Gospel Story Finder

A knowing smile touched his lips. “I bet you’re a Latter-day Saint, aren’t you?” His question sounded like a compliment! “You’re just like Andy Frazier!” He glanced across the parking lot with a far-off look in his eyes. “Andy and I were in the Marines together. The first time I met him was a Sunday morning. We talked and hit it right off. I asked him if he wanted to drive into town and catch a movie. He turned me down. He said that he was headed for church. That’s when I found out that he was a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.”
Mr. Santos turned back to me. “We became good friends. He didn’t drink anything stronger than orange soda. He didn’t cuss. He didn’t smoke.” Mr. Santos smiled at me. “But there were a lot of things he did do. Nobody worked harder than Andy Frazier. And he could shoot!” Mr. Santos wagged his head. “Nobody in the whole battalion could shoot like him. I don’t think there was a better member of the entire Marine Corp. At first some of the guys kidded him about his religion, but he didn’t let it get to him.
“One day we were on parade, marching around the parade field. When we marched, we sang out different cadences. Some of them are pretty funny. Some of them are …” He paused and shook his head. “Well, some of them have some pretty bad words in them. They aren’t the approved cadences, but at times we used them. Well, Andy had complained to the sergeant a number of times, but he just said that Andy needed to toughen up a bit.
“One day we were using a cadence that was downright dirty. Andy broke ranks and headed right to the major, who was off to the side of the field. When I saw him go, I thought, Andy, you’re one dead duck. You’re going to get booted right out of the Marines.”
Mr. Santos smiled at the memory. “He didn’t get thrown out. He saluted the Major and told him that he was a Marine and proud of it but that he had been taught not to use filthy language and didn’t expect to have to use it or listen to it to be a good Marine.” Mr. Santos smiled again. “The major told the sergeant that from then on Andy was to choose the marching cadence. Now that took courage! I’ll never forget Andy Frazier. I think you’re like him.”

On one occasion, Karl G. Maeser was leading a party of young missionaries across the Alps. As they reached the summit, he looked back and saw a row of sticks thrust into the snow to mark the one safe path across the otherwise treacherous glacier.
Halting the company of missionaries, he gestured toward the sticks and said, “Brethren, there stands the priesthood [of God]. They are just common sticks like the rest of us, … but the position they hold makes them what they are to us. If we step aside from the path they mark, we are lost.” (In Alma P. Burton, Karl G. Maeser, Mormon Educator, Salt Lake City: Deseret Book Co., 1953, p. 22.)

Two years before I was born in 1942, my mother gave birth to my older brother, Gary. Gary is a very special person. When he was born, his brain was damaged by a lack of oxygen. His mind never grew above the level of a six- or seven-year-old.
For more than 60 years, I watched my parents take care of Gary. They helped brush his teeth, comb his hair, and tie his tie on Sunday. Because he loved horses and cowboys, they took him to rodeos and Western movies. They performed countless acts of love and kindness for him.
Unfortunately, people aren’t always so kind to those who are different. I’m sorry to say that some children—even children from active Latter-day Saint families—were unkind to my brother. They shut him out of games, called him ugly names, and teased him unmercifully.
Gary was a childlike person who was always quick to forgive. He loved and accepted everybody. I think that aside from my parents, this special brother did more during my childhood to shape my outlook on life than anyone else. I sometimes think how it will be after the Resurrection, when as Alma describes, “all things shall be restored to their proper and perfect frame” (Alma 40:23). Then we’ll know the real Gary, and I think we’ll be very grateful for all the good things we’ve done for him and very sad about those times when we might have been more loving and understanding of his special circumstances.

