Gospel Story Finder

Recently I went on a soccer recruiting trip to an out-of-state university. I went to check out the school, the campus, the team, and the environment.
While I was there some of the girls on the team decided they would show the recruits what college life was like, so they took us to a party. This party was not the kind I was used to. Everyone there was drinking and smoking.
One guy at the party announced that all the recruits had to get in the middle of a circle and he would pass around a bottle of liquor for us to drink.
When I wouldn’t even touch the bottle, he said to me, “You’re not even going to taste it?”
“No thanks,” I told him.
He continued to harass me for a few minutes and then finally left.
Throughout the party I was very uncomfortable and wished we could leave. Finally we did.
The following day as I listened to general conference, I heard Elder Richard G. Scott say, “Be grateful that your righteous life molds you so that you don’t fit where you don’t belong” (Ensign, Nov. 1998, 70). I am thankful that I have lived my life in such a way that I was uncomfortable at the party. I felt that I was the odd one there, and I am glad I was. I am also grateful that I decided long ago that I was never going to drink, and that decision helped me in my time of need.

There was to be one great final lesson before his mortal life ended. He was incarcerated in Carthage Jail with his brother Hyrum, with John Taylor, and with Willard Richards. The angry mob stormed the jail; they came up the stairway, blasphemous in their cursing, heavily armed, and began to fire at will. Hyrum was hit and died. John Taylor took several balls of fire within his bosom. The Prophet Joseph, with his pistol in hand, was attempting to defend his life and that of his brethren, and yet he could tell from the pounding on the door that this mob would storm that door and would kill John Taylor and Willard Richards in an attempt to kill him. And so his last great act here upon the earth was to leave the door and lead Willard Richards to safety, throw the gun on the floor, and go to the window, that they might see him, that the attention of this ruthless mob might be focused upon him rather than the others. Joseph Smith gave his life. Willard Richards was spared, and John Taylor recovered from his wounds. “Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.”12 The Prophet Joseph Smith taught us love—by example.

Following a recent discussion on the subject of adversity, a young man who was greatly concerned about the burdens being carried by his wonderful mother asked the question, “If God is omnipotent and knows all, why does He put my mother through the agony of continual sufferings when He already knows what the outcome will be?” Our response was, “Your mother’s trials are not tests so the Lord can measure her. They are tests and trials so that your mother can measure herself. It is most important that she know her strengths in adversity and grow from the experiences.”

Since childhood, I dreamed of serving a mission. As I got older, however, my perspective on life began to change, and prioritizing my family’s well-being became the most important. With the responsibility to support us, I watched my mother shouldering the care for me, my brother, and my three other younger siblings—Winyordy, Drey, and Ros—‚without the assistance of my stepfather, who had previously filled that role. It was solely her and me, with the guidance of our Heavenly Father, providing for the family. I understood that I was an essential pillar in supporting the family. Nevertheless, despite knowing the hardship it would bring her, my mother encouraged me to pursue my mission.
Throughout my life, my mother always reminded me that God always knows what is best for me. But it wasn’t until one day at work that I really listened to her. I felt like I was wasting my time there and had a strong feeling I should go on a mission. Even though friends and Church leaders had told me before to follow my heart, I hadn’t wanted to admit it. When I got home, I told my mom, “I’m going to serve a mission.”
She was excited and surprised and completely supported my decision.
I was called to serve in the Dominican Republic Santiago Mission. Incredibly, while there, I have become reacquainted with Elder Jean Louis, the first missionary who taught us the gospel. God’s timing is perfect, and when you put God first, everything else will come as a result.

Five or six hundred of these last Saints crossed the Mississippi and camped on the riverbank in Iowa. They had only blankets and brush bowers for shelter. None of them had food for more than a few days, and many were very sick. Of all the Saints, these suffered the most.
On October 9, a miracle occurred. Flocks of quail flew into the camps, landing on the ground and even on the tables. The hungry Saints were able to catch the birds. The meat saved many people from starving and stirred their hearts as they realized that the Lord was caring for them.
Their fellow Saints had not forgotten them either. Many came back from the Missouri River to help. Others went into neighboring cities to seek money to aid the poor and sick. In the end, the refugees were rescued and divided among the various camps in Iowa, a few even reaching Winter Quarters.

