Gospel Story Finder

Many years ago in a general conference, I spoke of how José de Souza Marques understood the words of the Savior that “if any man among you be strong in the Spirit, let him take with him him that is weak, that he may … become strong also.”

Brother Marques knew the name of every sheep in his priests quorum and realized that Fernando was missing. He hunted for Fernando at his house, then looked for him at a friend’s home, and even went to the beach.

He finally found Fernando surfing in the ocean. He did not hesitate until the boat sank, like in Daniel’s story. He immediately entered the water to rescue his lost sheep, bringing him home rejoicing.

He then ensured through continual ministering that Fernando never again would leave the fold.

Allow me to update you on what has happened since Fernando was rescued and to share the joy that came from rescuing just one lost sheep. Fernando married his sweetheart, Maria, in the temple. They now have 5 children and 13 grandchildren, all of whom are active in the Church. Many other relatives and their families have also joined the Church. Together they have submitted thousands of their ancestors’ names to receive temple ordinances, and the blessings just keep coming.

Fernando is now serving as bishop for the third time, and he continues to rescue, just like he was rescued. He recently shared, “In our ward, we have 32 active young men of the Aaronic Priesthood, 21 of whom were rescued in the last 18 months.” As individuals, families, quorums, auxiliaries, classes, and home and visiting teachers, we can do that!

Grant was only six weeks old when his father, H. Grant Heaton, was called to preside over the Southern Far East Mission. Unlike most children in the United States, Grant spoke his first words in Chinese. His little sister, Lisa Lee, who was born a year and a half after the family moved to Hong Kong, also learned Chinese first.
The mission home was filled with happiness until March 1958, when Grant was three years old. One day his neck became stiff, and there was pain in his chest. Soon he could not walk on his legs. President and Sister Heaton asked the missionaries to fast and pray for their son, but still his condition grew worse.
Grant’s father gave him a special blessing before taking him to the hospital. After tests, the illness was diagnosed as paralytic polio. The doctors said Grant would soon need an iron lung to help him breathe. Polio is not common among the Chinese, however, and the only iron lung in the country was being used by a British sailor.
By the end of a week in the hospital, Grant was completely paralyzed. Only his eyes moved, and the little body that had seemed healthy just a week before was quickly wasting away.
One morning Sister Heaton was with Grant. It was so hard for him to breathe that she thought surely he would soon return to our Heavenly Father. Two men came to the hospital that morning. They represented the Chinese Saints who had held a special fast and a prayer meeting the day before.
Both men had been members of the Church less than a year and neither held the priesthood, but they wanted to help. They asked permission to pray for Grant. Sister Heaton readily agreed and bowed her head to join them. She felt the faith of these humble Chinese men as they knelt beside Grant’s bed and prayed that this little boy’s health might be restored.
As they rose to their feet and left the room, Grant’s mother followed them down the hall. She thanked them and then went to the refrigerator where special food for Grant was stored.
Just as she opened the door, a familiar little voice called from down the hall and she turned around quickly to see Grant coming toward her.
“Look, Mommy,” he exclaimed with a happy smile. “I can walk!”
The doctors were amazed, but when the polio symptoms did not return, they let Grant go home. President and Sister Heaton and the missionaries gratefully acknowledged the power of the Lord and the faith of the Chinese Saints in behalf of their son.
Grant is now eighteen and lives with his family in Salt Lake City, Utah. He doesn’t remember his illness in China. His strong legs that helped him make the football team and wrestle for his high school don’t remember either!
Not long after the Church was organized in 1830, the General Authorities thought of sending missionaries to China. It was not until October 1852, however, that three elders left Salt Lake and arrived in Hong Kong on April 27, 1853. They had many problems and were not successful in converting anyone. Before long they returned to Utah.
In January 1921 David O. McKay, who was then an apostle, and Elder Hugh J. Cannon visited China. It was at this time that Elder McKay dedicated all of China for the preaching of the gospel. Now there are three missions for the Chinese people: Hong Kong, Singapore, and Taiwan. Although the first missionaries were very discouraged, later ones have had thrilling experiences in China. “I Can Walk!” is one of them that took place in Hong Kong.

