Gospel Story Finder

The next day the girls left their backpacks behind, carrying with them only canteens and crackers and cheese for lunch, and mounted the assault on the peak. As the elevation increased, forests gave way to scattered trees, trees gave place to shrubbery, and finally, there was nothing to climb but barren, broken rock.
“For safety’s sake, we have a system—we keep talking to each other and keep each other aware of where we are,” Sister Visker said. “That way, if loose rocks fall, we’re able to give warning and get out of the way.”
“It was hard climbing,” said 16-year-old RaLene Neal. “Sometimes we were on our hands and knees.”
“But we had our fun, too,” 17-year-old Shelly Michelsen wrote in her journal. “We took turns sliding down a glacier and had a super time. Then we pushed on along the ridge until we reached our goal. I sat down as close to the edge as I dared and, like the others, looked in all directions. A cool breeze was blowing around my hot face, but I felt calm and restful. We were so filled with the beauty of our surroundings—the rippling lakes, the pine forests, mountains in all directions, even out into Wyoming. I felt very in tune with my Father. I thought of how he must have felt when he looked over all he created and saw that it was good.”
“One of the men in the ward told us before we left that it couldn’t be done, that we couldn’t climb to the top of Mount Watson,” Becky Palmer, 15, said. “So when we got there we felt like we had achieved the impossible.”
“I thought,” Shelly continued, “that even though we’re not always up in the mountains, we can still have the same feeling, the same reverence for God’s work. I think life with its hardships is a big mountain, but if we keep at it, there’s a time when we’ll reach the top and look down at what we’ve done, and we’ll know that it’s good, too.”
Maria Lecon, 15, said she was “most impressed with the spirit we felt up there. I knew that the Lo.”
For Edie Coats, 17, it was a time of gratitude. “We just moved here from Virginia, and I was a little bit scared. But the first Sunday, everyone was so friendly to me. They were coming on this trip the next Saturday, and they wanted me along! I think by coming on the trip, I really got to know the girls in my ward.”
Most of the girls kept journals of their experiences and feelings, and there on the mountaintop, the group paused and wrote poems. “I felt like every poem was sort of a journal in itself,” Shelly said, “because it came from the heart and described a special time in our lives.” At a morning meeting the next day, the young ladies read their verses to each other.
Of course, the slide down the snowbanks left a pleasant memory, too. “We used the same garbage sacks we had used before in the rain as ’sleds,’” said Rachel Palmer, 17. “The glacier was less slick at the bottom—it looked steeper than it was. But a couple of times we did have to use our feet for brakes.”
Dinner that night and breakfast the following morning were cooked and served in number 10 cans, the main “pan” carried on the excursion. “We did bring utensils and a skillet or two, but the large cans really helped keep weight in the packs to a minimum,” Sister Visker explained. Around the campfire the girls each shared one positive thing they had learned about someone else since the trip began and also drew names to see who they would be the “wood elf” for. Wood elves do mysterious, anonymous kind deeds for someone else in a camping group.
The next day was to have been spent “puddle jumping” (visiting one lake after another). “But when we got to the first one, Wall Lake,” said Marlene Neal, 15, “we liked it so well that we stayed.” Activities at the lake included cliff diving, fishing, and swimming.
“We had to check it out and make sure it was safe before we started cliff diving,” Marlene explained. “We had to make sure there were no rocks on the bottom and that the water was deep enough. And an adult supervisor trained in lifeguarding and first aid had to be there all the time, too.”
At first, the divers were scaring the fish away, so the swimmers moved to another location. Then one of those fishing scared the fish away! “Sister Visker helped me get a little fake fly way out away from the shore,” Maria said. “As soon as it landed in the water, a big fish came along. It scared me, so I threw a rock at it.”
Marlene also had her problems fishing: “I’d hook the grass at the bottom and all my lures and sinkers would get torn off. But it was still fun.”
The various activities of the day left the girls tired, but not too worn out to express their feelings during a testimony meeting. They read their favorite scriptures to each other, spoke again of their love for nature, for the gospel, and for the Lord, and talked about the lessons they had learned on their trip: lessons of perseverance, sacrifice, relaxation, and sharing the load.
“It’s unbelievable the feeling you get on top of a mountain,” said Sandy Kay, 17. “If you have an open mind and a humble heart, it can really help straighten out your priorities and help you see the reason why we’re here.”
The next morning the girls had loaded up their gear and they were on the trail home. But they weren’t rushing away. Somehow they wanted to linger just a bit longer, savoring the strength of the hills they had learned to love.

