Gospel Story Finder

In our home we have a Christmas tradition of decorating the house by the end of October or the beginning of November so that the spirit of Christmas comes sooner and remains longer. But in 1993 it certainly didn’t work this way.
In October I discovered I was pregnant. I already had two children—a four-year-old daughter and a two-year-old son—and we were experiencing a very difficult financial situation. “How will we support another baby?” I wondered. When the beginning-of-pregnancy nausea started, I found myself arguing with the Lord, complaining, murmuring, and failing to pray. I didn’t decorate the house as in other years. I didn’t want to remember the birth of the Lord Jesus Christ. For me there wouldn’t be Christmas that year.
Every year my mother holds a special banquet on 25 December to bring the family together. But that year as I sat down at the table with everyone else, I couldn’t eat. Everything made me sick. I was so sad and filled with such bitterness that I hardly participated in the family conversations, and I soon returned home.
Some hours later my brother ran to my house to tell me my father was feeling sick. I hurried to my parents’ house and saw that my dad could hardly breathe; he had a tingling in his arm and a horrible pain in his chest. It was a heart attack! I urged my brother to take my father to the emergency room.
I went back home and asked my husband to pray that my father would not die. He told me I was the one who should pray. But I had not prayed for many, many days and felt Heavenly Father would not hear my prayer. Wisely, my husband told me it was time for me to ask His forgiveness.
I knelt, weeping bitterly. My father was dying on his way to the hospital, and I implored our Father in Heaven not to let him die that Christmas. In desperation I implored the Lord for forgiveness, and a voice whispered in my ear, “Read your patriarchal blessing!” How could I think about my patriarchal blessing at a time like this? But the prompting continued, strongly urging me to read the blessing.
I stood up, found a copy of my patriarchal blessing, and began to read it. And then something amazing happened. I realized that several times the blessing mentioned that I am a beloved daughter of Heavenly Father and of my earthly parents and that if I honor my parents on earth, He will prolong their lives, they will have the opportunity to see my children grow, and they will rejoice with me in our posterity.
As I read, an understanding came to me. My father hadn’t yet seen my unborn child, neither had he seen this child grow. He wouldn’t die at that moment, I realized. My blessing was my answer that day. I knelt once again, this time thanking our Father in Heaven for the very special child—my son Guilherme—I was carrying.
Sometimes we are so blind, so selfish! And Heavenly Father, in His kindness and love, allows us to learn and grow from our trials. I thank Him for each day He allows me to live with my family—with my three dear children, my husband, and my parents. I know that God lives, that Jesus Christ lives, and that They love me and have great patience with me.

