Gospel Story Finder

At age 15 I came to the realization that some of the religious traditions my parents had taught me did not agree with what I read in the Bible. I also realized I needed to leave behind activities that were wasting my time—and my youth. I determined not to do things just because others were.
I decided I needed to look for the Lord’s true Church. Fortunately my mother’s coworker invited us to attend a meeting of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints one Sunday. I was nervous, but when I got to the building, my feelings changed. The atmosphere was one of reverence, and I felt a spirit of calm in my heart. At church that day I learned to pray.
The following week my mother and I started receiving the discussions from two sister missionaries, and a month later we were baptized. Although I didn’t know all the doctrine of the Church before my baptism, I exercised enough faith to know that the Church is true and to receive a witness from the Spirit.

Let me give you a story of a woman in São Paulo, Brazil. She worked while going to school to provide for her family. I use her own words in telling this story. She says:

“The university in which I studied had a regulation that prohibited the students that were in debt from taking tests. For this reason, when I received my salary I would first separate the money for tithing and offerings, and the remainder was allotted for the payment of the school and other expenses.

“I remember a time when I … faced serious financial difficulties. It was a Thursday when I received my salary. When I figured the monthly budget, I noticed that there wouldn’t be enough to pay [both] my tithing and my university. I would have to choose between them. The bimonthly tests would start the following week, and if I didn’t take them I could lose the school year. I felt great agony. … My heart ached. I had a painful decision before me, and I didn’t know what to decide. I pondered between the two choices: to pay tithing or to risk the possibility of not obtaining the necessary credits to be approved in school.

“This feeling consumed my soul and remained with me up to Saturday. It was then that I remembered that when I was baptized I had agreed to live the law of tithing. I had taken upon myself an obligation, not with the missionaries, but with my Heavenly Father. At that moment, the anguish started to disappear, giving place to a pleasant sensation of tranquility and determination. …

“That night when I prayed, I asked the Lord to forgive me for my indecision. On Sunday, before the beginning of sacrament meeting, I contacted the bishop, and with great pleasure I paid my tithing and offerings. That was a special day. I felt happy and peaceful within myself and with Heavenly Father.

“The next day I was in my office; I tried to find a way to be able to take the tests that would begin on Wednesday. The more I thought, the further I felt from a solution. At that time I worked in an attorney’s office, and my employer was the most strict and austere person I had ever met.

“The working period was ending when my employer approached and gave the last orders of the day. When he had done so, with his briefcase in his hand he bid farewell. … Suddenly, he halted, and looking at me he asked, ‘How is your college?’ I was surprised, and I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. The only thing I could answer with a trembling voice was, ‘Everything is all right!’ He looked thoughtfully at me and bid farewell again. …

“Suddenly the secretary entered the room, saying that I was a very fortunate person! When I asked her why, she simply answered: ‘The employer has just said that from today on the company is going to pay fully for your college and your books. Before you leave, stop at my desk and inform me of the costs so that tomorrow I can give you the check.’

“After she left, crying and feeling very humble, I knelt exactly where I was and thanked the Lord for His generosity. I … said to Heavenly Father that He didn’t have to bless me so much. I only needed the cost of one month’s installment, and the tithing I had paid on Sunday was very small compared to the amount I was receiving! During that prayer the words recorded in Malachi came to my mind: ‘Prove me now herewith, saith the Lord of hosts, if I will not open you the windows of heaven, and pour you out a blessing, that there shall not be room enough to receive it’ (Mal. 3:10). Up to that moment I had never felt the magnitude of the promise contained in that scripture and that this commandment was truly a witness of the love that God, our Heavenly Father, gives to His children here on earth.”

I am the only member of the Church in my neighborhood. My best friend, Jared, lives in the home behind mine. One day, I invited Jared to come to church with my family. He couldn’t come that day, and I decided to give him a Book of Mormon. I hoped that he would read it. I thought that maybe he wasn’t ready to come to church yet and that I would ask him another time. Mom didn’t think we had an extra Book of Mormon, but I went to the basement to look for one, anyway. I found three copies that our family had forgotten were there.
I combed my hair, put on a white shirt and a suit coat, and got some cookies from Mom to take to Jared. When my four-year-old brother, Cameron, found out that I was going to “be a missionary,” he wanted to go as my companion. He held the plate of cookies, and I knocked on Jared’s door. Jared and his mom invited us in, and we gave them the cookies and the Book of Mormon.
One Monday night Jared came over. Mom and Dad said that he could stay for family home evening. It was my turn to start with prayer. I asked Heavenly Father to bless Jared and all of my other friends. Then Cameron and I sang “When Jesus Christ Was Baptized.” Our lesson was on honesty, and we watched a filmstrip about it. After the lesson, Mom asked Jared if he wanted to say the closing prayer. He said yes, so Mom showed him how to pray. He did a great job!
It makes me feel good inside when I share the gospel with Jared.

