Gospel Story Finder

During a visit with Great-Uncle Grover years ago, our two young boys wanted to go outside and play. Uncle Grover said to them, “Be careful—there are a lot of skunks out there.” The boys soon went outside to play.
On our way home, I asked, “Did you see a skunk?” One of them replied, “No, we didn’t see any skunks, but we did see a black kitty cat with a white stripe on its back!”
The boys were unaware that they had seen a skunk. This is a story of mistaken identity—presuming the real thing to be something else. Many today grapple with this same issue on a much larger scale.

There may be a time when a person would have doubts concerning the ability or qualification of someone being called to a position in the Church. One brother in my acquaintance once learned a great lesson in this regard. Years ago, as a ward teacher supervisor, he had a problem motivating a particular ward teacher to perform his duties. The supervisor found it necessary to do this man’s ward teaching for six consecutive months. One night in a sacrament meeting, my friend was called upon to sustain this man to be a member of the bishopric. He struggled within himself to know whether he should sustain a man who had not performed his duties as a ward teacher and whom he felt did not have the qualities necessary to be a good member of the bishopric. Reluctantly, he finally voted in the affirmative. In the ensuing months the slothful ward teacher took hold of his position in the bishopric and moved the work of the Lord forward. He served successfully as a member of the bishopric and later as a bishop, a high councilor, and eventually as a counselor in a stake presidency.

One hot summer day, Reesey and Cheyenne invited Zara over to play. Mum made a snack. The girls sat at the table to eat.
Mum sliced mangoes from their mango tree. She put apple slices and grapes on a plate. Reesey looked at the delicious food. She remembered to say a prayer before eating her snack. She asked Zara, “Do you pray at your house?”
“What’s that?” Zara asked.
“Like this,” said Cheyenne. She folded her arms and bowed her head. She asked a blessing on the food. When she was done, she said, “See? Like that. Easy!”
“We don’t do that at our house. We just eat,” said Zara.
Reesey had never thought about not praying. “Mum,” she said, “do we have to say prayers?”
Mum smiled as she carried cups of ice water to the table. “We like thanking Heavenly Father for what He has given us. We’re going to keep saying prayers. But it’s OK if other people don’t.”
Reesey knew Mum was right. She was happy when her family prayed. Maybe praying would make Zara happy too. “You could try it,” she said to Zara.
Zara smiled. “Maybe I will,” she said and ate a slice of mango.
“I like it when we pray,” said Cheyenne.“It makes me feel happy inside.”
Reesey and Cheyenne were happy they could tell their friend about praying. They all finished their snacks and ran back outside to play.

Many years ago I found myself as part of occupation troops in a foreign land just at the end of a terrible war. It was not long after we arrived in this country before we developed a great love and concern for the people we were there to watch over. This was especially true of the young people, the children. Many times we would find them scavenging in our garbage cans looking for food to keep themselves alive. This deeply touched us, and we wanted to make a more substantial contribution to them. We raised what money we could and found a local religious group that was willing to open an orphanage for them. We donated as much time as possible to improve the facilities and provided them with the operating funds they needed.
As Christmas approached, we sent letters home to our families asking that, instead of sending gifts to us, they send toys for the children in the orphanage. The response of our families was overwhelming! Toys arrived daily from our homes.
We found a tree suitable to use as a Christmas tree, but we had no traditional decorations for it. A lady taught us how to make little birds by folding square pieces of paper, and these became the major part of the decorations for the tree. The presents were wrapped mostly in discarded Stars and Stripes newspapers. I’ll never forget Christmas Eve with those children. I am sure many of them had never seen a Christmas tree in their lives.
We sang Christmas carols to them, but we weren’t very good at this. They had been rehearsing for weeks so they could sing a song to us in English. It was not a Christmas carol, but it was beautiful. They sang, “You Are My Sunshine.” We were deeply touched with the spirit of the children that Christmas Eve, especially as they opened the presents sent from our families. I suppose some of them had not had a toy in many, many years.
This is a Christmas I’ll never forget because we were learning the true meaning of this great holiday season. The greatest joy we can receive in life is giving—to bring into the life of someone else a little joy and happiness.