The missionaries taught me for over a year. I attended church and continued to interact with the members. We played games together and talked about many things. I was encouraged to follow the Savior and be baptized, but I was worried.
My parents were devoted Buddhists and did not approve of my learning about the Church. Wanting to meet my family’s expectations, I told the missionaries that I couldn’t be baptized. But the truths of the restored gospel of Jesus Christ had been prompting me to go down a different path from the one most people around me pursued. I had to decide for myself which path to take.
The more I thought about it, the more I felt that I should pray. I knelt by my bed and prayed out loud for the first time in my life. Before I even finished, the Holy Ghost had made it clear to me that I had found the truth. But what would my parents think?
When my parents realized my desire to be baptized, they surprised me by agreeing to have the missionaries come for a visit. When they arrived at our home, my parents had a good feeling. After talking for a while, the missionaries invited us to sing a hymn, “Love at Home” (Hymns, no. 294). As we sang together, my mother had tears in her eyes. Everyone was touched.
This experience softened my parents’ hearts, and a year and eight months after I first met the missionaries, I was baptized. I later served a mission in Utah and have had many wonderful opportunities in the Church.
Have you ever stopped and thought about how the gospel of Jesus Christ has blessed your life? In doing so, you will be filled with love for God and come to better understand that He loves you so much that He sent His Only Begotten and precious Son, Jesus Christ, to the world to strengthen and uplift you as you come unto Him.
When you feel this love, I hope that you will respond by opening your heart to your loved ones and others and sharing what you know to be true. My life has been blessed because of friends who reached out to me and shared their love of the Savior and His gospel with me. I’ve also been blessed as I’ve continued to strengthen my testimony through prayer, studying the life and teachings of Jesus Christ, and choosing to be His disciple. You can do the same!
As you strive to remember the promises you made when you were baptized and received the gift of the Holy Ghost, God has promised you that the Holy Ghost will “show unto you all things what ye should do” (2 Nephi 32:5). Please have faith in His promise. You can be guided in the right direction in all you do and say. You can reach out in friendship and invite others to hear your testimony. I know that this can make you happier than just about anything else ever could.

Years later, our family had grown to five children, including our youngest, Spencer.
Once, when Spencer was six years old, my wife and I went away for just a few days and left the children with a babysitter. When we returned home, I sat down with Spencer and asked him how everything had gone while we were away.
He told me that he’d had a hard time sleeping. When I asked why he didn’t sleep well, he thought about it and said he did not know.
Later that evening our family began our nightly routine of reading the Book of Mormon together.
Suddenly Spencer exclaimed, “That’s it!” I asked what he was talking about. “That’s why I couldn’t sleep very well at night.”
“Why couldn’t you sleep?” I asked.
“We didn’t read the scriptures at night while you were gone, and I like how the scriptures make me feel.”
Spencer had learned that reading the scriptures every day brings us the comfort, peace, and guidance of the Holy Ghost.

Still another teacher taught me that the ultimate discovery in growing up is the discovery of oneself, when one comes face-to-face with his own limitations and, simultaneously, has his eyes opened to his talents.
Ellis “Red” Wade helped me make this discovery. He tested my manual skills (and his patience) by having me construct a piano stool and hall tree in a year of shop work. I labored endlessly. Nothing would fit together or vaguely resemble the paper sketches. It was apparent that building things with my hands was not one of my endowments. When I took my handiwork home, Mother positioned my hall tree behind a door where it served a purpose without being seen. My dad, I think, used the piano stool in milking the cow.
Fortunately, Mr. Wade could see I possessed physical skills and coordination. He taught me to respect my body and to strive toward athletic goals. He, and later Coach Staples, transfused me with the desire to strive for excellence in various forms of competition. This was not done in a lopsided fashion. They were always advocates of balance between physical and mental pursuits. I thank them for helping me follow this inspired direction: “Let no man despise thy youth; … Neglect not the gift that is in thee … Meditate upon these things; give thyself wholly to them; that thy profiting may appear to all” (1 Tim. 4:12, 14–15).

Bishop Brown’s relationship with his family is one of respect and love, of understood meanings, and of honest and helpful criticism. Joanne, Bishop Brown’s oldest daughter, remembers that when she went to BYU there was a lesson given in her student ward about loving your parents, and the counsel was given to the new students at BYU to write their parents and tell them of their love for them. Joanne said, “In our home we didn’t say I love you, we just loved each other.” But Joanne followed instructions and wrote her father and mother telling them how much she really did love them. When Bishop Brown received that letter he called his daughter immediately. Joanne says she will always remember how touched and grateful her father was for her expression of love to him.