I am grateful that I was privileged to raise my hand to the square and covenant in my mind and in my soul this day, as the Spirit of the Lord was poured out upon this great congregation, that I would sustain and uphold and take the counsel of these great men whom God has called to preside over his kingdom, the First Presidency of the Church—President Harold B. Lee, a seer, a man filled with the spirit of revelation and of wisdom who is on intimate terms with that Lord whose we are; President N. Eldon Tanner, the embodiment of integrity and the basic Christian virtues, who loves the Lord and keeps his commandments; President Marion G. Romney, a spiritual giant, a preacher of righteousness, who knows the Lord and teaches his doctrine. President Romney and I are members of the same family. After I had been told of my call, he said to me, “I think Granddad Redd [Lemuel Hardison Redd] will be glad to receive us.” I said, “I am going to live so I will be worthy to go where he is.” He said, “So am I.”

While serving as a missionary in the Philippines, I met Maria Jocelyn Castillo, or Jocey as she was called.
We taught Jocey and her cousin Nestor the first discussion. The Spirit was strong, and Jocey agreed to read the Book of Mormon in Tagalog, the national language.
On our next visit, we found an excited Jocey and Nestor and about five new faces. We taught another first discussion to Jocey’s sister Julie and some neighboring cousins.
After that the discussions went great. Jocey read all her assignments and started reading the Book of Mormon on her own. She soon committed to baptism. But as we got closer to her baptism, I could feel some concerns. I knew why. Jocey had only one leg and used a crutch to get around. She also wore a handkerchief on her head. On our third visit, we learned that Jocey had cancer and three years earlier had had her leg amputated. That had only slowed the disease. She started painful chemotherapy, and when her hair fell out, wore a handkerchief on her head.
We hesitantly invited Jocey to attend church. I say hesitantly because Jocey lived about two miles from the church at the bottom of the biggest hill in the area. She had only one leg and not a lot of money for transportation; I really didn’t expect to see Jocey at church.
Sunday came, the meeting started, and 20 minutes later I saw Jocey and her cousin walk through the gate. I could see a wince of pain on Jocey’s face with each step. When she saw me, she smiled. I turned away so she wouldn’t see the tears in my eyes. I thought of the times I had missed church because my head hurt or I was too tired. I thought of the sacrifice she was making to get to church.
Jocey never missed a Sunday. I knew the cancer was taking its toll as she coughed and tried to cover her pain. When her baptism day came, she told me she wasn’t ready. She wanted to be baptized, but she thought she would be embarrassed to remove her handkerchief with everyone watching. I said a quick prayer and was able to reassure her. She grabbed her change of clothes and a towel, smiled, and said thank you.
I’ve never felt the Spirit stronger than I did at her baptism. Jocey cried, and so did the others in attendance.
Jocey didn’t stop there. She helped the rest of her family, her next-door neighbors, and friends in their conversions. Finally, her mother joined.
Cancer progressed quickly, and Maria Jocelyn Castillo moved on to the next life. It was hard for me to become friends with such a wonderful person, then watch her die. Finally, I realized how blessed I had been to have been able to help such a young woman become closer to the Savior.
On the day of the funeral, the members of her ward helped with the service, showing that great love King Benjamin talked about. As they lowered the casket into the grave, Jocey’s emotional mother fainted and lay unconscious for about 30 seconds. When she came to, she looked up and said softly, three times, “Alam ko na saan,” which means, “I know where now.” And she calmly walked away.
I learned from Jocey how important the Church is, and how much light the gospel can bring to our lives and the lives of our families and friends. I will always remember Jocey.

