Gospel Story Finder

Maria, a 16-year-old from Brazil, was struggling one Christmas after losing a second beloved grandparent. A few years ago it had been her grandfather on her mother’s side, and now she had lost her other grandfather.
“I remember Christmas always being a magical and incredible experience,” Maria says. “I remember singing hymns with my family, waking up in the night to see my Christmas present, performing the play of the birth of Christ in elementary school, and many other things that marked my childhood.”
“Focusing on Jesus Christ … gives me a certainty that these feelings of sadness and longing won’t last forever.”
Maria always enjoyed time with family. But now, with her second grandfather’s passing away, some of the gladness was stolen from her at Christmastime. Her path through the grief, like David’s, involved focusing on Christ.
“Focusing on Jesus Christ, especially at Christmastime, gives me a certainty that these feelings of sadness and longing won’t last forever,” Maria says. “I know that God is with me always. Over time I have felt this hole inside me being filled with the Savior’s love.”
Maria still has one grandparent living—her grandmother on her mother’s side. “I’m enjoying all the time I have with my grandmother,” she says. “Even if my other grandparents and relatives are no longer with me, I know I will see them again one day. We have an eternity together ahead of us.”

I always thought that the old couple was senile, that they didn’t have any kids, and that they probably didn’t like the ones that other people had. Summer evenings I’d see them sitting on their front porch. She’d be knitting, and he’d be reading the newspaper. They’d look up and nod as I walked down the lane past their fence, but I never detected even a hint of conversation between them. They spent their time working in the yard and keeping the place painted. They would hang clothes on the line and tend vegetables in their garden, but they seemed to do everything in silence. I often thought that they might as well be doing things alone. Still, you could tell that they loved each other.
Whenever I passed their yard, I not only noticed the silence but seemed to become a part of it. I don’t think that they had a TV—maybe not even a radio! Mom and Dad made me promise to not bother them. That promise wasn’t hard to keep, because the old couple almost seemed like they didn’t belong in the same world that I did.
Sometimes we’d see them shopping in town, and they’d smile and say a few words to Mom, then go up and down the aisles together quietly. By contrast, Tammy, my little sister, would squeal for an ice-cream cone from the seat of our grocery cart, or Jody would grab a box of cookies from a shelf and scream when Mom put them back.
Outside, Mr. McKinney would carefully load groceries into the trunk of their spotless old car as though he was afraid to wrinkle the bags, while Mrs. McKinney sat in the front seat looking straight ahead. But when we left the store, Mom would be snapping a reluctant Tammy into the car seat and Jody into the safety belt, while I struggled to fit ten bags of groceries into our five-bag trunk.
One time my buddy Garth came to visit, and after lunch we walked down to the lake. As we walked past the McKinney house, Mr. McKinney was mowing the lawn, and Mrs. McKinney was kneeling on a piece of carpet, digging around the flowers. Mr. McKinney smiled at us, and Mrs. McKinney waved her trowel when I called, “Hello!”
As soon as we were past their house, Garth muttered, “Did you see those weird rubber boots that they wear over their shoes?” He began to chuckle.
“They’re watering the garden and don’t want to track mud inside, that’s why they wear galoshes!” I explained, trying to defend them. Garth just shrugged.
None of this seemed very important, I guess, except that it kept going through my mind when Mr. McKinney died that summer. I was glad when almost everyone in town attended the funeral, because the McKinneys didn’t have any relatives there that we knew of. But I kept wondering what she’d do. I mean, if their house was quiet before, what would it be like now?
The day of the funeral I heard Mom and Dad talking quietly on the porch. “There were four grave markers, did you see them?” Mom asked thoughtfully.
“No, I didn’t notice,” Dad replied.
I closed my book and stared across the room, listening as their voices drifted through the screen.
“They were infants—apparently none of them lived very long,” Mom explained.
I put the book on the shelf and went outside. Maybe they liked kids after all, I thought. It’s too bad that none of them lived. Mrs. McKinney wouldn’t be so alone now.
A week passed in which I was kept busy painting the kitchen with Mom. Twice she took meals to Mrs. McKinney, but I hadn’t been past their house since the funeral.
Finally the projects at home were done, and I decided to go down to the lake. As soon as I approached the McKinney property, I could feel the silence. When I passed the big elm in their yard, I glanced toward the porch, half expecting to see them both sitting there as always. But the chairs were empty, and only Mrs. McKinney’s clothes waved on the clothesline beside the house. I felt a strange, sick feeling in the pit of my stomach when I saw Mrs. McKinney weeding the garden alone. Then I looked at the grass.
The yard that had been so neatly kept was already showing signs of neglect.
Why not? I thought as I turned back toward home. The lake can wait.
Our lawn mower rattled along until I stopped at the gate, undid the latch, and stepped onto the forbidden McKinney property, dragging our lawn mower behind me. I gave a tug at the rope, the mower roared into life, and I aimed it across the yard. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Mrs. McKinney get up and come out of the garden. When I made a return pass across the yard, she was taking dry clothes from the line. On my next pass, she was moving a lawn chair from beneath the trees.
As I mowed back and forth, the grass catcher filled, and I emptied it on their compost heap. While I worked, she worked, and I began to realize how well people can work together without talking. She removed lawn chairs then replaced them as soon as an area was cut.
When I finished cutting the grass, I wiped my arm across my forehead, and Mrs. McKinney came out of the back door with a tinkling glass in her hand. She gave me the lemonade, and I drank it and grinned. I gave the glass back to her and, pulling the mower behind me, headed for the gate and the dusty lane beyond. Without a word, she reached out and grabbed my arm, then pressed a crumpled dollar bill into my palm and folded my fingers tightly around it.
I looked at the money and gently returned the gesture, pressing the dollar bill into her softly wrinkled hand. Our eyes met, and, without a word, we understood each other.
As I walked home in the yellow shade of summer, I felt good. I knew that Mrs. McKinney appreciated what I had done, and she knew that I would continue to cut her lawn without pay—or words.
Silence isn’t really all that bad, I decided, especially when it’s filled with understanding.

