Gospel Story Finder

We are indebted to Dr. Homer Ellsworth for sharing with us two contrasting stories about the happiness of mothers. Often, expectant mothers are so set upon having a boy child or a girl child that when a baby comes with a different sex the mother is temporarily disappointed. Generally, this disappointment is forgotten as soon as the mother cuddles her newborn in her arms for the first time. A few new mothers demonstrate their immaturity for a day or two. One, who wanted a boy baby and happened to receive a girl baby, threw tantrums and objects all over her hospital room for a day or two to show her displeasure. One wise old nurse, when feeding time came, took a baby boy born with a harelip from the nursery and quietly slipped him into the disconsolate mother’s arms. The immature mother replied, “This is not my child.”

The wise old nurse said, “Well, it has the right sex. Maybe its mother will be willing to trade babies with you.” There followed no more demonstrations of immaturity.

I was thrilled when I passed the driving test and at long last was permitted to drive the family station wagon. My parents gave me a set of keys, which I proudly attached to my keychain, vowing to honor their trust in me. But one evening, while my parents were away, a heavy rainfall and a weak moment tested my good intentions.
My parents left my brothers and me for a few hours while they ran some errands. It started raining, and soon we saw large puddles outside of the house. We lived in an area surrounded by rich farmland, and whenever the ground was soaked by a good rain, fat earthworms (we called them night crawlers) would pop to the surface, almost like magic. When the rain cleared, we could see hundreds of plump night crawlers slithering along the slick mud around our garden and along the walkways.
My brother Bobby wasn’t old enough to drive yet, but he approached me with an idea for earning some money from the worms. He’d heard about a place across town that purchased night crawlers for fishing bait. He figured we could collect hundreds of night crawlers from the wet ground, drive to the bait store, sell them, and then be back before our parents returned. I didn’t know much about fishing or selling bait, but I knew I shouldn’t drive the car without permission. I rationalized that I knew how to drive safely and we wouldn’t be gone very long. But first, of course, we had to collect the worms.
It was still damp outside when we gathered flashlights and a few empty cans and began digging through the soft mud in search of the slithery creatures. The plan didn’t quite hold the attraction for me that it did for my brother, but I got past my squeamishness and grabbed my share of squirmy night crawlers. We spent some time picking worms from the mud and then realized that we needed to hurry across town to the bait shop. I didn’t know where it was, but my brother assured me he knew how to get there.
I followed his directions, and soon we found ourselves driving through dark and unfamiliar streets. We were miles from our home and safety. My brother was determined to sell the worms, but all I wanted was to get back home as fast as possible. Just as I was ready to turn the car around, we saw a dimly lit shed ahead of us, with people standing in line holding jars and buckets. I reluctantly agreed to stop at the shed just long enough to sell the night crawlers. However, the line moved very slowly, and more time passed before my brother finally made it to the counter where they weighed the worms and paid us for them. We knew we had been gone far longer than we planned.
When we pulled into the driveway, our parents were already home. My heart sank; I knew I would be in a lot of trouble for taking the car without permission. My stomach was tight as I remembered the numerous opportunities I’d had that evening to make better choices. We held our heads low as we entered by the back door, hoping to avoid attention. No such luck. But we were unprepared for the reaction.
Our parents sat at the kitchen table, their faces stricken with fear and grief. Tears poured down our mother’s face; our father’s eyes were red, and he was clearly distraught. Rather than greeting us with anger, they both cried out in relief that we were alive and safe. Then they asked where we had been.
I felt very foolish and childish as I offered my stammering answer: “Um … we were out selling night crawlers.” Their grief and emotion cut me to the soul. I would never knowingly or intentionally have caused my parents such hurt, but I knew I had done exactly that. I was acutely aware that I had not lived up to the trust and responsibility they’d placed in me, nor had I lived up to my own goals.
The lessons I learned that night were far reaching. I had given my parents my word, and I didn’t keep it. When we make a covenant with Heavenly Father, we have a responsibility to keep it. Just as my parents were thankful to see us come home, Heavenly Father welcomes us with love when we return to Him.
Eventually the trip my brother and I made to the bait store became part of our family folklore. For years it served as a gentle reminder that we always need to be on the right path. Otherwise, one of our parents was sure to ask, “Were you out selling night crawlers?”