One day my sister and I were playing outside with our friends. During the game one of our friends used Heavenly Father’s name in vain. My sister and I told her in nice voices that that was not a good word to say. Now all our friends know that we do not like saying that word. My sister and I felt warm and happy inside for setting an example of not using Heavenly Father’s name in vain.
Lucy and Eliza B., ages 5 and 6, Virginia, USA

Seminary student Girly Mbuli explains how her faith and love of the scriptures saved her from a terrible situation.
“One day my friend Tiny Gugu and I had to go to Zondi to take some books to another girl. On our way back we saw a gang of boys. Gangs here rape girls, steal cars, do everything horrible. We started to run, but it was too late.
“The boys faced us. They had weapons. They made us go up on a hill and meant to do awful things to us. On the way up the hill, I was saying a prayer to my Heavenly Father. I don’t remember which scriptures I tried to say, but I kept thinking of them. I asked for help to be calm and not afraid. I felt peace come into my heart.
“When you are on top of that hill, you can see everything. The boys looked down and asked where I was staying. I pointed to Jabulane and something told me to say I was with my grandmother and my friend Lindiwe.
“The leader looked at me and said, ‘You are not afraid. Let them go!’ I later found out the brother of my friend Lindiwe is the boss of this gang, and he stays in the house of my grandmother. That is why they let us go free.
“When I tell this story to people, they refuse to believe we survived. But I know I did and I know why. It was because of my faith in Heavenly Father. I know that Isaiah 1:18 can be true for those guilty gang boys, if they will repent: “Come now, and let us reason together, saith the Lord: though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be white as snow.” [Isa. 1:18]

In Curitiba, Brazil, 4,330 members from the temple district, supported by a choir of 1,700 voices, presented a most inspirational program through song, dance, and video. The enormous soccer stadium where the event took place was filled with spectators. The wind had been blowing, and rain threatened. I offered a silent prayer asking Heavenly Father to look with mercy upon those who had prepared so diligently for our entertainment and whose costumes and presentations would be damaged if a heavy rain or wind enveloped them. He honored that prayer, and it wasn’t until the end of the show and later on that evening that rain fell in abundance.
A history of the Church in Brazil was portrayed in song and dance. A particularly moving scene was the portrayal of Elders James E. Faust and William Grant Bangerter, who served as missionaries in Curitiba in 1940. As their photos were displayed on large screens, a tremendous cheer went up from the audience. All in all, it was a glorious event.

As a kid, I didn’t have very many good interactions with girls. I always thought they represented the “opposite.” When I moved, I struggled because there were more girls in my new ward than there were in my old ward. I didn’t know how to talk to them.
Still, a girl in the ward was one of the first people to welcome me. We ended up becoming close friends. One day, I gave her a gift, but I didn’t know if she would like it. She misunderstood the present and thought I was romantically interested in her. As a result, we didn’t talk for six months.
It was tough because I really wanted to be friends with her. I was scared to apologize incorrectly and possibly make things worse. But I missed her friendship and felt awful that I’d made her feel bad. Before this, I’d always found praying kind of tedious, but I started praying constantly to the Lord for help.
One day while reading the scriptures, I came across Mosiah 18:9, which says we should “comfort those that stand in need of comfort.” I realized that I needed not only to apologize but also to try to comfort her and show more interest in our friendship. Doing things my way wasn’t working. I needed more compassion and humility.
The Lord provided the right moment for me to apologize. I went with my mother to take my siblings to a stake Primary activity, and I found my friend there with her family. I asked the Lord to help and inspire me so I could talk to her, and I was able to apologize.
Today, we’re great friends. We joke a lot, set goals together, and consider ourselves like siblings. Liking someone doesn’t always mean being in love with them. Sometimes, you just appreciate their good qualities and enjoy being with them.
I know the Lord helped me, because if it were up to me, I wouldn’t have succeeded. I might have spoken differently or exaggerated my apologies, and it wouldn’t have worked out. I needed someone more than myself.
That’s where asking God comes in. Many times, I don’t ask for help and try to do everything on my own. But we’re not alone, right? We always have God by our side.
God blesses me, not always with what I want, but always with what I need. During the six months my friend and I weren’t talking, I needed to learn how to receive personal revelation and listen to the Holy Ghost. Now I find it easy to pray, because I enjoy conversing with my Heavenly Father.

Some time ago, we were in the kingdom of Tonga. A family home evening, with music and spoken word, was arranged by President Muti in his stake center. The home evening was in honor of His Majesty King Tupou the Fourth, the reigning monarch of Tonga. The king, his daughter, and granddaughters graciously attended, as did many of the nobles and diplomatic representatives in Tonga. Our members put on a superb program of song and verse. One of the king’s granddaughters sang a little solo entitled “How Much I Love My Grandfather.” Elder John Sonnenberg and I were invited to respond briefly, which we were pleased to do.
After the program was over, the king ignored the usual royal protocol and came over to graciously greet us and our wives as an expression of appreciation for the performance of his subjects who are members of the Church. Social protocol is observed in many places, but the expression of kindness is universally appropriate.