When I was 17, people started asking me whether I was going to serve a mission. I hadn’t decided yet, so I always put them off.
But as my 21st birthday approached, I started thinking about it. I read my patriarchal blessing, talked to my parents, and prayed.
The desire never came; I never felt I needed to serve. I thought about the counsel of President Gordon B. Hinckley (1910–2008), who said that while sister missionaries are welcome, they “are not under obligation to go on missions.”2 I was also reminded of the Lord’s words in the Doctrine and Covenants: “If ye have desires to serve God ye are called to the work” (4:3).
That scripture helped me decide not to serve a mission. When I told the Lord in prayer of my decision, I felt peace and a confirmation that there were ways I could be a missionary without full-time service. I have since found I can share my testimony in many ways—through a conversation about the Lord’s tender mercies, while visiting teaching, or in doing family history and temple work. I am dedicating myself to missionary work by striving to live the gospel and follow the inspiration of the Spirit.
Amy Simon

We have a rich tradition of the work of the Twelve as we have traveled throughout the world proclaiming the gospel of Jesus Christ. For example, it was on Sunday, June 4, 1837, that the Prophet Joseph Smith approached Heber C. Kimball in the Kirtland Temple and whispered to him, saying, “Brother Heber, the Spirit of the Lord has whispered to me: ‘Let my servant Heber go to England and proclaim my Gospel, and open the door of salvation to that nation’” (quoted in Orson F. Whitney, Life of Heber C. Kimball [1945], 104).
The account of Heber C. Kimball and Brigham Young leaving their homes for England certainly shows the sacrifice they were willing to make for the callings they had received. The account reads:
“September 14th, [1839], President Brigham Young left his home at Montrose to start on the mission to England. He was so sick that he was unable to go to the Mississippi [River], a distance of thirty rods, without assistance. After he had crossed the river he rode behind Israel Barlow on his horse to my house, where he continued sick until the 18th. He left his wife sick with a babe only three weeks old, and all his other children were sick and unable to wait upon each other. Not one soul of them was able to go to the well for a pail of water, and they were without a second suit to their backs, for the mob in Missouri had taken nearly all he had. On the 17th, Sister Mary Ann Young got a boy to carry her up in his wagon to my house, that she might nurse and comfort Brother Brigham” (quoted in Life of Heber C. Kimball, 265).
Heber C. Kimball’s family were also ill. Charles Hubbard sent his boy with a team and wagon to help them on their way. Elder Kimball records: “It appeared to me as though my very inmost parts would melt within me at leaving my family in such a condition, as it were almost in the arms of death. I felt as though I could not endure it. I asked the teamster to stop, and said to Brother Brigham, ‘This is pretty tough, isn’t it; let’s rise up and give them a cheer.’ We arose, and swinging our hats three times over our heads, shouted: ‘Hurrah, hurrah for Israel.’” Sister Young and Sister Kimball came to the door and waved a farewell which gave Brother Brigham and Brother Heber much comfort as they continued “without purse or scrip” toward England. (See Life of Heber C. Kimball, 265–66.)
The Bible Dictionary states that Apostle “means ‘one sent forth.’ … The calling of an apostle is to be a special witness of the name of Jesus Christ in all the world, particularly of his divinity and of his bodily resurrection from the dead. … Twelve men with this high calling constitute an administrative council in the work of the ministry. … Today twelve men with this same divine calling and ordination constitute the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints” (“Apostle,” 612).
An Apostle today continues to be “one sent forth.” The conditions we face are different from those of the early Brethren as we make our journeys to fulfill our assignment. Our manner of travel to all corners of the earth is very different from that of the early Brethren. However, our assignment remains the same as that which was given by the Savior as He instructed His called Twelve to “go ye therefore, and teach all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost: teaching them to observe all things whatsoever I have commanded you: and, lo, I am with you alway, even unto the end of the world” (Matthew 28:19–20).
For you two new Brethren, I can promise you that there will be a new understanding of what it means to belong to a quorum. I wish the feeling and respect we have for our council could be transported to every quorum in the Church. Would you deacons, teachers, priests, elders, and high priests quorums listen for a moment to what I believe is one of the greatest blessings one can receive from being a bearer of the priesthood? That special blessing is belonging to a priesthood quorum.
President Stephen R. Richards, many years ago, gave us some wonderful counsel on Church government. His statement is as follows:
“The genius of our Church government is government through councils. … I see the wisdom, God’s wisdom, in creating councils: to govern his Kingdom. In the spirit under which we labor, men can get together with seemingly divergent views and far different backgrounds, and under the operation of that spirit, by counseling together, they can arrive at an accord. … I have no hesitancy in giving you the assurance, if you will confer in council as you are expected to do, God will give you solutions to the problems that confront you” (in Conference Report, Oct. 1953, 86).