When I was growing up in Tonga, my mother occasionally helped teach seminary. From the time I was 5 until I was 10, she would often wake me up before seminary and lead me to the house where the class met. Although it was less than a quarter of a mile (0.4 km) walk on the trail through the guava bushes, she would ask me, “Are you afraid?” I would bravely answer, “No.”
Then she would say, “Someday you must be brave and serve your Heavenly Father. He has provided all things for us, even a plan that we can return to live with Him. Someday you will go on a mission and serve Him with all your heart, might, mind, and strength. You must start preparing now to be a good missionary.”
Eventually my parents moved our family to Ontario, California, USA. My mother found herself in an unfamiliar country, unable to speak the language and in culture shock. Like a hen that gathers her chicks under her wings, she would gather all of us children and fall to her knees, pleading to Heavenly Father that none of the children He had given her would fall away from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. My parents used family prayer, daily scripture reading, regular family fasts, weekly family home evening, and Church meetings to seek Heavenly Father’s help in fortifying our family.
My parents encouraged us to behave like missionaries early in life. We always wore white shirts to church and had missionary haircuts. As a priest I would bless the sacrament, and my younger brothers would prepare and pass the sacrament as teachers and deacons. I could see my mother and father watching us, making sure we completed our duties faithfully.
Before I left on my mission, my mother said, “Do your part, and I will do mine. I will fast and pray for you to find people to teach.” She continued fasting and praying for all four of her sons during their missions. We all served faithfully and returned home with honor.
During my last visit with her before her death, my mother said, “Peiholani, I have taught you all that I know to be most important in this life and the life to come. That is, the gospel of Jesus Christ is true. The atoning blood of Jesus Christ is salvation to your soul. Honor the covenants you have made with the Lord in the temple. Do this, and our family will be together again. This I know without a doubt because Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ live.”
My testimony was built on the gospel, by every word my mother and father said. I know that our family will be together again someday because my parents fulfilled their mission to teach us the gospel and lead us to the Savior.

When I was an undergraduate student at BYU, I had a number of great opportunities to choose from. All were excellent, worthy options, but I felt a lot of pressure to make the “right” choice. I worried that if I didn’t choose correctly, I would “mess up” God’s plan for me. After weeks of feeling unsettled and confused, I devoted a Sunday to fasting and prayer. Still unsure, I called my brother that night and asked him to give me a priesthood blessing. In that blessing, I was given very specific instructions as to what the Lord wanted me to do. This clarity brought me great relief, and I happily trusted and obeyed.

About a year and a half later, I had just graduated with my bachelor’s degree and was beginning a graduate program in dance. During the first few days of the semester, I suddenly got cold feet. I was worried that what I was doing was self-indulgent and impractical. I already had one degree that didn’t have immediate job prospects, and now I was going for another! I visited an advisement office and learned that I could enroll in a postgraduate course of study to get licensure to teach English in secondary education in just one year. This sounded like a more practical choice because it was shorter and had more obvious job prospects.

Once again, I sought a priesthood blessing to help me decide what to do. I was confident that Heavenly Father would once again instruct me on which choice He wanted me to make. However, this blessing went very differently than the previous one. This time I was not told what He wanted me to do. Rather, I was advised that I should choose the one that I felt would make me happiest. This answer came as a big surprise to me, and I actually wasn’t too excited with the counsel because it put the responsibility of choosing back on me. In my disappointment, I also interpreted it to mean that my schooling and future employment didn’t matter to the Lord.

In the years that have passed, I have realized how wrong my reaction was. I was actually given a gift of love and trust that day by a loving parent who wanted me to grow. First, I was given permission to choose what I thought would make me happy without any financial strings attached. Deep down I knew what I wanted to do, but I hesitated to give myself permission to follow my heart. I now see that my Heavenly Father knew me well enough to know what I would choose and that that choice would lead me to this wonderful career. But He wanted me to learn to trust myself and to take ownership of this big decision. It was as if He was saying, “I know what you want, and it’s a good thing. I trust you. Now trust yourself.”