I worked at Disney Interactive Studios for about 13 years as an artist and producer, and one day when I pushed the elevator button to go up to work, I felt that I wasn’t supposed to be there. Well, I put that thought on a mental shelf and continued to work. How could I leave a stable and desired career? How could I leave the good people I loved and had worked with for the last decade or so?

But it pressed upon me, and I knew this feeling wasn’t going to go away. I tried to put together a plan so I had something in place before leaving, but no matter how I tried, it didn’t materialize. So I left without a job or opportunity in place. I cried and had many deep, heartfelt discussions with my Heavenly Father during this time.

What I learned was the plan was not to have a plan. I learned who I was minus any title, career, or status. Though painful as this change was, it was an invaluable space for me to learn about me and my relationship with my Heavenly Father. Just two months after I left, that studio that I thought was stable shut down out of the blue and without warning.

Throughout my experience in leaving Disney, I pondered and searched this quote from President Spencer W. Kimball: “Security is not born of inexhaustible wealth but of unquenchable faith.”1 Our true security and peace is born of faith in Jesus Christ. That faith in Christ is a choice we can make. I’m grateful He let me choose Him.

In 1962, Elder Harold B. Lee, then a member of the Council of the Twelve, used a very practical modern example of that principle. “It is sometimes very interesting to get the reaction of people,” he observed. “I recall when President McKay announced to the Church that the First Council of Seventy were being ordained high priests in order to extend their usefulness and to give them authority to act when no other General Authority could be present. I went down to Phoenix, Arizona, and I found a Seventy who was very much disturbed. He said to me, ‘Didn’t the Prophet Joseph Smith say that this was contrary to the order of heaven to name high priests as presidents of the First Council of Seventy when they were named in the beginning?’
“And I said, ‘Well, I had understood that he did, but had you ever thought that what was contrary to the order of heaven in 1840 might not be contrary to the order of heaven in 1960?’ You see, he had not thought of that. He … was following a dead prophet, and he was forgetting that there is a living prophet today. Hence the importance of our stressing the word ‘living.’” (“The Place of the Living Prophet, Seer, and Revelator,” address given to Seminary and Institute Faculty at BYU on July, 1964.)

I recall listening at length to a couple who sat across the desk from me. There was bitterness between them. I know that at one time their love was deep and true. But each had developed a habit of speaking of the faults of the other. Unwilling to forgive the kind of mistakes we all make, and unwilling to forget them and live above them with forbearance, they had criticized one another until the love they once knew had been smothered. It had turned to ashes with divorce. Now there is only loneliness and recrimination. I am satisfied that, had there been even a small measure of repentance and forgiveness, they would still be together, enjoying the companionship that had so richly blessed their earlier years.

1 Wilford loved to play with his two brothers, Thompson and Azmon. They spent many happy hours playing in the barn or outside in the fields.
2 One Saturday evening the boys were sitting around the house, bored. Thompson suggested that they explore the attic.
3 The boys’ father had told them not to play in the attic. It was dark and dangerous. Wilford hesitated because he didn’t want to disobey his father. But the mystery of the attic attracted him, and he agreed to join in the adventure.
4 The boys raced up the stairs, eager to see what treasures they would find in the forbidden room.
5 However, just before Wilford got to the top stair, he tripped and fell all the way to the bottom.
6 Wilford felt a horrible pain in his arm, and he knew that he had broken it. It took a long time for his arm to heal, and Wilford learned how important it was to be obedient.
7 From then on, not only did Wilford obey his parents, he also obeyed the Lord. And many years later, Wilford Woodruff became the fourth President of the Church.