When I first saw Aaron, he made me uneasy, even a bit scared because he was so … well, different. I had never really been around anyone like Aaron.
At Madison School, Mrs. Wood’s kids with special needs—we called them “SN kids”—had their classroom down the hall from Mrs. Parrick’s fifth grade room. The first day of school, as Mrs. Parrick lined us up to go to the cafeteria, Mrs. Wood marched down the hall with the SN kids—Paula, the girl in the wheelchair; Carlos, the Down’s syndrome boy with the funny grin; Maggie, the girl with the braces and twisted legs; Charles, the chubby boy who never smiled or spoke; and Aaron.
I had seen Aaron a couple times before because his family moved into our ward a few weeks before school started, I remember staring at him as his mom and dad brought him into the church. He was grinning and grunting and mumbling things that nobody could understand. Although he was about my age, he couldn’t talk, and Mom told me later that his mind would never grow up, that he would never be able to talk like other kids.
When Aaron passed me in the hall that first day of school, he stopped in front of me and grinned. I felt uneasy and embarrassed, even a little afraid. I looked at the floor, hoping he would disappear down the hall, but he reached out, pushed me, and shouted something I didn’t understand. All the kids in my class laughed, and my cheeks burned as Mrs. Wood led him on down the hall.
“What a weirdo,” Paul snickered behind me. “Watch out, Ben—you’ll get bugs from him.”
“Why did Heavenly Father make someone like Aaron?” I asked Mom that evening.
Mom thought for a moment. “Well, Benjamin, he’s a child of God too. Heavenly Father loves him as much as He loves any of His children.”
“I didn’t figure that He didn’t love him.” I fidgeted with the salt and pepper shakers. “But if He loves Aaron, why did He make him so different?”
Mom thought for a long time. “I’m not sure we’ll ever know why some of God’s children are born with such special needs. But He does love them, and He wants us to love them too.”
“How can you love someone like Aaron? I mean, you can’t play with him because he doesn’t know how to play. You can’t be friends with him because he doesn’t even know you. I bet he doesn’t even know who his teacher, Mrs. Wood, is.”
“Benjamin, I think you’d be surprised by how much Aaron knows. Not about math or reading or science but about people and about how much they care for him.”
I didn’t know if I believed everything Mom told me, but every day at school, I watched Aaron as he went down the hall, ate his lunch in the cafeteria, or charged crazily around the playground during recess. Always alone.
Most of the kids in my class laughed at him. When he came around, they ran away screaming, like some monster was after them. They said that anyone who hung around him would get cooties. It was all a game. For them.
I especially didn’t like going to the cafeteria because wherever I sat, I found myself watching Aaron eat his lunch in a kind of daze, sometimes spilling down his front, always smearing his food across his face, even when Mrs. Wood was there to help him. I felt sorry for him eating alone, but I didn’t dare get close to him. I didn’t want the other kids to talk about me like they talked about him.
One day I finished my math early, and Mrs. Parrick called me up to her desk and asked me to take a note to Mrs. Wood.
My heart was pounding and my mouth was dry as I pushed open the heavy door of the SN room. Mrs. Wood was on the other side of the room, working with Paula. Aaron was at a corner table, stacking huge plastic blocks. He watched me rush across the room and hand the note to Mrs. Wood.
I turned to charge from the room, but Mrs. Wood stopped me. “Wait, young man. Let me write an answer for you to take to Mrs. Parrick.”
I stood beside Mrs. Wood, staring at the floor and poking my fists deep into my pockets. Suddenly a cool hand touched my arm. I jumped and turned. Aaron stood there, grinning and staring. As I backed up, he touched me again.
“Aaron just wants to play,” Mrs. Wood said, smiling. “When you have some time, you’ll have to come down and play with the children. They love visitors.”
I wasn’t supposed to run in the halls, but as soon as I was out the door, I ran back to my classroom. I wanted to get as far from that SN room as I could.
“I don’t ever want to go in there again,” I told Mom that evening. “It gives me the creeps. They’re so different. I don’t know what to do around them.”
“Benjamin, Heavenly Father would be very happy if you would show real kindness and love to those special children.”
“I don’t know how to be kind to them. And I sure don’t want everybody thinking I’m one of them.”
The next Sunday in Primary, Sister Roth told us about how Jesus had loved and been kind to everyone, even to people who were sick, crippled, dirty, or wicked. He reached out and cared for them all. Just the way she told the stories made me want to be like Jesus. Then she challenged us to help someone in need, like Jesus did.
I thought of Aaron. Not because I wanted to. I wanted to be kind to someone normal. I didn’t care if that someone was sick or dirty, but I didn’t want to help someone who made me feel uncomfortable. That week I did everything I could to stay away from Aaron. I didn’t want to even think about him.
On Friday I got to the cafeteria late, and all the tables were filled—except the one where Aaron sat alone. I frantically looked for a table where I might crowd in.
Then I remembered Sister Roth. I thought of Jesus Christ. And I knew that more than anything else, Jesus would want me to sit by Aaron. I wanted to refuse, but I couldn’t.
I walked toward him, sure that every eye in the cafeteria was on me. “Hi, Aaron,” I rasped. I set my tray next to his and sat with my head down so that I wouldn’t have to look at anyone. Aaron stared at me for a moment. Then he grunted something and held his pizza in front of my face. I nodded. “Yeah, it looks good.”
He shouted and touched me with his other hand. It was covered with pizza sauce, and I had to use my napkin to wipe it from my arm.
When I looked up, I saw Marni at the next table. She’d just moved into town and started school here on Tuesday. She was a very nice girl, and I’d been happy when she was assigned to my class. She was staring at me as I sat next to Aaron. I could feel my cheeks and ears burning, but there was nothing I could do except stay there and eat my lunch.
The best way to keep from noticing the staring eyes was to concentrate on my own lunch and to help Aaron. I helped him cut his pizza into small pieces. I used a napkin to wipe his face. When he knocked his carton of milk over, I helped him clean it up. When it was time to dump our trays, I helped him carry his.
Then he disappeared outside! I hotfooted it toward a different door.
“Benjamin?” Marni was standing there. “Benjamin, I think … well, I think you’re the most wonderful boy in this whole school!” Then she scurried past me to the playground.
“Do you like eating with that weirdo?” Paul snickered as he brushed by.
Later, while I was working on a science project, Marni came over to my table. Usually I don’t talk to girls because they make me nervous. I couldn’t think of anything to say then, either, so I just sat there and pretended that one of the nicest girls in the whole school wasn’t standing next to me.
“Is that boy in the cafeteria a friend of yours?” she asked.
“I know him a bit. His name is Aaron.”
“I have a cousin like Aaron.” Marni looked down at the table. “He’s not exactly like Aaron, but …” She pressed her lips together. “I like David—that’s my cousin’s name. Once you know him, he’s really a neat kid. But he’s different. Ever since coming here, I’ve watched Aaron because he reminds me of David.”
She didn’t say anything for a moment. Then she confided, “Benjamin, that was a brave thing you did today.”
I coughed. “It wasn’t anything.”
We were still talking—not just about Aaron and David but about lots of things—when Mrs. Parrick came over. “Benjamin, Mrs. Wood wondered if you’d like to work with her students for a few minutes this afternoon.”
Paul, who was sitting at the next table, grinned and muttered, “Benjamin’s getting so he really likes those retards.”
Mrs. Parrick was starting to scold him, when Marni asked, “Could I go with Benjamin?”
Paul’s mouth dropped open, and Mrs. Parrick apparently decided she didn’t need to say anything more to him. She just told Marni that Mrs. Wood would be delighted.
Marni and I were both a little nervous, but as we worked and played with all the kids—not just Aaron—the jitters left us, and I realized that I was actually having fun.
The following Monday at lunchtime, Marni and I sat on either side of Aaron and helped him with his lunch and talked to him, even though he didn’t understand anything we said. By the end of the week, lots of kids sat at Aaron’s table. Even Paul came over on Friday and squeezed in between Aaron and Marni.
In the afternoons, if I finished my work, Mrs. Parrick let me go to Mrs. Wood’s room for a few minutes. Sometimes Marni went with me. Sometimes I went alone. One day Randy, who sat behind me, asked, “Can I go with Benjamin today? I’m finished with my work.”
It was funny how, after a few weeks, our class kind of adopted Mrs. Wood’s class. If we were working on an art project or having a class program, we invited them to come to our room. At recess Aaron would hang around while my class played football or soccer. He didn’t know how to play, but he chased around the field and shouted and laughed like he was part of the game.
“I saw Mrs. Wood in the store this afternoon,” Mom told me one evening. “She said that you’ve become great friends with Aaron.”
I smiled. “He’s fun. He doesn’t make me nervous anymore. I still don’t think he knows me, though. I’m just some kid to him, like all the others.”
“But Heavenly Father knows you and knows how kind you’ve been to Aaron.”
The next Sunday I was walking down the hall at church, when I heard a shout. I turned and saw Aaron charging toward me. His mother was down the hall, struggling to catch up to him. Laughing wildly, he crashed into me and threw his arms around my neck. When his mother reached us, Aaron pushed away, jabbed his finger against my chest, and grinned at his mother.
For a moment she just stood there. Then a huge smile covered her face. “You must be the boy at school! We’ve known for some time that Aaron had someone very special at school. He can’t exactly tell us things like that, but we knew that there was someone. You must be Aaron’s very special friend.” Her face was beaming, and tears wet her cheeks.
Aaron stopped pointing and wrapped his arms around me again. I felt a strange, happy warmth spread over my body, and tears jiggled in my own eyes as I wriggled loose and put my arm around the shoulders of my special friend Aaron.