When I was 11 years old, I won my first state cross-country title and vowed to become a national champion before I graduated from high school. Full of boldness and determined to conquer mediocrity, I stormed the gates of excellence as I began a routine that was to last for years. Every day I ran from three to ten miles. I loved training. Neither mud, rain, sweat, nor pain were to deter me from my goal. “You only get out of it what you put into it” became my motto. I even learned to like healthy foods.
By the time I was 14, things could not have been going better. I was undefeated in the 1,500-meter run and praised by our local newspaper as the fastest freshman in the state of Oregon. I felt good and knew I was ready.
Three teammates and I had been invited to participate in the prestigious Meet of Champions in Portland. Full of confident chatter, we piled into the team van with our coach on our way to the meet.
As we pulled onto the highway, I noticed how congested the traffic was and subconsciously decided to fasten my seat belt. Everyone began joking about the seat belt law. In the midst of the teasing, I casually looked up and noticed a car flying over the top of a hill approximately 200 yards ahead of us. Completely out of control, it was coming directly toward us in our lane. It began swerving back and forth between the borrow pit and the road, barely avoiding several cars ahead of us. Crippled by a sense of sickening helplessness, the occupants of our van were seized by an ominous silence as we focused on the inescapable disaster that surely would occur.
I awoke to the sounds of screaming sirens, two-way radio lingo, and shouting policemen. We had been hit head-on by a wanted man in a stolen car who was being pursued by a policeman. My teammate and good friend, Lenny, who was in the seat behind me without his seat belt buckled, had been thrown across my seat. I had been propelled forward and pinned under the weight of his unconscious body and my doubled-up seat.
I managed to move just enough to see out of the window. A dozen policemen dotted the hillside and roadway. The other car looked like a crumpled piece of paper. Two ambulances whirled in beside our crushed van, and I was very carefully extracted from the totaled vehicle. “I think this one has a broken back!” I heard one medic say as he looked at me with pity and concern.
It turned out my back wasn’t broken—just my nose. However, serious back strain, several pulled muscles and joint displacement prevented me from walking for a few days and kept me from running normally for several months. This had not been in my plan. I became discouraged as my timetable for being in top form for nationals was once again interrupted.
After regaining my strength I began to work out. But as I watched my ten-year-old brother, Tyler, run, I began to feel more frustration and irritation. He ran strong and smooth strides, like I used to. He could keep up with several of the high school runners and was getting better every week. Even though I loved him, I resented how easy it all seemed for him, and how the luck that had thwarted my progress favored him.
I watched Tyler take state, defeating his nearest competition by 500 meters. A horde of excited fans swarmed around him as I stood back. In spite of myself, an uncanny sense of pride swelled inside of me, and as Tyler’s blue eyes shot past all the well-wishers, seeking my approval, the warmth was so intense that I felt we were the only two in the noisy stadium. His need for my approval drew from me a depth of response that shredded my resentment. At that moment, I vowed that my little brother would go to nationals equipped with all I knew and the might of my support.
We ran together after that. I talked about form and strategy, how to pass and maintain a lead. We ran up hills to build his endurance, sprinted on the track to build his speed, and made up all sorts of drills to improve his reflexes, surges, and kick. We talked racing whenever we could. We ran in pouring rain and sweltering heat.
Tyler and I both took first in the Northwest Regional Championships that qualified us for the national meet in North Carolina. Because of the break in my training caused by the accident, I realistically hoped to place in the top 25. I achieved that by taking 21st out of 300 runners. I reached my goal and earned all-American status.
Satisfied and happy with my performance, I then turned my attention to Tyler. As we sought out his place among the other 265 runners on the starting line, I felt as nervous as when I had lined up for my own race. Tyler was tense, and I could sense his apprehension as if it was my own. How I wished I could transform his pain to joy.
“Be tough, Ty. Just remember, no one is better than you. No one can take The Kid,” I said. My arm slipped around his slumping shoulder, and I felt like I was deserting a desperate man when I walked away and noticed the tears in his eyes.
I watched him run a flawless race as I sprinted from place to place on the course cheering him on and hoping he could feel my support. Could he hear me above the crowd? Could he sense how I was pulling for him to find the strength? He came out of the trees in second place. “Stay on his shoulder, Ty!” I screeched. “Use your arms! Breathe deep!”
He was turning the corner for the last 100 meters we had run over and over together. It was a moment we had planned. “Pull, Tyler! Give it all you’ve got! Come on!” I pleaded. My voice choked as I thrilled at the sight of my little brother, a picture of perfect health striding down the homestretch to a spectacular finish as the national champion I had planned to be.
My pride in him told me I had won something too. Shaken and jubilant, I was consumed by a riot of emotions. I had given myself away and felt something far richer and more powerful than I could have ever imagined. Breathless and filled with fatigue, Tyler again sought my eyes over the crowd. As he came to my side, he gasped out the words which taught me the lesson of my life.
“Jason, I felt terrible—but I could hear you cheering the whole way. I knew I could win. I knew I had to win!”

The day before they were to be married, Cristi and James Koch received devastating news. Test results showed that Cristi had breast cancer. What’s more, the cancer was already at stage 4, spreading throughout her body.

Cristi: They said I had about two years to live. I told James I would understand if this was more than he wanted to take on. “This is your chance to get out,” I said. But he said, “I’d rather be with you. We’ll fight the cancer together and do whatever we can. We’ll take whatever time in this life Heavenly Father will give us. Just remember, we’re in this for eternity.” And he is right, you know. An eternal marriage doesn’t end just because one of you moves into the next life.

James: I knew she was who I wanted to be sealed to. We had both been married before, and I fasted and prayed for a long time to find her. I prepared to be worthy of her and to be a husband who would take care of her. I wasn’t going to just walk away from that.

Cristi and James were sealed in the Draper Utah Temple.

Cristi: We decided we wanted to do all we could to be happy now and happy in eternity.

James: We’ve both always been physically active, and we decided to keep doing the things we love for as long as we could—running, hiking, swimming, traveling, dirt biking, and riding motorcycles. And we love spending time with our family. Even after surgeries to remove tumors from her chest and her back, Cristi kept doing as much as she could for as long as she could. At the same time, she started doing other things she felt needed to be done too.

Cristi: From previous marriages, James had five children and I had four. I decided I needed to write letters to them. So, I wrote this whole box of letters, and guess what—years have passed since then, and now my arm is so swollen and full of tumors that I can’t write anymore. Just a few days ago I tried to write a letter to my daughter for her birthday, and my arm was in such horrible pain that I was out of breath. So, writing those letters when I did was inspiration. I’m glad I listened to that prompting because now I wouldn’t be able to do it.

James: Cristi has this Christlike ability to see the good in others. She has a deep testimony of her Savior and a great desire to do missionary work.

Cristi: I remember trying to bargain with the Lord. For a while, it was like, “Come on, heal me. I want to gather Israel!” I tried to boss God around, but it didn’t work. Then I thought, “OK, my name, Cristi, means ‘follower of Christ.’ While I’m still here, I want to bring as many souls to Christ as I can.

James: And that led to another prompting.

Cristi shared her challenges but also shared upbeat messages of faith.

Cristi: I started doing a social media message each day, a little message of hope and love. I called it “It’s a Great Day to Be Alive.” People started hearing about it. My sister-in-law was an atheist, but she said, “Will you start sending me your messages?” Over time she became a believer, and now she’s a member of the Church. And my brother started reading the messages. They helped him to find faith again. Now he’s active in the Church.

James: I was traveling a lot for work, going to small towns in Texas and Georgia. Cristi often went with me. We’d meet people we wanted to stay in touch with, and she would say, “Can I send you one of my messages? Then you can decide if you want to keep receiving them.”

Cristi: The number of people who wanted my messages kept growing. Now there are about 200. Some are Church members; some are not. For a long time, I sent out a thought every day, but now that’s getting harder and harder. I think the messages will be like a little history. When I’m gone, my family and friends will still have my witness about what I know is true.

James and Cristi both agreed, “We’re in this for eternity.”

James: What she has written will help us to keep an eternal perspective. She keeps telling me she’ll be watching over me, watching over us. We want to be an eternal family. That’s the real goal.

Cristi: It’s been seven years since I was diagnosed. As it gets harder to write my message, I sometimes call it, “It’s a Great Day to Be Grateful.” I am so grateful for Jesus Christ and His Atonement. I think of the words of the hymn “Count Your Blessings.”1 If we lose everything in this life, we still have the promise that families can be forever. We can always count that blessing, and it will lift us.

Editors’ note: Soon after this article was written, Cristi passed away with James at her side.

Cristi filled her life with hope and helped others to do the same.

Keep Striving!
No matter what she was going through physically, Cristi shared a spirit of hope, faith, and good cheer. Here are edited excerpts from a few of her many posts.