Chen, Yang Su-yuan has been blind since 1981, when she developed complications after cataract surgery. But losing her eyesight helped her find the gospel and ultimately helped her see the importance of temple and family history work.
Having recently gone blind, Sister Chen didn’t realize that the two young ladies at her door asking for a glass of water were missionaries. Inviting them in made all the difference in her life.
“Most people considered me useless because I was blind,” Sister Chen says. “But that’s not what God wanted to tell me. He sent me missionaries after I lost my sight to teach me that we are all the children of God and that He ransomed us at a great price. I learned my worth because of the ransom Jesus paid. I am priceless.”
Since then, Sister Chen has served in many callings in the Chung Li First Ward, Tao Yuan Taiwan Stake, as well as serving in the temple since 1992.

Why was Brother Saraiva, the president of the Guaratingatá Branch, successful as a missionary? He heard Elder Gordon B. Hinckley at a stake conference in Brazil, in which Elder Hinckley challenged the people to bring one hundred people into the Church that year. And so Brother Saraiva said, “Why not? If a member of the Twelve says it can be done, I will obey.” The last time I spoke with Brother Saraiva, he had baptized more than two hundred fifty people.

Many people have helped me arrive at the place where I am today, serving as a missionary in the India New Delhi Mission. I was not born a member of the Church or even a Christian. It was a childhood friend who introduced me to the gospel.
After I was baptized, I had an institute teacher who nourished me with the word of God every week and he helped me to always have a desire to go on a mission. Whenever I didn’t attend institute class, he came to my home to find out why and to be sure I was at the next class. I also had a bishop who always kept me busy with a calling and with Church activities. Back then, I felt they were little pushy, but because of them, today I am happy, gaining a lot of experience helping many people to come unto Christ as a missionary!
This was true in my life. I had all three of those things. It was very easy to stay active even though I was the only member in my family. I never felt alone. My ward members took care of me. It’s been six years since I started following Jesus Christ. He has always helped me very much through my ward members.

After retiring from the air force, I moved back to my hometown to continue practicing law. The intervening 20 years had reordered the wards along entirely different boundaries, but I felt that I should visit Sister Hazel Peterson, who had lived alone since her husband died of cancer.
Six months later, however, I still hadn’t visited her. One winter morning I was driving to my law practice when the image of Sister Peterson unexpectedly came into my mind. Passing by the freeway exit closest to her home, I discounted the feeling and continued driving. But by the time I reached the next exit, I found myself leaving the freeway and backtracking to Sister Peterson’s home. Just as the Spirit had gently compelled me to return to activity almost 25 years earlier, it now gently whispered that I should visit my old home teaching sister.
I knocked on Sister Peterson’s door and waited. After several minutes, I wondered sheepishly if she was out. Another knock, another few minutes. Finally the window above the door rattled and slid along its track. Sister Peterson peered down at me. The years had whitened her hair to the purest wool, and she looked tiny and thin. Her face was contorted in pain. Despite her labored breathing, she began weeping as she recognized me. “Oh, Kevin,” she said, “I’m so glad you’re here. I’m in such terrible pain from my arthritis, and I need a priesthood blessing. Thank you for waiting—please come in.” Before turning away from the window, she added, “I thought you were Burniss.”
I was startled to hear the name Burniss. “Do you mean Brother Skinner?” I asked her. “Does he still live around here?”
“No,” she said. “He lives another 40 miles [65 km] north. But he still works near here, and I have his work number. I called about 20 minutes ago and asked him to come give me a blessing. He should be here any minute.”
A car pulled into the driveway, and Brother Skinner stepped out—much grayer but with the same pleasant spring in his step and kind smile on his face. We shook hands, and 20 years of distance melted away. We entered Sister Peterson’s familiar home, the site of my spiritual apprenticeship to Brother Skinner so many years before. I anointed Sister Peterson’s head with consecrated oil, and Brother Skinner pronounced the blessing. We were together again, companions in an impromptu call to service from the Lord Himself.

In 1935, a returning missionary, Elder Gordon B. Hinckley, was asked to visit with the First Presidency because of his special work in the British Isles. His fifteen-minute appointment soon stretched to nearly an hour and a half. Impressed, the First Presidency requested him to help with missionary work, and he has scarcely left the Church Administration Building since then. Only now he sits, humbly, in the center chair in the First Presidency Council Room to which he came humbly sixty years ago!

Shortly after graduating high school, Enoch discovered the power of music. Passing by a classroom in church one day, he saw the missionaries teaching members to play the piano, and he was captivated by it. He sat in and listened as they taught what musical notes look like on a page, and how they relate to the piano keys. Curiously enough, it all made perfect sense to him. The 30 minutes of instruction ended, and the missionaries eventually left, but his interest remained, so he learned to play on his own, note upon note, stanza on stanza, playing just the melody first with one finger, then with two, then playing with both hands, and by perserving through the struggles, he learned to play beautifully.