As a leader in the Philippines, I was able to help in the planning and building of the Manila temple. The Lord was watching over its construction. The day before the groundbreaking, a typhoon approached Manila, and we feared we would not be able to proceed. That evening at a mission conference, a missionary prayed for the weather to clear so that the groundbreaking could continue. During the night, the typhoon changed direction, and we were able to proceed the next day.

Gracie smiled as she closed her science book and slid it into her backpack. Having her homework done meant she could read the next chapter of her Nellie Clue mystery! She grabbed her book and plopped onto her bed. She couldn’t wait to read what happened next.
Wait, Gracie thought. I need to read a few pages of the Book of Mormon first.
For her baptism, her grandparents had given Gracie her own set of scriptures. Her goal was to read the whole Book of Mormon before her next birthday, and that was only a few months away. Nellie Clue would have to wait.
Gracie said a prayer and opened her scriptures. She liked reading, but the chapters in the Book of Mormon took her a bit longer than the chapters in her Nellie Clue books. Gracie frowned as she flipped through all the pages she hadn’t read yet. Would she ever be able to finish?
It was hard to read the scriptures by herself. Mom and Dad helped her sometimes. But Dad worked long hours at the hospital, and Mom was usually busy with the younger kids.
Gracie had only read a few verses when Mom called from the other room. “Gracie! The phone’s for you!”
“Coming!” Gracie said as she ran down the hall. Mom was helping her little brother into his pajamas as she passed Gracie the phone. “Hello?”
“Hi, Gracie girl,” said a familiar voice.
“Grandma!” Gracie loved it when Grandma called. Even though Grandma lived far away, talking to her always made her feel close.
Gracie told Grandma about her last soccer game and the songs she was learning on the piano. Then she told her how frustrated she felt about her Book of Mormon goal. “I’m trying so hard,” Gracie said. “But I don’t think I can do it.”
Grandma was quiet. Then she said, “I have an idea. What if we read together on the phone?”
“I would love that!” Gracie said.
“Me too,” Grandma said. “I’d love to read with you.”
Grandma helped Gracie plan out the number of pages they would read each day. Then every night after dinner, Gracie called Grandma and read out loud to her. New words and chapters that were hard for Gracie to understand made more sense when she talked with Grandma. As the weeks passed, their calls got longer as they shared what they were learning and feeling. Sometimes, Grandma and Gracie even ended up reading more pages from the Book of Mormon than they planned to.
A week before Gracie’s birthday, they finished the very last chapter. A warm, grateful feeling filled Gracie’s heart. “Thanks for reading with me, Grandma,” she said.
“Thanks for letting me read along. I’ve learned so much from you.”
On Gracie’s birthday, Mom made a special cake. It was covered in candles and had a Book of Mormon made out of frosting! But the best part of the day was opening presents. Gracie reached for the package Grandma sent in the mail, pulled open the box, and ripped off the tissue paper. It was a picture of the temple to hang on her wall. Gracie smiled as she read what Grandma had written on the card: “This is to help remind you of the other important goals in your life. I love you, Gracie girl.”
Gracie hugged her picture of the temple close. She knew that setting goals and trying hard was helping her become more like Jesus. And with people like Grandma to help her, there was so much she could do.