The ongoing family remembrance of our little Patrick began at the time I dedicated his grave on a lovely August afternoon in 1972.
Patrick was born in Abington, Pennsylvania, and because of a complication at birth he lived only six days. We lived near a lovely little cemetery, but decided that he should be buried instead in a location near where we would want our eventual home to be—or at least in an area we could easily visit, since corporate assignments might require us to move frequently for many years.
We therefore held the funeral and buried him in Utah, where we grew up and where our parents lived. Since then we have moved to two different European countries on assignment, and then back to Utah. We are grateful for having made that decision.
In the prayer of dedication at the gravesite, I asked fervently that our family might live to be worthy to join Patrick someday in that perfect place where he now is. Six years later, we still pray often for that same blessing and find that it is a significant family encouragement and challenge to work toward that goal.
We not only pray that we might someday meet and again associate with this special son and brother, but we also feel it is appropriate to pray for his current success and welfare. Nevertheless, we know that all is well with him because of the promise of the Lord that little children who die in infancy are perfect and worthy of his kingdom.
Inasmuch as we are now fortunate to live close to the cemetery where Patrick is buried, we go there from time to time to have family prayer. Sometimes one of our children will say, “Can we please stop at Patrick’s grave to have prayer?” Whenever we do, it provides us with a special teaching moment to talk with the children about things important, sacred, and eternal.
Since Patrick is, we feel, as much a part of our family as any living earthly child, we believe there is value to be gained from remembering his birthday and even in sharing a birthday cake baked in his honor. To have the children thus see our total faith as parents that Patrick is real, that his little body will be resurrected, and that we may be joined again eternally as a family is an advantage that we as parents would not want to lose.
Because four of our children have been born since Patrick died, we are grateful for the white leather book of remembrance we compiled to remember him by. In it we have his certificates, photos from the hospital and of the funeral and burial, related correspondence, and other small treasures. As we show the children this book of remembrance, Patrick remains real to those who knew him and becomes real to the children who did not meet him here.
My wife, Sandy, and I are most thankful for the fact that the Lord allowed the birth and death of this little boy to be one of the most beautiful and spiritual family experiences we have been privileged to have since our marriage. The Lord made Patrick’s presence and even his death sweet to us, and we cherish not only the memory of Patrick himself, but also the memory of those few special and sacred days we spent together. At that time we studied as thoroughly as possible the doctrines and writings of the Church regarding little children who die. As parents and as a family we cannot express how grateful we are for those promises and the future they hold. I want to say that we do not as a family constantly think and talk about Patrick, but we make a conscious effort not to forget him, nor to forget the special family challenge and promise he has given us.

I would like to share with you a personal experience that I had while serving as an Area Seventy years ago. When I was called by the Area President, he asked me how my German was. I told him that I could order a schnitzel.

He said that was nice—I would not go hungry—but then invited me to read the Book of Mormon in German. And that is what I did between receiving the call in December and being sustained during the April conference.

Shortly after, I started my service in the Europe Area and received a phone call asking if I would be ready to visit a district conference on short notice. I told our Area President that I could do that. Then he told me that the district was located in the eastern part of Germany where they do not speak any English. He said there will be no one to translate for you. He quickly ended the phone call before I could change my mind.

The worst part was that I needed to call the district president to discuss the conference. Marjan prepared the computer with Google Translate for me, and I knelt down and pleaded with the Lord to help me. Well, we had an hour-long conversation in German, and Marjan and our youngest son, Hyrum, were amazed.

A week later, we traveled to the Erfurt District and held all the meetings in German. On Sunday, my nephew, who was serving a mission there, joined the congregation. He later told me that it went well but that I made one big mistake. I thought I asked the parents to testify to their children, but instead, I asked the parents to make more children. I used Gezeugen instead of bezeugen. As good, faithful Germans, they kept straight faces.