Where Jane Manning lived, some people treated her poorly because of her skin color. One day, she heard a missionary teaching. Soon she was baptized.
Jane’s family was baptized too. They all wanted to be with the Saints in Nauvoo. So they began their journey.
Jane’s family wanted to travel by boat for part of the trip, but they did not have enough money. So they had to walk 800 miles (1,300 km).
They had to cross a deep stream and sleep outside in the cold. But they were determined to reach Nauvoo. They cheered themselves up by singing as they walked.
Jane’s family walked until their shoes wore out and their feet got hurt. But when they prayed to God for help, He healed their feet.
They helped people they met along the way. They even helped heal a sick child because of their faith.
Finally, Jane and her family reached Nauvoo! When Joseph Smith heard all they had been through, he told Jane, “God bless you. You are among friends now.”

On my first visit to the fabled village of Sauniatu in Samoa, so loved by President McKay, my wife and I met with a large gathering of small children. At the end of our messages to these shy, beautiful youngsters, I suggested to the native Samoan teacher that we go ahead with the closing exercises. As he announced the final hymn, I suddenly felt compelled to greet personally each of the 247 children. But the time was too short for such a privilege, so I ignored the impression. Before the benediction, however, I again felt this strong impression to shake the hand of each child. I told the teacher that I wanted to shake the hand of each child. He displayed a broad Samoan smile before relaying my intentions in Samoan to the children. They all beamed when they heard his translation.
The teacher then told me the special reason for their joy. He said, “When we learned that President McKay had assigned a member of the Quorum of the Twelve to visit us in faraway Samoa, I told the children that if each one would earnestly and sincerely pray and exert faith like in the Bible accounts of old, the Apostle would visit our tiny village at Sauniatu, and through their faith, he would be impressed to greet each child with a personal handclasp.” Tears flowed as each of those precious boys and girls walked by and whispered softly to us a sweet talofa lava (hello). The gift of faith had been evidenced.

There’s a certain surfer in southern California who’s giving the sport a loftier reputation. His name is Jimmy Zimmerman, and it’s well known that this surf team captain is an active priest in the Huntington Beach Fourth Ward.
Jimmy’s coach, quoted in the Los Angeles Times, said that “Zimmerman symbolizes surfing’s future. He’s popular, intelligent, and he’s a young man who doesn’t drink alcohol or smoke.”
Jimmy manages to fit in surf practice every morning at 6:15, after early-morning seminary. But that doesn’t make him too tired to get top grades in honors classes, be elected Homecoming king, and to teach the gospel to his friends. He recently had the privilege of baptizing one of them.