When I was a mission president, one of my responsibilities was to interview elders and sisters who had completed their missions and were returning home. I always asked what they were taking home as a result of their mission. I didn’t want to know what was inside their suitcases; I wanted to know what was inside of them.
One elder said, “I am going home liking myself.”
“What do you mean by that?” I asked.
He said, “All my life I have wanted to be someone else. I was envious of the guy at high school who was popular with the girls. I wanted to be him. I was jealous of the guy who owned the red sports car. I wanted to be him. I wanted to be the quarterback of the football team.
“And when I arrived in the mission field, I had the same problem. I wanted to be the assistant to the president or the elder who could always quote the right scripture at the right time. I was always wishing I could be somebody else.”
“However, as I have served these two years, I have realized who I really am. I am a son of God. I have a good relationship with my Savior and my fellowmen. I have a greater love for my parents and my family. And I realize that I have talents I can develop and share and that others have their talents. I’m grateful for what I’ve been given. I’m no longer envious of what others have that I may not have. I’m going home feeling good about myself.”
I too had a good feeling about this elder and what was inside of him. How happy I was that he had come to appreciate himself and make that appreciation part of his life’s philosophy. Over the years, it has been a joy to see how this young man has developed and matured by sharing himself and his talents with others.

One who fulfilled in his life this admonition of the Savior was a missionary, Thomas Michael Wilson. He is the son of Willie and Julia Wilson, Route 2, Box 12, Lafayette, Alabama. Elder Wilson completed his earthly mission on January 13, 1990. When he was but a teenager, and he and his family were not yet members of the Church, he was stricken with cancer, followed by painful radiation therapy, and then blessed remission. This illness caused his family to realize that not only is life precious but that it can also be short. The family began to look to religion to help them through this time of tribulation. Subsequently they were introduced to the Church and baptized. After accepting the gospel, young Brother Wilson yearned for the opportunity of being a missionary. A mission call came for him to serve in the Utah Salt Lake City Mission. What a privilege to represent the family and the Lord as a missionary!

Elder Wilson’s missionary companions described his faith as like that of a child—unquestioning, undeviating, unyielding. He was an example to all. After 11 months, illness returned. Bone cancer now required the amputation of his arm and shoulder. Yet he persisted in his missionary labors.

Elder Wilson’s courage and consuming desire to remain on his mission so touched his nonmember father that he investigated the teachings of the Church and also became a member.

An anonymous caller brought to my attention Elder Wilson’s plight. She said she didn’t want to leave her name and indicated she’d never before called a General Authority. However, she said, “You don’t often meet someone of the caliber of Elder Wilson.”

I learned that an investigator whom Elder Wilson had taught was baptized at the baptistry on Temple Square but then wanted to be confirmed by Elder Wilson, whom she respected so much. She, with a few others, journeyed to Elder Wilson’s bedside in the hospital. There, with his remaining hand resting upon her head, Elder Wilson confirmed her a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

Elder Wilson continued month after month his precious but painful service as a missionary. Blessings were given; prayers were offered. The spirit of his fellow missionaries soared. Their hearts were full. They lived closer to God.

Elder Wilson’s physical condition deteriorated. The end drew near. He was to return home. He asked to serve but one additional month. What a month this was! Like a child trusting implicitly its parents, Elder Wilson put his trust in God. He whom Thomas Michael Wilson silently trusted opened the windows of heaven and abundantly blessed him. His parents, Willie and Julia Wilson, and his brother Tony came to Salt Lake City to help their son and brother home to Alabama. However, there was yet a prayed-for, a yearned-for, blessing to be bestowed. The family invited me to come with them to the Jordan River Utah Temple, where those sacred ordinances which bind families for eternity, as well as for time, were performed.