Every day Papa put a bucket down the well, hoping to bring up water, but the best he could get was damp sand on the bottom of the bucket.
“Don’t try the well till I get there,” Ed called down from the loft to Papa, when he heard the door shut after milking.
“Me, too,” I yelled and scrambled down the ladder.
One day the bucket made a splash when it went down. “There’s water,” Papa announced and pulled quickly on the rope to bring up a dripping pailful.
“Water!” Ed shouted.
“Water!” I echoed.
It was a race to the house to tell Mama, and she was so excited she said, “Let’s celebrate. I’ll make pancakes for breakfast.”
“Hurry then,” Papa said. “We have to get the pipe and sucker rods in.”
“What are sucker rods?” Ed wanted to know.
“They’re wooden poles to suck the water out of the ground.”
“Where do you put them?” I asked.
“First, we put a big pipe down to the bottom of the well. Then we put the sucker rods, one at a time, inside the pipe and push them as far as they’ll go into the sand.”
“What if they aren’t long enough?” Ed asked.
“We’ll fasten another one onto the first. They’re made so they can be screwed together.”
“Then will the water come up?”
“Yes, as soon as we build a windmill to run the pump.”
“What if it pumps water all over and makes a mud hole?”
“It won’t. We’ll have it fixed so we can turn if off.”
“What if the wind doesn’t blow when we want water?”
“We’ll have a storage tank. The pump will fill it up when the wind’s blowing, and we’ll use the water when we need it. I saw a galvanized tank in the Sears Roebuck catalogue. I’d better send off for one right away.”
“Pancakes are ready,” Mama announced, and we sat up to the table to eat them.