Charlie walked his dog, Paca, slowly along the uneven pavement that led home from Miguel’s house. Finding a new home for Paca was harder than he thought. “Even Miguel can’t keep you, Paca. His mother’s allergic to dogs!” The small, scruffy, brown-and-white dog panted in pace beside Charlie, her head tilted just enough so that he knew that she was listening. Paca always listened. “It’s not fair that my little sister can keep her dumb bird.” Charlie continued. “He makes more of a mess than you do. Mom even said so.”
Charlie picked a leaf from an old oak tree. “I don’t know why Dad had to accept a promotion. Who wants to leave California to live in Ohio, anyway? Especially in an apartment building that doesn’t take dogs!” He tore the leaf into little pieces, then tossed them away.
In less than a month Charlie’s family would be moving. Just thinking about it made him mad and sad at the same time.
“Ever since the missionaries came and started teaching Mom and Dad about Joseph Smith and the Book of Mormon, things have been different!” he told Paca for the umpteenth time. “Dad says that the things that the missionaries have been teaching us can bring lots of blessings, but I sure don’t see any. Moving isn’t a blessing to me.”
Paca stopped to scratch, then they continued walking. Charlie slowed down when he came to Mrs. Sanchez’s yard near the middle of the block. She was sitting in her old rocking chair on the front porch. Her cats were out too.
The tabby was chasing a butterfly near the fence. Paca saw it and barked, startling Charlie so much that he jumped backward.
“You’d better watch that dog. I don’t want it chasing my cats!” Mrs. Sanchez declared.
“Don’t worry,” Charlie reassured her as he clutched the worn black leather leash more tightly. “She only barks at them.”
“What’s her name?” the elderly woman asked, her voice softening.
“Paca.” Charlie was surprised. In his whole life, Mrs. Sanchez had never talked to him. He’d always thought that she didn’t like kids.
Mrs. Sanchez pushed herself up, using the arm of the wicker rocker for support. “Would you like some cookies and milk?” She motioned to Charlie to come up onto the porch, adding, “Now, Paca, you be a good girl.”
Charlie couldn’t think of any reason to say no. As he pushed open the gate and walked up to the porch, for the first time he really looked at Mrs. Sanchez—at her lined and tired face, at the wrinkled hand that clutched at a worn shawl on the back of her chair. She steadied herself with her other hand.
A smile deepened the lines. “You’re Charlie Johnson from down the block, aren’t you?”
Charlie just nodded his head.
Mrs. Sanchez opened the front door, then called in her two cats before showing Charlie and Paca inside. The room looked like Mrs. Sanchez, comfortable and timeworn.
“Is she a good dog?” the elderly woman asked as she nodded toward an overstuffed chair for Charlie to sit in.
“Oh, she’s the best!” Charlie defended Paca. “But I have to find another home for her. We’re moving to Ohio, and I can’t take her with me.”
“What a shame,” Mrs. Sanchez said on her way into the kitchen. When she returned with a small plate of cookies and a glass of milk for Charlie, she asked, “Why can’t you take her with you when you move?”
Charlie bit into a cookie. It was chewy and good. “Because,” he said between bites, “the apartment we’re moving into doesn’t allow dogs, just birds.”
“Birds?”
“That’s what my little sister has, a bird.”
Mrs. Sanchez sat in a wooden rocker and pushed back a strand of white hair that had fallen across her face. She studied Paca, who was curled up by the boy’s feet. Then, looking up at Charlie, she said, “The missionaries stopped by to see me the other day, and they told me that you and your parents are going to be baptized. That will be a happy thing for your family. It will bring many blessings.”
Charlie gulped down some milk, then wiped the mustache from his upper lip with his napkin. “I suppose so.” He wiggled uncomfortably in the overstuffed chair, “but I don’t feel very blessed right now.”
Mrs. Sanchez reached for a tray on the small table beside her rocker. Three small, dirt-filled plant pots were resting on the tray. She picked up one of the pots, saying, “Would you please hold this for me, Charlie?”
Mrs. Sanchez tore open a brightly colored packet of seeds. “Now,” she said, “take your finger and poke two holes in the dirt.”
After Charlie had made the holes, she shook several long, thin seeds from the packet into his hand. “Put these zinnia seeds into the holes, and cover them with the dirt.”
Charlie dropped the seeds into the holes and covered them.
Mrs. Sanchez smiled at him as he did it. “Blessings are sometimes like seeds, Charlie. You can’t see them until they grow. Now, when the time is right, I’ll have to transplant these seeds. Soon they’ll be as big and as beautiful as the ones by my front fence.”
Charlie nodded his head, wondering why she was telling him all this.
Seeing his puzzled expression, she continued. “Your family is a little bit like these seeds. Your father grew in his job and is ready to be transplanted to a better one. Soon you will grow and need to move on to bigger things, just like your father.”
Understanding now, Charlie smiled too.
“I think that you’re going to be a good member of the Church,” Mrs. Sanchez told him. “When you get baptized, will you send me a picture? I’ll put it here next to my new planters.
“And I understand how anxious you are for Paca to have a good home, so I’d be happy to keep her for you,” Mrs. Sanchez offered, “unless you find her another home. Even my cats seem to think she belongs here.”
Charlie looked at the sleeping dog curled up on the rug, looking almost as though she did belong there. Charlie couldn’t think of anyone he’d rather have Paca live with.
“Come now,” Mrs. Sanchez said. “Give me a hug, then go tell your mother that Paca’s taken care of.”
Walking home that day, Charlie had a contented feeling. It wasn’t just because Paca had a new home—it was also because he now understood that the missionaries had brought blessings, after all.

The chute burst open and a raging, bucking bronco leaped high into the air. A cowboy sat atop, in perfect form, his spurs above the point of the shoulders, the rhythm of each move matched to the twisting and turning of the wild horse.
But then the crowd rose to its feet and gasped as the massive animal came crashing down on its side, all of its weight crushing the left foot of its rider.
Zane Davis picked himself up and hobbled over to the chute. When he got his boot off, the foot began to swell. The crushed bones eliminated his chances to continue in the competition, but that didn’t keep Zane down.
Less than a month later he was back in the saddle, working his way to the title as top college rodeo rider in the United States.

In those early years of artificial kidney development, the expense and lack of facilities meant that treatment was restricted to a few fortunate people. Kidney center personnel were responsible to determine who would receive treatment and who would not. As I approached the artificial kidney center, my application seemed a bit lacking. I was, after all, single with no dependents, no real income, and no resources. But I did have something that encouraged me—a super family. And the doctors knew it. They reasoned that because I had such close and supportive family, I would always have people around to help take care of me. This made me a good candidate for a new experimental kidney machine which can be used at home—and perhaps someday, even for a kidney transplant.

I learned a great deal during those three years I was on the kidney machine. My faith in the Lord grew as I watched his hand guiding my life. I was close to my family, and in spite of the kidney machine I loved life more than ever before. I had never been so free, nor as happy. Yet, I yearned to be rid of my mechanical companion.