Chris Rubio, a painter, arrives for work with his wife, Alfreda.
When Chris and Alfreda Rubio’s van broke down recently, they didn’t worry about how they were going to pay for repairs. And it wasn’t because they were wealthy.
“We had the money we needed because we had saved it,” says Chris. “We were good to go. We took the van to get fixed that day without having to think, ‘Oh, no.’ It felt nice.”
It wasn’t always that way. Not long ago, the Rubios would have taken out a loan, used a credit card, or waited until payday to get their van fixed. But that was before they took a course on personal finances offered through the Church’s self-reliance initiative.
Chris and Alfreda met while serving in the U.S. Air Force in Germany and were married in Denmark. Chris finished his enlistment in 2008, and health problems forced Alfreda to retire a few years later. They found the Church shortly after settling in Alabama, USA, but Chris couldn’t find a job. “I was either overqualified or underqualified,” he recalls.
Alfreda found work at an office supply store, but that was their only income. “We were drowning financially,” she says.
“We had a lot of debt and overdue bills, and collectors were calling,” Chris adds. “It reached the point that we began selling off stuff to pay bills. Our car got repoed, and we lost our house. It was bad.”
After they lost their home, the Rubios moved to an apartment in a new ward. They didn’t know anyone, and as their finances waned, so did their church attendance. Chris remembers that the more they focused on finances, the less they focused on faith.
“It was very easy to say, ‘We can’t go to church today because we’ve got to find a job or because we’re worried about bills or because we don’t have money for gas,’” he says.
When they visited with their new bishop about their financial situation, he told them about a Personal Finances for Self-Reliance course that was about to begin in their ward meetinghouse, located just outside Montgomery, Alabama.
“We both grew up in pretty modest families,” Chris says. “We didn’t have a whole lot, so we never really learned budgeting and saving. We lived paycheck to paycheck. Oftentimes, the check would run out after a couple of days and we’d have to go long periods with no money. So we were like, ‘Yeah, let’s take the course. If it’s going to help us in any way, we want to do it.’”
During their course on personal finances, the Rubios and three other families learned how to create and stick to a budget. They learned about debt and how to conquer it. They learned how to protect their families from financial hardship. And they learned about the important role tithing plays in financial self-reliance.
“It changed our whole thinking process,” Chris says. “We learned how to monitor not just our income and spending but also our savings, which we didn’t have at the time. I never thought we would have savings, to be honest.”
The Rubios especially enjoyed the council nature of the course, where participants shared ideas, successes, and failures. The camaraderie strengthened their faith and their efforts to become financially self-reliant, and the course facilitator happened to be able to offer Chris a job.
“It makes a difference when you meet other people in the same situation,” Chris says. “You find out that you’re not alone and that we’re all trying to make ends meet and develop skills to become self-reliant so that we can make things better for our kids.”
As they implemented the financial principles they were learning, their financial situation improved.
“We’re not to the point where we’re rich or no longer have financial worries, but it’s so much easier now to handle our callings and go to church without worrying about finances,” Chris says. “The course definitely changed us spiritually.”
Alfreda adds: “The course tied directly into how much stronger our faith became. We started praying more and reading the scriptures more. We felt that the course’s financial principles and spiritual principles went hand in hand.”
Chris likens those principles to a pair of glasses that have helped him and Alfreda find and stay on the path to spiritual and financial self-reliance.
“Without the class and without learning all the things we did, we wouldn’t be where we are now—financially or spiritually,” he says. “It has been an amazing journey. We learned that you don’t need a lot of money to be rich. We’re spiritually rich.”

One day at school, a few of my classmates were making fun of another student by calling him names. It looked like fun, so I joined them. For a few weeks, I made fun of him with my friends.
Several weeks later, the boy told me how he was feeling. He was hurt by our words even though he pretended like he didn’t care that we were making fun of him. He said he cried every night. I almost cried when he told me. I wanted to help him and decided to apologize for what I had said to him.
So the next day, I went up to him and put my arm around his shoulder. I said, “I’m really sorry that I made fun of you.” He nodded at my words, and his eyes filled up with tears. But the other kids were still making fun of him. Then I remembered what I learned in my Primary class: choose the right.
I told my classmates valiantly, “Stop making fun of him! Do you guys know how hard this has been for him? Please say you’re sorry for what you have done and be his friend.”
But they wouldn’t change that easily. Instead, they were mad at me and said, “What’s the matter with you all of a sudden? You made fun of him too!”
I still felt bad for what I had done before. So I said, “I already said sorry to him. I want you to understand how he feels and stop making fun of him too.”
One of them said sorry, and the three of us became good friends. A few people still make fun of him, but he feels better because he has us. I will choose the right by helping a friend in need.

