Gospel Story Finder

Lidia trudged up the long farm lane, not even turning to wave to her friends still on the school bus. Her mind was too busy with her problem: What can I possibly find between now and tomorrow morning to take to the class auction? The auction, with its proceeds going to the Junior Red Cross, was an annual affair in the country school, but it was a new experience for Lidia.
Oh dear. As if I haven’t got enough to worry about learning a new language in a new land, and trying to make new friends in a new school.
Her problem was instantly forgotten, however, when she opened the cottage door and saw a letter on the floor. It bore an official-looking return address, and it had a Red Cross emblem in the upper left-hand corner.
She knew that she would have to be patient until her parents came home for supper; then she would read it to them. Without the advantage of school, which Lidia had in this new country, her parents’ knowledge of English was very limited.
If only the letter contained some good news about her uncle! Lidia placed the envelope against the only ornament on the shelf, a little blue glass pony. As her fingers touched the figurine, she prayed fervently that it would soon be reunited with its mate, the one that used to sit by its side in their house in Poland. When they had made plans to emigrate to America, not knowing when—or even if—they might meet again, the two Jelinek brothers had each taken one of the glass ponies, praying that they would be together again one day.
Mr. Williams, who owned the farm where Lidia and her parents lived, admired the pony one day and was told the story of the two brothers. He had written to the Red Cross, asking for information. Surely this letter would tell them that the younger Jelinek was now in the United States too!
Remembering that she had promised to start preparing supper, Lidia went into the kitchen and got out pots for the vegetables. As she set the table, she looked on all the cupboard shelves. There was nothing that she could take to the auction sale tomorrow! Not a trinket, not a spare dish, nothing. There were only the bare necessities that the Williamses had kindly provided for them. She dreaded being the only one in her class not to add some object to the collection on her teacher’s desk.
The door suddenly opened, and Lidia rushed with the letter to greet her parents. And while they waited apprehensively, she stumbled through the unfamiliar phrases as she read the letter to them. Then, as she came to the closing sentence, she slowly read these discouraging words: “We are sorry that we have found no trace of your brother. However, be assured that we will keep trying …”
Silence hung in the room. Then Father said quietly, “I’ll wash. Then we’ll eat supper.”
After the usual prayer of thanks for food and shelter, the family avoided speaking of the letter. Father told of a sick cow that was now getting well; Mother had helped Mrs. Williams clean the attic of the rambling old farmhouse.
“And how was school, Lidia?” Father asked.
The girl kept her eyes on her plate as she answered, “Fine, Father. Fine.”
“But you are very quiet,” Father pursued. “You have trouble at school?”
“No, no trouble.”
“So?”
“It’s just this auction at school tomorrow, and I should take something.”
“Auction?” Mother asked. “What is that?”
“Oh, everybody takes something, then the teacher asks for bids, and the one who bids the highest buys the book or ornament or whatever. The money goes to the Red Cross.”
“That is good,” Father said, nodding. “The Red Cross helped us many times. Here, take this.” Reaching into his pocket, he drew out a few coins.
“No thanks, Father,” Lidia said, pushing it away. “I have money of my own I earned from weeding the garden for Mrs. Williams. But we are supposed to take something that can be sold.”
Father looked around the room. “There is so little here.”
Lidia’s face fell. “I know,” she cried. “There’s nothing I can take—nothing in this place!” She hung her head to hide her tears and wished that she had kept her words in check.
The girl waited for her father to scold her; instead, he got up slowly and went over to the shelf. He stood a minute, then he came back with the glass pony in his hand. “Take this,” he said quietly.
Lidia’s eyes widened. “You don’t mean … the pony?”
Father nodded.
Lidia felt the smooth blue glass and touched the black eyes. Nobody spoke. She knew how much the pony meant to her father, and she sensed that her parents were thinking back to happier days when there were two little ponies standing together on the top of a piano.
In the morning the glass ornament sparkled on her teacher’s desk, and it brought the highest bid in the auction. Nancy Crane, its new owner, wrapped it carefully in tissue paper and put it in a box. Lidia could not help feeling sad as she watched.
At supper that night, Lidia described the sale and told her parents that Nancy said that she would take very good care of the pony.
“It’s good,” Father said, smiling, “that the pony helps the Red Cross in a very small way.”
While Lidia was wiping the dishes after supper, a knock on the door startled them. Looking past her father at the open door, Lidia saw her schoolmate Nancy. A tall man was with her.
“Hi, Lidia,” the girl called. “This is my father, and we’ve come to see you about the glass pony.”
As they sat around the table, Nancy’s father took the glass pony out of his pocket, set it on the table, and began explaining: “I couldn’t believe it when Nancy brought this home. Your Lidia had told her that it was but one of a pair and that you left the other in Poland.”
“Yah,” Mr. Jelinek replied, “with my brother.”
“Well,” the other man paused dramatically. “I’ve seen the mate to this pony.”
Lidia saw Father’s hands clench tightly, and Mother’s hand cover her mouth. “You are sure of this?” Father whispered.
“As sure as my name’s Walt Crane. I saw it only a few months ago.”
“How, Mr. Crane?” Lidia asked. “I mean, who had it?”
“A young man came asking for work. I didn’t need any extra help, but I knew that my cousin in Grand Falls did, so I drove him there. I saw the mate to this pony when I helped him move in.”
“This place, is it far?” Lidia asked.
“About 190 kilometers. Listen, everyone, come home with me, and I’ll telephone my cousin. As best as I can recollect, that young man did look like you, Mr. Jelinek. He must be your brother.”
As the Jelineks grabbed their jackets, Nancy gently placed the glass pony on the shelf. “Keep it, Lidia,” she said. “Soon they’ll be a pair again.”
As they were driving up the lane to the Crane farm, Lidia said to Nancy, “It’s really funny. Just yesterday a letter from the Red Cross said that they had not found my dad’s brother yet but that they’d keep trying. And it was actually through the Red Cross auction today that we have found him!”
She felt a hand on her sleeve, and Nancy said, “My grandma always says, ‘God often works in mysterious ways.’ And I guess that it must be true.”