Peace McBride, an apprentice seamstress, and her mistress, Mrs. Root, have heard the Prophet Joseph Smith preach, studied the Book of Mormon, and been baptized into the Church. Now Peace has received Sister Root’s permission and the necessary money to visit her family in a distant county to share her joy in the gospel with them.
On the eve of a brand new decade, December 31, 1839, Peace was bundled in a warm cloak and sitting on top of a coach. Only something as important as the gospel could make Peace take such a journey. Sister Root had tried for days to find someone who was traveling toward the town of Chester Springs, but there were few travelers this time of year. Even so, not a seat was left inside the coach, and no one had been willing to give up his seat to the young girl. I won’t think of the cold, Peace decided. I’ll think of how warm I was after my baptism, of Sister Root’s warm parlor, of anything but the cold.
Cheerfully she hugged a paper-wrapped parcel to her chest. It was Sister Root’s copy of the Book of Mormon. She had given it to Peace as the excited girl had boarded the stage. “I shouldn’t let you be doing this,” Sister Root had fretted. “But since you’re going, here, take the book. It won’t do you much good to just talk about it—your folks need a chance to read it.”
Feeling cold creep around her toes as the coach got farther and farther from Philadelphia, Peace wriggled them and thought about the past few weeks. There had been such a change in her employer! Peace could remember when sour words and slaps were served up regularly to her. Sister Root’s whole manner had changed from the time that she first listened to the Prophet.
Glancing around, Peace noticed that the slush in the road had frozen. She stomped her feet and moved her arms to keep warm. Finally she saw the inn up ahead. It was a two-day trip home, and whenever she made it, she always stayed there.
After a warm meal, Peace felt better and hurried to her room. She knew that the coach would leave shortly after dawn, and she needed all the sleep that she could get. Wrapping herself in the quilts, she drifted peacefully to sleep.
Several hours later she awoke as cold again gripped her. The cozy little room that she had enjoyed in the summer was far from any heat source. Seeing frost forming around the window and on the panes, Peace knew that it was frightfully cold. Reaching for her cloak, she hastily put it on over her nightclothes. Back under the covers, she shivered until she was warm enough to fall asleep again.
The frost was so thick on the panes when Peace awoke a second time that light from the feeble sunrise hardly penetrated the room. She dressed under the covers, then hurried to the gathering room. The other travelers were already huddled around the fire, so she had to stand behind them, where she could barely feel its warmth.
A warm breakfast and cheerful words from the inn-keeper helped. Bracing herself, Peace again took her seat on top of the coach. This time she wore all the clothes that she had brought with her. Yet, before noon, her throat was scratchy. By evening, she was really sick. As the coach approached Chester Springs, she was so ill that she hardly knew what was happening around her.
A kind farmer going her way agreed to take Peace to her family’s farm. It was only two miles outside of town, but to Peace the trip took forever. Each time the wagon hit a rut, her head seemed to explode with pain.
Hearing her mother’s voice was almost like being in heaven. Peace tried to rise from where she lay in the back of the farmer’s wagon, but she sank back weakly.
“Peace!” her mother cried. “Whatever are you doing here?” She bustled around and fussed as the farmer and Mr. McBride carried the girl into the house.
It was bliss for Peace to lie in a soft, warm bed in the safety of her home. Her mother helped undress her and started to take the paper-wrapped parcel from her.
“No!” Peace mumbled. “I need to keep this with me. It’s why I came here, and it’s very important.”
“Important or not,” her mother said firmly, “it’s going on the dresser. It will be there when you get better.”
It was a week before Peace felt well enough to even sit up. She had developed a fever and a deep cough and was able to do little but lie there and try to get well.
“You’re awake!” her mother said cheerfully one morning as she came into Peace’s room. “After breakfast and a wash, you’ll feel much better, I’m sure.”
Peace smiled at her mother. It was so good to be home. Looking over at the dresser, she noticed that the parcel was gone. “Where did my book go?”
“I have it, but not for long.”
Peace looked up in surprise at the angry tone of her mother’s voice.
“How did you come by such a book,” her mother asked.
“Sister Root gave it to me.”
“I should never have let you go off on your own.”
“But, Mother, you know I had to. It was an opportunity for the whole family for me to train with such a great dressmaker.”
“She promised to watch over you!”
Peace smiled at her mother and hoped to get her in a better mood. “She watched over me very well. Do you know anything about the Book of Mormon?”
“Reverend Thompson said that the book is of the devil. He told me to burn it!”
Peace sat up in bed. “You didn’t, did you?” she cried.
“Not yet.” Her mother’s face softened. “It seemed to mean so much to you. And you came so far to bring it to us. I’ll admit that I was a little curious about it, because you value it, so I read a little of it.”
“Did it sound like the devil wrote it?” Peace asked softly.
“Well, no,” her mother admitted and smiled back at Peace. “I read a beautiful story about the Savior visiting a strange people in a land that I never heard of.”
“Bountiful?”
“Yes, that’s it. I have to say that it was a beautiful tale!”
“Oh, Mother,” Peace said fervently, “it’s more than a tale. It’s true—every word of it! If you read about it and pray about it, you’ll know that too.”
“Reverend Thompson said that no God-loving person would get involved with this book. He’s a good man, and he’s been our minister since you were a baby.”
Peace didn’t know what to say. Reverend Thompson was a good man. He’d been more than kind to her over the years. “Have the Mormon elders been in this area?”
“Yes, they have,” her mother answered. “Why?”
“Did many people listen and join the Church?”
“Yes. In fact, the number of people in our church has dwindled. And Reverend Thompson is very unhappy about it.”
“There, Mother. That’s your answer. Reverend Thompson is afraid that he’ll lose his congregation.”
Now it was her mother’s turn to look thoughtful. “You may be right. …”
“Mother, will you and Father read the whole book—and pray sincerely about it? Then if you have any questions, we can ask the elders to come visit.”
“I’m still not sure.”
“Please? It means so much to me.”
Peace’s mother loved her oldest daughter very much. She had been parted from her for a long time, and she felt that it wouldn’t hurt to do as Peace asked.
“All right. I will read it, and I’ll ask your father if he will too. I can’t promise more than that.”
“I know,” Peace said understandingly. “Sister Root didn’t want to believe, either. She wouldn’t let me be baptized until she knew more about the Church.”
“Rightly so,” her mother agreed. “I guess that maybe she was caring for you well.”
With just a few days left till she had to go back, Peace spent all the time that she could with her two brothers and three little sisters. She talked to them about the big city and the things that she had seen. “Not long ago I went into a big church near Mistress Root’s shop. There was a man speaking there,” she told them. “His name is Joseph Smith. He’s a very great man, and he’s a prophet.”
“Like Moses?” Jimmy asked in wonder.
“Yes, like Moses. When he talked, I felt that he had great power. We all felt it, and it changed my life.” She told them all that had happened to her. She told them, too, about the Savior and His visit to the New World. They listened eagerly as she told them stories from the Book of Mormon.
Because it was winter, the McBrides spent most of their time indoors. Peace read the Book of Mormon to her father as he mended harnesses and to her mother while she knitted. They listened intently to what Peace read, and her brothers and sisters did too.
Peace attended sacrament meeting at the small branch. Afterward she invited the elders to visit her family. When they came, her father asked many questions. He didn’t say much but nodded his head as the elders answered him.
The time soon came when Peace had to leave. Her heart was heavy because her parents still had not committed themselves to joining the Church.
Her father took her in their wagon to the inn and placed her bag inside the boot of the coach. Peace had a seat inside this time. She also had a warm quilt that her mother made for her to wrap up in.
“Good-bye, Peace,” her father told her, giving her a big hug. “I know what you want from your mother and me. I’m proud of you for believing your religion enough to suffer hardship to try to bring it to us. We’re not ready yet. Don’t give up on us, though. Just give us time.”
Peace left with a warm feeling. She knew that no matter what happened, she had done what she could to teach her family. Now she would give time and the Holy Ghost a chance to finish the work.