And what are the great benefits you will experience from belonging to a quorum? Again from Stephen R. Richards—he said, “A quorum is three things: first, a class; second, a fraternity; and third, a service unit” (in Conference Report, Oct. 1938, 118).
I see this genius so manifestly apparent in the functions of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles. We are a class as we study the doctrines of the kingdom together. Can you imagine what a special experience it would be to be in a quorum meeting and be taught gospel doctrine by Elders Ezra Taft Benson, Mark E. Petersen, LeGrand Richards, Howard W. Hunter, Bruce R. McConkie, David B. Haight, or Neal A. Maxwell? You will notice that I have used only those Brethren who have completed their earthly ministries in order not to be selective among our current Apostles. This same blessing can be yours in each of your quorums. The words of the Apostles, past and present, live in the scriptures, conference addresses, Church magazines, devotionals, and so forth. They are available to bring the power of the doctrine of the kingdom into your quorum’s class. Make of your quorum a class to increase your knowledge of the gospel of our Lord and Savior.
In our quorum, we have a special brotherhood. We are there to lift, inspire, and bless each other with the spirit of our calling. When one is burdened, there are 11 others anxious to help lift and share that burden. At times we rejoice together in feelings of accomplishment. We weep together in times of sorrow. We never feel as if we are facing a problem alone! There is always the counsel, support, help, and encouragement of our quorum members.
From the book Priesthood and Church Government, we have this statement on the brotherhood which should exist in every priesthood quorum: “The Priesthood is a great brotherhood, held together by the eternal and immutable laws that constitute the framework of the Gospel. The feeling of brotherhood should permeate the quorum. It should be the first concern of a quorum to help all members who may be in need temporally, mentally, or spiritually. The spirit of brotherhood should be the directing force in all the plans and operations of the quorum. If this spirit be cultivated, wisely and persistently, no other organization will become more attractive to the man who holds the Priesthood” (Rudger Clawson, foreword to A Guide for Quorums of the Melchizedek Priesthood [1930], 3; quoted in John A. Widtsoe, comp., Priesthood and Church Government [1939], 135). We would encourage each priesthood quorum in the Church to cultivate such a brotherhood.
Finally, the only purpose for our Quorum is to be of service. Perhaps our deep feelings of this responsibility could be characterized in an epistle dated October 26, 1886, by Wilford Woodruff, who was then serving as President of the Council of the Twelve Apostles: “I will say to the Apostles, our responsibility is very great. … What manner of men ought we to be? The whole earth is ripening in iniquity, and the Zion of God should be prepared for the coming of the bridegroom. We should humble ourselves before the Lord and be in a position to be filled with the spirit of our calling, with the Holy Ghost, and with the revelations of Jesus Christ, that we may know the mind and will of God concerning us, and be prepared to magnify our calling and bring to pass righteousness, and be valiant in the testimony of Jesus Christ to the end. … There never was a time when the work of God required a more faithful testimony and labor from the Apostles and Elders than to-day” (“An Epistle,” Deseret News, Nov. 24, 1886, 712). Make of each of your quorums a great service organization for the benefit of all your quorum members.
Now this word of warning from the scriptures:
“Wherefore, now let every man learn his duty, and to act in the office in which he is appointed, in all diligence.
“He that is slothful shall not be counted worthy to stand, and he that learns not his duty and shows himself not approved shall not be counted worthy to stand” (D&C 107:99–100).
And so I say to you two Brethren who have joined us in our quorum, and to all of you brethren who belong to the priesthood of God, may God bless each of us in our calls to serve. May our faith strengthen as we serve in righteousness, faithfully keeping the commandments. May our testimonies ever grow stronger as we seek to find the fountain of eternal truth. May the brotherhood that exists in our quorums be of comfort and strength and security as we pass through this mortal part of our existence. May the joy of gospel service ever abide in our hearts as we go forward to fulfill our duties and responsibilities as servants in our Father in Heaven’s kingdom is my humble prayer in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

“When I was only 15 years old,” said Colleen Webb Asay, “I committed myself to living the gospel.”
At the time, having proven herself capable and dependable, she was called to serve as the stake organist. In those days stake officers were set apart by visiting General Authorities. Elder John A. Widtsoe, a member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, laid his hands on this young girl’s head and, with the authority that he held, pronounced a blessing.
“I’ll never forget that,” she said. “It’s hard to explain it, but it was like an electrical feeling that went clear through me, and after it was over, I didn’t want anyone to talk to me or shatter that feeling. I remember thinking how great the gospel is. I guess the Holy Ghost witnessed to me that day how important it is. I remember the feeling I had. I wanted to serve the Lord however or whenever I could. That was a great day. I made a commitment.” And that early commitment has made a difference in all the rest of her life.