I said good-bye to the Wilson family. I can see Elder Wilson yet as he thanked me for being with him and his loved ones. He said, “It doesn’t matter what happens to us in this life as long as we have the gospel of Jesus Christ and live it.” What courage. What confidence. What love. The Wilson family made the long trek home to Lafayette, where Elder Thomas Michael Wilson slipped from here to eternity.

President Kevin K. Meadows, Elder Wilson’s branch president, presided at the funeral services. The words of his subsequent letter to me I share with you: “On the day of the funeral, I took the family aside and expressed to them, President Monson, the sentiments you sent to me. I reminded them of what Elder Wilson had told you that day in the temple, that it did not matter whether he taught the gospel on this or the other side of the veil, so long as he could teach the gospel. I gave to them the inspiration you provided from the writings of President Joseph F. Smith [1838–1918]—that Elder Wilson had completed his earthly mission and that he, as all ‘faithful elders of this dispensation, when they depart from mortal life, continue their labors in the preaching of the gospel of repentance and redemption, through the sacrifice of the Only Begotten Son of God, among those who are in darkness and under the bondage of sin in the great world of the spirits of the dead’ [D&C 138:57]. The Spirit bore record that this was the case. Elder Thomas Michael Wilson was buried with his missionary name tag in place.”

When Elder Wilson’s mother and his father visit that rural cemetery and place flowers of remembrance on the grave of their son, I feel certain they remember the day he was born, the pride they felt, and the genuine joy that was theirs. This tiny child became the mighty man who later brought to them the opportunity to achieve celestial glory. Perhaps on these pilgrimages, when emotions are close to the surface and tears cannot be restrained, they thank God for their missionary son, who never lost the faith of a child, and then ponder deep within their hearts the Master’s words, “And a little child shall lead them” (Isa. 11:6).

I counted the cash I’d collected for the evening and stuffed it into my apron. “A good night,” I thought to myself. My tables had been generous, allowing for an abundance of tips. After checking with my manager to make sure everything was finished for the day, I exited, leaving behind the restaurant once full of cowboys and blaring country medleys. A few of my fellow co-workers were sitting on the balcony, staring out into the river full of night stars, resting their feet from a busy night’s work.
“Hey, Hill,” Andrea* said. I liked her because she was one of the hardest workers. Her job was being the line of connection between the cooks and waitresses. “Hot food!” she would yell to the servers when their trays were ready. As much as I liked her, I knew she had drug and alcohol problems. Her choices were written on her face. Her teeth were yellowed, her hair was thin, and she was unusually skinny for her age and height.
“Hey, how’s it going?” I asked, taking my seat at the table covered with a red-and-white tablecloth. On warm summer nights, we used the balcony, which overlooked a river, for seating.
“It’s good,” she said, dipping into a cup of quickly melting vanilla ice cream. “A bunch of us are going drinking tonight. Want to come?”
“No, thanks,” I replied, loosening my bolo tie. By now, everyone in the restaurant knew me as the “Mormon girl who doesn’t drink.” They always asked me questions about my beliefs, and I tried to answer the best I could. Usually, though, they asked to satisfy their own curiosity or to start a war of words. Andrea was different, though. She didn’t tease or mock me.
“You’ve never had a drink of alcohol in your whole life?” she asked. Such a concept was, to her and many others, remarkable for a young adult in Texas, USA.
“No, I haven’t,” I replied. As she listened closely, I explained the meaning of the Word of Wisdom and how it keeps our bodies and spirits clean. I shaped my words to keep from offending her. Unlike the others, she didn’t object to the doctrine but nodded in understanding.
Four months later, I had returned home from my first semester of college. The steakhouse allowed me to work for a few weeks during Christmas break.
On my first day back, I saw Andrea at her usual spot in the kitchen. She looked so happy. I could tell from her countenance that something had changed about her. The moment she saw me, she gave me a big hug.
“Hill, I’ve been clean for three months,” she said, a tear spilling down her cheek. “I feel so much better about myself.”
She looked better, too. She had gained some weight, her hair looked fuller, and her teeth were whiter.
“I’m so proud of you,” I replied, hugging her back. The Spirit filled me with warmth. Out of all the dozens of people I’d worked with, she was the one who had made a change. A decision I had made years ago to keep the Word of Wisdom had resulted in good consequences not only for me but for her too.
“Thank you for your example,” she said. As I looked at her smiling face, I knew that she’d experienced a change of heart. The Spirit had touched her heart and allowed that change to take place. From that moment on, I didn’t care how much my co-workers teased me or challenged my beliefs. I’d touched the life of one person, and that was all that mattered to me.
Andrea stayed clean, finished college, and later worked for a highly regarded tax business. Even though she isn’t a member of the Church, to this day she has been blessed by the Word of Wisdom and the role it plays in keeping our bodies and spirits clean (see D&C 89).