They might look like ordinary girls, but today they’re actually chefs in training. About once a month, these activity day girls from the Whittier Ward in the Salt Lake Wells Stake try out a recipe from the Friend. “Cooking is much more fun if you do it together!” said Annika C., age 11.
Today the girls went bananas making banana chocolate-chip bread and funny banana faces. You can see their bread recipe on the page to the right.

For one Latter-day Saint family, “wholesome recreational activities”… mean parents bonding with their children by finding out what they love.
In the Proclamation on the Family, latter-day prophets have taught that “successful marriages and families are established and maintained on principles of faith, prayer, repentance, forgiveness, respect, love, compassion, work, and wholesome recreational activities.”
For one Latter-day Saint family, “wholesome recreational activities” can be more than just going out together, having a special meal, or playing games. It can also mean parents bonding with their children by finding out what they love—with a whole lot of singing, swaying, and even TikToking!
On a particular night at the home of the Escritor family of Kapitolyo Ward, Pasig Stake, you’ll hear some lively strumming and drumming. First, Darwin, the family head, croons a hit from the 70s rock band America. Then, the beat changes and this time 15-year-old Cyrus leads with a song from Pinoy pop sensation Callalily. Then everybody, including younger sister Arianne, 13, and mother Anna all sing a familiar 90s chartbuster. It’s jammin’ time again!
“Even if we didn’t have gadgets before or instruments, we trained our children to sing together as a family,” Darwin says. “Before we would pray with them and go to sleep,” he adds, “we would sing Primary songs to them.” Darwin and Anna also strove to be close with each child, by trying to like what they liked. “We really wanted to be real friends with them,” Anna shares.
The Escritors actively share their jamming sessions on Facebook, with family members adjusting to each one’s likes and preferences. Now that many pandemic-related restrictions are being lifted and face-to-face meetings are gradually resuming, Simon and Cyrus look forward to actively associating with their age groups as they follow the Children and Youth Program, which focuses on gospel learning, service and activities, and personal development.
Just recently, younger son Simon needed to do a Tiktok video as a school project. “I was too shy to dance alone, so I was really very happy when Daddy helped by dancing along with me,” he reveals. In the video, viewers can see both father and son grooving, doing some hilarious but delightful moves.
“We want our children to be strong socially, physically, emotionally, and spiritually,” Anna sums up. “Heavenly Father entrusted them to us, so we do everything to raise them up in a way that the Lord wants them to, and then have fun doing it!”