Ailsa Marshall was in her second year at the famous Birmingham Conservatoire in England, and nothing seemed to be going right. She couldn’t sleep or eat properly, and her memory consistently failed during complex piano pieces.
She considered giving up, but her tutor persuaded her to enter the second-year piano competition—the David Brook Prize—an annual event sponsored by the former student’s parents after he was killed in a car crash.
“I didn’t expect to get through the preliminaries,” Ailsa explains. But the judges recognised a special quality to Ailsa’s music, and she was given a place in the finals.
The finals were to take place in the famous Adrian Boult Hall in Birmingham, but finding a time to practise in the hall was difficult. Ailsa’s teacher was finally able to find a vacant space, but it was on a Sunday.
“I’d rather not practise on that day,” Ailsa told her.
“Is it because of your church?”
“Yes.”
“Couldn’t you compromise just this once?” she persisted.
“I’d really rather not, thank you.” Ailsa was equally persistent.
To Ailsa’s relief, a Saturday slot became available just in time. “I didn’t feel I could ask for the Lord’s help and not keep his Sabbath holy,” she says.
As the big day approached Ailsa became increasingly nervous, and her eating problems returned. The family was very worried. Because of urgent commitments, Ailsa’s dad could not get down to Birmingham, so they did the next best thing.
“I drove down from Cleveland to stay with family friends and asked the head of their house, Brother David Cook, to give her a blessing,” Sister Marshall recalls.
David’s wife Jean remembers, “It was a most unusual blessing. Every bit of Ailsa that needed to perform well was mentioned—her fingers, her foot, her mind and intellect, and her nerves.”
“It left me with a feeling of complete composure,” adds Ailsa. The feeling stayed with her throughout the performance.
“Ailsa’s music was breathtaking,” comments Jean. “Her rendition of Rachmaninoff’s Prelude was incredible.”
When the results were summed up, Ailsa was awarded joint first prize. But perhaps even more special to Ailsa was the compliment David Brook’s father gave her. “I’m thrilled you chose those particular pieces of music. They were my son’s favourites, and you played them as he would have done.”

I guess it was inevitable. I was spending the evening visiting with friends when two women—Mormon missionaries—knocked at the door. They were friendly. I was uncomfortable. I almost had the feeling of being caught in a trap. I decided to give them an argument.
“Do you believe the Bible?” they began.
“Of course,” I replied, not really knowing what I did believe.
They began by reading Acts 7:55–56, trying to show that there are three separate Beings in the Godhead. Then they worked their way into the story of Joseph Smith’s First Vision. I knew there was an answer to their interpretation of the scriptures, and I knew I needed help to find it. After all, I reasoned, everyone knows that the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost are manifestations of the same person. Was it okay to bring someone to the discussions who knew the scriptures better than I did? The missionaries assured me that it was.
The next week, I arrived with a cousin who was active in my religion. I became a spectator in the discussion that followed. If I had been impartial, I would have given the victory to the Mormon missionaries. But, of course, I decided that my cousin just wasn’t knowledgeable enough. I would find someone more knowledgeable to confront them.
During the week, I contacted a friend who was studying to become a minister. He could give me the support I needed.
“How do I answer Acts 7:55–56?” I asked, after explaining my situation. To my utter astonishment, he replied, “I’m sorry. I can’t help you. I tend to separate the Godhead more than most members of our church.”
My next source of information was a minister who lived near me. He was a friend, and I had talked with him many times before. His answer to Acts 7:55–56 was less than satisfactory: “How do you know what a person might see while he’s being stoned to death!”
I decided to stop seeing the missionaries. I had heard enough. I told the two missionaries of my decision, whereupon they presented me with a Book of Mormon and decided there was nothing more they could do to interest me in the Church.

We, too, can choose whether to forgive those who have hurt or offended us, or to remain angry with them. Eight-year-old Nils Evensen from South Jordan, Utah, has learned to follow Nephi’s example of being forgiving. When Nils turned eight, he saved all his birthday money and bought a toy that he really wanted. He was always very careful to put it away after playing with it so that it would not get broken. One day, a friend accidentally sat on the toy and broke it. Nils’ eleven-year-old sister, Linnea, said that instead of getting angry with his friend, Nils told him, “It’s OK—we can glue the pieces back on.” Because Nils chose to be forgiving, he was able to keep a friendship that might have been badly hurt if he had chosen to get angry.