“Look at that stubborn pig over there! Betsy won’t act like that when you unload her!”
Kevin looked down at his sister, Susan, and answered, “I hope not, but you can never tell for sure.”
“But you have Betsy trained so that she does just what you want.”
“Yes, she does at home, but when you bring pigs here to the fair where everything is strange, you can’t tell. Anyway, it isn’t how she acts that worries me—it’s her ears.”
The big stake truck finally pulled away from the unloading chute, and Kevin and Susan watched as Dad backed up their smaller truck. When it stopped, Kevin let down the tailgate. He was nervous as he picked up the training stick and touched Betsy on the side. Betsy gave a snort and walked sedately down the gate and into the chute.
“Take her back to stall thirty-eight,” said the fair superintendent. “Here’s a card to fill out and put on the outside of her pen.”
Kevin was proud of Betsy’s behavior. She’s a good hog, in spite of her ears, he told himself. He was remembering last winter when he had decided on swine for his 4-H project.
“I wanted to get you a purebred gilt (young female pig),” Dad had said, “but we just can’t do it right now.”
Kevin had understood. After the years of drought, he was used to making do with what he could get. Then, when he had talked to his 4-H leader about taking Betsy to the fair, Mr. Roland had asked, “What class will you enter her in?”
“What about this class?” Kevin had replied, looking at the entry listing. “‘All Other Breeds’—that just about describes her.”
Mr. Roland had chuckled. “Maybe so, but I’m afraid she’ll have to have some particular breed name. She looks more like a Poland China than anything else, except that her ears stick up, while a Poland China’s should flop.”
So now as Kevin filled in his card, he wrote “Poland China” as the breed and “Kevin Jackson” as owner. “I’d better take her over and wash her now,” he said when he finished.
“More washing?” Mom asked in mock horror. “You’ve done nothing for the last week but scrub that pig!”
“I know, but there won’t be much time in the morning, and I still have to work on her feet some more.”
The next morning the Jacksons were at the fairgrounds early. Kevin had already given Betsy another bath when Mom and Susan came over from the home economics building.
“She looks wonderful,” Mom said. “Now you run and put these on.” She held out a clean pair of jeans and a clean plaid shirt.
“Aw, do I have to?” Kevin protested. “These jeans I have on are OK. None of the other guys are getting fixed up.”
“You have your prize exhibit all polished up,” Mom said, “and I want my prize exhibit polished up too.”
Kevin laughed and took the clothes. “Watch Betsy for me. Don’t let her get to rooting around and get her snout dirty,” he warned as he left.
It was exactly nine o’clock when Kevin came back. Mom, Dad, and Susan went in and sat down while Kevin waited with the other exhibitors. He took a deep breath and tried not to be afraid. I think her ears are great, he told himself. Ears that perk up can hear better, and they make her look more intelligent.
Still, he knew that she had to be judged according to the rules. I guess what counts is to do the best that I can, he thought. He knew that he had really worked hard on this 4-H project.
As the class before Betsy’s was called, Kevin went back to Betsy’s pen to put on the coat dressing, carefully working in just the right amount of oil. She does look pretty! he thought proudly.
“All other breeds, senior gilts,” called the judge. There were only three in the class: a Chester White, a Spotted Poland China, and Betsy.
As Kevin brought Betsy out, he could hear Susan “whispering” to Mom, “Betsy’s being real good, isn’t she?”
Kevin was careful not to touch Betsy’s tail so that she would take the curl out of it. He guided her carefully over in front of the judge, squatted beside her, and stretched his arms out to hold her still.
Once she shied slightly, but Kevin soon had her quiet again.
Betsy might be excited but not as excited as he was. Not only would a blue ribbon for first prize mean a lot, but the prize money would help with his school clothes.
“First prize,” said the judge, “goes to the Chester White. She is true to type, stands well on her feet, and has a well-arched back. Second place goes to the Spotted Poland China, another good gilt but a little heavy in the front quarter. Third goes to the … well, the owner says she’s a Poland China. She has a good back and stands well, but she isn’t quite true to type.”
Kevin gulped a little as he took the white ribbon and started Betsy back toward her pen. Of course he knew animals had to be judged according to their breed, but still it seemed unfair to put Betsy down because her ears perked up like a Berkshire’s. The judge had noticed that she had a good back. He could have noticed that she had a good curl in her tail too. And there wasn’t a better behaved hog there.
Kevin came slowly back to the judging ring, trying not to let his disappointment show. He’d done the best that he could.
Finally the last class was finished, and the judge was speaking. “We’ve had some good swine, and they’ve been well groomed. However, I couldn’t help noticing that in some cases the hogs were better groomed than the boys who showed them.”
Kevin glanced at his mother, and the twinkle in his eye matched hers. He looked back as the judge continued. “Now I’m happy to announce the winners for showmanship. In each division the showmanship award goes to the boy or girl who shows an animal to the best advantage.”
Kevin held his breath when the judge called, “All Other Breeds, Senior Gilts,” but the prize went to the owner of the Chester White.
“And now,” the judge continued, “first place for fitting and showing of swine—Kevin Jackson!”
So the judge had noticed how well Betsy behaved! Kevin exulted.
There was a burst of applause as Kevin went up to accept the purple championship ribbon. Better than that was the knowledge that Mom and Dad and Susan were proud of him.
Perhaps Betsy was proud too! At least, her ears perked up proudly when he told her.