Empathy
Since cancer came my way, I’ve learned serious empathy for others. My heart goes out to all who suffer. I testify that there is a God, we are His children, and He loves each one of us. He will help us get through the pains and trials of mortality.
Look for the Good
Make sure you look at the good today and see God’s hand working in your life!
Remember Who We Are
We can turn to our Heavenly Father in prayer and search out the truth in the gospel of His Son, Jesus Christ. Then we will remember who we are and find our purpose in life.
Count Our Blessings
The sun is shining, even when we close our eyes. Without God, light dims and hope is hard to grasp. But our days brighten if we seek Him through study, prayer, and counting all our blessings. Take time to think of the good in life. I promise the blessings always outweigh the bad.
A Glorious Future
If only we could look beyond the horizon of mortality into what awaits us beyond this life. Is it possible to imagine a more glorious future than the one prepared for us by our Heavenly Father? Because of the sacrifice of Jesus Christ, we need not fear, for we will live forever, never to taste of death again. And because of His infinite Atonement, we can be cleansed of sin and stand pure and holy before the judgment bar of God. “Eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither have entered into the heart of man, the things which God hath prepared for them that love him” (1 Corinthians 2:9).
The Great Physician
Jesus Christ is the Great Physician, and who on this earth doesn’t need a Great Physician? We are all sick, hurt, or in pain in some way or another. He knows how to heal us. I love that I can be comforted by a Savior who loves me and knows me perfectly. I know I can trust Him.
I Can Still Hobble
I went for a run. Well, let’s be honest and call it what it really is—the tumor hobble. I exercise to keep breathing right and keep my lungs clear. However, it is difficult when my tumors hurt so much. I cried, then prayed for Heavenly Father to help me. The words of a Christmas song came into my mind, and I started singing:
Be near me, Lord Jesus; I ask thee to stay
Close by me forever, and love me, I pray.2
I must have looked and sounded pretty funny, but that doesn’t matter at this point. I’m just grateful for the words to this song.
Then my cousin called to tell me about her daughter that just went through her second brain surgery. She reminded me that it’s a blessing I can still hobble! Nothing changed. My pain was still there, but I was lifted. I knew I could get through this day.
When things are pressing down on you and you think things are just too hard to bear, sing the third verse of “Away in a Manger,” and our Lord will be with you.
Gratitude Is Joy
Gratitude can heal our hearts, bringing us closer to God. Everyone suffers, but gratitude cushions the suffering. Without my freedom to choose gratitude, I would shrivel and die. Gratitude is joy! Keep striving, abounding in gratitude, and you will have joy no matter what comes your way!
The birth of a grandbaby brought lots of joy.
It’s Up to Us
What test or proving ground is easy? Trials come to all of God’s children. Sometimes we suffer because of others’ mistakes, sometimes because of our own. And sometimes things happen just because we live in an imperfect world. But it’s up to us to decide how we deal with what comes our way.

When he was in the navy during World War II, there were those in the great and spacious building who made fun of his principles, but two of his shipmates, Dale Maddox and Don Davidson, took note and did not. They asked, “Sabin, why are you so different from everyone else? You have high morals and don’t drink, smoke, or swear, but you seem calm and happy.”
Their positive impression of my father did not match what they had been taught about the Mormons, and my father was able to teach and baptize both shipmates. Dale’s parents were very upset and warned him that if he joined the Church he would lose his sweetheart, Mary Olive, but she met with the missionaries at his request and was also baptized.
Near the end of the war, President Heber J. Grant called for missionaries, including some married men. In 1946, Dale and his wife, Mary Olive, decided Dale should serve even though they were expecting their first child. They eventually had nine children—three boys and six girls. All nine served missions, followed by Dale and Mary Olive, who served three missions of their own. Dozens of grandchildren have also served. Two of their sons, John and Matthew Maddox, are currently members of the Tabernacle Choir, as is Matthew’s son-in-law Ryan. The Maddox family now numbers 144 and are wonderful examples of being “all in.”
In going through my dad’s papers, we came across a letter from Jennifer Richards, one of the five daughters of the other shipmate, Don Davidson. She wrote: “Your righteousness changed our lives. It is hard to comprehend what our lives would be like without the Church. My dad died loving the gospel and trying to live it to the end.”

A poignant experience with a former patient shows how gratitude for generosity and compassion can transform us. In 1987, I became acquainted with Thomas Nielson, a remarkable man who needed a heart transplant. He was 63 years old and lived in Logan, Utah, in the United States. Following military service during World War II, he married Donna Wilkes in the Logan Utah Temple. He became an energetic and successful brick mason. In later years he especially enjoyed working with his oldest grandchild, Jonathan, during school vacations. The two developed a special bond, in part because Tom saw much of himself in Jonathan.
Tom found waiting for a donor heart frustrating. He was not a particularly patient man. He had always been able to set and achieve goals through hard work and sheer determination. Struggling with heart failure, with his life on hold, Tom sometimes asked me what I was doing to speed up the process. Jokingly, he suggested avenues I could pursue that would make a donor heart available to him sooner.
One joyous yet dreadful day, an ideal donor heart became available for Tom. The size and blood type were a match, and the donor was young, just 16 years old. The donor heart belonged to Jonathan, Tom’s beloved grandson. Earlier that day, Jonathan had been fatally injured when the car in which he was riding was struck by a passing train.
When I visited Tom and Donna in the hospital, they were distraught. It is hard to imagine what they were going through, knowing that Tom’s life could be extended by using their grandson’s heart. At first, they refused to consider the proffered heart from Jonathan’s grieving parents, their daughter and son-in-law. Tom and Donna knew, though, that Jonathan was brain dead, and came to understand that their prayers for a donor heart for Tom had not caused Jonathan’s accident. No, Jonathan’s heart was a gift that could bless Tom in his time of need. They recognized that something good might come out of this tragedy and decided to proceed.
The transplant procedures went well. Afterward, Tom was a different man. The change went beyond improved health or even gratitude. He told me that he reflected every morning on Jonathan, on his daughter and son-in-law, on the gift he had received, and on what that gift had entailed. Even though his innate good humor and grit were still readily apparent, I observed that Tom was more solemn, thoughtful, and kindhearted.
Tom lived an additional 13 years after the transplant, years he otherwise would not have had. His obituary stated that these years allowed him to touch the lives of his family and others with generosity and love. He was a private benefactor and an example of optimism and determination.
When we remember the greatness of our Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ and what They have done for us, we will not take Them for granted, just as Tom did not take Jonathan’s heart for granted. In a joyful and reverent way, Tom remembered each day the tragedy that brought him extended life. In the exuberance of knowing that we can be saved and exalted, we need to remember that salvation and exaltation came at a great cost. We can be reverently joyful as we realize that without Jesus Christ, we are doomed, but with Him, we can receive the greatest gift Heavenly Father can give. Indeed, this reverence allows us to enjoy the promise “of eternal life in this world” and eventually receive “eternal life … even immortal glory” in the world to come.

