incident and was asked by some young members of the Church to visit their friend in the hospital. As I entered her room, I saw a pathetic sight. Her foot and leg were elevated—swollen almost beyond recognition. The tissue in her limb had been destroyed by the poison, and a few days later it was found her leg would have to be amputated below the knee.
It was a senseless sacrifice, this price of revenge. How much better it would have been if, after the young woman had been bitten, there had been an extraction of the venom from the leg in a process known to all desert dwellers.

While serving as missionaries a number of years ago, a young married couple had been sent with a young elder to New Orleans by the president of the Central States Mission. They took with them their tiny eighteen-month-old daughter.
Upon returning, it was necessary for them to cross the Atchafalaya River, a wide and deep stream. They drove their car onto the raftlike ferry that was to be pushed across the river by a small tugboat. It was placed about two feet from the edge of the ferry with only a light cable across the front.
The flat ferry could accommodate just four cars at a time, and the automobile in which the missionaries were riding was the third to be driven on. The fourth automobile was to be placed immediately behind the missionaries’ car.
Looking back through the small rear window of the crowded car, the young elder saw a rather large car on the top of the high levee. It was waiting to approach the ferry. At a signal from the ferryman, it started down.
“My goodness!” he exclaimed. “That car is coming too fast! It’ll crash right into us!”
Faster and faster it came, gaining speed as it approached the ferry. There was no time for the missionaries to leave their car. The brief and terrifying thoughts of being pushed into the river raced through their minds. The driver, uttering a brief but fervent prayer, set his foot against the brakes—hard!
A woman in the onrushing car screamed. Onto the ferry it hurtled, out of control. Then, miraculously, one of the wheels struck the edge of a raised plank on the floor of the ferry, and the car turned abruptly away from the one in which the missionaries sat. With its right wheel on the very edge of the platform, the runaway car came to a halt within inches of their car. A period of complete silence followed.
“Poor brakes,” gasped the frightened driver as he climbed out of his car.
Neither he nor the stunned onlookers could explain why the runaway car had stopped where it did rather than bumping the missionaries’ car over the edge of the ferry and into the river. Undoubtedly, many silent prayers were given by both the frightened passengers and the onlookers.
“You must all be good praying folks!” the ferryman said in wonderment, shaking his head slowly.
The missionaries knew that only the watchful care provided by our kind Heavenly Father had prevented a disaster. Before leaving that morning the missionaries had not forgotten to ask their Heavenly Father for special protection in their journey. Their prayers had been answered!
NOTE: I know that this incident is true because I was the driver of the small car. Others involved were Sister Christiansen, our daughter, Frances Jean, and a fine elder. Although Frances Jean was too small to realize what had taken place, the scene has never been blotted from the minds of the rest of us.