“Marcus, it’s time!”
When Marcus hear his father call, he sprinted to the kitchen. Lined up on the counter were five of his father’s famous pumpkin pies, ready to go into the oven.
Marcus knew his job. Rolling out the leftover pie crust dough into a huge circle, he picked up the maple-leaf-shape cookie cutter and cut out a large leaf from the dough for the center of each pie.
He’d no sooner finished than he heard, “Marcus, I need you.” In the dining room, he found his mother putting one more plate on a table. “Cousin Molly’s coming. That makes seventeen. I think that’s the last plate in the house,” she laughed. “Nothing matches, but what colorful tables!”
“How come we’re having so many people?” Marcus asked.
“Because,” Mother answered, “that’s what Thanksgiving is all about—being thankful for everything, especially for people we care about. No one should be alone on Thanksgiving.”
Marcus nodded. Tomorrow will be fun, he thought.
“I need you to go down to the basement and see if that old chair is still being stored down there. If it is, ask Mr. Swenson if we may borrow it.”
The apartment-house basement was a gloomy place. When Marcus got off the elevator, he was glad to see the superintendent there, sweeping out the furnace room. “Hi, Mr. Swenson. Do you know if that old chair is still around?”
“Hello there, Marcus.” Mr. Swenson gave Marcus a grown-up handshake, as he always did. “Let me look around.”
“Are you having company for Thanksgiving, too?” Marcus asked.
“No, not this year.”
From the way Mr. Swenson said it, Marcus had a feeling that it wasn’t just this year that Mr. Swenson wasn’t having company for Thanksgiving. “Well, that’s good,” Marcus said, “because I want to invite you to our Thanksgiving dinner. You and your chair!”
“Well, thank you, Marcus! I’d love to come. What time should I be there?”
“Come at four o’clock tomorrow—but I’ll take the chair with me now.”
When Marcus told his mother that he’d invited Mr. Swenson, she said, “That was a terrific idea, Marcus. Oh, but we still need one more chair.”
“There was only the one chair downstairs, but I think I know where I can get another one.”
“Great!”
Marcus dashed out the door and up the street to school. Good! he thought, seeing his teacher’s car. She’s still here. He ran to his classroom. “Hi, Miss Fields. May I please borrow a folding chair?”
“Surely. You know where we keep them—help yourself.”
“Thanks. How come you’re still here?”
“Well, since I decided not to make the long drive home for Thanksgiving this year, I thought that I might as well finish grading these papers.”
“Oh.” Marcus thought that grading papers would be a terrible way to spend the holiday. “Uh, Miss Fields,” he said, “my family would like you to have Thanksgiving dinner with us.”
“Why, thank you, Marcus. That sounds like fun, but I have a small problem—here’s a picture of him.”
“Oh, he’s no problem, Miss Fields—just bring him with you,” Marcus said with a grin.
“What time should we come?”
“Come at four o’clock,” Marcus said. “I’ll take two chairs from here and borrow that picture to show my mom, if that’s all right.”
Marcus told his mother about Miss Fields. She laughed and said she would call Aunt Etta and ask her to bring some plates.
“Just how many more are we going to need, Marcus?” Mother joked.
“Just two,” Marcus said. “But maybe you should ask her to bring a saucer too.”
“A saucer?”
“Well,” he said, pulling Miss Field’s picture from his pocket, “I had to invite Miss Field’s cat, Chubbikins, too. Remember what you said, Mom, no one should be alone on Thanksgiving.”

Floyd, a young man living in Uganda, loves to break dance, develop his talents, and serve God. At age 13, Floyd faced temptation with the Word of Wisdom. Drinking coffee and tea is normal in his village, and Floyd occasionally joined in with his friends.
After talking with his parents and reading what the scriptures teach about health, he decided to follow the Word of Wisdom. With a desire to change, Floyd prayed to Heavenly Father for forgiveness. Overcoming a bad habit takes “time and effort,” he says.
Floyd finds hope through the lyrics of his favorite hymn, “Abide with Me!” (Hymns, no. 166). “It’s a hymn that strengthens our souls,” he says.
Floyd experienced the blessings of repentance and forgiveness in his life. He finds strength through Jesus Christ. “I know that He is there for us in our challenges,” he says.

As a freshman at Brigham Young University–Idaho (then Ricks College), I missed my family. But after a few months of classes, I had settled into college life and was enjoying myself. When the telephone call came, I was in my apartment, studying.
“Christy, I have some bad news for you,” my mother said, her voice breaking. “Your father passed away tonight from a severe heart attack.”
Emotions flooded over me as I tried to comprehend what I had just heard. I had seen my father only a few days before, but I had no idea it would be for the last time. Dad’s death was a shock to our entire family; it was also a shock to my home ward. Dad was only 53 years old, and he was serving as our bishop.
The days that followed were filled with visits and phone calls from family, friends, ward members, and neighbors. We felt a tremendous outpouring of love from those around us. At Dad’s funeral, family members shared memories of our life with him, and we testified of the plan of salvation and of life after death.
Dad had been a faithful husband, a devoted Latter-day Saint, an avid Scouter, and a wonderful father. Many people were blessed because of the life he had lived. After the funeral my oldest brother dedicated the grave, and as a family we stood and sobbed through “I Am a Child of God” (Hymns, no. 301).
The day after the funeral I returned to school. I wasn’t thrilled to be back, but I knew I had to go on with life and fulfill my responsibilities. Some days were easier than others. I spent a lot of time thinking about my father, and I relied on my knowledge of the plan of salvation and my faith in Jesus Christ to help me face my challenges and questions.
About two weeks after my father passed away, I took my journal to a chapel on campus to record my feelings and the events surrounding Dad’s death. As I wrote, I felt the Spirit so strongly that I had an overwhelming assurance that my Heavenly Father loved me, that He had a plan specifically for me, and that I would never be left alone. As I finished writing, bells sounded from speakers atop the nearby student center playing the hymn “I Know That My Redeemer Lives” (Hymns, no. 136). Words from the hymn instantly came to my mind:
I know that my Redeemer lives.
What comfort this sweet sentence gives!
He lives, he lives, who once was dead.
He lives, my ever-living Head. …
He lives to silence all my fears.
He lives to wipe away my tears.
He lives to calm my troubled heart.
He lives all blessings to impart.
I do know that my Redeemer lives, and I know He loves me. Because He rose from the dead, I know that my father and all of our loved ones who have gone before us will also live again. What a comfort it is to know these truths.