Well, I hope to return there someday; they might have a stake.

On several occasions, I have received a testimony of the Atonement of Jesus Christ. And not only about the cleansing part—but also that we can receive power that enables us to do what we could never imagine doing.
I have felt that power time and time again in my life, and especially when I am out of my comfort zone.

Recently I sat with my oldest son at a professional baseball game. We were thrilled to see famous players and were excited to watch a well-played athletic contest. One thing, however, clouded the evening for me—the language of some of the fans. After only a half hour or so, the tension of the game and the desire for a win brought forth a stream of profanities from some people behind us. For the next three hours, we were subjected to crude and coarse language, including constant use of the Lord’s name as a curse or an exclamation. As we returned to our motel, I felt literally beaten down, even defiled. It was a painful experience.

The missionaries down in Samoa didn’t have a president for a few months. I was the president, but by remote control. I used to go to a Chinese man’s home in Honolulu and tell him to tune in one of our natives down in Samoa, then tell that native to round up all the missionaries and have them come there, as I wanted to give them some instruction. So he’d tune in down there and get this young Samoan with his ham radio, and I’d sit there in that Chinese home and talk to those missionaries down in Samoa and give whatever instructions I wanted to give them. …

“Water for life” reads a large sign fastened to the side of Sataua Primary School on the Samoan island of Savai’i.
Those are words many Pacific Islanders understand all too well as they’re often faced with the reality of little to no fresh water for drinking, cooking, or bathing.
They are also words Elder Brian and Sister Lori Bott understand all too well. As a senior missionary couple serving in Samoa, they frequently encounter families, schools, and entire villages that struggle to find and have enough clean water.
With the Botts’ help, that all recently changed for a school and several villages on Savai’i.
It was there that the Vaisigano Second District, the Samoan Ministry of Health, and The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints came together to provide two 10,000-litre water tanks for Sataua Primary School, and an additional 206 2,000-litre water tanks for homes in the surrounding villages of Fagasa, Sataua, and Papa Sataua.
That means approximately 900 villagers and 1,000 students now have a reliable source of clean water.
“For a school, the ability to capture and store this water is the difference between staying open and closing down,” said Elder Bott.
“Water is part of it, but anything to do with the health or education of the Samoan people and to let them know of God’s love for them—that’s what we’re about,” said Sister Bott.
As humanitarian missionaries, that’s their objective every day and especially each time they take the one-hour ferry ride from the island of Upolu to Savai’i.
Sometimes that love means classroom desks so students can sit and have a surface to write on or shelves to make library books more accessible. At other times it means having floor tiles installed to make school rooms more sanitary and easier to clean.
This time it was the Botts joining with school and village leaders to cut a violet ribbon wrapped around 20,000 litres of water.
“We know how important it is to have clean water, and we feel so blessed to be just a small, small, little part of the Church’s efforts to bring water—to bring blessings to the people of Samoa,” said Elder Bott.

—Melanie Finch, 20, of Idaho Falls, “always wanted to be a nurse.” But after candy striping and a high school vocational program which earned her status as a Certified Nurse’s Assistant, Melanie switched to another field.
“In nursing, you have to associate with just about every kind of person in the world, and have compassion for them all. I found out that’s not always easy to do.”
A year later, however, she became a nursing student again.
“I did a lot of growing during that year,” she said. “I realized just how important it is to take care of people, even if it is hard and dirty. Now I’m dedicated to helping others. And I’m happy to know I’m helping people who really need the help.”