At a meeting in the Salt Lake Temple, called by the First Presidency and attended by the Quorum of the Twelve and some of the other General Authorities on April 9, 1972, President Harold B. Lee charged the Presiding Bishopric with our responsibility in the following words:
“Now to the Presiding Bishopric, there are two great divisions of the priesthood as spelled out in the 107th section of the Doctrine and Covenants, the Melchizedek Priesthood and the Aaronic Priesthood. The ecclesiastical title of those who head the Melchizedek Priesthood is the First Presidency, but their priesthood title is the Presidency of the High Priesthood of the Church. The title Presiding Bishopric is your ecclesiastical title, but your priesthood title is the Presidency of the Aaronic Priesthood of the whole Church. Having that in mind then, you must have clearly in mind that first and foremost of all responsibilities you have is to look after the Aaronic Priesthood. … You will help to bring the focus of the time to young men of these critical ages; and when we refer to the young men, we mean the girls also. We can’t save the boys without the girls. So all through your ministry remember, nothing should be secondary to placing great emphasis on the work of the Aaronic Priesthood, to work with the auxiliaries to see to it that they function in an auxiliary capacity, but always with the thought in mind of magnifying the priesthood and of making certain that no auxiliary takes ascendancy over the priesthood.”
In response to this injunction and through revelation given to a prophet, the Aaronic Priesthood MIA program was given birth. It was announced to the Church one year ago now at April Conference, 1973. It was inaugurated in September of the same year. In effect it brought two auxiliaries, the Young Men’s Mutual Improvement Association and the Young Women’s Mutual Improvement Association, directly under the umbrella of the Aaronic Priesthood. They then became priesthood oriented and priesthood directed.
Evidence that this change was divine is just now beginning to break over the horizon. In just over seven months of operation, we see miracles taking place in the lives of our youth. These wonderful things are happening in every ward and branch of the Church where the adult leaders have caught the vision of the program and understand its source. As to its source, may I quote from President Lee’s address at June Conference:
“One or two thoughts have impressed themselves upon me as we have witnessed and have listened. During the year that has passed, we have pondered, we have prayed, we have searched, and now we come with a declaration to all of you that you may know with a certainty that defies all doubt that this which you have witnessed, this which you have heard has been divinely inspired.
“I have occasion to recall again and again what the Lord said: ‘And in nothing doth man offend God, or against none is his wrath kindled, save those who confess not his hand in all things, and obey not his commandments.
“‘But learn that he who doeth the works of righteousness shall receive his reward, even peace in this world, and eternal life in the world to come.’ (D&C 59:21, 23.)
“I choose not to offend God by claiming that all of this has come by the will of men. I confess with all my soul that these things are of the Lord, and they have come through righteousness, through prayer, and through great needs.” (Ensign, Sept. 1973, pp. 81–82.)

A year ago, on assignment in the state of California, I went with a stake president to visit with Clark and Holly Fales and their family in their home. I was told they recently had experienced a miracle. Upon our arrival, Clark struggled to stand and greet us as he was wearing a back brace, a neck brace, and braces on his arms.
Just over two months prior, Clark, his son Ty, and about 30 other young men and leaders set out on a stake high-adventure activity, hiking to the 14,180-foot (4,322 m) summit of Mount Shasta, one of the highest peaks in California. On the second day of the arduous hike, most of the climbers reached the summit—a thrilling accomplishment made possible because of months of preparation.
One of the first people to the top that day was Clark. After a brief rest near the edge of the summit, he stood and began to walk. As he did, he tripped and fell backward over the edge of a cliff, suffering a free fall of about 40 feet (12 m) and then an out-of-control tumble down the icy slope for another 300 feet (91 m). Remarkably, Clark survived, but he was severely injured and unable to move.
The miracles Clark experienced during this traumatic event were just beginning. Some of the first to reach him “happened” to be a group of hikers that included mountain rescue guides and emergency medical professionals. They immediately treated Clark for shock and provided gear to keep him warm. This group also “happened” to be testing a new communication device and sent an emergency request for help from an area where cell phones could not get a signal. A small helicopter was immediately dispatched to Mount Shasta from an hour away. After two dangerous but unsuccessful attempts to land at an altitude that pushed the limits of the aircraft, and struggling with treacherous wind conditions, the pilot began a third and final try. As the helicopter approached from a different angle, the winds “happened” to change and the aircraft landed just long enough for the group to quickly and painfully squeeze Clark into the small compartment behind the pilot’s seat.
When Clark was evaluated at a trauma center, tests revealed that he had sustained multiple fractures in his neck, back, ribs, and wrists; a punctured lung; and a multitude of cuts and abrasions. A renowned neurotrauma surgeon “happened” to be on duty that day; he is at this hospital only a few times a year. This doctor later stated that he had never seen anyone sustain so much damage to the spinal cord and carotid arteries and live. Clark was not only expected to live but to return to full function. Describing himself as agnostic, the surgeon said Clark’s case went against all his scientific learning about neurological injuries and could only be described as a miracle.
As Clark and Holly finished relating this intense account, I found it difficult to speak. It was not simply because of the obvious miracles, but because of a greater one. I had a profound impression—a spiritual witness—that Holly and each of the five beautiful children who sat in the living room around their parents have such faith that they could have accepted whatever the outcome might have been that day and they still would have spiritually prospered. Clark and Holly and their two oldest children, Ty and Porter, are with us today in the Conference Center.