Based on folktales and dances of west Africa, the storyline of the celebration followed Kwaku Anansi, who searched for all the good things in the world to keep for himself. Each stake and district sang and danced and gave him something good, like courage, love, or family. But when Anansi saw the Accra Ghana Temple, its beauty convinced him that he should share all the good things he had collected.

This story happened in Bolivia.
“Ha! You don’t know anything!” Fabricio pointed his finger at José and laughed.
Adam frowned. José had just asked the teacher a question. It wasn’t nice of Fabricio to tease him for that.
“Fabricio, that’s enough,” the teacher said.
Adam looked over at José. He was staring down at his notebook, like he hadn’t even heard Fabricio.
José was new to their school. At first, no one talked to him. Then some of the other kids started to tease him. They always called him names and laughed at him. Adam felt like he should help José, but he never knew what to say.
Besides, José looked just fine. It seemed like the teasing didn’t even bother him.
Adam turned back to his book. They had a big math test soon, and he had to focus.
On the day of the test, Adam did his best, but it was hard! He was nervous about his grade. What if he had failed?
The next day, their teacher stood at the front of the room with a stack of papers.
“I have your test grades,” she told them. “Many of you have room to improve, but some of you did very well.”
She began to read each student’s grade out loud. Most of the grades were pretty low. Adam waited anxiously for his name.
“Adam,” the teacher said. “Eighty.”
Adam couldn’t believe it. He had passed! He smiled big.
Then the teacher read José’s grade.
“One hundred,” she said, loud and clear. “A perfect grade.”
Fabricio stood up. “No way!” he shouted. “José cheated!”
“Yeah!” said another boy. “He doesn’t know anything. He must have copied someone.”
Other students joined in. José tried to tell them that he didn’t cheat, but they didn’t listen. The teacher tried to tell them to be quiet, but they wouldn’t listen to her either.
“Cheater!” someone yelled.
“Liar!” said someone else.
Adam’s heart was beating fast. He didn’t know what to do. He looked over at José. He would be OK, right? José was always calm.
José stared down at his desk like he always did. Then he started to cry.
The other kids stopped shouting, and the room went silent. All Adam could hear was the sound of José crying. He knew he couldn’t just stay still this time. He had to be brave. The Holy Ghost was telling him to help José.
Adam stood up. The other kids watched him as he walked over to José. He still didn’t know what to say. So he just leaned down and gave José a tight hug.
“It’s OK,” he whispered as he patted José on the back. “It’s OK.”
Soon other kids came to hug José too. Even Fabricio came over and said sorry. Before long the whole class was standing around José to say sorry and cheer him up.
“We love you, José!” someone said.
“You’re the best at math!” said another.
José wiped away his tears and smiled. Adam smiled too. Being kind took courage, but it was worth it.
Illustration by Shawna J. C. Tenney

With 10 seconds left on the clock, Skylar, playing for the Panthers basketball team, dribbled the basketball and shot a two-point buzzer shot. The crowd went wild as both schools cheered for Skylar. The final score was Panthers 69 and High Flyers 75.
Skylar is in the special-education class at my high school and has always loved basketball. I first met him in one of my seminary classes, and I have always admired him.
Skylar joined the basketball team, and in one game against our rival team, he was put in for the last few seconds. Ever since our high school was built, we have been rivals with the High Flyers, but as the ball landed in Skylar’s hands, every member from the opposing basketball team backed off and let him take the shot.
The ball flew through the air, and swish! Skylar made the last shot of the game. Both schools rose to their feet and cheered for Skylar. It was amazing how both schools came together to applaud his effort even though his team didn’t win.