During my professional life as a pilot, I relied greatly on the precision and reliability of computer systems but rarely had to work my own personal computer. In my office work as an executive, I had assistants and secretaries who kindly helped me with the tasks.
All this changed in 1994, when I was called as a General Authority. My calling consisted of many wonderful opportunities to minister, but it also included a great deal of Church office work—more than I ever thought possible.
To my shock, the main tool to stay on top of my work was a personal computer.
For the first time in my life, I had to delve into this strange, mystifying, incomprehensible world.
From the start, the computer and I were not on the friendliest of terms.
Able tech people tried to teach me how to use the computer. They literally stood behind me, reaching over my shoulder, their fingers moving quickly and tapping a percussive symphony against the keyboard.
“See?” they would say proudly. “That’s how you do it.”
I did not see. It was a rocky transition.
My learning curve was more like a brick wall.
It took a great deal of time, repetition, patience; no small amount of hope and faith; lots of reassurance from my wife; and many liters of a diet soda that shall remain nameless.
Now, 22 years later, I am surrounded by computer technology. I have an email address, a Twitter account, and a Facebook page. I own a smartphone, a tablet, a laptop, and a digital camera. And, while my tech skills may not quite measure up to those of a typical seven-year-old, for a septuagenarian, I do all right.
But I have noticed something interesting. The more adept I get at technology, the more I take it for granted.
For a large part of human history, communication happened at the speed of a horse. Sending a message and getting a reply could take days or even months. Today our messages travel thousands of miles into the sky or thousands of meters beneath the oceans to reach someone on the other side of the world, and if there is a delay of even a few seconds, we get frustrated and impatient.
It seems to be human nature: as we become more familiar with something, even something miraculous and awe-inspiring, we lose our sense of awe and treat it as commonplace.
Taking for granted our modern technologies and conveniences may be a relatively small matter. But, sadly, we sometimes take a similar attitude toward the eternal and soul-expanding doctrine of the gospel of Jesus Christ. In the Church of Jesus Christ, we have been given so much. We are surrounded by such an astonishing wealth of light and truth that I wonder if we truly appreciate what we have.
Think of those early disciples who walked and talked with the Savior during His earthly ministry. Imagine the thanksgiving and reverence that must have flooded their hearts and filled their minds when they saw Him risen from the tomb, when they felt the wounds in His hands. Their lives would never be the same!
Think of the early Saints of this dispensation who knew the Prophet Joseph Smith and heard him preach the restored gospel. Imagine how they must have felt to know that the veil between heaven and earth had parted again, shedding light and knowledge upon the world from our celestial home above.
But most of all, think of how you felt when for the first time you believed and understood that you are truly a child of God; that Jesus Christ willingly suffered for your sins so that you may be clean again; that priesthood power is real and can bind you to your loved ones for time and for all eternity; that there is a living prophet on the earth today. Isn’t that wonderful and amazing?
Considering all of this, how could it ever be possible that we of all people would not be excited about attending our Church worship services? Or get tired of reading the holy scriptures? I suppose this could be possible only if our hearts were past feeling to experience gratitude and awe for the sacred and sublime gifts God has granted us. Life-changing truths are before our eyes and at our fingertips, but sometimes we sleepwalk on the path of discipleship. Too often we let ourselves be distracted by the imperfections of our fellow members instead of following the example of our Master. We tread a path covered with diamonds, but we can scarcely distinguish them from ordinary pebbles.
When I was a young man, my friends would ask me about my religion. Often I would start to explain the differences, like the Word of Wisdom. Other times I would emphasize the similarities with other Christian religions. None of this would impress them very much. But when I talked about the great plan of happiness our Father in Heaven has for us as His children, I had their attention.
I remember trying to draw the plan of salvation on a blackboard in a classroom of our chapel in Frankfurt, Germany. I made circles that represented premortal life, mortality, and the return to our Heavenly Parents after this life.
As a teenager, how I loved to share this exciting message. When I explained these principles in my own simple words, my heart would overflow with gratitude for a God who loves His children and a Savior who redeemed all of us from death and hell. I was so proud of this message of love, joy, and hope.
Some of my friends would say that this message felt familiar, even though such things were never taught in their religious upbringing. It was as if they had always known these things to be true, as if I was simply casting light on something that was always and deeply rooted in their hearts.
I believe every human being carries in his or her heart some form of fundamental questions regarding life itself. Where did I come from? Why am I here? What will happen after I die?
These kinds of questions have been asked by mortals since the dawn of time. Philosophers, scholars, and pundits have spent their lives and fortunes seeking for answers.
I am grateful that the restored gospel of Jesus Christ has answers to the most complex questions in life. These answers are taught in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. They are true, plain, straightforward, and easy to understand. They are inspired, and we teach them to our three-year-olds in the Sunbeam class.
Brothers and sisters, we are eternal beings, without beginning and without end. We have always existed. We are the literal spirit children of divine, immortal, and omnipotent Heavenly Parents!
We come from the heavenly courts of the Lord our God. We are of the royal house of Elohim, the Most High God. We walked with Him in our premortal life. We heard Him speak, witnessed His majesty, learned His ways.
You and I participated in a Grand Council where our beloved Father presented His plan for us—that we would come to earth, receive mortal bodies, learn to choose between good and evil, and progress in ways that would not otherwise be possible.
When we passed through the veil and entered this mortal life, we knew that we would no longer remember the life before. There would be opposition and adversity and temptation. But we also knew that gaining a physical body was of paramount importance for us. Oh, how we hoped that we would quickly learn to make the correct choices, withstand the temptations of Satan, and eventually return to our beloved Parents in Heaven.
We knew we would sin and make mistakes—perhaps even serious ones. But we also knew that our Savior, Jesus Christ, had pledged to come to earth, live a sinless life, and voluntarily lay down His life in an eternal sacrifice. We knew that if we gave our heart to Him, trusted Him, and strived with all the energy of our soul to walk in the path of discipleship, we could be washed clean and once again enter the presence of our beloved Father in Heaven.
So, with faith in the sacrifice of Jesus Christ, you and I accepted, by our free will, Heavenly Father’s plan.
That is why we are here on this beautiful planet earth—because God offered us the opportunity, and we chose to accept it. Our mortal life, however, is only temporary and will end with the death of our physical body. But the essence of who you and I are will not be destroyed. Our spirits will continue living and await the Resurrection—a free gift to all by our loving Heavenly Father and His Son, Jesus Christ. At the Resurrection, our spirits and bodies will be reunited, free from pain and physical imperfections.
After the Resurrection, there will be a Day of Judgment. While all will eventually be saved and inherit a kingdom of glory, those who trust in God and seek to follow His laws and ordinances will inherit lives in the eternities that are unimaginable in glory and overwhelming in majesty.
That Day of Judgment will be a day of mercy and love—a day when broken hearts are healed, when tears of grief are replaced with tears of gratitude, when all will be made right.
Yes, there will be deep sorrow because of sin. Yes, there will be regrets and even anguish because of our mistakes, our foolishness, and our stubbornness that caused us to miss opportunities for a much greater future.
But I have confidence that we will not only be satisfied with the judgment of God; we will also be astonished and overwhelmed by His infinite grace, mercy, generosity, and love for us, His children. If our desires and works are good, if we have faith in a living God, then we can look forward to what Moroni called “the pleasing bar of the great Jehovah, the Eternal Judge.”
My beloved brothers and sisters, my dear friends, does it not fill our hearts and minds with wonder and awe to contemplate the great plan of happiness our Heavenly Father has prepared for us? Does it not fill us with unspeakable joy to know of the glorious future that is prepared for all who wait upon the Lord?
If you have never felt such wonder and joy, I invite you to seek, study, and ponder the simple yet profound truths of the restored gospel. “Let the solemnities of eternity rest upon your minds.” Let them bear testimony unto you of the divine plan of salvation.
If you have felt these things before, I ask you today, “Can [you] feel so now?”
Recently I had the opportunity to travel to Belfast, Northern Ireland. While there, I noticed the Belfast Coat of Arms, which includes the motto “Pro tanto quid retribuamus,” or “What shall we give in return for so much?”
I invite each of us to consider this question. What shall we give in return for the flood of light and truth God has poured out upon us?
Our beloved Father simply asks that we live by the truth we have received and that we follow the path He has provided. Therefore, let us take courage and trust in the guidance of the Spirit. Let us in word and in deed share with our fellowmen the amazing and awe-inspiring message of God’s plan of happiness. May our motive be our love for God and for His children, for they are our brothers and sisters. This is the beginning of what we can do in return for so much.
Someday “every knee shall bow, and every tongue confess” that God’s ways are just and His plan is perfect. For you and me, let that day be today. Let us proclaim, with Jacob of old, “O how great the plan of our God!”
Of this I testify in deep gratitude to our Heavenly Father, as I leave you my blessing, in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