Grant Morrell Bowen was a hardworking, devoted husband and father who, like many who made their living on the land, had an economic downturn when the local potato crop was poor. He and his wife, Norma, took other employment, eventually moved to another city, and started their climb back to economic stability. However, in a terribly unfortunate incident, Brother Bowen was deeply hurt when, in a temple recommend interview, the bishop was a little skeptical regarding Morrell’s declaration that he was a full-tithe payer.
I don’t know which of these men had the more accurate facts that day, but I do know Sister Bowen walked out of that interview with her temple recommend renewed, while Brother Bowen walked out with an anger that would take him away from the Church for 15 years.
Regardless of who was right about the tithing, evidently both Morrell and the bishop forgot the Savior’s injunction to “agree with thine adversary quickly”2 and Paul’s counsel to “let not the sun go down upon your wrath.”3 The fact is they didn’t agree and the sun did go down on Brother Bowen’s wrath for days, then weeks, then years, proving the point made by one of the wisest of the ancient Romans, who said, “Anger, if not restrained, is frequently more [destructive] than the injury that provokes it.”4 But the miracle of reconciliation is always available to us, and out of love for his family and the Church he knew to be true, Morrell Bowen came back into full Church activity. Let me tell you briefly how that happened.
Brother Bowen’s son Brad is a good friend of ours and a devoted Area Seventy serving in southern Idaho. Brad was 11 years old at the time of this incident, and for 15 years he watched his father’s religious devotion decline, a witness to the terrible harvest being reaped where anger and misunderstanding had been sown. Something needed to be done. So as the Thanksgiving holiday approached in 1977, Brad, a 26-year-old student at Brigham Young University; his wife, Valerie; and new baby son, Mic, loaded into their student version of an automobile and, bad weather notwithstanding, drove to Billings, Montana. Not even a crash into a snowbank near West Yellowstone could keep this threesome from making their ministering contact with Brother Bowen Sr.
Upon arrival, Brad and his sister Pam asked for a private moment with their father. “You have been a wonderful dad,” Brad began with some emotion, “and we have always known how much you loved us. But something is wrong, and it has been for a long time. Because you were hurt once, this whole family has been hurting for years. We are broken, and you are the only one who can fix us. Please, please, after all this time, can you find it in your heart to lay aside that unfortunate incident with that bishop and again lead this family in the gospel as you once did?”
There was dead silence. Then Brother Bowen looked up at these two, his children, bone of his bone and flesh of his flesh,5 and said very quietly, “Yes. Yes, I will.”
Thrilled but stunned by the unexpected answer, Brad Bowen and his family watched their husband and father go to his current bishop in a spirit of reconciliation to set things right in his life. In a perfect response to this courageous but totally unexpected visit, the bishop, who had extended repeated invitations to Brother Bowen to come back, threw his arms around Morrell and just held him—held him in a long, long, long embrace.
In a matter of only a few weeks—doesn’t take long—Brother Bowen was fully engaged in Church activity and had made himself worthy to return to the temple. Soon enough he accepted the call to preside over a struggling little branch of 25 and grew it into a thriving congregation of well over 100. All of this took place nearly half a century ago, but the consequence of a son and a daughter’s ministering plea to their own father and that father’s willingness to forgive and move forward in spite of the imperfections of others has brought blessings that are still coming—and will come forever—to the Bowen family.

Peter Hagen sat at the kitchen table in their small cabin and watched his mother remove four loaves of bread from the oven. Usually the smell of freshly baked bread made him feel happy, but today he was worried.
“Will we have a Christmas this year?” Peter asked his mother.
“Of course we will,” Mother replied. “We’re not in Ohio anymore, but I think our Christmas will be just as good as if we were. You’ll see.”
Already Peter missed the gaily decorated Christmas tree, wrapped presents, delicious cookies, and the friends with whom he’d spent so many happy hours.
It was just ten months ago that ten-year-old Peter, his five-year-old sister, Ruthie, and their parents had journeyed west from Ohio by covered wagon to settle on the plains of the Dakota Territory. Peter couldn’t understand how his father could think that living on a farm in such a lonely area was worth leaving their comfortable home in Ohio.
“How can Christmas be the same?” Peter asked his mother. “There aren’t any stores where we can buy presents, or any friends to enjoy shopping with even if there were stores.”
“Well, Peter, there are many kinds of gifts we can give besides the ones we buy in a store,” answered Mother.
That evening at supper Peter was still worried about celebrating Christmas in their new home. “Dad, will we at least have a Christmas tree this year?” he asked.
“We’ll have a tree,” Father said as he smiled at Peter and Ruthie. “We couldn’t bring our tinsel and glass ornaments with us, so we’ll have to depend on you to make the decorations for our tree.”
“That might be fun,” said Peter. He noticed Ruthie was smiling too.
“I’d like a doll for Christmas,” Ruthie said suddenly. “A big doll with a pretty dress.”
“Maybe, Ruthie,” Mother answered finally. “But don’t count too much on it.”
Oh, I hope she can have a doll, Peter thought. I still wish we were back in our old home where there were stores so we could buy things.
“What would you like for Christmas, Dad?” Peter asked.
Father thought a moment and answered, “I suppose a new saddle for our horse.”
“And what do you want, Mom?” Ruthie asked.
“I would like a piano just like the one we left behind,” Mother replied. “I do miss my music.”
Peter couldn’t help but join in with a wish for himself. “I’d like some ice skates. It’s not easy to skate on the pond in my boots.”
After supper Peter and Ruthie started making Christmas decorations. Mother showed them how to carve stars out of yellow lye soap. They tied bows out of different colored ribbons and cut yarn into short strips.
“The yarn can be our tinsel,” Peter told Ruthie. “I can hardly wait to see our tree!”
The new ornaments were stored on a shelf until Christmas Eve, when it was the family tradition to decorate the Christmas tree.
As Christmas drew near, Ruthie continued to talk about a new doll and Mother hummed some of the songs she used to play on her piano. It made Peter feel sad to think that each one couldn’t have the gift he or she wanted most.
Peter went to his room and pulled out a wooden box from under his bed where he kept his most prized possessions. He opened the box and took out a pocketknife given to him by his best friend back in Ohio, some stones he found in a stream along the way to Dakota, two drawing pencils, a pair of scissors, a spelling award he won last year in the fifth grade, and an old catalog.
As Peter slowly turned the pages of the catalog, he noticed a page full of pictures of saddles. An idea flashed into his mind. They’ll have to use their imaginations, Peter thought, but I can make sure everyone will have a special Christmas present this year!
On Christmas Eve Peter and his father brought in a small evergreen tree and placed it in the center of the kitchen on a wooden stand. Ruthie hung the soap stars and bows on the tree while Peter draped the yarn tinsel over the branches. Then Peter hung some oddly shaped paper ornaments on the tree. One had a dark brown picture on it.
“What have we here?” asked Father as he turned the picture over so he could look at it. “Why, it’s a saddle!” he declared.
“It’s your Christmas saddle, Dad. Now all you need is a paper horse,” Peter said with a big smile.
Peter handed Ruthie a picture he had neatly cut out of the catalog. “Here’s your doll, Ruthie. It’s only a paper picture, but she’ll be part of our wishing game. Maybe next year you’ll have a real doll.”
Ruthie held the picture gently in her hands and said, “She’s pretty. If we put her on top of the tree, she can be our angel.”
Father picked Ruthie up, and she hung the doll on the top of the tree.
Mother could see a picture of a piano dangling near the saddle ornament. “And I have my piano,” she said as she hugged Peter.
“I wanted us to have what we each wanted most for Christmas,” Peter said. He held up a picture of a pair of skates and hung it on the tree. “And here are my ice skates.”
“Well, Peter, I think we’re having a nice Christmas. After all, Christmas is in our hearts, and as long as we’re together, we’ll always have the same good Christmas we used to have back in our old home,” his mother said.
“Next year we’ll probably have some of those gifts sitting under the tree instead of hanging on the tree,” Father laughed, but Peter thought that Father seemed to have a sudden hoarseness when he spoke.
“Are you all ready for popcorn?” Mother asked.
“Popcorn!” cried Peter and Ruthie. That was a real Christmas treat!
Ruthie and Mother seemed happy as they roasted the popcorn. And Father was getting ready to read the story of the first Christmas from the Bible.
Peter smiled and looked around. The tree was gaily decorated, and there were presents—even if they were only paper ones.
It is a nice Christmas, he thought. Suddenly he knew just what his mother meant when she said, “After all, Christmas is in our hearts!”