Yes, the Spirit giveth light in this church. I am thinking of a wonderful new convert in England. In response to my asking, he told me about his conversion. He explained how he was kneeling at his flower bed on a Saturday morning preparing the soil for spring planting. All of a sudden an unseen voice from behind asked the simple question, “Sir, do you love the Lord?”
He said that he turned around, fully, expecting to see an angel standing there; instead there were two angels, two Mormon missionaries. And his response was, “Of course I love the Lord. Please come in the house so we can talk about it.” It was all so simple, so genuine. It was an approach that the Savior might have used.

Years ago my mother was killed in a car accident involving a drunk driver. In shock I flew to my parents’ home and helped plan the funeral with my siblings and injured father.
Soon after returning home I was called to serve as the Primary music leader. While I prepared, my emotions seemed blocked, and I began to doubt my abilities. “A Primary music leader needs to be enthusiastic and cheerful,” I thought to myself. I felt only sorrow. I wanted to encourage the children, but I felt I would let them down. My heart ached with grief. I wondered if I would ever be happy again—let alone want to sing.
The day before I began serving in my new calling, my husband and I attended a temple session with friends who were being sealed. Before the session began, we were invited to the temple’s chapel for an opening hymn, prayer, and remarks by a temple official. As we sang “How Gentle God’s Commands” (Hymns, no. 125), I couldn’t help noticing the hymn’s lyrics:
Why should this anxious load
Press down your weary mind?
Haste to your Heav’nly Father’s throne
And sweet refreshment find.
I felt that I had an “anxious load” and realized that there, in His holy temple, I was finding “sweet refreshment.” In the fourth verse I heard a direct message for me:
His goodness stands approved,
Unchanged from day to day;
I’ll drop my burden at his feet
And bear a song away.
At that moment I knew that I could fulfill any calling and that I could feel joy, even though I missed my mother. And because I knew that my Savior carried my burden, I could sing!
Sheri Stratford Erickson, Idaho, USA

One girl is proud of the fact that she helped build a fence in one day. She is thrilled by the fact that she was part of an almost all-girl work crew that built the fence. One of the boys overheard her comments, then said with curiosity, “What I don’t understand is why girls get so excited about hammering nails into wood.” His statement was quickly answered, “Because this is a time when girls get to do many things they normally don’t get to do. The leaders are really understanding and they let us try new things.”

Girls hammering nails to help build a fence isn’t the only unusual activity going on at The Ranch. Boys are also participating in tasks they normally don’t do at home. Says Sister Cheryl Edmund, one of the ward’s youth conference specialists: “Where else can you see boys sweeping the kitchen (the Chuckwagon) and doing dishes?” And she adds with a laugh, “In broad daylight!”

On one particular day at The Ranch a visitor might see girls gathering up scraps of discarded wood from the barn project and piling it in wheelbarrows. As they push them along to be dumped into a hole in the ground for the night’s anticipated dutch oven feast, they laugh, talk about the upcoming play in the recently completed barn, and generally just seem to enjoy the natural beauty of their surroundings and the work they are doing. Having dumped the wood, some of them jump into the wheelbarrows for unorganized races back to the scrap pile.

About 12 years ago, I emigrated with my wife and four sons from the Republic of Korea to New Zealand. While working as a vice principal at a Korean school in New Zealand, I met many Koreans who struggled to adjust to the new culture and to the new policies and procedures. I wanted to help them as well as contribute to New Zealand, so I thought that becoming a lawyer would be one way to bridge the two peoples and countries. So, after praying to confirm my decision, I decided at age 53 to attend law school.
I knew it would be challenging. But when I received the course manuals, I realized that it would be much harder than I expected. Each course manual appeared too thick, and the contents seemed beyond my comprehension. Even though I had helped interpret from English to Korean for general conference for almost 10 years and had finished a master’s degree in linguistics in New Zealand, legal terms seemed to be a completely different kind of English.
When I came home from school the first day, I had to consider seriously whether I should continue or quit before I started. During that time of uncertainty, one thought stood out: I could succeed if I relied totally on the Lord.
Because I know God lives and answers our prayers, I asked Him for help. I remembered one scripture in the Bible that gave me great relief: “For with God nothing shall be impossible” (Luke 1:37). That scripture gave me strength to move forward.
Along with the difficulties of being an older student and a nonnative English speaker, I had other responsibilities that made it challenging to complete the program. My work, community obligations, and Church callings took a lot of my time, and I also tried to give my most important responsibilities as a husband, father, and grandfather the care and attention they needed. When one of my colleagues learned all I had to do in addition to my studies, he said it was crazy for me to study law in view of all my other obligations. However, I had the conviction that “the things which are impossible with men are possible with God” (Luke 18:27).
At the age of 55, I was admitted to the bar as a solicitor and barrister at the High Court in New Zealand. I am grateful that I not only became a lawyer in spite of the language barrier but also gained a stronger testimony that God lives and answers our righteous prayers. I know that nothing is impossible with His help.