I have read how Relief Society observed its fiftieth year with a great gathering of sisters in this Tabernacle. President Zina D. H. Young addressed the congregation and exclaimed:
“O that my words could be heard by all people, not only by you my brethren and sisters in this Tabernacle but that they might be heard and understood by all the people of this continent, and not only this continent, but the continents of Asia, Africa, Europe and the islands of the sea.” (Minutes of the Relief Society General board, vol. 1, 17 Mar. 1892, p. 225.)

With the national terrorist threat level raised to severe and the second COVID-19 lockdown starting just days beforehand, it had been uncertain whether the Remembrance Service at the Cenotaph in Whitehall, London, would go ahead this year. However, following the instruction of Her Majesty the Queen, the service was conducted as usual—albeit with heightened security and social distancing in place.
The number of people attending the service was reduced due to the need to comply with social-distancing guidelines. The royal family, members of Parliament, and representatives of faith and belief communities attended as usual, but there were fewer commonwealth representatives due to the need for everyone to stand at a safe distance from one another. Sister Jane Elvidge was pleased to be able to represent the Church at this year’s remembrance service.
The Remembrance Service started with cannon fire, which made the ground shake, followed by the bells of Big Ben at 11 a.m. During the two-minute silence that followed, all were encouraged to remember those who gave their lives serving their country either during the two world wars or in more recent conflicts. Attendees then joined to pray and sing in a shared moment of unity and solidarity. The words of the hymn “O God Our Help in Ages Past,” which was sung, remain as relevant today as they were when written in 1708. In the last verse, we are reminded that God is “our hope for years to come” and “our guard while troubles last”. Those attending were also able to show appreciation for Queen Elizabeth who addressed the nation at the start of the coronavirus pandemic. During her speech she said, “We will succeed—and that success will belong to every one of us.” Jane said, “It seemed very fitting that we were able to pay tribute to her majesty today.”

Illustration by Emanuele Nicoletti Serra
As a child, I paid tithing faithfully without ever thinking of holding back the money for myself. But at 17, I faced a defining moment when I had to decide if being a full-tithe payer was really what I wanted.
As a senior in high school, I’d been working part-time at a fast-food restaurant for a year and a half. At the beginning of the school year, I’d convinced myself that I needed more time for homework, school choir activities, and the rehearsals and performances for a musical in which I’d received a small part at a local theater. So I quit my job.
I had always set aside my tithing as soon as I cashed a paycheck, but a few months before quitting the job, I stopped paying tithing. Instead, I unwisely used the money for other things, putting what was left in my savings account.
In late December, I had an appointment for tithing settlement with my bishop. It turned out to be a very uncomfortable experience. He asked if I was a full-tithe payer. I told him the truth—I was not. I think I owed about $65. I had twice that much in the bank, but I didn’t want to use any of it, because without a job, I needed money for gas, dates, and other “important” expenses.
I thought my bishop would simply encourage me to do better next year and make a note that I was a part-tithe payer. But no. He invited me to make a commitment to pay the Lord what I owed. I wasn’t expecting that, and I would not commit. I told him I’d think about it, but I had no intention of paying.
Over the next few days, strange things happened. Until now, the bishop and I had rarely seen each other except on Sundays. But that week, I saw him every day—at the store, at youth activites, and more. Each time he’d greet me with the same question: “Have you made a decision?” And my response was always the same: “No.”
After several days of these unusual meetings, I finally realized that the Lord was using my bishop as a reminder for me to do the right thing. In my heart I always knew what I should do, and finally, wanting to be obedient, I withdrew the tithing money from my savings account and paid all that I owed that next Sunday.
Even though I knew I’d done the right thing, I was still worried about having very little money in the bank for the rest of the school year—and no job.
Then came the phone call. Two days after I paid my tithing, the manager of the fast-food restaurant I’d worked at called me. She was desperate. Several employees had recently quit, and she pleaded with me to come back to work—immediately.
For a moment I didn’t know what to say. While I welcomed the job offer and the income it would provide, I hesitated to accept because the one negative aspect of the job during the year-and-a-half that I had previously worked there was the requirement that I work on the Sabbath. As a result, I had missed many Church meetings and activities.
Suddenly, as if reading my thoughts, my manager said, “And if you come back, this time you won’t be required to work on Sundays.”
Some might say this was just a coincidence, but I knew better. I accepted the job offer with the firm belief that the Lord was now blessing me for being obedient to His law of tithing.
I know the Lord used my bishop, who showed up day after day and wouldn’t take no for an answer. Ever since then, I’ve come to understand, in a very personal way, these words of King Benjamin: “He doth require that ye should do as he hath commanded you; for which if ye do, he doth immediately bless you” (Mosiah 2:24; italics added).
The author lives in Arizona, USA.