During my freshmen year, I was required to take religion courses. The doctrine was all new to me. The family of Lehi, the Book of Mormon, Zion and calling others on campus Brothers and Sisters were new and different. I began to study and learn more about the teachings of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. My family and I believed in God but it wasn’t something we practiced daily in life as a member of my religion. During the basketball season, I was receiving “the discussions” from the full-time missionaries and also struggling in my religion classes. I remembered that I was not only receiving a secular education, but also the teachings of God and if you loved him you will keep his commandments. One day before basketball practice in the locker room, I found a wallet on a wooden bench. I picked up the wallet and told my teammate Frank Buttel what I had found. I looked in the wallet to see who it belonged to and I noticed it had approximately a thousand dollars in cash. My teammate looked at me to see what I would do. I remembered the religion courses that I was taking and the discussions I was receiving from the full-time missionaries. There was no doubt, I was going to locate the owner and return the wallet. I found the owner and he was frantically looking for his lost wallet. He said he had cash in the wallet and it was to pay for his schooling. He took the wallet and thanked me when he noticed nothing was missing from his wallet. I felt good about myself because I applied what I learned about God. That weekend we had a basketball game and I was in the zone. I scored 65 points in the game. Later that week on December 16, 1977, I scored 57 points in another game. Did it have anything to do with finding and returning the wallet? Maybe. Maybe not.

Six-year-old Catherine sang as she followed Joseph and his plow down the long brown furrows, dropping yellow kernels of corn into the newly turned soil.
Joseph called over his shoulder, “If Alvin doesn’t get back with some money, all that corn will go to the land agents. And from what I hear, they won’t share it with a cutworm or a crow or anything else.”
Catherine had heard her father talk about land agents, but she wasn’t sure just what they were. “What are land agents, Joseph?” she asked.
Her brother pulled the ox to a halt and explained, “They’re men who sell property. If there is a drought or your crops don’t sell and you can’t pay the mortgage money, they come and take the farm back.” Then he paused for a moment, remembering his father’s dawn-to-dark labor when they’d first cleared the land of trees to plant crops.
The whole family had helped tap the thousand sugar maple trees in the spring. Joseph also remembered the split-wood chairs and baskets and the straw brooms his father had made to sell to help pay for the farm. His father had even worked for other farmers to earn money. But still there wasn’t enough.
Catherine brought her brother back from his recollecting. “Are they going to take our farm, Joseph?”
“It looks like it, unless we can raise some more money. We’ve all helped. But it hasn’t been enough.” Joseph sighed as he slapped the reins against the rump of the ox. “I wish I could do something more.”
“You’ve been helping to clear trees and plowing and planting the corn and pumpkins. That’s a big help.
“Sure. But we need money. And we need it right away.”
Catherine let out a deep breath and sat down on the broken black earth. “Will we have to let the land agents take our farm?” she asked.
“ If we can’t pay all the mortgage money, we will. And the law supports them. But it just doesn’t seem right after we’ve spent two years clearing trees from 24 hectares of land and planting crops and building a four-room log house besides. They’d only turn around and sell it again for a lot of money, and we wouldn’t get anything for all the improvements we’ve made.”
Catherine understood now why some folks said the land agents were really land robbers.
Young Joseph looked into the open window of the house. His mother was just lifting the lid on the cooking pot in the fireplace. She left the stew sputtering against the pot lid as she called to her family, “Supper’s ready!”
Later after supper, Joseph’s father, as always, felt for his spectacles. When his hand found the lower right-hand pocket of his vest, that was the signal for a reading from the Bible and for family prayer.
That night the family had an extra long prayer. Father Smith thanked Heavenly Father for his “mercy which endureth forever.” Then he pleaded for help in somehow obtaining the money that was needed. When all members of the family had added their amen, they sang the usual hymn:
The song was interrupted by a loud knock. Mr. Smith opened the door and invited a neighbor from down the road to come in.
“Thank you, Joseph. I came to ask if you’d let me hire one of your boys for a few days. I need to dig a well.”
Alvin was away working and young Joseph knew his father needed Hyrum to help cut trees. “I could do it, sir,” he said eagerly.
His father smiled. “Joseph’s able. He’ll give you a good day’s work for a day’s pay.”
“I know your boys are good workers. They’ve worked alongside their father until they’re better than most men. That’s why I’m here. Young Joseph will be fine.”
Joseph was so happy that he had to take a big breath to keep from shouting out loud: “The Lord is surely opening up the way. We will get the money we need. I’m sure of it.” He was so sure that he wasn’t a bit surprised when Alvin arrived home a few days later with the money he had earned. Just the same, it was a tense moment when the whole family gathered to count their savings. Is it enough? they wondered.
Joseph held his breath as the money was counted. It was enough; they had enough. Tears and laughter mingled as they realized that Alvin’s earnings added to what Joseph and the others had been able to raise would save their farm!