I can remember when I was called as a bishop, my predecessor, Bishop Russell Johnson, warned me that I would have to be careful what I asked the members to do. He said, “Some will respond to every suggestion, even at great sacrifice.” He mentioned one widow in her 80s who had cared for both a husband and a son through long illnesses before they passed away. Bishop Johnson said that despite having small resources, she would always try to respond. I found this to be true. Every time I mentioned the need for contributions or service to bless others, Sarah was often the first to respond.
One Saturday another sister called me and said, “Bishop, come quick! Save Sarah!” This sister reported that 80-year-old Sarah was on top of a ladder cleaning out this neighbor’s rain gutters. This sister was terrified that Sarah would fall and wanted the bishop to intervene.
I am not suggesting that everyone can or should imitate Sarah. Some feel guilty because they cannot meet every need immediately. I love the quote Elder Neal A. Maxwell often used from Anne Morrow Lindbergh: “My life cannot implement in action the demands of all the people to whom my heart responds.” King Benjamin taught, “See that all these things are done in wisdom and order; for it is not requisite that a man should run faster than he has strength.” But he added that we should be diligent.
My heart rejoices as I observe the Saints all over the Church doing everything they can to provide Christlike service wherever there is a need. Because of member contributions, the Church can quietly and quickly, without fanfare, respond to needs all over the world. The Church is already responding to the natural disasters in the Philippines, the Pacific Islands, and Indonesia.
Last year our members responded to Hurricane Gustav. The Church worked closely with a humanitarian organization led by Martin Luther King III. Mr. King subsequently visited Salt Lake City and said: “I originally came to express my appreciation to the Church for their humanitarian support, but I quickly learned that the essence of who you are is so much deeper and profound. Between the Humanitarian Center, Welfare Square, and the temple open house, I now have a greater appreciation for why you do what you do.”