I received a notice from my 13-year-old son’s school announcing a special parents’ meeting to preview the new course in human sexuality. Parents could examine the curriculum and take part in a lesson presented exactly as it would be given to the students.
When I arrived at the school I was surprised to discover only a dozen or so parents there. And I was the only Latter-day Saint. As we waited for the presentation to begin, I thumbed through page after page of instruction in the prevention of pregnancy and disease. I searched for the word abstain and related words but found the idea of abstinence mentioned only briefly.
The teacher arrived shortly, accompanied by the school nurse. Before beginning the lesson, the teacher asked if there were any questions. I asked why abstinence did not play a noticeable part in the lesson material.
What happened next was shocking. I was verbally assailed by the other parents. “How stupid are you?” one sneered. There was a great deal of laughter, and someone suggested if I thought abstinence had any merit, I was out of touch with the real world.
The teacher and the nurse said nothing as I drowned in a sea of embarrassment. My mind had gone blank during the unexpected attack, and I could think of nothing to say.
When the laughter subsided, the teacher explained that the school was to teach “facts”; the home was responsible for moral training. I sat in silence for the next 20 minutes as the course was explained. The other parents seemed to give their unqualified support to the materials that would be presented to our children.
“Donuts at the back,” announced the teacher during the break. “And I’d like you to put on the name tags we have prepared and mingle with the other parents. Get to know each other.”
All the other parents moved to the back of the room. As I watched them affixing their name tags and shaking hands, I sat deep in thought. I was ashamed I had not been able to come up with an argument that would convince them to include a serious discussion of abstinence in the lesson material. I uttered a silent prayer for guidance.
My thoughts were interrupted by the teacher’s hand on my shoulder. “Won’t you join the others, Mr. Layton?”
“Thank you, no,” I replied.
“Well, then, how about a name tag? I’m sure the others would like to meet you.”
“Somehow I doubt that,” I replied.
“Won’t you please join them?” she coaxed.
Then I heard a still, small voice whisper, “Don’t go.” The instruction was unmistakable. “Don’t go!”
“I think I’ll just wait here,” I said.
When the class was called back to order, the teacher thanked everyone for putting on their name tags. She ignored me. Then she said, “Now we’re going to give you the same lesson we’ll be giving your children. Everyone please take off your name tags. On the back of one of the tags I drew a tiny flower. Who has it, please?”
The man across from me held it up. “Here it is!”
“All right,” she said. “The flower represents disease. Do you recall with whom you shook hands?”
He pointed to a couple of people. “Very good,” she replied. “The handshake in this case represents intimacy. So the two people you had contact with now have the disease.” The teacher continued, “And who did the two of you shake hands with?”
The point was well taken, and she explained how this lesson would show students how quickly disease can be spread.
“Since we all shook hands, we all have the disease; there is no escaping that fact.”
It was then I heard the still, small voice again: “Speak now, but be humble.” I recognized the importance of the latter admonition, then rose from my chair. I apologized for any upset I might have caused earlier, congratulated the teacher on an excellent lesson, and concluded by saying I had one small point I wished to make.
“Not all of us were infected,” I said simply. “One of us abstained.”

To help us in our striving, God has given us role models and mentors. I want to share my feelings about one of mine, Elder Neal A. Maxwell. He constantly sought to submit his will to the will of the Father in his effort to become like God.
More than 20 years ago, he shared his feelings with me after he had just been diagnosed with cancer. He told me, “I want to be on the team, on this side [of the veil] or that side. I don’t want to sit on the sidelines. I want to play in the game.”13
Over the next few weeks, he was reluctant to ask God to heal him; he just wanted to do God’s will. His wife, Colleen, pointed out that Jesus’s first cry in the Garden of Gethsemane was “If it be possible, let this cup pass from me.” Only then did the Savior say, “Nevertheless not as I will, but as thou wilt.”14 She encouraged Elder Maxwell to follow the Savior’s example, to ask for relief and then submit his will to God’s will, which he did.15
After suffering through extensive, debilitating treatments for nearly a year, he was totally and completely back “in the game.” He served for seven more years.
I had several assignments with him during those subsequent years. I felt his kindness, compassion, and love. I witnessed his increased spiritual refinement through his ongoing suffering and his continued service as he strove to become like the Savior.