I would like to share with you an experience I had when I was a young man. I was born and raised in Montana and I lived just a few hours from the Rocky Mountains. In the scouting program, one of the activities I looked forward to each summer was backpacking in the Bob Marshall Wilderness area, which is located south of Glacier Park. On one trip our leaders planned a three-day hike that started at Benchmark and finished at Gibson Lake just outside of Augusta, Montana. Our leaders planned for us to hike six to eight miles each day so we could reach our final destination in three days and meet up with our transportation, so we could return home.

On the second day of the trip we reached a beautiful meadow called Pretty Prairie. Pretty Prairie is a very long meadow with mountains on one side and the South Fork of the Sun River on other. When we reached this meadow the trail disappeared. As we walked through this long meadow we noticed a trail that went up the mountainside and we assumed that it was the trail we needed to take and so we followed it. The trail was very narrow and steep and after a few miles the trail reached the top of this mountain and disappeared. At this time our leaders were confused and they decided to pull the maps and compass to see where the trail went. According to the map we were not on a trail. It appeared that we found a game trail or a trail used by deer, elk or mountain goats. Upon further inspection of the map we found that we had traveled far from our course. We needed to go back to the beautiful meadow and on the opposite side of the meadow from where we entered was the trail we needed to be on to reach our final destination. As young scouts, we were exhausted and a few scouts were in tears. We were disappointed with having to follow the same trail back to the meadow to correct our mistake. We calculated that the mistake caused us to hike an additional four to five miles extra that day. I learned on that trip that backpacking was more enjoyable if you closely follow a good map and use a compass to help you reach your final destination.

When Katy Ballenger started volunteering at Primary Children’s Medical Center in Salt Lake City, Utah, she had no idea her life would be changed forever. On her last day volunteering at the hospital, the nurses asked her to spend the day with a terminally ill boy who spoke little and who smiled even less. She read stories to him and played with him all day, and, after all her efforts, the boy laughed. He was sad to see her go at the end of the day. “I realized I had made a difference in this child’s life,” Katy says.
After experiencing the good feelings that resulted from her service, Katy decided to make a difference and continue to use the gifts her Heavenly Father had given her to serve others.

When I was 11 years old, my father died, and at his funeral I was very touched as I heard the people speaking about what a kind man he had been. At the cemetery as they were lowering the casket down in the grave and starting to throw those shovels full of dirt and rocks down on the casket, I stood watching, thinking he was my hero, and I wondered what would ever happen to me having lost my father. I saw good men exercising the priesthood and doing what was right—the men who had helped in digging the grave and taking care of things—and I saw a good man push a five-dollar bill back into the hands of my mother, who had offered him some money for helping to dig the grave. He pushed that money back toward my mother and said, “No, you keep it because you will need this later on.” And so I would like to declare to all of you in these assemblies tonight, in the Aaronic Priesthood and the Melchizedek Priesthood, isn’t it interesting to see the wisdom of our Heavenly Father and His Son in putting all of these things together, how in the lesser priesthood we learn to do the temporal chores? We’ll have temporal duties, learning in a humble, simple way those things that need to be done. This will teach us of service and of living the commandments of the Lord, preparing us so that we someday will be advanced to the Melchizedek Priesthood, with all of the majesty and the eternal glory that that entails.

I am inspired by students who demonstrate empathy for people who committed serious crimes and for those they formerly feared or dismissed. Working with refugees, I have witnessed rage, need, and resignation. One late weekend night, I brought a young Burmese client home from the hospital for a short visit before he returned for an additional lengthy stay. He had already been hospitalized for months, and it was difficult for his family to visit regularly due to limited public transportation access and busy work schedules. Seeing the way that family embraced their brief time together and showed love for their son was profoundly humbling. To be present with others during moments of vulnerability allows us to feel God’s grace for them and for us.