James carefully straightened his tie as he rode to the stake center. Today was his little sister Angie’s baptism, and he knew he needed to look as nice as he could. He looked over at Angie. She was sitting very quietly, looking out the window. He wondered if she was scared or excited.
James remembered his own baptism day. He had been so excited to finally step into the font. He remembered how warm the water felt, and especially how warm he felt inside. He was happy for Angie.
But he was also a little bit jealous.
Wouldn’t it be nice if people could be baptized more than once? What if he could ask his father to let him put on some white clothes too, go down into the water, and be washed clean?
James thought about the promises he had made when he was baptized. He knew that he hadn’t been as good as he had planned to be. Sometimes he was mean to Angie. He had told a few lies. Last week he even took his friend’s Frisbee without asking and hadn’t returned it yet.
James began to feel sad. If only he could get baptized again so that he could start over! He would do better this time; he knew it.
At the stake center, James sat next to his mother and watched his father help Angie into the water. She looked happy. James remembered that feeling. Maybe if he told his father about the things he had done wrong, he could get baptized again. But he didn’t dare ask.
After Angie’s baptism, the whole family had dinner together. Angie was beaming. Grandma and Grandpa were there too, looking proud of Angie. James thought about how sad they would feel if they knew the things he had done since his own baptism. He didn’t feel very hungry.
“What’s wrong, James?” Dad asked, putting his hand on James’s shoulder. His face was full of love. Would he understand and let James get baptized again? Or would he be disappointed in his son?
James leaned over so no one else could hear him. “Dad, can I get baptized again?”
Dad looked closely at James. “Well, that’s not exactly how things work, James. Is something bothering you?”
“Well, it’s just that sometimes I want a chance to start over again.”
“Ah, I see. Are you remembering your own baptism day?”
“Yes.”
“I understand that. Sometimes I wish I could get baptized again. But you see, James, I don’t have to.”
“Why? Because you haven’t done anything wrong?” James asked.
Dad smiled. “Like you, I wanted to keep all the commandments when I was baptized. But I have done many things wrong since then. Just yesterday I lost my patience when you didn’t do your chores right away, remember?”
“Yes.”
“I really wanted to erase my mistake as if it had never happened.”
“So you wanted to get baptized again?” James asked.
“Well, I did want to be clean again,” Dad said. “But I knew that there was another way to get clean again besides getting baptized. I could repent.”
“Is that all?” James asked. “I mean, is repenting the same as getting baptized again?”
“Yes, but there is another part too. Being baptized when you’re eight is something that you do to show obedience and make a covenant to keep the commandments. After that, when you sin, you need to repent and show you really mean to do better.”
James smiled. “You mean by taking the sacrament?”
Dad nodded. “When you take the sacrament you are showing Jesus that you have repented of the things you did wrong that week. And then, as you eat the bread and drink the water, you become clean, and you are ready to start over.”
James remembered the words of the sacrament prayer. Each week he promised to take Jesus Christ’s name upon him—just like when he was baptized. “So I am clean if I repent and then take the sacrament?” he asked.
“That’s exactly right,” Dad said.
“Wow.” James was quiet for a minute. Tomorrow was Sunday. He could take the sacrament then! But he had some work to do first. He wondered if Mom would let him take the Frisbee over to his friend Mark’s house after they got home.
“Dad?”
“Yes, Son?”
“I’m sorry for not doing my chores yesterday. Will you forgive me?”
Dad smiled and hugged James. “Of course I will.”

When I was in grade four, some of the kids in my class said that every recess they would play a game in the school field, but only a few kids were allowed. A bunch of kids, including me, were left out. For a couple of days I was bored because the friends I usually played with were playing with the kids in the school field. During those days, I played with some of the other kids in my class I didn’t know very well. I got to know them better, and I even became good friends with one of them! One day, one of the kids who played in the school field invited me to play with them. I asked her if my new friend could play too. She said my friend wasn’t allowed. I told her I couldn’t play with them. At recess I played with my new friend. I felt good inside, and I knew I had made the right choice.