In 2012, I became unemployed. My efforts to search for a job proved futile. Eventually, I had to reach out for a loan of about $28 in Nigerian currency to meet my temporal needs.
The amount was sent to my account at a local bank. Once I received a transaction alert, I went to the bank. I filled out a bank slip and handed it to the cashier. The cashier checked the transaction details on her computer and politely told me to have a seat.
About five minutes later she called me and used a currency counting machine to count out my money. Then she handed me $280—not $28! Confused, I paused for a minute with many thoughts racing through my mind.
Noticing my hesitation, the cashier said, “I will need to attend to another customer now.” Smiling, I said, “You have given me $252 too much.” Then I handed over the excess money.
She was very grateful. She explained that had I left with the money, the extra amount she had given me would come out of her own salary.
I bade her farewell, but as I left the bank, a thought came to my mind: “You are a big fool. The money you returned could have assisted you to pay some of your outstanding bills.”
But then I remembered counsel from my bishop. He said, “Whenever you are challenged or tempted, sing your favorite hymns.” So I began to sing “Redeemer of Israel,” “Praise to the Man,” and “I Am a Child of God.”
Some weeks later, I received a letter from an organization I had interviewed with three months prior for the post of warehouse officer. They had decided to hire me. With the new job, I was able to settle my outstanding bills and take care of my temporal needs.

Knocking against the low-hung branches of the bush, the grackle fell over onto the lawn. Jimmy sprawled on his stomach for a closer look. The bird was black and had an iridescent green-blue head and neck. Two yellow eyes stared in alarm. Seeing Jimmy, the bird tried to scurry away. But each time it hopped, it fell over sideways. Spreading its wings, the bird tried to steady itself. However, it seemed to use only one leg; its other leg dangled helplessly. The bird made one last attempt and fell back underneath the bushes.
Jimmy ran into the house and brought his mother outside to see the injured bird. “Can we help it?” Jimmy asked, bending low to see the bird huddled deep in the dimness of the branches.
“I doubt if we can get close enough, Jimmy,” Mother said. “Perhaps the injury will heal by itself. Many times in nature this happens.”
“Would it help if I brought some food here by this bush?”
“Maybe. Why don’t you try it!”
Every day Jimmy dropped pieces of whole wheat bread near the bird, and every time after he left, the grackle would emerge from its haven and gobble them up. Soon the bird began to realize that Jimmy was not going to harm it. As long as Jimmy sat quietly a few feet away, the grackle fed unafraid. Although Jimmy never tried to touch the bird, he still felt that they were good friends. However, he was worried. It seemed to him that the bird’s leg should have healed by now, but it hadn’t.
One day the grackle did not come when Jimmy called. No soft chirps came from the bush. In the evening Jimmy took more bread to the usual spot. Still his friend did not come.
“Maybe the bird was strong enough to join the other grackles,” Father suggested. “Let’s just wait and see.”
The next morning Jimmy sprinkled more bread by the bush, but only a crow swooped down and gulped the tidbits.
Now Jimmy was really concerned. He told his father and mother about the crow at lunch. They listened sympathetically and afterward Dad suggested a game of catch.
“Here comes my fastball!” Dad shouted. “Ready?”
The ball whizzed low and Jimmy felt it smack the edge of his glove and ricochet into the bushes. Crawling under the low limbs, Jimmy reached for his ball. But his hand suddenly stopped, for in a knot of brown leaves he saw his grackle, its bad leg curled and shriveled.
“No! No! Dad, my bird is … is dead! Why? I fed it …”
“Its injury was too serious to heal by itself,” Dad explained, coming over to the bushes. “It wasn’t strong enough to survive. Perhaps nature knew best, son. Even if it survived for a time but couldn’t fly away with its friends, it wouldn’t have had a very happy life. You did a good thing by making its last days as pleasant as possible, and it’s best it didn’t have to suffer long.”
“But I wish it didn’t have to die,” Jimmy said, tears welling in his eyes.
“I know, Jimmy, but the rule of survival has been nature’s way ever since life began.”
Jimmy was silent. He thought about the grackle—chirping, pecking, hopping, falling—always falling. He looked away from the bush and out across the lawn. Several other grackles strutted through the grass.
“I see you’re watching the other grackles in the yard,” Dad said. “Robins and sparrows too. And there’s a cardinal. They all seem to be looking for food.”
“Well, I guess I could feed them even though they aren’t hurt like my grackle,” Jimmy murmured slowly.
“Sure you could,” Dad agreed. “All birds have a problem finding enough food, especially in cold or stormy weather.”
“I could build a feeder so they could have their own restaurant,” Jimmy suggested, a note of excitement creeping into his voice.
“That’s a great idea, son!” Dad encouraged. “And I’ll help if you need me. I can see that the birds around here will never go hungry.”
“That’s right, Dad,” Jimmy said. “Now I know what you mean about that survival rule. It’s sad when a bird dies, but we have to think about the ones that are still alive. And now I’m going to help take care of them.”