A few days before school was supposed to start, my mom came to me and said, “Why don’t you ask Dad to give you a father’s blessing to help you with school?”
I didn’t want to ask my father for a blessing. My father is a very good man and always keeps the commandments, but he wasn’t someone I thought of as really spiritual. Besides, we hadn’t been getting along very well recently. He always seemed to be keeping me from doing what I wanted to do. I wasn’t sure that any blessing he gave me would do me any good, but my mom continued to encourage me to ask him.
The night before school started, she reminded me again. Hesitantly, I went to ask my dad for a blessing, almost positive that he’d say no.
He didn’t. Instead, he agreed to give me a blessing and immediately stopped what he’d been working on so it could happen right then. My mom brought out a chair and I sat down.
I didn’t expect to feel anything different, but as soon as he laid his hands on my head and began to speak, tears rushed into my eyes and I felt the Spirit very strongly. I realized at that moment that even though my dad isn’t perfect, he is a Melchizedek Priesthood holder. He respects his covenants, and he loves me. I realized what a great blessing that is, and I was so grateful for the opportunity to be blessed by my father through the priesthood.

I’m not a very good gardener (my husband, Ed, was the one who enjoyed that part of our home), and I recently noticed that a carelessly placed brick had squashed a pansy flat. But part of the pansy was still peeking out from under the edge of the brick; and over the next few weeks, that pansy put its energies into creeping sideways around the edge of the brick, pushing its short shoots into the air and sunlight, and blossoming in its friendly purple and gold. When I moved the brick, the pansy’s stem was crooked; but, oh, its flower was as glorious as those next to it.
This pansy chose life. It experienced adversity, but it chose life. It experienced crippling, but it chose life. It could not have been blamed or faulted for giving up under the brick, but it chose life.