When I was six years old I learned a valuable lesson. My father had traded his farm for an interest in a general merchandise store in Driggs, Idaho, and he was to be the store manager. Father had been managing the store just a short time when he received a bulk shipment of candy packed in wooden pails. One morning I went into the storeroom and found all the pails had been opened so that the candy cases in the front of the store could be filled.
All that luscious-looking candy was such a temptation that I helped myself to several kinds and then filled my pockets. But to leave the store, I had to pass through the front part where my father was working. He spotted my bulging pockets and, putting his arm around my shoulder, took me into the back room and talked to me about the importance of being honest.
Then Father asked me to empty my pockets, explaining that he owned only half of the store and that whenever any member of his family took anything from the store it must be paid for. If things were just taken without being paid for, we would actually be stealing from his partners.

Several years ago I worked with a client, Rachel (name has been changed), who had a problem with drinking. It had become a crutch and a means to release the stress of her difficult life. She determined that she was going to overcome her addiction, and with some help and encouragement, she stopped drinking. Before fully overcoming her drinking problem, she didn’t belittle herself for her weakness. She recognized it. Then, with determination and the help of a good bishop, the Lord, and a few key people, Rachel determined that she would stop drinking. Last time I spoke with her, she reported no desire to drink.

When I was a young woman, my world was my family and friends. But when I found the gospel of Jesus Christ, much of this world was lost to me. Friends teased me because I lived the Word of Wisdom, honored the Sabbath, and tried to keep the commandments. Schoolmates cut off friendships with me. My parents at first refused to give me permission to be baptized, and my father even stopped speaking to me. For a young girl, such personal losses might be considered quite a sacrifice. But God knew that these “sacrifices” for His Church and kingdom would in reality bring not loss but gain.
The Lord taught: “Except a corn of wheat fall into the ground and die, it abideth alone: but if it die, it bringeth forth much fruit. He that loveth his life shall lose it; and he that hateth his life in this world shall keep it unto life eternal” (John 12:24–25). We are accustomed to defining our losses as sacrifice and our increases as gain. But often our losses are actually the beginning of what will later be a great harvest.
A famous doctor once visited a dejected and despondent old woman. He found that she was alone and separated from the world but that she also had a beautiful greenhouse where she raised African violets. The doctor gave the woman a prescription. She was to subscribe to her church’s newsletter, and whenever there was a baptism, marriage, sickness, or death, she was to send an African violet. Following the doctor’s instructions, the old woman gave away hundreds of potted plants. At her death the newspaper headline read, “The Queen of African Violets Passes Away and Is Mourned by Thousands.” What turned this dejected old woman into someone loved by so many? It was giving to others, not keeping for herself.
Sometimes what we must give up is not a possession but a cherished dream. Growing up in Taiwan, I had always dreamed of going to school in England. After receiving a university degree and studying in the United States, I returned home and made arrangements to continue my studies in England. At this same time I received a calling in the Relief Society. At first I planned to accept the calling for a short time—just until I left for England. Then after much consideration, I decided to postpone my studies abroad for a year.
It was during this year when I was “sacrificing” my studies in England that an amazing blessing came into my life. One day as I was walking by a bulletin board at church, I saw a notice that the Church’s Translation Department was seeking to hire a Chinese language supervisor. I felt the Holy Ghost prod me to apply, but I hesitated. The year was almost up, and it was time for me to go to England. But the Spirit encouraged me, and I applied and was hired. For me, working as a language supervisor for the Church is not just a job. It is a great privilege and blessing. But I could never have received this blessing if I had not been willing to give up my dream of studying in England.
Do we sometimes hold onto our one grain of wheat, not willing to impart it, so that in the end it remains just a single grain? Or do we trust that, planted and cultivated, this single grain can become fruit? Giving up friends, possessions, or dreams can certainly be a trial. But I have learned that, with faith in God’s plan for us, we can confidently plant our grain of wheat, trusting in the bountiful harvest to come.