This goal, like so many others, became a family project. We often spent family home evenings and family interviews discussing alternatives to being on the kidney machine and the justifications for a kidney transplant.
I recall one memorable week when the family was all together after an extended period of separation. Missions, marriages, and college had scattered us across the globe for a number of years. Then Christmas of 1970, like a magnet, brought us all back home again.
During that week we spent a great deal of time talking about my health. We had all researched the possibility of a kidney transplant, and each member of the family had personally volunteered to donate one of their kidneys to me.
One afternoon while playing basketball with my brothers, I stepped back for a moment and watched them play. Each was a superb athlete. Craig had been a contender for the Olympic swimming team; he was now married and had a family. Barry had been one of the best football players in the state and was now an expert snow skier. And Kevin was one of the best high school basketball players in the state.
“Thanks anyway,” I thought as my eyes brimmed with tears. “I love you all for the desires of your hearts, but I simply don’t feel right about it.”
With Christmas over, Barry returned to Brigham Young University and Craig and his family returned to their home in California. I eagerly busied myself with missionary labors, and all returned to normal.
Then one evening a marvelous and unexpected event occurred during family prayers. My father said the prayer, and when the prayer was completed we all knew what was to transpire. With tears in our eyes we discussed our feelings. Yes, each had felt the same confirmation. We should go ahead with the transplant.
In retrospect, that decision may have been the greatest miracle of all. Logic and personal feelings just didn’t matter anymore; we knew what the Spirit had directed.
That evening I made a long-distance phone call to my brother Barry in Provo, Utah, and talked with him about the transplant. I explained to him the answer we had received and asked him to pray about it. But Barry eagerly accepted immediately saying he had prayed about it many times and was simply awaiting my call. I told him we could wait until June, but the next day he dropped his classes and came home.
After Barry arrived, however, the surgical team discovered that he had developed an immunity to Parrot’s Fever while serving his mission in Mexico, and they feared a reaction to the medications necessary after the transplant. To Barry’s deep disappointment, it was determined that his kidney was not transplantable.
About two weeks later, we had another of those extra special family home evenings. And again we felt impressed to proceed with a kidney transplant. Again I went to the phone and called a brother, this time my older brother, Craig. Again I received a positive response.
Within a week, Craig, his wife Penny, and their one-year-old son Jason flew in from California. That same afternoon I went to the hospital, and Craig was admitted the next day.
Our names were placed on the prayer rolls of six temples from London to Los Angeles by friends of the family.
The night before surgery we held family home evening in my hospital room. At one point I tried to tell the family that it didn’t seem worth the risk or sacrifice required of my brother to attempt that transplant. But Dad looked at me soberly, put a hand on my shoulder, and softly said, “We all feel that this is what the Lord wants, and your brother is proud to be able to do it. Remember, Brent, we’ll all live to see you running across the park lawn again, with that large grin of yours.”
Surgery began the next morning at 6:00 A.M. with my nurse giving me a sedative before the operation. At the end of the day I opened my eyes to see my parents close to my bed. I was back in my hospital room, and I knew everything was all right.
I remember seeing other members of the family briefly that evening. But I couldn’t find Craig. “How is Craig? Where is my brother?”
A familiar hand rested on my shoulder, and I heard my mother’s voice: “Brent, Craig is fine and your new kidney is fine, too.” With those words I went to sleep. “Thanks, Father in Heaven. Thanks, Craig. Thanks a lot, family.”
During those first few days after my transplant, I got a feeling that something was wrong when I looked at the troubled faces of my parents and brothers. All was not well with Craig. By the third day I was sure he had died and no one would tell me about it. Actually, he hadn’t died. But he was very ill and having a difficult time recovering from his part of the surgery.
On the afternoon of the third day, my father and brother carried Craig to see me. He was the color of a ripe banana. With a half smile on his face he said, “How’s it going, brother?” At that moment, seeing his pain and considering his sacrifice, I knew what love was and what having a family meant.
Two days later, the medical reports indicated that my body was rejecting the new kidney. It appeared that we had failed. Drastic medical measures were taken, but with little success. As it turned out, the most powerful aid of all was prayer. Etched deeply into my soul is the memory of many nights when family members knelt around my bed and one by one prayed to our Father in Heaven. I listened as my brothers wept, praying that I might live. Then, silently, none of us able to speak, we’d touch hands to say good-night. And they were good nights, for we each experienced the pure love of Christ.
My body’s rejection of the kidney was finally overcome; Craig, too, rapidly regained his health and strength. Today, my doctors report that I am one of the healthiest kidney recipients in history. I have a beautiful wife, two sons, and a daughter. Craig, now the father of three, lives a normal life surrounded by people who still don’t know why he made that quick trip to Seattle, Washington, several years ago.
I can testify that one of the greatest joys of mortality comes when a family is spiritually united in seeking the Lord’s aid and comfort. I am awed by the love displayed in my behalf. When I think about my family I think about the Lord, who is the true head of our gospel family. I think about his love, his devotion, and his willingness to sacrifice for us. And I feel that I have gained a special testimony and appreciation of the atonement of Jesus Christ, for I know what the love and sacrifice of an older brother can mean.