Alexander was sitting in his car in American Samoa when we talked over the phone. I was astonished as he told me about how he gave up his full-ride football scholarship to serve a mission. After returning home, he felt guided to help with his family’s business and marry his sweetheart in the temple. Only then did he feel prompted to finish his education, and BYU–Pathway was the perfect solution for him.
When Alexander told me he had enrolled and withdrawn from school twice because of a hurricane and then because of a house fire, I was shocked. He had chosen to serve the Lord for two years before pursuing his education and was then faced with significant adversity—yet he persisted. When I asked him how he kept moving forward, he mentioned the story of Nephi getting the plates from Jerusalem. Even though Nephi did what God asked, it still took him and his brothers three tries to be successful. But Nephi never lost faith, because God had promised to provide a way for Him (see 1 Nephi 3–4).
Alexander taught me that everything in life is subject to change except for our loving Heavenly Father. As President Nelson also taught: “The Lord never slumbers, nor does He sleep [see Psalm 121:4]. He ‘is the same yesterday, today and [tomorrow]’ [Mormon 9:9]. He will not forsake His covenants, His promises, or His love for His people.”2
I truly know now that no matter what changes I face, His commandments, blessings, and love are unwavering and eternal. Alexander taught me that if I set my path toward God and Jesus Christ and rely on Them, I will be able to face the uncertain future with hope and faith.

The problem with Christmas this year was what to do about Grandma. She’s usually the one to solve the problems, not cause them, so everyone was caught off guard when she made her announcement at Thanksgiving dinner.
“I don’t want anyone to give me any Christmas presents this year,” she said. “I don’t need anything, and I’ve run out of places to put things.”
“Oh, Mom,” Dad said, “you don’t mean that.”
“Yes, I do,” she insisted. “All my cupboards and closets and drawers are full. My china cabinet hasn’t one square inch in which to put another knickknack, and I have enough perfume to last until the millennium. I’m going on a diet, so I don’t want any fattening food around. When I say I don’t want any gifts, I mean it!”
We all knew she did. When Grandma got that tone in her voice, no one argued. She wasn’t angry, just firm.
The hard part was that everyone wanted to give Grandma something. She was one of our favorite people. If you had a wild wish for something silly, or frivolous, or just plain dumb, you could count on her to understand and come through with it. If you needed something comfy or cozy or cute, she made it for you. No matter what lopsided, glue-splotched project you brought home from school, she loved it, praised it, and hung it on her bulletin board. She had as many friends as a dandelion has petals, and she was always doing fun and thoughtful things for them. Everyone remembered her at Christmas.
When she said, “No presents this year,” everyone in the family recognized that Grandma was going to be a problem. They met at our house to decide what to do about her. As the oldest of the brothers and sisters, Dad led the discussion. “What are we going to get Grandma for Christmas this year?” he asked.
She said she didn’t want anything,” Mom reminded him.
“Surely she didn’t mean that,” Aunt Gracie said.
“I think she did,” Uncle Bob said.
“We’ll just have to think of something she will want,” Dad insisted.
“Why?” asked Uncle Jack.
“Because it’s Christmas, that’s why,” Dad answered.
Aunt Nan thought she must have some secret desire. Uncle Bob didn’t think she’d ever tell, if she did.
“Then we’ll have to figure it out,” Dad challenged.
“I know what it is,” I said.
No one heard me. They talked about microwave ovens, clock radios, and electric skillets.
I tugged on Dad’s coat. “Dad,” I whispered, “I know what she’d like.”
“Don’t bother me now, Janie,” he whispered back. “I’m busy.”
They talked about this and that and everything else and didn’t come even close to guessing the right thing. Finally I couldn’t stand it anymore, so in the middle of the confusion, I shouted, “She wants a red wagon!” Then I ran from the room before anyone could get mad at me for interrupting. When I listened through the heater to see what they thought of my idea, everyone was laughing.