During the winter of my 13th year, a young seminary teacher new to our town was called to serve as our deacons quorum adviser. His name was Rex Reeve, Jr. He was the kind of guy that boys could look up to and admire. He had a lovely young wife, two or three young children, and had been a football All-American in high school. Additionally, he was fun to be around, and we all liked him a lot.
Brother Reeve discovered that a widow who lived near the church often went all winter without any snow being shoveled from her sidewalks or driveway, except when family members came to visit from the city. In our presidency meeting we discussed this circumstance and Brother Reeve helped us to understand that we should shovel her sidewalk, porch, and driveway.
So as part of our quorum responsibilities, we went regularly to Sister Jones’s home, and armed with shovels, brooms, and scoops, we cleaned the snow and ice from her porch, sidewalk, and driveway. Brother Reeve insisted that we leave them completely free of snow and ice.
Because I thought I had better things to do (like snowball fight), I resented a little the service we had to perform for this sister. Not one time did she come outside to thank us or offer us brownies or cookies or hot chocolate. I felt it was a real waste of time. Brother Reeve held out that we were storing up blessings in heaven. I personally found that hard to believe.
Then something happened that changed my attitude. In testimony meeting during April, this sister stood up from the second or third row in the chapel, and turned around to face the majority of the congregation. With all the faith her heart could muster, she said to our ward, “I want to stand on my feet today and thank God publicly for seven special young bearers of the priesthood.” My heart stood still.
“Every Sunday morning this entire winter, they have cleaned my porch, sidewalk, and driveway of the snow and ice that has accumulated during the week, and I shall be eternally grateful for them and their leader. This is the first time since my husband died that I have had a winter of clean walkways, and that has been many years.”
She paused and wiped a tear from her wrinkled face. Then pointing at each one of us boys individually, she said, “Thank you Brother Ryan, bless you Brother Green, may God bless you Brother Roth, thank you kindly Brother Gillette, bless you Brother Fish,” and so on through all seven of us and our quorum adviser, who had taught us the principle of service for no reason except to serve.
At her funeral several years later, a family member told how much she loved the ward and spoke of “the winter the deacons had kept Mother snow-free.” I determined that day that I would try to do the same for others the rest of my life so that I could feel the same joy every week that I had felt when an elderly sister stood in testimony meeting and said to me, pointing with a crooked finger, “Bless you, Brother Fish.”

And, speaking of Christmas, I am reminded of one of my favorite Christmas stories that illustrates the importance of individual acts of charity in the line of service. I heard it years ago, and although I am not sure of the source or even if it is a factual story, the point is clear.
It was just a small, white envelope stuck among the branches of our Christmas tree. No name, no identification, no inscription. It has peeked through the branches of our tree for the past 10 years or so. It began because my husband Mike strongly disliked the commercial aspects of Christmas—the frantic running around at the last minute and the focus on gifts instead of people and our Savior. Knowing he felt this way, I reached for something special. The inspiration came in an unusual way. Our son Kevin, who was 12 that year, was wrestling at the junior level. Shortly before Christmas there was a nonleague match against a team sponsored by an inner-city church. These youngsters didn’t have headgear, and they dressed in sneakers so ragged that shoestrings seemed to be the only thing holding them together, and they were a sharp contrast to our boys in their spiffy blue and gold uniforms and sparkling new wrestling shoes.
We took every weight class. Mike, seated beside me, shook his head sadly. “I wish just one of them could have won,” he said. “They have a lot of potential, but losing like this could take the heart right out of them.”
Mike loved kids—all kids—having coached Little League football, baseball, and lacrosse. That’s when the idea for his present came. That afternoon I went to a local sporting goods store and bought an assortment of wrestling headgear and shoes and sent them anonymously to the inner-city church. On Christmas Eve I placed the envelope on the tree with a note inside telling Mike what I had done and that this was his gift from me.
His smile was the brightest that year, and in succeeding years. For each Christmas I followed the tradition—one year sending a group of mentally handicapped youngsters to a hockey game, another year a check to a pair of elderly brothers whose home had burned to the ground the week before Christmas, and on and on. The envelope became the highlight of our Christmas. It was always the last thing opened on Christmas morning, and our children, ignoring their new toys, would stand with wide-eyed anticipation as their dad lifted the envelope from the tree to reveal its contents. As the children grew, the toys gave way to more practical presents, but the envelope never lost its allure.
The story doesn’t end there. You see, we ost Mike last year due to cancer. When Christmas rolled around I was still so wrapped in grief that I barely got the tree up. But Christmas Eve found me placing an envelope on the tree, and in the morning it was joined by three more. Each of our children, unbeknownst to the others, had placed an envelope on the tree for their dad. The tradition has grown and someday will expand even further with our grandchildren standing around the tree with wide-eyed anticipation watching as their fathers take down the envelope. Mike’s spirit, like the Christmas spirit, will always be with us.