It happened again while I was serving as a bishop. I received a phone call from a woman who had made a serious mistake and now faced a difficult, life-changing decision. As I visited with her, I felt I knew the answer to her problem, but I also felt strongly that I should not give her that answer—she needed to obtain it for herself. My words to her were “I believe God will tell you what to do if you would ask Him.” She later reported that she did ask Him and He did tell her.

One day Zoltán Szücs of Szeged, Hungary, surprised his kayaking coach by telling him that he wouldn’t be going to Germany for a competition.
“It was on the same day as my baptism, so I said no,” Zoltán said.
At age 17, Zoltán had won many competitions in kayaking. It’s a popular sport in Hungary, and Zoltán was good—good enough that becoming a professional was a real possibility. Beyond deciding to miss just one competition, Zoltán would soon give up kayaking entirely. He had something better to do.
Kayaking had been good for Zoltán. Over the years working with his coach, he had learned self-control, obedience, and hard work. Zoltán had also learned to avoid substances and habits that would hurt his performance. It wasn’t an easy life; it was lonely, and going pro would take up more time. Pros practice 12 hours a day and have to compete on Sunday.
“Kayaking took most of my time,” Zoltán says. “I was fanatical. Because of that, I left a lot of things out of my life.”
That’s why Zoltán decided that he couldn’t devote himself to both the gospel and kayaking. In 2004 he told his coach he wasn’t going to kayak anymore.
Earlier that year the missionaries started teaching Zoltán’s mom. He didn’t take part in the lessons. He grudgingly accepted his mom’s invitation to her baptism. But his heart was touched by what he felt once he entered the church building. Szücs agreed to meet with the missionaries, partly because he could identify with them.
“Missionaries were interesting to me because they were normal people but lived a higher standard,” he says.
Because of the higher standard that Zoltán was already living as a kayaker, he readily accepted the teachings of the gospel as valuable. He was baptized two months later.
At first he thought he could continue kayaking but not do competitions on Sundays. But because he’s the type of person who, once committed to an activity or course, wants to do well at it, he chose to give up kayaking entirely.
He tried once to kayak as a hobby after his baptism. When he did, his coach asked him to help teach others and organize trips since he wouldn’t compete. But he didn’t want to make commitments to kayaking—or any other activity—that could get in the way of his discipleship.
So Zoltán hung up his paddle and dedicated himself to Church service in a decision reminiscent of one President Howard W. Hunter (1907–95) made when he got married. President Hunter was an accomplished musician who played dozens of instruments. In the evenings he had been playing in an orchestra, but the lifestyles of those he associated with conflicted with gospel standards. So President Hunter put his instruments away and brought them out only occasionally for family sing-alongs.1
Zoltán misses kayaking, but he realized that his love for kayaking was strong enough to compete with, and possibly overcome, his love for the Lord if he stayed too close to the sport.
“The Church became my life,” Zoltán says. “Knowing that kayaking couldn’t be a living if I wanted to be active and that it would be just a hobby, it became easy to give up. Instead, I wanted to make Heavenly Father my focus.”
Zoltán began to study the gospel with the same intensity he brings to any pursuit. He set a goal to serve a mission. He wanted to stay in his country and teach others.
He served in Hungary and now works as a high school English teacher. He continues to set his priorities on the gospel. “There are things we need to give up because they get in the way of God,” he says. “It’s easy to give up the bad once we know we should. Often we don’t realize when we should give up something good for something better. We think that because it’s not bad, we can hold onto it and still follow God’s plan.” But Zoltán knows that we must give up the good if it keeps us from following God’s plan for us.
Zoltán Szücs, of Szeged, Hungary, gave up kayaking to have more time for the gospel.
Above: photograph © Thinkstock; below: photograph by Adam C. Olson