Every year my parents took me to visit Aunt Ruby and Uncle George, who lived on a dairy farm. I enjoyed visiting them because there were so many different things for me to see and do. I played in the barn, helped feed the animals, rode on the tractor, and explored the big red shed.
One year, a few days after we had arrived, I was helping Uncle George feed the animals in the barn. “You sure are quiet this morning, Justin,” he said.
“I was thinking about something my Primary teacher said in class last week.”
“Oh—what did she say?” Uncle George asked as he pitched a forkful of hay to one of the cows.
“She said that making right choices will help me keep the promises I made to Heavenly Father when I was baptized. The problem is, it’s hard to always make the right choice.”
Leaning on his pitchfork, Uncle George nodded. “It is hard to always make correct choices, Justin. But when we live the gospel standards and follow the strait and narrow path, like the scriptures tell us to, the Lord will help us.”
I thought about the “strait and narrow path,” for the rest of the morning. When we finished feeding all the animals, Uncle George said, “Thanks for your help, Justin. I surely appreciate it. What would you like to do now?”
“I’d like to go over to my friend Jeff’s and play, but Mom and Dad usually drive me to his house.”
Tilting his hat back on his head, Uncle George said, “And they’ve gone into town to help Ruby with the shopping. I’d like to take you over there, but I have to fix the tractor.”
He put his arm around my shoulders and led me to a big dry ditch. “If you get in this ditch, you can follow it all the way to Jeff’s house. Do you think you can do that?”
I told him that I was sure I could do it. Before he sent me on my way, he gave me two warnings. One, I was to stay in the ditch. If I got out, I could get hurt or lost. Two, I was to keep going, even if I got tired. Then he assured me that if I followed his instructions, I would have no trouble reaching my friend’s house.
At first I was nervous. The grass on both sides of the ditch was so tall that I couldn’t see over it. But soon I began to see interesting things all around me and being in the ditch didn’t bother me. I found a small, white-colored snail shell, a lot of joint grass I could pull apart, and milkweed pods filled with silk and seeds. Then I found a round, clear pebble that I shined up and put into my pocket.
After a while, the newness of my adventure began to wear off. I’d seen everything twice, and my legs were beginning to hurt. I felt like I’d been walking for miles and miles. My faith in Uncle George’s words began to waver. Maybe I’d already passed Jeff’s house. I wasn’t even sure if I was still going in the right direction. My uncle’s warnings were still clear in my mind, but I carefully climbed to the top of the ditch so that I could see over the tall grass and find out where I was.
Happily, I saw that only a fence and a large, green pasture stood between me and my goal. All I had to do was walk through the pasture, and I’d be there. The day took on a new excitement. My goal was in sight; my uncle’s warnings were forgotten.
Finding a hole in the fence, I slipped through. All I thought about was the fun Jeff and I were going to have once I reached his house. I paid no attention to what might be going on around me, until I heard a loud snort and the snapping of breaking sticks. Turning, I saw a large bull charging toward me out of the tall willow patch at the edge of the pasture.
Running wasn’t my greatest talent unless I was scared. And I was really scared. I ran like the wind. It felt like I was running a hundred miles an hour. I could hear the air whistling around my ears. Everything around me was a blur. I had a new goal in life—to reach the fence before the bull reached me. All the time, I was silently praying that Heavenly Father would bless me to run faster than the bull.
The fence was getting closer, but so was the bull. I didn’t dare look over my shoulder, because I was afraid it might slow me down. Although I was only nine years old, I already knew that the shortest distance between two points was a straight line. So I ran, as straight as an arrow, back to the hole in the fence I had climbed through earlier.
I was sure I felt the bull’s hot breath on my neck as I dove through the fence to safety. The bull snorted loudly as his nose pushed through the hole and he realized he couldn’t reach me.
My life had been spared. Heavenly Father had answered my prayer. My heart was full of gratitude to Him. I would see the sun come up in the morning. I would see my family again. I could still play with my friend. Life was good!
Now all I wanted to do was return to the “strait and narrow path” and follow my uncle’s instructions. I knew that there were no bulls in the ditch. It was a safe place. I also knew that I would never forget the words my uncle told me that morning. “Go down the ditch in the direction that I’ll show you. Stay in the ditch, because if you get out, you could get hurt or lost. And you need to keep going, even if you get tired.”
I had learned that my Primary teacher and Uncle George were right. There is great safety when choosing the right and following the correct path. I was sure that the Lord had helped me run faster than the charging bull. He had saved my life, and I was grateful. I was glad to have a chance to be back on the right path, and I knew that Heavenly Father would always help me stay on the “strait and narrow path” if I would listen and obey.