The importance of this process as a foundation for developing a Christ-centered life was impressed upon me many times when, as a stake president, I interviewed returning missionaries. One interview in particular left an indelible impression on me as a young man shared an experience that had changed his life. This elder had spent two years serving a mission in Mexico. Like many others, his gospel foundation had been somewhat shaky before he entered the missionary training center. But as the interview progressed, I could tell that significant changes had occurred within him.

After a few weeks in the field, this elder had become concerned that he was telling people the Book of Mormon was true and Joseph Smith was a prophet when he didn’t know for himself. How could he assure others when he did not have his own assurance? In discussing the problem with him, his companion challenged him to follow the counsel he was giving investigators: read the Book of Mormon and pray with a sincere heart, with real intent, even if he could only desire to believe.

A month went by and my friend’s feelings did not change. He read parts of the Book of Mormon and prayed daily that he would know the truthfulness of the message, but nothing happened. Two or three more weeks passed. He was obedient in his scripture study, prayers, tracting, and teaching, but he still lacked conviction.

As this missionary and his companion were tracting, they made an appointment to teach a family the next evening. When they arrived home that night, the elder, who, at his companion’s request, had agreed to teach the Joseph Smith story to the new investigators, began reading the Book of Mormon again. He read and prayed and then read some more. He was determined to have an answer before teaching the family. Through most of the night he repeated the pattern of reading and praying. As morning came he was disappointed; no swelling motions, no particular enlightenment or feeling had been received.

He dutifully followed his companion during the day but worried about the evening appointment. When the hour came, they knocked on the door. The husband answered and ushered them into a small home. Sitting on the dirt floor were nine children, and the father joined the mother behind them. Soon it was time for the struggling elder to teach his part of the lesson. He began by describing rather methodically young Joseph’s confusion regarding which church to join and his subsequent prayer on a beautiful spring day in 1820 in a secluded wooded area near his father’s farm.

As the elder reached the point in the story where the Father introduced the Son, saying, “This is My Beloved Son. Hear Him!” (JS—H 1:17), a warm feeling began to envelop him, starting in the deep recesses of his soul. Within moments, it had filled his entire being, and he began to cry. He dropped his head in embarrassment. Why was he crying? What were these feelings? He had never felt them before. The feelings were sweet and penetrated his very being. As thoughts rushed through his mind, he realized he knew that the Father and the Son had appeared to the boy Joseph, that the Book of Mormon was true, and that the gospel had been restored. Regaining control of his emotions, he looked up at the father and mother. Tears were streaming down their faces! They were feeling the same powerful influence of the Spirit he was feeling. He looked at the children. They, too, had tears in their eyes. The Spirit had borne witness to them of the truthfulness of his words. He continued the story and finished with a humble witness that the Father and the Son had appeared to the boy Joseph.

As this elder concluded telling me his story, he said, “President, I never had a problem teaching people after that. I knew the gospel was true, for I knew the Father and the Son appeared to Joseph Smith. I knew why I was in the mission field.”

As I listened, the Holy Spirit bore witness of the extraordinary missionary the young elder had become. I thought of how efficient Heavenly Father is. The father, the mother, the nine children, and the young missionary were all converted that evening. Twelve were converted that night, whereas only one would have been converted the night before. Moreover, the test required for a witness had been completed. The missionary had been obedient to his companion and to his mission president. He had exerted his desire to believe, and he had acted on that belief. And he now had a more sure hope through the witness of the Spirit!