“Well that’s one way to make sure there is something for Janie to play with when she goes to Grandma’s house,” Aunt Gracie said.
I gave up and went to play.
Later, when the uncles and aunts had gone home, Dad asked me what was the big idea shouting out like I had.
“Because Grandma does want a red wagon.”
“What makes you think so?” he asked.
“Because she always borrows mine,” I told him. “She comes over to get me to help her in her yard, and she says, ‘Can we use your wagon?’ and we put it in the back of her car and use it to haul plants or weeds or other things, and then she brings it back. The last time I was over there, she said, ‘I always wanted to have a wagon when I was little, but I never got to because I was a girl. In those days girls had their toys and boys had theirs. The only way I could take my dolls for a ride was to borrow my brother’s wagon. But it wasn’t mine, and I’ve always wanted one.’”
“Grandma already has that big wheelbarrow,” Dad reminded me. “Grandpa bought it for her birthday the year before he died.”
“But it tips the plants over, and when she gets to where she’s going, they’re all in a mess. Besides, it’s almost too big for her to handle. She’s tough, but she’s not very tall.”
“You have a point,” Dad said. “But a red wagon for a grandma?”
“Why not?” I wanted to know.
“It seems so silly.”
“I don’t think so,” I said. “I think it’s a neat idea.”
Well, everyone was supposed to watch Grandma and listen to her and see if they could figure out what she really wanted for Christmas. All they found out was that she didn’t want anything. She kept reminding them over and over again.
I couldn’t understand why no one took my idea seriously, because I could see more and more ways it would be convenient for Grandma to have that wagon she always wanted. She could take it to the grocery store on nice days when she wanted a little exercise, to the post office with packages, or just out to the street with her garbage can in it. And it would be perfect for her to pull along as she worked in the garden. I’d even figured out a little rack to hold her trowel, scratcher, scissors, and snail bait. The rack would fit in the front of the wagon and leave plenty of room for plants or weeds. I knew that she would love it.
Finally, because they really couldn’t think of anything else, the family members decided to chip in and buy the biggest, reddest, fanciest wagon they could find for Grandma. The handle was just the right length, and the wheels rolled along so easily that it seemed to be floating. It was beautiful!
They decided to leave it in the backyard because she was so determined not to have any presents under the tree.
“She’ll notice it out the window,” Aunt Nan said, “and if she doesn’t like it, we won’t be embarrassed, because she’ll think it belongs to one of the children.”
But I wanted to make sure that she knew the wagon was hers, so I painted “Grandma” on it in big white letters.
I was the one who got to sneak it out of the car and put it behind the house on Christmas Eve.
Christmas morning came, and I didn’t want to open my packages until I found out how Grandma felt about her present. It would be an awful day for her if she didn’t like it, because there wasn’t one gift wrapped up for her.
It wasn’t far to her house, so I hopped onto my bike and rode over. She saw me coming out the front window, waved, and threw open the door to yell. “Hurry, Janie! Hurry!”
She sounded so desperate that I wondered if she was having a heart attack, and when I got closer and saw the tears running down her cheeks, I felt terrible. She must be awfully sad or mad! I thought. But then I saw that she was smiling!
“You’ll never believe it, Janie!” she cried. “After all these years, I got my wagon! It was sitting right out there in the middle of the back lawn.”
“Wow!” I said, “That’s super!”
“I thought I didn’t want a thing this year,” she went on, “but someone knew exactly what I’d like.”
“I wonder who it was,” I said, trying to sound innocent.
She grabbed me in a big hug, and I snuggled close to her.
“Someone who prints just like you do,” she whispered.
I never could fool Grandma.