President Thomas S. Monson, First Counselor in the First Presidency: “As our youngest son, Clark, was approaching his 12th birthday, he and I were leaving the Church Administration Building when President Harold B. Lee approached and greeted us. I mentioned that Clark would soon be 12, whereupon President Lee turned to him and asked, ‘What happens to you when you turn 12?’
“… Clark, without hesitation, said to President Lee, ‘I will be ordained a deacon!’
“The answer was the one President Lee had sought. He then counseled our son, ‘Remember, it is a great blessing to hold the priesthood.’”

Several years ago in Osaka, Japan, I received a telephone call from one of the Japanese officers of the Church requesting an appointment. I invited him to my hotel room and there listened to one of the most intelligent and articulate young men I had ever met.
He was a college graduate. He had majored in a special field of science and was employed by a stable, conservative corporation. One of his classmates, who had been at the top of the graduating class in the same field, was employed by a young, progressive firm in Tokyo. Several times in recent months this classmate had tried to entice his friend to change jobs. One of the vice-presidents of the firm in Tokyo made contact with the Church member, saying he could set his own salary at three or four times what he was then making.
The response was, “If there is the slightest question in the minds of the officers of my church about my leaving Osaka, which would require my being released from my Church position, it doesn’t matter how much money you offer me, I will have no interest in your proposal.” The vice-president replied, “I am not a Christian. I know nothing about your religion, but you are the kind of man I want in my organization.”
Should he move from Osaka to Tokyo, which would require his release from his Church assignment? Of course, I assured him that he could serve the Lord in Tokyo as well as in Osaka.
He moved to Tokyo. Later, while visiting that city, I received another call from the same man. We visited for quite some time. He had become extremely successful. He had broadened his experiences and was now a consultant teaching top management in major corporations how to operate their companies. His time was in great demand. He was making a handsome income. But he was neglecting his Church work and his family responsibilities.
I told him I wouldn’t tell him what he should do, but that there was a scripture that would tell him if he truly was converted: “But seek ye first the kingdom of God, and his righteousness; and all these things shall be added unto you.” (Matt. 6:33.) I sensed that this scripture might have caused a few little ripples; however, we parted as good friends.
A few weeks after I returned home, I received a letter from him. He said he had his priorities straightened out. He had resigned from the company. His first priority now would be his family and the Church, and his second priority would be employment. Setting priorities and then reviewing them to see that we are not straying is one of the most valuable lessons we can learn.

Today he still manages to see the lighter side of things. When I started bringing home fairly respectable grades from my English courses at BYU, dad asked me to tell my professors who my father was. I looked at him, shocked.
“Dad,” I said, “I don’t want to win points that way.”
“You?” He looked at me in surprise. “Look, I wasn’t talking about you. I’m the one who needs to earn points. We football players can stand some good publicity in the English department.”
The fact of the matter is, both dad and mom have always encouraged my brothers and me to work hard in school, to be teachable. Dad demonstrated his own enthusiasm for learning in the summer of 1978 by earning a doctorate in education from Brigham Young University.
My father’s commitment to his family and friends, to his players and his church, is another quality I admire. As my brothers and I were growing up, dad and mom made it a point to attend the activities we were involved with, no matter how marginally. The summer after my senior year in high school, I was cast as a servant in a local production of King Lear. Since I didn’t have a single line in the play and spent more time in the wings handling props than I did on stage, I told dad he didn’t have to come watch me, particularly since mom was out of town and wouldn’t be able to accompany him. Opening night, however, found dad sitting front and center, and he stayed there the entire four hours although I was on the stage for less than three minutes. Now that’s commitment.
This quality of commitment shines in other facets of his life. It is the basis of his relationship with players. One of the ways he demonstrates his commitment to players is by demanding that they give their best on and off the field. He knows, I suppose, that self-respect is attained by giving 100 percent over and over again. Commitment also characterizes his involvement in the Church. A home teacher and a priests quorum adviser, he has lately accepted the additional responsibility and pleasure of speaking to youth groups everywhere from Los Angeles, California, to Myrtle Beach, South Carolina.
In the final analysis, however, it is his kindness that makes dad a special man, a special parent. I’ve seen him engaged in quiet deeds of goodness from the time I was small: playing catch with a seven-year-old neighborhood girl, writing a personal letter of encouragement to a sixth-grade boy, inviting a nephew to eat with him at the training table. Dad is a man with a great gift for humble acts of kindness. I’ll never forget one evening when this gift made the difference to me. When I was a young girl, our ward used to sponsor an event known as the daddy-daughter dinner date. Now this was an occasion that I looked forward to with a good deal of excitement. Being proud of my father, I naturally seized any opportunity to show him off and the daddy-daughter dinner date seemed like the ideal occasion to do so. After weeks of anticipation, we Primary girls made and delivered invitations to our fathers. I watched eagerly as dad read mine. He looked at the flimsy construction paper I had given him, and then he looked at me.
“I’m sorry, honey, but I’m going to be out of town that week. There’s nothing I can do about it, I’m afraid.”
“Oh.” I tried hard not to show my disappointment. I even opened my eyes wide so that the tears I felt coming would dry before they had a chance to spill down my face. “Well, that’s okay.”
He gave me an affectionate hug. Looking back on it now, I realize that he was as unhappy about the whole state of affairs as I was.
During the week before the daddy-daughter dinner date, my parents made arrangements with our bishop to be my special escort. The day before the event, my father left town after apologizing once again for having to leave.
The day of the dinner date arrived quickly. On the way home from school, listening to my friends chatter excitedly about the evening’s planned activities, I made a silent decision not to go; as nice as the bishop was, I preferred to stay home and feel sorry for myself. When I shuffled into the house, prepared to tell my mother that the whole thing was off, I found a surprise waiting for me in the living room: my father was sitting by himself on the sofa.
“Well,” he said, “is the date still on?”
It wasn’t until some years later that I learned just what my father’s act of kindness cost him in terms of time and money. In addition to losing one day of valuable recruiting time, dad had to purchase another round-trip ticket so that he could fly out once again on the following morning. That night, though, I had no idea of the sacrifice he had made to be my escort—I was too busy having the best time of my life.
No wonder I’ve always considered myself the luckiest girl around.