It was 12:15 A.M. on a cold night. I had just left the police station and climbed into the blue Alfa Romeo of the Italian carabinieri. All Italian young men are required to devote a year to military or government service; I had been assigned to the police. My duty for that day was patrolling the cities of Jesolo and Cavallino, just northeast of Venice, between midnight and 6:00 A.M.
I had not always gotten along with my partner because of his temperament and my lack of patience. However, our relationship had improved substantially during the previous week.
Suddenly a call for assistance came over the radio. “Avanti dalla trentuno,” I answered. Headquarters informed us that a bank robbery had just taken place in a rural town north of Venice. My heart accelerated as I anticipated the potential danger. The officer on the radio stated that a policeman had been shot during the robbery. The four men responsible were armed with Kalashinikovs, Soviet-made automatic weapons. They were supposedly heading at high speed toward Jesolo in a white Lancia.
“Ricevuto,” I signed off, automatically reaching for my weapon. I turned to my partner and asked, “What are we going to do if we run into them?” His answer was cold and direct. “Shoot.”
My partner quickly shifted gears. My mind started reviewing all the different circumstances in which I could find myself in the next minutes. I was aware that our lives were in danger and realized that if we confronted four armed men, our chances of staying alive were not good. My partner was silent, showing little emotion.
Am I willing to die for this job and my country? The question that arose in my mind was quickly answered by the words of the oath I had taken at the beginning of my service. I had promised to serve the people of Italy and to protect them from criminal acts, even if it meant losing my life.
As we turned onto the main street of Jesolo, my right hand tightened on the grip of the gun. The thought came again: Am I ready to die? Am I ready to go back to meet my Heavenly Father? I started thinking about my family, my life, and my testimony of the gospel. I pondered my weaknesses and almost instantly realized that my conscience was clear. I had no major regrets and felt that I had apologized to all the people I had been unkind to. That thought gave me an incredible feeling of peace. My racing heart slowed to normal, and my mind relaxed.
We did not confront the robbers that night. I concluded my year of service in the police a few months later, never having to fire a gun. But I will never forget that experience. It helped me recognize that our Heavenly Father could call me home at any time—and I want to be ready to leave this earth with the peace of a repentant and clean soul.