Whilst former England Missionary Training Centre president, Crag Ostler, was serving in his call, he built up a close relationship with Ralph Assherton, son of Lord and Lady Clitheroe of Downham. Ralph has the responsibility for the day-to-day running of the village and the family estate, and so he takes a real interest in village life and those who visit. All missionaries in the missionary training centre are given a Church history tour of significant sites in the northwest of England, including Downham. Over the years, these visits from the missionaries to Downham have led to the development of a relationship and friendship.
Ralph Assherton had always been very supportive and accommodating regarding these regular visits from the missionaries and would often spend time speaking with President Ostler. They realised they had much in common.
Sadly for President and Sister Ostler, when their assignment at the MTC was completed they did not have an opportunity to meet in person to say goodbye to Ralph.
However they had not forgotten Ralph’s friendship and kindness towards them and the missionaries. Once home, Brother Ostler was determined to express his gratitude to Ralph for the last three years.
Through research, Brother Ostler learnt that one of Ralph’s interests was bell ringing. If you go down to Downham on a Tuesday evening you will hear the bells of St Leonard’s church being rung by Ralph!
Brother Ostler organised the presentation of a handheld bell and a personal letter to Ralph, on his behalf- and on the many others who had benefited from Ralph’s kindness.
On 29 June, President Don H. Staheli, president of the Missionary Training Centre, Sister Staheli, and a number of missionaries gathered in St Leonard’s church along with Ralph Assherton and others to make the presentation. As part of the presentation, musical items were provided by the missionaries, including a beautiful violin solo.
Ralph then took some time speaking to the missionaries, taking questions, and even gave a demonstration with his new handbell.
President Staheli and others expressed their thanks to Ralph and his family for the kindness and support they have shown and continue to extend towards the Church.

The puppy was slobbering all over my clothes and nibbling my hands with his sharp baby teeth as we sat alone outside in the dark. The disorder and disarray of my home and the piles of dirty dishes and laundry made me want to run screaming into the night. I felt crushed by the burden of my general household tasks.
Then my calling as Relief Society president, never far from my attention, came to mind. I thought of all the sisters I needed to encourage, the tasks I needed to do, the meetings I needed to organize, the lessons I needed to teach, the interviews I needed to have.
Then I thought of each of my five children. They needed me to teach them, to guide them, to help them gain faith and strength.
I remembered our exchange student and her needs. I was still learning how to develop a friendship with her and was finding it hard to bridge the cultural divide and find a common ground.
Then I considered my husband and how little time I had been able to give him lately. I could see he was struggling and needed me too.
I didn’t know how to fit it all in. I couldn’t take all these heavy burdens anymore. My strength was spent.
I pleaded with my Father in Heaven for help with all I was carrying.
The soft response came. “What would you have me take away?”
It shot through my heart like lightning.
“Take away?”
I did the mental math. My house, despite the disorder, was mine. I was so grateful for it. I had painted its walls, built shelves, and made it a home. I would hate to have it taken away. I would keep that burden with a grateful heart.
I reviewed my calling as Relief Society president. It was heavy and took much of my time, but it was helping me grow. I had learned so much, and I loved the sisters so deeply now. I wanted to learn more, and I knew I had promised to serve the Lord willingly. I would gratefully keep this burden too.
Next, thoughts of each of my precious children penetrated my heart. I love being a mother. I am so grateful I could bring these wonderful spirits into the world and watch them grow and develop. They each have a permanent place in my heart. I want them all with me on this journey of learning and growing and loving. What heartache I would feel to lose any of them.
Even though developing a relationship with our exchange student was sometimes a struggle, she was teaching me about a new culture, and I was enjoying the experience. I could see how loved and valued she was to our family. She was becoming as dear to me as my own children, and I wanted her in my life. She needed to stay.
My dear husband was my helpmeet through it all. He encouraged me and helped me carry the heavy load. I couldn’t imagine life without him by my side. What a blessing he was.
The puppy crawled about at my feet. He was my newest burden. He had come to us very sick and with a broken leg. We had prayed as a family for him to be healed. Slowly, he had gotten better, and now I watched him happily attempt to stand and to crawl. He stumbled a bit still, and I knew I would need to spend many hours helping him walk and run. He was the most obvious thing to give up, but I loved this little bundle of slobber too. Cheerfully I would accept this burden as well.
I felt humbled. With a new perspective, each of the burdens fit well into my heart. I did not want any to be taken away. I bowed in gratitude to my Father in Heaven for this lesson. I told Him I wanted to keep what I had been given and I thanked Him.
My steps were lighter and my future felt brighter as I carried the puppy inside that night. While my burdens had not been lifted, I had been shown what I had forgotten: each of these “burdens” was actually a blessing and evidence of God’s love for me. I also knew that I did not have to carry them alone—as I turned to Him, the Savior would strengthen me and offer me His rest (see Matthew 11:28–30).
The author lives in Idaho.