If anyone asked Belinda where she was going to live when she grew up, she’d tell them on the moon. She’d explain how she was going to build her house in a big crater and watch the stars all night long. But nobody ever asked her, so she never told anyone.
And if anyone ever asked Belinda what her favorite food in the whole world was, she would tell them raspberries. But no one ever asked her that, either. Instead, they asked her where she got her red hair, or if she was a good girl—simple questions that they already knew the answers to.
No one ever asked her the kind of questions they asked her father, like which team would win the world series. And they didn’t ask her questions like they asked her mother. No, no one ever asked Belinda how to spell encyclopedia.
Belinda was tired of answering simple questions. She wanted people to know that she could guess which team would win the world series as well as anyone else. And maybe she couldn’t spell encyclopedia, but there were lots of other words she could spell.
When Saturday arrived, her mother told her that they were going to Aunt Martha’s for supper. Grandfather and Grandmother would be there, along with Mr. Nibb, a special guest. Mr. Nibb was her aunt’s neighbor. He was an older man who lived by himself. Belinda had never met him before.
When they arrived, Aunt Martha was in the kitchen, rolling out dough for the pie she was making. “What a big girl you’re getting to be,” she said to Belinda. “Are you eating your vegetables?”
“Yes, Aunt Martha,” Belinda answered politely.
Grandfather was standing by the sink. “Are you remembering to brush your teeth after each meal?” Grandfather used to be a dentist.
Just then Grandma came into the kitchen. After everyone said hello, she walked over to Belinda and pinched her cheek. “Are you being a good girl, Belinda?”
Before Belinda had a chance to answer, Mr. Nibb came into the kitchen. He was older than her grandparents, and he had white hair and wore glasses. He walked a little more slowly than Belinda’s grandparents did.
“Are you warm enough?” Grandmother asked as he took off his coat.
“Yes, thank you,” Mr. Nibb answered.
“Did you remember to take your medicine?” Grandfather asked.
“Yes,” Mr. Nibb answered.
Then Aunt Martha took Mr. Nibb into the living room. “Do you like the view?” she asked, once he was seated on the couch in front of the large bay window.
“Yes,” he answered.
Belinda went in and sat beside Mr. Nibb. “What does a young girl like you plan to be when you get older?” Mr. Nibb asked her.
“I want to be an astronaut,” Belinda told him. Mr. Nibb was the first person who had asked her that in a long time.
“Well, that is a fine profession,” Mr. Nibb told her. “I bet you like the stars then.”
Belinda nodded. “Do you?”
“Do I?” Mr. Nibb repeated. “Why, every clear night I sit on my back porch and look at the stars through my telescope!”
Belinda couldn’t believe her ears. “You have a telescope?”
“I sure do. If you want, I’ll let you look through it tonight.”
“Great! Why do you like the stars so much, Mr. Nibb?”
Mr. Nibb smiled. “When I was your age, I looked at the stars every night. I wondered what it was that made them so bright and shiny.”
Belinda was smiling now. Mr. Nibb asked her questions that were special, questions that most grown-ups thought that she was too young to answer. “Do people ask you silly questions just because you’re old?”
“Sometimes,” Mr. Nibb answered slowly. “But they mean well. They think that because I’m old, I can only answer simple questions. And I suspect they do the same thing to you because you’re young. But we both know that that isn’t true, don’t we?” he said, winking at Belinda.
Belinda smiled. “You ask great questions, Mr. Nibb.”
Mr. Nibb smiled back. “So do you, Belinda.”
That night Belinda went over to look at the stars through Mr. Nibb’s telescope. She asked Mr. Nibb all kinds of questions, and Mr. Nibb knew the answers to almost all of them. Then Mr. Nibb asked Belinda where she’d like to live when she grew up, and they looked through books that had pictures of the moon in them, to find a crater that would be perfect for Belinda’s house.

Primary lessons can sure stir things up! Last week Sister Pierson said that since we were all getting baptized this year, we should try to do what Jesus would want us to do and follow his example. “Melissa,” she asked me, “why did Jesus do things for other people?”
I said, “Because he loved them.”
So we talked about serving people out of love, not for thanks. Then Sister Pierson’s eyes started to sparkle, and Josey groaned because she knew that that meant that Sister Pierson had an assignment for us. “I would like each of you to do something for someone every single day this week,” she challenged us, “without their knowing. Small acts of service can make a big difference in peoples’ lives.”
Boy, would that be hard in my family. Mom and Dad notice everything we do, especially since they usually have to ask umpteen times before it gets done. They’d be really suspicious if things just started happening.
Monday after school, Mom said she had to take Jeanette, my big sister, to the doctor. As soon as she left, I peeked outside to see my brother, Billy, shooting baskets. I knew he wouldn’t be coming into the house for a while. I unloaded the dishwasher and put everything away exactly right. I even got the glasses up high without dropping one. It was really Billy’s turn to unload the dishwasher, but he waits until Mom’s practically yelling before he does it. This time Mom wouldn’t yell, and Billy would think she did it for him, and no one would guess that I’d done it.
It felt strange that evening—sort of peaceful. Billy did his homework without being told to, and Jeanette and Mom cheerfully cleared up after dinner. No one said anything about the dishes having been put away.
On Tuesday we made oatmeal-walnut-chocolate chip cookies. After we were finished, I took six out of the cookie jar, wrapped them in a napkin, and put them into a small paper bag. Mrs. Henderson next door is a widow and lives by herself. I know that she loves Mom’s cookies, so I put them on her doorstep, rang the bell, and ran behind some bushes to watch. She was really pleased when she found the cookies.
On Wednesday after school, I noticed Jeanette hadn’t made her bed, so I made it for her. It was hard because I had to get the bedspread tucked under the pillow just right so that there was still enough to pull over the top. I finally did it, but when I took one last look, there was a whole bunch of extra sheet hanging down on one side. I almost cried. I tucked it under the mattress, because I didn’t have the heart to start all over again, and I just hoped she wouldn’t guess that it was me who’d made the bed. When she came home that night, Jeanette didn’t say anything about it.
I got up the next morning, wondering if it was even worth doing anything, since nobody seemed to care. I mean, nobody had noticed anything enough to even ask who had done it! But I wanted to tell Sister Pierson that I had done the entire week, so I kept going.
Dad still had mud caked on his boots from last weekend, and I knew he’d need them again this Saturday, so when I got home from school, I found the old knife he uses as a scraper and spent a whole hour getting them clean again. Most of that time I was thinking that he’d better appreciate it.
Friday morning, my lunch was all fixed and ready to go when I got downstairs. I guess Mom did it—I even got cheese crackers! So I gave her an extra-big hug and felt good again. In the afternoon I quietly put all the clean clothes away while she was peeling carrots and potatoes for dinner, and I felt even better.
Saturday morning Billy and I got up early to watch cartoons. We get to do that until everybody’s up and it’s time to do chores. Dad came clomping in, in his boots, tickled Billy and me for a minute, then gave Mom a kiss. “Thanks for cleaning these off, Honey,” he said. “I’ve been putting it off all week.”
Mom looked surprised. “But I didn’t. I—”
But Dad had clumped out the door already. I just kept my eyes on the television and smiled inside, where Mom couldn’t see.
Mom let us watch TV an extra half-hour before she turned it off and said, “Get dressed—time for chores.” Her voice was happy, so we knew that it would be a fun workday instead of a drag.
I got all the way across my room to the dresser before I realized that someone had already made my bed—corners tucked up, sheets and blankets perfectly even, and my pillow all smoothed out. Downstairs, Mom was whistling. I smiled, inside and out. Little things do make a big difference. I’d have a lot to tell Sister Pierson on Sunday.