He walked into the seminary classroom somewhat frightened, maybe a little belligerent, certainly not at ease. He came because most of the students in his grade came to seminary, but he came alone. Few spoke to him; no one walked with him. He had almost no friends.
For one so young his life had been a most difficult one. His father had been killed in a drunken brawl. His mother was not interested in sending her children to church, and she was not really interested in sending them to school. She was on state welfare, and much of that money was used to purchase liquor for herself and her boyfriends. There were two other children in the family; all three had different fathers.
Even the most basic material goods were lacking in the home, including adequate food and clothing. The boy had only a sweater to keep him warm in the cold weather. As he walked to school, he would take the sweater off as he approached the building because it had large holes in it and he didn’t want his peers to see. He wore no socks because he had none. His hands were rough and chapped because the house had only cold water and no soap with which to wash. This boy was thin and lacked vitality. He lived in an unkempt area on the far side of town and was uncomfortable when he visited any other section of the community.
The first day of class I invited him to sit on the front row. He did so willingly but not comfortably. I tried to make friends with him, but it was very difficult. He appeared to trust no one.
After school had been in session for several weeks, I asked if he would like to give the prayer. He quickly and emphatically refused. I later learned that he had never heard a prayer until his first day in class. He had never been to church, he had never belonged to the Boy Scouts, he had never held the priesthood. As the days passed there was little change in his willingness to communicate, to smile, or to seek friends.
A month before the Christmas holidays, one young lady requested class time to present a matter of concern. The young man was absent that day, and as she stood before the group her message was simply, “We are not friendly with him, we do not speak with him, we do not walk with him, we do not associate with him. This seems to me to be very wrong. After all, he is important too.” Then she suggested they could and should be friendly to him and help him to understand how important he was—his importance to them and to himself. They all agreed to respond to her recommendations. Then she suggested that they each contribute a small amount of money toward buying him a coat for Christmas. This they also willingly accepted.
One did not have to be told they were succeeding. It was in his eyes, in his walk, and in his smile. It was obvious to everyone that there was a change in his life. He walked a little taller. He was able to look others in the eye and smile as he extended a friendly greeting.
One day there was a note on the teacher’s desk which read, “If you cannot find someone to give the prayer today, I will,” and he signed his name. Strangely enough no one would give the prayer that day, so I called on him. He did not close his eyes. He did not fold his arms. He did not bow his head or do any of the things we normally do in prayer. He simply looked up to the ceiling with his hands by his side and said, “Please, God, help us. Amen.” No one smiled. No one coughed. No one said a word. It was a wonderful prayer to him and to every member of the class.
Two or three days before the Christmas vacation, the young lady who had proposed the plan came to class with a beautifully wrapped Christmas package and again requested class time. She stood and thanked each of the students for their kindness and their willingness to respond to her earlier suggestions. Then she spoke for just a moment about the value of individuals regardless of their status in life, their home background, their scholastic abilities, or their popularity. She said that every one is very important. The young man, a bit suspicious at first, suddenly became aware that the young lady was about to involve him in a new experience.
After some moments, she took him by the arm and had him stand by her side. She told him how much they appreciated him and how valuable he was to the class. She said they all appreciated him and were pleased he was their friend. By now he had tears in his eyes, but so did the teacher and most of the class. She then laid the package in his arms, and the tears increased. After a moment or two passed, another young man in the class said, “If you will open the package, you can see what’s in it.”
Slowly, methodically, with great care and a desire not to tear the paper, he opened the package and held up a beautiful jacket. He continued to display his emotions and so did the class. After some moments, the same boy said, “If you’ll unzip it you can put it on.” He opened the zipper and slowly put his arms into each sleeve, pulling the jacket around him and displaying a happy smile through the tears. He wore the coat every day until the last week in May.
Something had happened in his life that had never happened before. Someone gave him something, and in that gift was an expression of appreciation and love that he had never known. He later related to some of us that he had only had one Christmas present in 14 years, and that had been an orange.
Needless to say, the young man’s life had changed. He became happy in his schoolwork, he participated in many activities, the other students enjoyed him, and he made many friends. If the story ended there it would be a great story, and the young lady who recognized the worth of a soul would have performed a miracle. But the miracle continued. This young man filled a mission, married in the temple, and is the father of two lovely children. One of the other children, his half sister, has also married in the temple. She and her fine husband are both active in the Church. The third child, a half brother, also filled a mission and has completed his college work. And the mother—oh yes, the mother. She reports that each night she thanks her Heavenly Father for many things, including a young lady who knew the value of her son and was willing to make her feelings known. Secondly, she thanks her Heavenly Father for the great principle of repentance and forgiveness. Third, she thanks him for her membership in the Church, for a loving Savior who helped a family change. Then she thanks him for the privilege of being the secretary in her ward Relief Society and for the love and kindness of all her sisters there.
Yes, he was someone special, and the class was special.
Perhaps the most significant lesson learned from this beautiful, shared experience was a clearer, deeper meaning of those forceful words of the Savior to the Prophet Joseph: “Remember the worth of souls is great in the sight of God” (D&C 18:10).