One spring afternoon I was packing my car to begin shuttling my five young children to and from lessons and practices. As I loaded football cleats and dance bags, I noticed a mother duck and her ducklings waddling down the sidewalk of our suburban neighborhood.
As I watched, she began to cross the road. Unfortunately, she chose a gutter grate for her crosswalk, and as she passed over it, her babies followed. Four of her ducklings slipped helplessly between the bars of the grate.
When the mother reached the other side, she realized she was missing some of her little ones and could hear their muffled peeps. Totally oblivious of her mistake, she crossed back across the drainage grate, looking for her missing ducklings and losing two more. With horror and some disgust at her poor judgment, I went to the grate to see if I could lift it. Although I used all my strength, the grate barely budged, and I was late to pick up one of my kids.
Figuring I would have to fix the situation later when I wasn’t so rushed, I hopped in the car while muttering self-righteously, “She doesn’t deserve to be a mother.”
During the next hour and a half, I made many of my recurring parenting mistakes. These are mistakes I have begged forgiveness for many times from both my children and my Father in Heaven. Each time I resolve to do better and not to fall prey to these weaknesses again. When I snapped at one of my kids for teasing another, my words echoed loudly in my ears, “She doesn’t deserve to be a mother.”
Suddenly I felt overwhelming compassion for that mother duck. She was trying to navigate the world with the instincts she was given, just as I was. But sometimes those instincts simply weren’t enough, and it was our children who suffered.
I resolved to get the grate off somehow and lift the ducklings out. As I rounded the corner to our street, I saw a small group gathered. My neighbor had lifted the grate, climbed inside the drainage tunnel, and was gently lifting the ducklings out to safety. The frightened little birds scrambled to find their mother, who was pacing nervously in a nearby bush. She hadn’t asked for help, but my neighbor had stepped in when her protection was simply not enough. I was overcome with emotion as I thought of the Savior doing the same for my children and me.

I would like to focus on the promise to always remember Him. Many years ago, Nuria and I were taught the restored gospel by two young full-time missionaries who brought the presence of the Holy Ghost into our home. Those are indeed days never to be forgotten. As we entered the waters of baptism, received the gift of the Holy Ghost, and were confirmed as members of His true Church, we started on the Lord’s covenant path. Walking along this path has become the most important thing in our lives, as we focus on becoming an eternal family.

He started with a short story about Arturo Toscanini, the late, famous conductor of the New York Philharmonic Orchestra, who received a letter from a lonely sheepherder in a remote mountain area of Wyoming. It included these words: “‘Mr. Conductor: I have only two possessions—a radio and an old violin. The batteries in my radio are getting low and will soon die. My violin is so out of tune I can’t use it. Please help me. Next Sunday when you begin your concert, sound a loud “A” so I can tune my “A” string; then I can tune the other strings. When my radio batteries are dead, I’ll have my violin.’
“At the beginning of his next nationwide radio concert from Carnegie Hall, Toscanini announced: ‘For a dear friend and listener back in the mountains of Wyoming, the orchestra will now sound an “A.”’ The musicians all joined together in a perfect ‘A.’
“The lonely sheepherder only needed one note, just a little help to get back in tune; he could go on from there. He needed someone who cared to assist him with one string; the others would be easy. Then, with all strings in tune—in harmony—the lonely sheepherder would have a source of companionship and joy and could play uplifting strains.