Elder Pratt’s two former companions traveled on to Tahiti, where their teaching met with far less success. After a few months, Elder Rogers traveled west to a small group of islands and Elder Grouard sailed to the island of Anaa in the Tuamotus. Elder Rogers again met with little success and much opposition. When rumors finally reached him of the death of the Prophet Joseph Smith, he began to fear for the safety of his family in Nauvoo, and he returned to America. He died during the exodus from Nauvoo.
The people of Anaa, on the other hand, came to greatly love Elder Grouard. He was the first white missionary of any religion to come to their island, and many of them accepted the truth he taught. He baptized over 600 people, organized five branches, and called local officers to serve. He wrote to Elder Pratt and asked him to come to Anaa, as there was too much work for him to do alone.
Elder Pratt responded to his companion’s invitation, and a conference of the Church was held on Anaa with more than 800 in attendance. At this time Addison Pratt decided to travel back to Church headquarters to request more missionaries to help in the work in the South Pacific. Leaving Elder Grouard behind, he traveled first to California, then to the Salt Lake Valley, arriving in September 1848, one week after his wife and four daughters had arrived there from Winter Quarters.
He shared his experiences with the Saints, taught Tahitian classes, and prepared to return to Polynesia. In 1850 he set out with a new companion, James S. Brown, and the promise that his own family and other missionary families would soon follow. They did follow, and despite growing problems with the French government in the islands, the missionaries and their families served until 1852, when they were forced to return to America.
Forty years passed before LDS missionaries were allowed back into French Polynesia. When they returned, the missionaries found that many members had remained faithful despite the lack of contact with Church headquarters, but many others had fallen away. The work began anew in 1892 and has continued with a few interruptions to this day. The gospel truth has shone in these islands for 150 years!
There are now four stakes in the Society Islands, and a beautiful temple stands in Papeete, on the island of Tahiti. The stories of the early missionaries are remembered and shared often by those who now send their own sons and daughters as missionaries to other countries and other islands.*

Ninety-six years later a tall, well-built, rather handsome, youngish but balding man walked into a cafeteria on the BYU campus and sat down at a table where two freshmen boys were discussing the vicissitudes of college life over their roast beef dinner and green punch. He began asking them questions about their feelings, their likes, their dislikes, and their hang-ups regarding their university experience.
Finally one of the young men asked him, “Do you teach around here or something?”
“Yes, I work here,” the man replied.
“What do you do?”
“I’m president.”
“President of what?”
And so Dallin H. Oaks, president of Brigham Young University, introduced himself to these students. “I’m glad to meet you,” the young man with the questions responded. “I come to assemblies, but you’re so far away I can’t see your face.”

After my wife, Jean, and I were baptized on 27 October 1957, we did not start paying tithing right away as we should have. I thought we had too many debts and too little money. I should have known that we could not afford not to pay it.
When a year passed, we were expecting our third child. We had just purchased a new house and also had several more debts. About this time, my wife said, “We need to pay our tithing.” I did not know how we could because we had no money left after our expenses, but I said, “We will do it.” And we did.
We had already moved into our new house, but the loan had not yet closed because the street and the driveway were not finished. It soon began to rain and rain and rain some more. As a result, the work on the street and driveway was delayed. The loan did not close, so we had no house payments.
By the time the work was finally completed, the mortgage company had lost the loan papers and seemed in no hurry to find them. When the papers were finally found, we had lived in our house for six or seven months without making a single payment. We were able to get ahead on some of our other payments during this time.
Things have not always been financially easy for us, but we have never stopped paying our tithing. We call this experience a blessing from heaven.
Henry Hardnock, Midland Second Ward, Odessa Texas Stake

About 14 years ago, Tanya Price (who the young women know today as the bishop’s wife1) lost a baby at birth. The Prices named her Abby, and mourned as a member of their eternal family was laid to rest. Now, years later, at a Young Women in Excellence fireside in northern Utah, Bishop Jared Price spoke about his daughter.
“She would be your age now,” he said. “She would be with you, working on projects you’re working on, going to your meetings, joining you in prayer.” He said he and his wife still missed Abby, even though they had known her for only a few hours in this life.
Abby’s parents, Tanya and Jared Price.
“When Bishop Price talked about his love for Abby, it made me realize, ‘That’s how my father feels about me,’” says Kayla F., 16. “It helped me love my own family even more, and realize how much Heavenly Father loves me.”
Earlier that same evening, one of the Young Women leaders, Danielle Jensen, had been praying to find an activity for the coming year that would bless the girls.
After hearing the bishop speak, Sister Jensen’s husband, Tyce, suggested: Why not do the Personal Progress program on Abby’s behalf, then surprise Bishop and Sister Price with the results? Sister Jensen talked to the other leaders and the girls, and The Abby Price Project—AP Project, for short—was underway.
Young women and leaders of the Prices’ ward.
In addition to doing her own Personal Project activities, each girl would do a values experience or project on behalf of Abby. As activities were completed, they would describe in a journal what they had done. At the end of the year they would present the Prices with the journal, a video of the year’s activities, ribbons, and a medallion. In the meantime, everything was confidential.
“We wanted to show the Prices that we thought of Abby as one of us,” says McKenna U., 14.
“Sometimes it was hard to keep it secret,” says Jocelyn J., 13. “On Sundays, we would talk about our plans, but just in the Young Women room. If anyone asked, we told them we were doing Personal Progress.”
Kayla F.
McKenna U.
Jocelyn J.
“My values project was to improve a talent,” says Hannah H., 15. “I had already done it for myself, but doing it again for Abby made me think about what kinds of talents she has and what she might be doing with them in heaven.”
“It was interesting reading the Book of Mormon for someone else,” Morgan S., 18, says. “Sometimes I would read a scripture out loud, to share it with Abby and think about what it would mean to her.”
“I think it was neat that when we worked on the AP project, we couldn’t count it for ourselves,” says Sidney B., 16. “We got to feel Abby’s spirit, and when we were done we got to write in the journal how we felt about her and her family.”
“It kept us thinking about someone else,” says Hallie C., 13.
Hannah H.
Sidney B.
Hallie C.
On Abby’s birthday, the young women decorated her grave with sunflowers and balloons and cleaned and decorated other graves nearby.
“Sunflowers became the symbol for the AP Project,” Britten M., 15 explains. “The leaders gave each of us a sunflower charm bracelet to remind us of Abby and of service.” Many of the girls still wear the bracelets every day.
“Sunflowers are bright and pretty, so we felt they were a good way to represent Abby,” explains Morgan S. 18.
“And sunflowers are drawn to the light,” says Emma E., 16. “So they remind us young women and daughters of God to find spiritual light.”
“When President [Russell M.] Nelson invited teens to join the youth battalion, it was like we were already prepared to join,” says another Abby, Abby E., 14.
Olivia A., 14, agrees. “When we minister to others, we feel the Savior’s love and they do, too.”
“When we went to the temple and did baptisms for the dead, we did something for them that they can’t do for themselves,” says Stephanie S., 18. “The AP Project let us do something like that for Abby, something she couldn’t do for herself.”
“I never thought about the other side of the veil before as much as I did when we did our service for Abby,” says Britten M., 15. “I think we were all more motivated to learn about our ancestors.”
“They need us because they don’t have physical bodies to receive ordinances,” says Emma E., 16, “Helping them is part of gathering Israel, another thing President Nelson said to do.”
Abby E.
Olivia A.
Stephanie S.
When a year had passed and the annual Young Women in Excellence night arrived again, the Prices came, eager to support the young women. Then, as each young woman summarized her achievements, she also told what she had done on behalf of Abby.
“We were overwhelmed that they had done so much for our daughter,” Sister Price recalls.
“They were filled with love for us, and we were filled with love for them,” says Bishop Price.
Since then, Bishop and Sister Price have read and re-read the words of love and encouragement in Abby’s Personal Progress journal many times.
Not long ago, the young women visited the Prices. They delivered a vase of sunflowers. They laughed, teased each other, and ate brownies. Then the young women went once again to the cemetery, to visit the grave of their friend.
“Someday, we’ll get to meet Abby Price,” Sister Jensen says. “We’ll give her a hug and let her know that we loved ministering to her and her family. It was a blessing to us all.”