I arrived home. I heard crying as I walked in. It was Steven, my brother. He’d been teased at school and didn’t want to go back. The words from my patriarchal blessing echoed in my mind: “You may help the needy with your time, effort, and means.” Here was my brother in need.
“Hey Steven, you wanna go get some ice cream? Tell me what happened.”
Steven and I talked about his peers. Maybe I didn’t say anything helpful, but I could tell that my companionship meant a lot to him.
That experience with Steven taught me a lesson: the poor are just as likely to be in your home as on the streets. There are all sorts of needy people in the world—those who need food and shelter, of course—but also those who need love, counsel, and encouragement.
I haven’t given up my dream of ending the world’s social troubles, but for now, whenever I get the itch to seek out the needy, I’m inclined to go knocking at my brother’s bedroom door first.

I received my patriarchal blessing and was counseled to serve a mission because the Lord reserved a special blessing in my mission that would change my life forever. I didn’t know what that meant, but I knew I would understand in time if I was obedient.
I served in the Brazil Curitiba Mission from 2000 to 2002. Through my association with a particular companion, I was able to go to the United States to study. I knew this would indeed change my life forever. I knew my Heavenly Father was aware of me and had a specific plan for me. This opportunity to further my education was an answer to my prayers.

When he was President of the Church, he visited Nauvoo in 1906 and reflected on a memory he had when he was just five years old. He said: “This is the exact spot where I stood when [Joseph, my uncle, and my father, Hyrum] came riding up on their way to Carthage. Without getting off his horse father leaned over in his saddle and picked me up off the ground. He kissed me good-bye and put me down again and I saw him ride away.”2
The next time Joseph F. saw them, his mother, Mary Fielding Smith, lifted him up to see the martyrs lying side by side after being brutally murdered in Carthage Jail on June 27, 1844.

Fast forward several years and thousands of miles to a chapel in the mountains of central Guatemala. As a missionary, I was attending a district conference. I had arrived early and found a piano there, so I sat down and started playing hymns. Most of the wards and branches had small electric keyboards that were hard to play, so I was very excited to play a real piano. I ended up being asked to accompany the congregation for the conference.
What changed my attitude between my younger years and my time as a missionary? I felt the power of the Spirit through music.

When I was little and learning to read, it was really hard. But with my mom’s and Heavenly Father’s help, I learned to read. My best friend, Renzo, was also having a hard time learning to read.
One day I told him that I would give him a secret to help him learn to read because it worked for me. We went into the schoolyard. I taught Renzo how to pray, and he said a prayer to Heavenly Father, asking for help.
At the end of the school year, both Renzo and I received a medal of honor in reading because of Heavenly Father’s help. I know Heavenly Father answers our prayers.

My mom and I seemed to drift apart after I joined the Church. She didn’t accept my new beliefs and resented me for leaving the church she had raised me in. I had prayed about what to do to help us become close again.
One Sunday, someone spoke about the need to let the people we love know how much they mean to us. The speaker suggested that we not only express it verbally, but also seal it with a hug and a kiss. I couldn’t remember my family ever hugging, kissing, or expressing our love for one another. Everyone just sort of assumed they were loved and hoped they were right.
That day, I decided I would give it a try. It wasn’t easy. In fact, it was a bit scary. But I did it. I told my mom how much I loved her, gave her a kiss on the cheek, and hugged her. It was as though the balm of Gilead had somehow healed the cankering that was coming between us.
That act, inspired by prayer, seems to have had an effect on the entire family. Now when any relatives leave our home, they do so with a hug and a kiss. It gets quite interesting when a lot of family members are present, but I wouldn’t change it for the world.

Madison’s brother kept teasing her and calling her names.
To be like Jesus, Madison could:
call her brother a mean name to get even.
tell her parents what happened and let them punish him.
tell her brother that she loved him and say something nice about him.
Read 3 Nephi 12:39. [3 Ne. 12:39]

Joseph Smith was true to his calling and fulfilled his duty even in the face of severe persecution and great personal sacrifice. He persevered, he endured, and he accomplished the Restoration of the true gospel of Jesus Christ. …