John Sonnenberg, a great Regional Representative, related this experience as a young dentist. They had seven children, all young, and only one car. When his wife went to town she had to take the bus. One day she and the seven children were waiting for the bus. When the bus stopped, the children and Sister Sonnenberg boarded. She put her token in and then stood and put one token in the box for each of her seven children. The bus driver was amazed, and he said, “Lady, are these all your children, or is this a picnic?”
She responded, “They are all my children, and it’s no picnic!”

In the spirit of the wonderful comments you’ve made and the insights you’ve given me—new insights about the power of the word and the healing, the help, and the light that comes from it—I am reminded of a story President Packer told the Quorum of the Twelve some years ago. He talked about a severe winter in Utah when the snow was excessive and had driven the deer herds down very low into some of the valleys. Some of them were trapped by fences and circumstances as they were taken out of their natural habitat, and well-meaning, perfectly responsive, capable agencies tried to respond by feeding those deer to get them through the crisis of the winter. They brought in hay and dumped it everywhere; it was about as good as they could do under the circumstances. Later an immense number of those deer were found dead. The people who handled those animals afterward said that their stomachs were full of hay, but they had starved to death. They had been fed, but they had not been nourished.

As a 12-year-old boy, I had the privilege to serve as the secretary of my deacons quorum. I recall with joy the many assignments we members of that quorum had the opportunity to fill. Passing the sacred sacrament, collecting the monthly fast offerings, and looking after one another come readily to mind. The most frightening one, however, happened at the leadership session of our ward conference. The member of our stake presidency presiding was William F. Perschon. He called on a number of the ward officers to speak. Then, without the slightest warning, President Perschon stood and said, “We will now hear from Thomas S. Monson, secretary of the deacons quorum, to give us an accounting of his service and bear his testimony.” I don’t recall a thing I said, but I have never forgotten the experience.

One day, after my husband, three daughters, and I had moved across the country and away from our large, extended family, we received in the mail a photograph of my husband’s brother. All three girls had known him well, so I was amazed to find that my three-year-old daughter did not recognize him. We had been away for only six months! This incident convinced me that we needed to spend time talking with our children about our family members if we wanted them to grow up feeling that they knew and belonged to an extended family unit. My husband and I decided to use some of our family home evenings to accomplish this goal.
We began with my husband’s grandmother, who was about to celebrate her eighty-first birthday. Following our home evening lesson the week before her birthday, we told the children that someone very special to us was about to have a birthday and that we were going to help her celebrate it. We began by showing several photos of Grandma while helping them remember some of the things they had enjoyed doing with her in the past. Next, my husband related some of his memories of her and of the experiences he had enjoyed as a boy on her farm.
We then got out the colored paper, crayons, and glue, and each girl made a birthday card for her great-grandmother. My husband wrote a letter telling Grandma of his love and appreciation for her. We mailed the greetings the next day.
The girls enjoyed this activity, but more important, they learned more about their great-grandmother. They learned that even though she is far away, she loves us. They learned that it is fun to do something nice for someone else.
We all learned that it is important to set aside time to build family relationships, and long-distance birthday parties have become a tradition in our home.

President Hinckley himself is not intimidated by a difficult task. As newlyweds, the Hinckleys moved into the Hinckley farmhouse—a summer home with no furnace. Kathy says, “Dad approached this problem the way we would see him solve many others—head-on. He ordered a furnace and began reading the installation instructions. The furnace worked perfectly. He’s wanted us to take on challenges using the same approach—decide on what you want, follow the instructions carefully, and work at it.”