Neiley led the cattle to the pasture, then closed the gate. After watching a moment while they chomped the dew-covered grass, she climbed onto the top rail of the fence. The smell of autumn was already in the air, and she looked toward the horizon. Soon she and her little brother, Tom, would don their emporium-bought clothes and head down the lane to school.
It was a long, long walk to the little schoolhouse, but Neiley looked forward to learning more about other peoples and places. She wiggled her bare toes luxuriously. This year will be better than last year, she daydreamed. Tom was never anxious to shove his suntanned feet into store-bought shoes, but he had seemed pleased to be able to print his own name.
“Neiley!” Tom shouted.
She turned her head and watched as he raced across the grass.
“I brought it,” he said breathlessly.
“Come on,” Neiley said as she jumped down from the rail and took the small sack from his hand. “We’ll count it in the barn.”
They sat side by side on the straw and counted their money, much of which they had earned during the long summer. Unfolding the birthday dollars Grandma had sent from Boston, they placed them faceup on Tom’s spread-out bandanna. Then they began counting the small pile of coins. Some were earned from gathering pinecones on the hill and selling them to the traveling peddler. Tom had asked who would buy pinecones, but the cones had sold along with the feathers they had found and collected.
Some of the coins were still marked with the blacking Tom had used on cattlemen’s dress boots. Neiley thought of the many hand-stitched aprons she had sewn and sold to the peddler in secret. She wondered how many of them were being worn this fine autumn morning in faraway homes.
When the counting was done, Neiley collapsed into the straw and whooped, “Tomorrow, Tom! Tomorrow, we buy a mule!”
The chores the children did were no different from those they did any other day, yet that day they seemed to take longer to complete. As Neiley gathered eggs, she glanced toward the house, where Tom and Mother were carrying buckets of water. Neiley smiled and thought of the many ways a mule would help. Not only could she and Tom ride it to school when the weather was bad, but a mule would also help with the work around the farm. It would make plowing easier, and maybe they could even build some kind of cart or wagon for it to pull. Then the walk to town to sell goods and crops would not be a walk—it would be a ride! She smiled and drew a long blade of grass through her lips. “Yes, Mother will be pleased,” she murmured.
The following morning Neiley and Tom were up before first light. They ate quickly, for they were anxious to be off.
“Now, Neiley,” her mother cautioned, as she wrapped the hand-sewn items with paper and string, “you know the value of our work. Don’t take more than is fair or less than is right.”
Neiley nodded. “Do you have Mrs. McDougal’s quilt there, too?” Neiley asked.
“It’s the moon pattern,” her mother replied with a nod. “And the settled price is three dollars.” Turning to Tom, she handed him another bundle. “This is the jam. Be careful you don’t drop it. And mind your sister.”
With a hug and a kiss from their mother, the two children started down the lane toward the rising sun. At the fork in the road they looked back and waved. Then, laden with goods and their sack of summer money, and with their hopes high, they continued on their way. When they reached town, people were already milling around the corrals and the bidding booths.
“Come on,” Neiley urged Tom. “We’ll sell the goods first. Then we can come back and look at the mules.”
Going from house to house, Neiley and Tom were invited inside while the hand-sewn items were inspected and the jam help up to the light. When they got to Mrs. McDougal’s, she was so pleased with the quilt that she gave Neiley an extra fifty-cent piece.
“Mother said the agreed price was three dollars,” Neiley protested, handing the coin back.
“Your mother doesn’t know the worth of her own work,” Mrs. McDougal insisted as she pressed the extra coin into Neiley’s palm. “You give this to her with my compliments for a beautiful job.”
Neiley looked from the coin to Mrs. McDougal. “Thank you, ma’am!” she said.
Outside, Tom jumped up and down happily. “We could put the fifty cents with our summer money, Neiley. Then we’d get a good mule for sure.”
“Tom!” Neiley frowned, her hands on her hips. “Shame on you for such a thought! That’s Mother’s quilt money. It would be stealing!”
“But,” Tom explained as Neiley hurried along, “Mother would understand. We want the mule for the good of everyone.”
“We’ll get a mule with our own summer money, or we won’t get one at all!” Neiley insisted.
Soon all the goods were sold, and Tom and Neiley headed toward the bidding booths. They sat on a bale of hay and waited.
Finally Tom poked Neiley’s arm. “There are the mules, Neiley!” he said in an excited whisper.
Neiley took their summer money from her pocket. Time and time again they raised their hands and bid, but each time the mule was bought by a higher bidder.
“Our summer money just isn’t enough,” Neiley said quietly. “We’ll have to save for another summer.”
Tom was disappointed as Neiley took his hand and led him away through the crowd. When he kept pulling back, Neiley only raised her chin higher and tugged on his hand harder. When the crowd was finally behind them, Neiley released Tom’s hand and wiped her eyes.
“Couldn’t we use just a little of Mother’s money?” Tom pleaded.
Neiley’s eyes flashed. “No!”
Someone touched Neiley’s shoulder. She turned. A tall man with gentle eyes was looking at her.
“Finished bidding?” he asked with a twinkling smile.
“We bid all we had, but it wasn’t enough,” Neiley replied.
“You have enough for my mule,” he said kindly.
“But if you watched us bidding, you must know how much money we have. It’s not really very much.”
“Money isn’t the important thing. I want to find a good home for an old friend.” The man smiled again. “Besides, anyone who is willing to give all he has for something certainly deserves to get it.”
Tom’s eyes widened. “Neiley? Did you hear him?”
As they rode the mule toward home, Neiley’s heart sang, and the stranger’s words rang in her ears: “Anyone who is willing to give all he has for something certainly deserves to get it.” Never before—even on the highest pine bluff—had Neiley felt so close to heaven as on the back of that mule.
Neiley wrapped her arms tighter about her little brother’s waist and clicked her tongue. “Get up, mule,” she said happily. “We’re taking you home.”