Let me illustrate. In 1999 a young man named Todd collapsed from a ruptured blood vessel in his brain. Although Todd and his family were members of the Church, their activity had been sporadic, and none had experienced the blessings of the temple. On the last night of Todd’s life, his mother, Betty, sat at his bedside stroking his hand and said, “Todd, if you really do have to go, I promise I’ll see to it that your temple work gets done.” The next morning, Todd was declared brain dead. Surgeons transplanted Todd’s heart into my patient, a remarkable individual named Rod.
A few months after the transplant, Rod learned the identity of his heart donor’s family and began to correspond with them. About two years later, Todd’s mother, Betty, invited Rod to be present when she went to the temple for the first time. Rod and Betty first met in person in the celestial room of the St. George Utah Temple.
Sometime thereafter, Todd’s father—Betty’s husband—died. A couple of years later, Betty invited Rod to vicariously represent her deceased son in receiving his temple ordinances. Rod gratefully did so, and the proxy work culminated in a sealing room in the St. George Utah Temple. Betty was sealed to her deceased husband, kneeling across the altar from her grandson who served as proxy. Then, with tears streaming down her cheeks, she beckoned for Rod to join them at the altar. Rod knelt beside them, acting as proxy for her son, Todd, whose heart was still beating inside Rod’s chest. Rod’s heart donor, Todd, was then sealed to his parents for all eternity. Todd’s mother had kept the promise she made to her dying son years before.
But the story does not end there. Fifteen years after his heart transplant, Rod became engaged to be married and asked me to perform the sealing in the Provo Utah Temple. On the wedding day, I met with Rod and his marvelous bride, Kim, in a room adjacent to the sealing room, where their families and closest friends were waiting. After briefly visiting with Rod and Kim, I asked if they had any questions.
Rod said, “Yes. My donor family is here and would love to meet you.”
I was caught off guard and asked, “You mean they’re here? Right now?”
Rod replied, “Yes.”
I stepped around the corner and called the family out of the sealing room. Betty, her daughter, and her son-in-law joined us. Rod greeted Betty with a hug, thanked her for coming, and then introduced me to her. Rod said, “Betty, this is Elder Renlund. He was the doctor who took care of your son’s heart for so many years.” She crossed the room and embraced me. And for the next several minutes, there were hugs and tears of joy all around.
After we regained our composure, we moved into the sealing room, where Rod and Kim were sealed for time and all eternity. Rod, Kim, Betty, and I can testify that heaven was very close, that there were others with us that day who had previously passed through the veil of mortality.

By Ana Rodriguez Ramirez, Spain

One day on my mission, my companion and I were prompted to visit a sister in the ward. We cut out paper hearts and wrote loving messages on them to remind her of her worth.

We arrived at her house, thinking she wouldn’t be home. As we were setting up the paper hearts, her car pulled right up to the house. My companion and I tried to hide to keep up the friendly surprise, but to no avail. She saw us.

The sister got out of her car with tears on her face. She hugged us and said, “You two are my angels. You’re always there when I need you most. Thank you.”

She invited us in and told us of the long day she had dealing with a serious family situation. We just listened to her. We shared how much God loves her and that He didn’t forget about what she was going through. We read scriptures with her, and her home was filled with the Holy Ghost when we left.

Disciples of Jesus Christ are “willing to … comfort those that stand in need of comfort” (Mosiah 18:9). He trusts us to be part of His great work—higher and holier ministering. When we take the time to get to know people and listen to them, we are more equipped to be God’s earthly angels.