To amplify the doctrine that “. . . out of small things proceedeth that which is great”[2] I tell you the story of Masako Kato. In 1951, when Masako was in her early twenties, she met the missionaries in her hometown of Yokohama, Japan when she attended an English conversation class being taught by them. When the missionaries began to speak of spiritual things, she felt something and allowed them to begin teaching her about the Church and the restored gospel. During this time, both Masako’s older sister and her mother died, within 30 days of each another. She was emotionally devastated, but still attended the little branch of our Church in the area; even the week after her mother passed away. When the opening hymn was sung, the power of the Spirit brought her to tears and she understood for the first time the eternal nature of life.

Masako wanted to be baptized, but her father would not give his permission. Although she was of legal age, her respect for her father caused her to not proceed. However, she continued to attend Church and participate like a member.

The missionaries suggested it would be good for her to share the glorious message she had come to know. Seemingly unafraid, even though the Church had little presence in Japan in 1951, she invited co-workers and even bosses at her company to come to Church with her. A few came to some social activities; but one, Shozo Suzuki, a very new employee of the company, came to Sunday meetings. He had a good feeling about what he heard and consented after a time to receive the missionary discussions. Masako also joined in for her second time through the lessons. After several months, Shozo accepted the challenge to be baptized. Masako again went to her father to seek permission, which he then gave because of the devotion he witnessed in her. On August 4, 1952, Shozo and Masako were baptized in the same service.

One day, a few months later, a young missionary approached Shozo and Masako and suggested they think about marriage—to each other! This surprised them, especially Shozo as he had a non-member girlfriend. However, it prompted him to think about Masako, the person who introduced him to the gospel, in a different way than ever before. On April 29, 1953, they were married in a civil hall in Tokyo by the mission president. In 1965, they came to the Hawaii Temple to be sealed as there was no temple in Japan until 1980.

Brother and Sister Suzuki were blessed with nine children, six daughters and three sons. Seven of their children served full-time missions for the Church. Of the nine, eight married, all in the temple, and seven of their spouses served full-time missions. The Suzukis have 35 grandchildren, with all, eight years of age or older, having been baptized members of the Church. Brother Suzuki has served as a branch president, district president, mission president, Japan Missionary Training Center president, regional representative, and a patriarch in three stakes. With the singular beginning of diminutive Masako (shown in the center of the photograph), and now 54 righteous members of the Suzuki family, indeed “. . . out of small things proceedeth that which is great.”[3]

I had a great chance to qualify for the London Olympics in 2012, but in the most important competition, I fell off the apparatus. My chance at the Olympics was gone. I was halfway around the world, and my dreams were shattered.

Shortly after that failure, I decided I wanted to go on a mission. I might not have gone if I had made it into the Olympics, but my mission was one miracle after another. I was so grateful for that opportunity.

The gospel has helped me make right decisions, especially at times when it’s difficult to keep my standards. It shapes who I am and all the values that I have.