We show our integrity by caring for and serving others. Let me cite an instance where family members, a Christlike bishop, home teachers, visiting teachers, and ward members so lived.

A young mother of eight children was left without a husband. The oldest child was twelve, the youngest barely one, and one daughter was confined to a wheelchair. This mother moved to a ward that was close to her family and friends. Being single and divorced, she feared that she might be ignored or shunned. However, as she was moving in, ward members streamed in to welcome her, bring food, and offer assistance. She hardly had time to direct those who were unloading the moving van.

After getting settled, she and her family received innumerable expressions of service and love. Her home teachers repaired her appliances and other household items. Her visiting teachers kept very close and made sure she never had to go alone to a Church activity. At Christmastime, she found money left anonymously on her porch or had it given to her in a handshake. She received hundreds of dollars toward the purchase of a wheelchair lift for her van. After being out of town briefly, she returned home and found that ward members had renovated her kitchen.

Her parents, brother, and sisters provided financial and emotional support. They helped take care of her children, accompanied her to the emergency room with a daughter who was very ill, built a ramp to the front door for the wheelchair, built shelves for food storage, and helped with yard work.

All of this kindness lifted her spirits and gave her courage to meet the trials and hardships of each day. Those who looked after this young mother practiced “pure religion” (James 1:27) because of their integrity. Let us “go, and do … likewise” (Luke 10:37), as the Savior taught in the parable of the good Samaritan.

When our son Matthew was five, he fell from the top of the high diving board at our neighborhood pool. He hit the concrete deck and suffered a fractured skull and a brain concussion. He was rushed by a Life Flight helicopter to the Houston Medical Center for emergency treatment. I needed priesthood assistance immediately. Our home teacher and our priesthood leader were both worthy and prepared at that moment. They helped give Matthew a blessing, and he completely recovered.
We must be ready at any time. As we say in Scouting, “Be prepared.”

I skipped up the sidewalk to my home, overflowing with excitement. My friend had invited me to spend the weekend at a cabin.
I came bursting through the front door and announced my plans to my mother.
“Don’t you have baptisms for the dead tomorrow?” she said.
I thought about it for a moment. “Yeah, but I can do it another time.”
She looked at me with concern. “You went in for your recommend interview and everything. You said you would go.”
My thoughts of a weekend at a cabin began to slowly fade away. The cabin sounded like so much fun. “Well, I already told my friends I would go with them.”
“You also told your Young Women leader that you would do baptisms. You made that promise first,” my mother reminded me.
“I don’t care! I’m not going!” I snapped back.
She looked on me with disappointment and then walked away.
“Great!” I said to myself, feeling even more guilty. Finally I went into the living room by myself, knelt down, and asked Heavenly Father to help me make the right decision.
When I finished, I just knelt there for a moment. I paid attention to my thoughts. They were directed now toward being in the temple and getting baptized for people who had been waiting for so long. I stood and walked into the kitchen. As I walked past the fridge, I saw a quote from President Gordon B. Hinckley (1910–2008):
“If we are a temple-going people, we will be a better people, we will be better fathers and husbands, we will be better wives and mothers. I know your lives are busy. I know that you have much to do. But I make you a promise that if you will go to the house of the Lord, you will be blessed, life will be better for you” (“Excerpts from Recent Addresses of President Gordon B. Hinckley,” Ensign, July 1997, 73).
I stood there transfixed as I read the quote over and over again. My prayers had been answered. I went back into my living room and knelt a second time, only this time I thanked my Heavenly Father for answering my prayer and for teaching me a lesson about sacrifice.
The next day when I went to the temple, I remember feeling so good. I knew I had made the right decision, thanks to Heavenly Father. I know if we truly want to do what is right, sacrifice is a blessing rather than a setback.

I share with you an account described in a mother’s letter to me relating to prayer. She wrote:
“Sometimes I wonder if I make a difference in my children’s lives. Especially as a single mother working two jobs to make ends meet, I sometimes come home to confusion, but I never give up hope.
“My children and I were watching a television broadcast of general conference, and you were speaking about prayer. My son made the statement, ‘Mother, you’ve already taught us that.’ I said, ‘What do you mean?’ And he replied, ‘Well, you’ve taught us to pray and showed us how, but the other night I came to your room to ask something and found you on your knees praying to Heavenly Father. If He’s important to you, He’ll be important to me.’”
The letter concluded, “I guess you never know what kind of influence you’ll be until a child observes you doing yourself what you have tried to teach him to do.”