The Prophet Joseph Smith exemplified kindness in his life to everyone, old and young. One child who benefited from the Prophet’s kindness remembered:
“My older brother and I were going to school, near to the building which was known as Joseph’s brick store. It had been raining the previous day, causing the ground to be very muddy, especially along that street. My brother Wallace and I both got [our feet] in the mud, and could not get out, and of course, child-like, we began to cry, for we thought we would have to stay there. But looking up, I beheld the loving friend of children, the Prophet Joseph, coming to us. He soon had us on higher and drier ground. Then he stooped down and cleaned the mud from our little, heavy-laden shoes, took his handkerchief from his pocket and wiped our tear-stained faces. He spoke kind and cheering words to us, and sent us on our way to school rejoicing.”

A girl I will call Liz is an example of what I am talking about. She was a student in a math class with a girl I will call Lindsay, who noticed that there was just something about Liz that “glowed,” as she put it. Lindsay admitted that she really didn’t think Liz knew her, but she still made her feel good. She really stood up for what she believed, and she always made others feel good and included. For several weeks Lindsay observed Liz. Then one day, Liz didn’t show up at school. Then another and then another passed. Lindsay finally learned that Liz was very ill with life-threatening meningitis.

She came home from school and just sat at the table crying. It wasn’t like she and Liz were close friends, but she said to her mom that they just had to do something to help her. Lindsay suggested that perhaps their whole family could fast and pray for Liz. What a shock it was for the mother to hear that coming from one of her own children, because fasting and prayer had not been mentioned in their home for years. When Lindsay and her mom talked with the rest of the family about it that night at supper, there was some resistance, but Lindsay pleaded with them and finally they all agreed to fast and pray for Liz, a stranger. The most wonderful thing happened. It wasn’t long before Liz returned to school appearing healthy and happy as ever. But even more important than this, the experience brought the most remarkable spirit of hope into Lindsay’s home. Because of it, some serious changes have taken place in their family. They are now having family prayer together, something that had not happened for years.

Liz’s goodness glowed, and it was catching. Liz, if you are here tonight, I would just like to say, “Thank you! By your goodness you have blessed at least one whole family whom you probably do not even know. And who knows how many others have been guided as you held high your torch.”

Jessica moved into a new ward. Though she wasn’t unhappy, she didn’t smile much. Youth in her new ward misread her facial expressions and judged her because of them. By the end of her first Sunday, rumors were already going around that Jessica was mean, and then people didn’t want to be her friend.
What would you do? How would you fix the situation?
STOP IT!
Try This Ashley, the young woman who told us this story, decided to be Jessica’s friend. “I tried to get to know her, and I tried saying hi,” she says. “It made me feel really good when she smiled or started talking with me.” Eventually these two young women became friends. “I realized that Jessica is a great person, and now a lot of people love her. They just misjudged her at the beginning,” Ashley says.

I want to tell you of an incident that happened many years ago. Two of our sons, then little boys, were wrestling on the rug, and they had reached that line which separates laughter from tears. So I worked my foot carefully between them and lifted the older one back to a sitting position on the rug. As I did so, I said, “Hey there, you little monkeys. You’d better settle down.”
To my surprise he folded his little arms, his eyes swimming with deep hurt, and protested, “I not a monkey, Daddy, I a person!”
The years have not erased the overwhelming feeling of love I felt for my little sons. I was taught a profound lesson by my little boys. Many times over the years his words have slipped back into my mind, “I not a monkey, Daddy, I a person!” I was taught a profound lesson by my little boy.
Now the cycle of life has moved swiftly on, and both of those sons have little boys of their own, who teach their fathers lessons. They now watch their children grow as we watched them. They are coming to know something as fathers that they could not be taught as sons. Perhaps now they know how much their father loves them. Hopefully, they know as well why prayers begin “Our Father who art in heaven.”
All too soon their children will be grown with little “persons” of their own, repeating the endless cycle of life.