Wellington held a box in his lap as his dad drove through Rio de Janeiro, Brazil. They passed bright blue, green, and yellow houses. Dad parked the car outside of a big brown building. Wellington got out and grabbed some more boxes. They were full of soap, tissues, and other supplies.
He and his dad were visiting a care home to give supplies to the elderly people who lived there. At first, Wellington had been excited. But now he felt a little nervous. What would the people there be like? Would they be grouchy? What would he say to them?
Wellington walked into the building behind his dad. There were lots of people in the rest home. Some were moving around with walkers. Some sat in wheelchairs, playing chess. Others just sat alone.
Wellington tugged on Dad’s arm. “Dad, I don’t know what to do,” he whispered. “Everyone here is so much older than I am! How do I talk to them?”
Dad smiled and knelt down next to Wellington. “I know the people here are older, and they might look a little different. But everyone here is a child of God, just like you! They probably have some interesting stories to tell.”
Wellington thought about that. He liked making new friends with other kids at school and at Primary. Maybe he could make friends here too!
While Dad handed out boxes, Wellington went around and talked to the people sitting in the room. He sang some of his favorite Primary songs to them. Soon lots of people were laughing and singing together. This was so much fun!
Wellington looked around. He noticed a lady sitting alone on a couch. She had gray hair and lots of wrinkles.
He walked over to her and sat down on the couch. “Hi!” he said. “My name’s Wellington. What’s yours?”
She looked at him and smiled. “I’m Mariana,” she said.
Wellington was nervous, so he asked the first question he could think of. “What’s your favorite food?”
She thought for a second. “I’ve always loved pão de queijo,” she said.
“That’s my favorite too!” said Wellington. He loved the small cheesy rolls.
They started to talk about their favorite songs, sports, and memories. Mariana told him about the fun things she used to do when she was a kid.
“Thank you for coming here today,” she said. “I don’t have any family who can come and visit me, and it can be hard to make new friends.” Mariana’s eyes got sad. “Sometimes I feel all alone.”
Wellington wasn’t sure what to say. He thought about how sad he would be if he didn’t have friends or family to talk to. Then he thought about what his dad said about everyone here being a child of God.
He smiled and looked at Mariana. “When I’m lonely, I like to pray to Heavenly Father. He helps me feel better. I know that I’m never alone because I can always talk to Him. Maybe you could try praying too.”
Mariana smiled and hugged Wellington. “Thank you. I think that’s a great idea.”
Soon Dad came up to Wellington and tapped him on the arm. “Time to go,” he said.
“Already?” said Wellington.
Dad laughed. “Don’t worry. We can come back next week.”
That made Wellington happy. He hopped off the couch. “See you next time!” he told Mariana.
He smiled as he waved goodbye to his new friend. He couldn’t wait to come back!

“Here is your class,” Lilly said.
It was Sam’s first day in Primary. Lilly was happy to help her brother.
When Sam cried, Lilly sat by him. She helped him feel better. Sam was scared when they went to class. So Lilly stayed with him.
Lilly helped Sam every Sunday.
“Lilly, you have been a good helper with Sam,” Mom said one Sunday. “Now it’s time for his teacher to help him instead.”
“But if I don’t sit by Sam, he’ll cry,” Lilly said.
“I know,” Mom said. “But his teacher can help. Then you can go to your class too.”
Lilly frowned. She didn’t think this was a good idea.
“Sometimes we need to obey, even when we don’t know why,” said Dad. “When we obey our parents, it helps us learn to obey Heavenly Father.”
“OK,” Lilly said. She hoped Mom’s idea worked.
Lilly sat with her own class in Primary.
Sam cried for a little bit. His teacher helped him. Soon Sam was singing songs with the others. He liked Primary.
Lilly liked sitting with her class too.
After Primary, Dad asked how it went.
“It was great!” Lilly said. “Sam only cried a little. We both had fun with our classes. I showed Sam how to be reverent.”
Now Lilly felt double happy. She was happy she helped Sam. And she was happy she obeyed.

It’s been almost eight years since I have put up Christmas lights at my parents’ house. Due to a variety of circumstances, my family has not been able to be together for a long time. I did not like decorating my house, because I resented not being with my family. However, I could not hide what my heart was feeling: I had the urge to put up Christmas lights.
I convinced my brother to help me hang them. Between work, school, and different responsibilities, we took several days to finish hanging the lights. When we finished, two lessons stood out to me.
The first is that life doesn’t always follow a straight path. We began to hang the lights in orderly rows, but when we got to the back of the house, we noticed we had more lights than anticipated. We decided to dangle the leftover lights on the lower part of the house, far more crooked than the rest of the lights. It was then I realized my life has been like these lights. I try to go straight, without straying from the path of the gospel of Jesus Christ. But sometimes, I make mistakes and don’t know what to do. The Lord said, “He who has repented of his sins, the same is forgiven, and I, the Lord, remember them no more” (Doctrine and Covenants 58:42). Although the Christmas lights were tangled, they continued to serve their purpose: to give light and to illuminate my house. Like the lights, I’m not perfect. I’ve made mistakes but can still find the light and follow God’s plan for me, thanks to the Atonement of Jesus Christ.
The second thing I learned is that the Light of Christ is always present. Above, below, to the right, to the left—it is there, ready to give us guidance and correction. In Moroni 7:19, we read that we should search diligently in the Light of Christ so we can distinguish between good and evil. I feel it was the Holy Ghost that spoke to my heart so I could hang those lights and remember that Jesus Christ is there, calling me and giving me guidance. The Light of Christ illuminates the whole year, not just special times like Christmas.
The lights on my home may not be the best in the neighborhood, but they remind me that my efforts to follow the Savior bring blessings into my life.