Last year, the branch made its first-ever temple trip. Since the closest temple is in England, making a temple trip is a huge undertaking. It’s expensive, and until recently, the temple ceremony was not available in Icelandic.
Hanna describes the experience of being in the temple. “Everybody was so nice and warm. It’s like being in heaven. I wanted to feel that feeling always.”
During the time at the temple, the Icelandic youth spent time each morning and again in the afternoon doing vicarious baptisms. The names were from their own ancestry. Melanie couldn’t help wondering about the people she was being baptized for. “Will they be happy? Will they be thankful for what I’m doing here? Will they accept it? It wasn’t just a name; it was a person who had a life here on earth and a family.”
When they got home, the feeling of close friendship they developed continued. These teens love their country and love the Church. These days sacrament meeting fills their meeting room to overflowing, and they’re glad. The message of the gospel is spreading like a light throughout the land.

President Thomas S. Monson is a great example of this principle. In January of 2005, he was presiding over a priesthood leadership conference in Puerto Rico when he demonstrated how the Savior and His servants render service through personal ministry. At the conclusion of that wonderful meeting, President Monson began to greet all the priesthood leaders in attendance. Suddenly, he noticed that one of them was watching everything from afar, off by himself.

President Monson walked away from the group, toward that brother, and spoke to him. With emotion, José R. Zayas told him it was a miracle that he had approached him and an answer to the prayers that he and his wife, Yolanda, had offered before the meeting. He told President Monson that his daughter was in very poor health and that he had with him a letter from his wife that she wanted delivered to President Monson. Brother Zayas had told his wife that it would be impossible since President Monson would be too busy. President Monson listened to the story and asked for the letter, which he read silently. Then he put it in his suit pocket and told Brother Zayas that he would take care of their request.

In this way, that family was touched by our Lord, Jesus Christ, through His servant. I believe the words of the Savior in the parable of the good Samaritan apply to us: “Go, and do thou likewise.”

I saw all of those elements in the life of the bishop of the ward in which I grew up. He served for a quarter of a century. The ward over which he presided had more than 1,100 members, but he seemed to know and love us all. He was our friend, our counselor, our presiding officer, our confidante, our teacher. He knew us boys by our first names and so addressed us. We respectfully addressed him as “Bishop.” He was no martinet who ruled with a heavy hand. He could laugh with us. He could sympathize with us. He understood us, and we knew it. We knew also that he loved us.
I again look back to the bishop of my boyhood. He was there when I was given a name and a blessing by my good father. He it was who interviewed me and found me worthy of baptism into the Lord’s church. He it was who interviewed me and found me worthy to be ordained a deacon. He called me to my first Church responsibility as a member of the presidency of the deacons quorum. He it was who presided over the quorum of priests to which I once belonged. He it was who recommended me to the stake president as worthy to receive the Melchizedek Priesthood. He it was who recommended me to the President of the Church as one worthy to serve as a missionary. He it was who welcomed me home and who subsequently signed my recommend as one worthy to be married in the house of the Lord.
He grew old in the service and died, and it was my honor to speak at his funeral. A great congregation filled the chapel where he had presided for so long. I spoke out of the heart of a boy whom he had befriended and helped, out of the heart of a youth whom he had guided and counseled, out of the experience of an adult whose life he had blessed in many ways.

I treasure the old photographs of my parents, Larry and Molly Hamilton, sitting on Brighton Beach in the middle of August about 70 years ago. They were on their belated honeymoon. It always amazed me how well dressed they were for the beach. I like the newspaper that remains at their feet from the fish-and-chip lunch they’d just had, and the 3d hire charge printed on the deckchairs. At first glance, they look like any other 1950s black-and-white holiday snaps taken with a Brownie box camera. But these images capture a very special occasion.
In the background of the same photograph is a figure standing on what looks like a chair, trying to talk to people as they walk past. My father recalled the actual day sitting in the deckchair hearing the words of an American missionary, speaking of a Joseph Smith and of gold plates. My father was amazed how the missionary kept pointing to the sea, saying “across the sea in America”. This was the English Channel, and across the sea was France. My parents did not speak to the missionary, but his words and the impression they left stayed with my father.
Why did my father react so eagerly to hear the missionaries? He remembered the words and feelings he had when he heard the missionary on Brighton Beach in 1951. I believe that every testimony borne in faith can touch a heart.
In Romans 10:17 we can read: “Faith cometh … by hearing … the word of God”. Perhaps like Abinadi, whose words changed the heart of Alma, that missionary on Brighton Beach never knew the powerful effect of his words on those who heard him. Many generations of members have served missions and received sacred temple blessings, because one elder had the courage to stand and declare his testimony of the Restoration of Jesus Christ’s gospel—on the beach at Brighton.