When I was growing up and would run into frustrating times, my Dad would always say: “Well, just remember the Book of Mormon says that ‘it came to pass,’ not that it came to stay.”
I found myself in the midst of one of those times recently, wishing that some of my problems would pass and some of my dreams would come true. But neither seemed to be happening. I began to wonder if sometimes things did come to stay. I wondered why some prayers seemed to go unanswered and why some blessings were withheld.
While visiting my parents I found some answers in the corn patch.
It was Saturday and the vegetable garden needed to be irrigated. Since I was home, I volunteered for the assignment.
“Water everything but the corn,” Dad had said as I headed for the ditch with my shovel. I always wondered what Dad had against corn.
“Are you sure it doesn’t need any water?” I asked. He decided to come and check. We walked out to the garden together and looked at the corn, which was about two feet high by then. The leaves were wilting and had begun to droop from the heat.
The last family home evening in May, we usually planted our garden. A frost would come a few days before the end of the month, and then summer weather began. That was the time for planting.
Grandpa’s rusty old potato planter looked like something out of the ’40s—probably because it was. But it still did a good job of putting the seed potatoes in the ground. Someone had stolen the seat off of it, and Dad sat on a pillow draped over the protruding rod while one of my sisters or I drove the tractor.
We usually planted peas, beans, corn, and potatoes, and sometimes squash. Our garden was growing according to the usual schedule this year. Everything had been watered two or three times since it had been planted except for the corn. It was getting close to July, and still Dad hadn’t watered it.
“I guess now it’s time to water it,” Dad said as he inspected the droopy leaves, and then he explained to me why he had waited so long.
“If you water corn when it first starts to grow, it’ll shoot right up. But it won’t develop a root system to support its height, so it won’t be good for much of anything.”
As he left me, I began thinking about what he had said. He was disciplining the corn so it would be well developed and there would be a balance between the roots and the stalk.
I looked at my own life and thought how much I was like the corn. Crying for water before I’d developed my roots.
I remembered a talk Elder Neal A. Maxwell gave at Ricks College. He talked about being “grounded, rooted, and established.” Maybe the Lord was allowing me to go a little while without water so I would become grounded and well rooted in the gospel. Perhaps there were roots of patience that I had not established. I could work on tolerance and love. I thought of many areas of my life where my roots were shallow.
I have learned not to mind so much the dry spells in my life because I know the Master Gardener will send water in His own due time. And when it comes it will be, as Elder Maxwell calls it, the Malachi measure: “there shall not be room enough to receive it” (Mal. 3:10).

My best friend Brad and I sat in his front yard, lost in conversation. He had just found out that his parents were getting a divorce, and we had spent the last several hours talking about the problems he was facing.
Then I looked down at my watch. It was past 1:00 A.M. “Oh no,” I said as I jumped to my feet, “I was supposed to be home by midnight. My dad’s gonna kill me.” I wished Brad luck in the coming days, said good-bye, and jogged the five blocks to my house.
The front porch light was still on—a bad sign. It meant Dad was waiting up for me.
I opened the front door cautiously and stepped inside. “Do you know what time it is?” boomed his voice from the living room.
“Dad, I’m really sorry. See, Brad just found out …”
“It’s after 1:00. Didn’t I tell you to be home by midnight?”
“Yeah, but …”
“There are no ‘buts’ about it. You’re more than an hour late.” He was shaking with anger. “You won’t be going out for a while, young man.”
I didn’t like being convicted without a trial. “That’s not fair. At least give me a chance to explain.”
“There’s nothing to explain,” he snapped. “You’re late. That’s all there is to it. Now get to bed.”
“C’mon,” I argued, “it’s not fair.”
Our conversation deteriorated from there as Dad and I traded accusations. He never listened, I said. I had no respect, he said. And so it went.
By the time I finally did go to bed, I was too upset to sleep. I was worried about Brad, and I was frustrated that I couldn’t talk to my dad about it. I wished things were different, that I could have come home and told him about Brad’s parents. But instead of talking, we only argued about my curfew for the hundredth time.
I really wanted to be able to communicate with my dad, and sometimes I sensed that he felt the same way, but for some reason, we were never able to connect.
I wish now that I had handled that incident with my dad regarding my curfew a little differently. He was so angry at the time that it was fruitless for me to argue with him that night. But I could have approached him later, when we were both feeling less emotional, and tried to explain my feelings to him.