Being a missionary, as long as I have time, let me give you one or two little missionary experiences to indicate what Isaiah meant when he said that they would worship Him by the precepts of men.
As I finished my first mission over in Amsterdam, over seventy-five years ago, I was invited into the home of one of the Saints to talk to her neighbor. When my companion and I arrived, the neighbor was there but she had her minister with her. We had a little difference of opinion on priesthood, and right there he challenged me to a debate in his church the next Saturday night.
When we arrived, the church was full; all of his people were there, and all of our people. How our people found it out, I don’t know; I didn’t tell them!
The minister stood up and said, “Now, inasmuch as Mr. Richards is a guest in our church, we will accord him the privilege of opening this debate, and we will each talk for twenty minutes. Is that agreeable with you, Mr. Richards?”
I said, “Very much.” I didn’t tell him, but I would have given him the shirt off my back for the privilege of opening that debate, and he just handed it to me on a silver platter! I didn’t know whether the Lord had anything to do with it or not, but I thought He did!
Then I stood up and I said, “The last time I talked with my friend, we had a difference of opinion on priesthood. Tonight I have come prepared to discuss that subject, but I don’t propose to start at that point. (This was one of my strong points in my mission.) If you are going to build a house, you don’t try to put a roof on it before you get the foundation in.” They agreed with that, so I said, “I propose to lay the foundation of the gospel of Jesus Christ,” and I chose for my text the sixth chapter of Hebrews where Paul said:
“Leaving the principles of the doctrine of Christ, let us go on unto perfection; not laying again the foundation of repentance from dead works, and of faith toward God,
“Of the doctrine of baptisms, and of laying on of hands, and of resurrection of the dead, and of eternal judgment.” (Heb. 6:1–2.)
I hurried over faith and repentance—I thought they believed in them. I spoke on baptism by immersion for the remission of sin until everybody was giving me accord.
Then it came to the laying on of hands for the gift of the Holy Ghost. And they didn’t believe that. I never found a church that did believe it outside of our Church—they think the Holy Ghost comes just like the breezes that blow over the head. I quoted them the passage saying that when the Apostles at Jerusalem heard that Samaria had accepted the word of God through the preaching of Philip, they sent Peter and John. And when they came, they prayed for them, they laid their hands upon them, and they received the Holy Ghost. And when Simon the sorcerer saw that the Holy Ghost was conveyed by the laying on of the Apostles’ hands, he offered them money, saying: “Give me also this power, that on whomsoever I lay my hands, he may receive the Holy Ghost.
“But Peter said unto him, Thy money perish with thee, because thou hast thought that the gift of God may be purchased with money.” (Acts 8:19–20.)
And then I gave them a few more references on the laying on of hands for the gift of the Holy Ghost, and sat down.
The minister stood up and talked for twenty minutes, and he never once mentioned a word I had said. He started on the Mountain Meadows Massacre and the “Mormon Bible,” and stated that Joseph Smith had admitted he had made many mistakes; and then in a most courteous manner, he said: “Now if Mr. Richards will enlighten us on these matters, I am sure this audience will be most appreciative.”
I was on my feet just like that. (My companion later said, “How did you think so fast?” I said, “What have you been praying for all week?”) I said, “In the days of the Savior, his enemies tried to trick him with cunning and craftiness. I don’t suppose there’s anybody here tonight that would like to see us resort to those old tactics.” I said, “If I understand a debate, it is the presentation of argument and the answering of those presentations. Has this man answered any of my arguments?”
Everybody said, “No.”
I said, “All right, my friend, you may have your twenty minutes over again.” He couldn’t do it, and I knew he couldn’t.
Finally his wife stood up in the audience, and she said, “What Mr. Richards is asking you is fair. You ought to answer him.”
But he couldn’t do it, and I said to my companion, “Stand up and give me my coat and hat.” I said, “One more chance. I am willing to remain here until ten o’clock tomorrow morning, when we have to be in our own church, provided this debate can go forward on the basis that you set it up. If not, I am going to leave and ask my companion to leave and ask our members to leave, and we will leave it with you to settle with your people for what has transpired here tonight.”
I met him on the street a number of times after that, but he would duck his head so he didn’t need to speak to me! Now that is what Isaiah meant when he said they would teach for doctrines the precepts of men.