In 1980, the Saints were blessed with the announcement that a temple would be built in Santiago, Chile.
When President Spencer W. Kimball dedicated the temple lot, he was very weak; but his presence there demonstrated his love for the Saints of South America, with whom he had worked since 1959. Sister Adriana Guerra de Sepúlveda, who was interpreting for Sister Kimball at the event, said, “When I saw the prophet, a tiny person with an angelic face, I began to weep and could not find words to speak to him. It was the first time for me to be at the side of a living prophet. Seeing the Lord’s mouthpiece here upon the earth and in my country was something marvelous.”10
The temple was dedicated in 1983, becoming the second in South America and the first in a Spanish-speaking country.

Without safety ropes, harnesses, or climbing gear of any kind, two brothers—Jimmy, age 14, and John, age 19 (though those aren’t their real names)—attempted to scale a sheer canyon wall in Snow Canyon State Park in my native southern Utah. Near the top of their laborious climb, they discovered that a protruding ledge denied them their final few feet of ascent. They could not get over it, but neither could they now retreat from it. They were stranded. After careful maneuvering, John found enough footing to boost his younger brother to safety on top of the ledge. But there was no way to lift himself. The more he strained to find finger or foot leverage, the more his muscles began to cramp. Panic started to sweep over him, and he began to fear for his life.

Unable to hold on much longer, John decided his only option was to try to jump vertically in an effort to grab the top of the overhanging ledge. If successful, he might, by his considerable arm strength, pull himself to safety.

In his own words, he said:
“Prior to my jump I told Jimmy to go search for a tree branch strong enough to extend down to me, although I knew there was nothing of the kind on this rocky summit. It was only a desperate ruse. If my jump failed, the least I could do was make certain my little brother did not see me falling to my death.
“Giving him enough time to be out of sight, I said my last prayer—that I wanted my family to know I loved them and that Jimmy could make it home safely on his own—then I leapt. There was enough adrenaline in my spring that the jump extended my arms above the ledge almost to my elbows. But as I slapped my hands down on the surface, I felt nothing but loose sand on flat stone. I can still remember the gritty sensation of hanging there with nothing to hold on to—no lip, no ridge, nothing to grab or grasp. I felt my fingers begin to recede slowly over the sandy surface. I knew my life was over.
“But then suddenly, like a lightning strike in a summer storm, two hands shot out from somewhere above the edge of the cliff, grabbing my wrists with a strength and determination that belied their size. My faithful little brother had not gone looking for any fictitious tree branch. Guessing exactly what I was planning to do, he had never moved an inch. He had simply waited—silently, almost breathlessly—knowing full well I would be foolish enough to try to make that jump. When I did, he grabbed me, held me, and refused to let me fall. Those strong brotherly arms saved my life that day as I dangled helplessly above what would surely have been certain death.”

Not too long ago, I was working on our farm with my nephew Nash. He is six and has a pure heart. He is my favorite nephew named Nash, and I believe I am his favorite uncle speaking in conference today.
As he helped me come up with a solution for our project, I said, “Nash, that is a great idea. How did you get so smart?” He looked at me with an expression in his eyes that said, “Uncle Ryan, how do you not know the answer to this question?”
He simply shrugged his shoulders, smiled, and confidently said, “Jesus.”
Nash reminded me that day of this simple and yet profound teaching. The answer to the simplest questions and to the most complex problems is always the same. The answer is Jesus Christ. Every solution is found in Him.

The rooms that April morning had been beautifully decorated with flowers for it was President Snow’s eighty-seventh birthday. On the mantle stood a more beautiful arrangement of roses. Before the president was awake there came a knock at the door of the Beehive House. When it was opened, there stood two little girls behind armloads of stunning red roses for President Snow.
The girls sang two or three songs and he was deeply touched by the serenade. He said he would cherish the memory all of his life.

Chris may not have believed it, but I really hadn’t planned to teach him about the gospel that day. He was just a neighbor boy who used to hang around. He happened to be over at our house when the missionaries stopped by to use the phone.
“Who are they?” Chris asked as the two elders walked past us, their dark suits and white shirts a strong contrast to my friend’s T-shirt and tennis shoes.
“They are missionaries from our church,” I responded. One of them overheard us and grinned at me as if to ask permission to join the conversation. I nodded enthusiastically.
“We’re missionaries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.”
“Is that your church?” Chris asked me.
“Yes!” I said proudly.
“Would you like to know more about our church?” the elder asked.
“Well, I don’t know,” Chris said, looking down at his shoes. “Guess it won’t hurt anything,” he finally answered. “My grandpa always said it’s good to learn new things.”
The elders then began to talk about Jesus Christ and His love for us. They asked Chris to read a scripture from the New Testament, which he did with great sincerity. They established that he already had a basic testimony of the Atonement, helped him define Christ’s role in our lives, and then moved on to talk about the First Vision.
Again, they had Chris read scriptures. They bore their own testimonies, and then asked him how he felt about the message they had just shared. This time he was a little more unsure. The story of Joseph Smith was something altogether new to him.
“Well, I don’t know how I feel about that,” Chris said quietly. “It was a long time ago. You seem to know, but I don’t. It could have happened. I don’t know.” Then he paused for a moment, and his voice came through bold and bright. “But here’s something I do know. I know that what this world needs right now is a prophet. That’s what we really need. We need a prophet who’s alive on this earth today!”
By this time, a few of my family members had joined us in the living room, and as Chris spoke, we all looked at each other. An electrifying bolt of energy burst through us, but I was the first to speak. Okay, it was more like a shout of joy.
“We have one! We have one!” I grabbed his arm so quickly he was startled. “We do have a living prophet! His name is Gordon B. Hinckley, and he is the leader of our church.”
The elders began scrambling in their bags, searching for a picture. Chris smiled at my outburst and actually backed a few feet away in case I attacked him again. He gladly accepted a Book of Mormon and scheduled another appointment with the missionaries.
His family moved away very soon after, and I never heard whether Chris accepted the gospel. But I do know that everyone in the room that day felt the yearning of a young man wishing the world had a modern-day prophet.