My big chance came late one Saturday night. It had been fairly quiet and I had been spending time checking back alleys when suddenly the silence was broken by the breathless voice of an excited officer calling for help. “Fifth West and Second South … gang fight … 9-1.” Nine-one is the code meaning emergency aid is needed, and every officer able to help responded.
I was nearly the first car to arrive. There were hundreds of people completely blocking the street, and many were fighting. The officers quickly identified those who seemed to be the ring leaders of the disturbance and systematically started making arrests. As the first few were isolated and hand-cuffed, most of the crowd seemed to vanish into the alleys and doorways. Soon there were only the police cars, lights flashing in the darkness, a few officers, and those who had been arrested.
As the crowd disbursed, most officers left the scene, and I was also preparing to leave for the jail with the prisoner I had handcuffed and placed in the front seat of my K–9 truck. My dog was still in the back, since I didn’t feel it was wise to use him with such a large crowd. I approached the driver’s door and had just opened it, when suddenly I was engulfed from behind in the tightest, biggest bear hug I had ever felt. I struggled and fought futilely. This big man was trying to rescue his friend whom I had arrested, and it looked like he might make it.
Now was the time to use my dog. His name was Dusty, and I struggled to reach the small release handle on the side of the vehicle. It would free the back door to the cage and allow the dog to get out. With a lunge I jerked the handle, my arms still pinned to my sides, and the door swung open. “Get him, Dusty,” I shouted. Dusty hit the street running, skidded as he turned back toward me and my captor, and then to my amazement he ran right past me and around the truck. I continued to shout for him to “get him,” but without response. Around and around he went, once, twice, then with sudden purpose he turned from his path and ran to the gutter where fresh water was running and paused for a drink. Thank goodness by this time another police officer came to my rescue.
I spent about another year in the K–9 Corps after that incident, but it was spent with a different dog. In spite of his fine performance in training, Dusty had proven that in real life he couldn’t be trusted.

President Hinckley described what happens to the heart of every missionary who commits his or her life and work to the Lord when he talked about his own missionary experiences. It was early in his mission, and he was discouraged. The work was hard, and the people were not receptive. However, there came a time when discouragement turned to commitment. For him, the beginning was a letter from his father in which he read: “Dear Gordon, I have your letter. … I have only one suggestion: Forget yourself and go to work.” In describing what happened next, he said: “I got on my knees in that little bedroom … and made a pledge that I would try to give myself unto the Lord.
“The whole world changed. The fog lifted. The sun began to shine in my life. I had a new interest. I saw the beauty of this land. I saw the greatness of the people. … Everything that has happened to me since that’s been good I can trace to that decision made in that little house” (in Mike Cannon, “Missionary Theme Was Pervasive during Visit of President Hinckley,” Church News, Sept. 9, 1995, 4).
President Hinckley continued by saying: “You want to be happy? Forget yourself and get lost in this great cause, and bend your efforts to helping people” (in Church News, Sept. 9, 1995, 4).

A story of the honesty of one of my ancestors has made a great impact in the lives of thousands of people who knew him—and still echoes in the minds and hearts of our family members after 128 years. My great-grandfather Georg Wolf was the leader of a group of Hungarians who immigrated to Brazil in 1891. Upon arriving at the designated Brazilian port, the mayor of that city gave him two thousand réis (the local currency at that time) and some machetes. With those resources this small group of people expected to open a 60km way through the dense Atlantic forest, where they would find the piece of land granted by the government for them to settle.
The money given by the government did not have to be accounted for, as it was a grant. However, since it was not all used to buy the necessary supplies for the group’s journey and settlement, my great-grandfather decided to go back to the mayor and return the unspent portion. Everyone in the community was quite surprised, as this group was starting a new life from ground zero in a different land and the unused money could bring them much more immediate comfort in their travels. But being honest and having peace of mind was more important to my great-grandfather.
Years later, that settlement became a prosperous region of the country with subsequent great spiritual and temporal blessings that continue in the lives of thousands today—including my own family.
I learned from my great-grandfather’s integrity that there are special temporal and spiritual blessings that can only be obtained as we are honest with men.