A faithful member shared her testimony of how the power of goodness influenced her life. She writes:
“Until I was about eight years old, I was oblivious to the fact that my mother had serious health problems—later diagnosed as multiple sclerosis. When I was a first-year Beehive, I awoke one May morning to find that my mother was paralyzed from the neck down. She was already blind.”
Confined to her bed, this courageous woman became the hub of the household. Her daughter wrote:
“One day it fell upon me to clean the oven, a chore I approached with self-pity and much complaining. I went into her bedroom to whine a little and realized that Mom was crying. She said, ‘Do you know how much I would give to be able to get up and scrub that oven?’ I gained a different perspective on the nature of work. To this day, I think of that experience every time the oven needs cleaning.”
She continues: “An unusual blessing came to me in having my mother available. She listened patiently to my early-adolescent concerns and questions. She made me feel like the most important and interesting person in the world. She was always HOME—attentive, interested, and always available.”
Her mother died the spring of her senior year. She relates:
“One of the hardest moments in my young life was the day I returned home from school to an empty house and walked down that long hallway to her bedroom. My built-in counselor and confidante was no longer there, but she had given me those eternal, intangible gifts of love, wisdom, and acceptance. I will be forever grateful for her goodness.”
This strong woman, though physically helpless, had the power to love, to motivate, to inspire, to perpetuate righteousness, to do good.

Brent ran downstairs, his little sister, Lindsey, following close behind. “Mom!” Brent cried. “Lindsey won’t leave us alone!”
Brent’s best friend, Clint, had come over to play. The boys were playing with Brent’s fire truck and putting out the fires in the skyscrapers they had built out of blocks. “Lindsey always wants to do what we’re doing,” Brent said. “Why can’t she go away?”
“Brent, please be nice to your sister. She just wants to spend time with you,” Mom said.
“But, Mom, she always wants to tag along. Can’t she do something else for a while?”
“How about if we color together, Lindsey?” Mom asked. Lindsey nodded.
“Thanks, Mom,” Brent said as he started back up the stairs.
“Don’t forget, Brent,” Mom called after him. “You and Clint have practice for the Christmas program in less than an hour.”
“OK, Mom,” Brent replied.
“Mommy, why doesn’t Brent like me?” Lindsey asked, tears forming in her eyes.
“He does like you,” Mom said. “But sometimes he just wants to be with his friends. Brent loves you very much, even if he doesn’t always show it.”
A little while later, Mom took Brent and Clint to the church to practice for the Christmas program. Brent was excited. He was going to play Joseph this year. Before, he’d always been a sheep or a shepherd or a Wise Man. That was neat, but this year would be the best ever.
“OK, we’re going to practice the scene at the inns,” Brother Mitchell said. “Joseph and Mary, take your places. Innkeepers, it’s time.”
The Primary children hurried to their places onstage as Joseph and Mary approached the first inn.
“Please, do you have a room that we could stay in for the night?” Brent asked. “My wife is going to have a baby very soon, and she needs a place to rest.”
“I’m sorry. There’s no room,” the innkeeper said.
“Come on, Mary. Let’s try another place,” Brent said. They walked to the next innkeeper. “Hello, sir. We’ve come a long way, and my wife is going to have a baby very soon. Do you have a place where we can stay?”
“No, we’re all full. There’s no room.”
Brent went to the next innkeeper and knocked on the door, then the next, and then the next. The answer was always the same.
“There’s no room.”
“No room.”
“No room.”
“I’m so sorry, Mary,” Brent said. “Let’s try this one last place.” He turned and knocked on the door. “Sir, please, we’re very far from home, we have no place to go, and my wife is going to have a baby very soon. We’ve tried every inn in town. Do you have anywhere that we could stay?”
“I’m sorry. We’re all full.”
Joseph and Mary turned away slowly, looking sad. “I’m sorry, Mary,” Brent began. “I don’t know what—”
“Wait! Wait just a moment,” the innkeeper called after them. “Maybe I have a place after all. Come with me.” The innkeeper led them to the stable with cows, sheep, and other animals. “It’s not much, but you can stay here if you like.”
“This is wonderful,” Brent said gratefully. “Thank you very, very much.”
* * * *
A few days later, Clint was at Brent’s house again. They were playing in a big box, pretending it was a fort that protected them from invaders. But Lindsey kept bothering them, asking if she could come inside too.
“Lindsey, why don’t you go do something else? Can’t you see that there’s no room for—” Brent stopped mid-sentence. He thought of the words that he’d heard just a few days before: “No room, no room, no room.” He thought of Joseph and Mary and the baby Jesus, who meant so much to all of them. Then he looked at his little sister.
“I’m sorry, Lindsey. Of course there’s room for you. There’s always room for three.”