Question: What is the worth of a soul? Permit one other little “for instance.” This is quite tender to me because I remember it vividly. I was near the scene where it happened, and, more particularly, I had a little girl exactly the same age when it occurred. I’m going to read the story because the reporter says it better than I.

At 4:45 on a Friday afternoon in April 1949, a laughing three-year-old child was playing with her small friends in a grassy vacant lot beside her home. Suddenly she disappeared. She had fallen into a long-abandoned well. Fifteen minutes later her mother called the police and reported that her daughter was wedged in a rusty old shaft. Half an hour later firemen were pumping oxygen into the small opening. At the end of an hour, efforts to raise Kathy with a rope had failed, and at 6:00 power equipment began digging a parallel hole. During this brief time the girl called back bravely to the familiar world above her. She always answered those she loved with courage: “Yes, I’m all right.” She wanted to please. “Will you try to grab hold of the rope, Kathy?”
“I am. I am.” Then her voice ceased, but she had spoken long enough to convince those above her that she was unhurt by her fall.

By the time I reached the lot, it was no longer vacant. Under a blaze of light men and machines began to battle with Mother Earth. Men by the hundreds began to volunteer their help. Circus midgets lived in the vicinity arrived and risked being lowered by their feet into the crumbling old shaft. There were boy scouts, long thin men, acrobats, engineers, firemen, and contractors. They were men with dark skin, with red hair, with fierce accents and waving hands. Some wore patched pants; others, well-cut business suits. All were drawn by the human drama, wanting to help. By daybreak people throughout the world were invisible spectators. Newspapers, radios, and television put aside war and international news to headline the story of a desperate rescue attempt.

Bill Yancy, a thirty-eight-year-old contractor who was one of the nation’s underwater demolition men who often cleared the water of mines in the fortified beaches long before the first troops landed, was on the scene. He was the last man out of the hole. At one stretch he moved back five back-breaking feet of earth in less than half an hour.

An ex-sandhogger and boilermaker left his home in San Fernando Valley the minute he heard of the accident. In spite of the stabbing pain of a hernia this man stayed at his dangerous job beneath the ground until he himself collapsed and was rushed to the hospital.

The father of five children sneaked out of his home to volunteer his help, although he had not done any deep excavation work for a long time. “I didn’t want to worry my wife,” he said, “but I have good reasons at home.” There were so many more.

The parallel hole reached the fifty-seven-foot level early Saturday morning. The parallel hole had been started the night before. By Saturday night a steel casing had been completed in the new shaft, but workers hit a sand pocket and water had flowed into the tunnel. Pumping began desperately. Seldom had so much prayer power been focused on one person or on any one rescue. Exhausted gray-faced men continued their dangerous work around water, sand, and cascades of rock.

And what was happening around the world! Men on a lonely watch on a ship far at sea followed the progress and took up a collection. Hard coalminers in Denver had offered help, a neighbor brought a chocolate cake, the only offering she could think of. One unidentified man brought over seven hundred gallons of coffee and stacks of doughnuts for the workers.

Meanwhile, sitting side by side in a parked car during most of these frantic operations were the girl’s white-faced mother and father. Beneath the giant machines and rigging, bright lights, and microphones booming directions lay a tiny figure whom none of these gallant rescuers had ever seen. Was all well with her? Was there water where she lay? Did she know moments of consciousness and fear?

Fifty-three hours later, after a total expenditure of a half-million dollars, Bill Yancy was lowered into the rescue shaft on a bucket fastened to the end of a cable. The trapped girl’s own doctor, clad in a blue jacket, aviator’s cap, and dungaree trousers, began his descent while the world waited above. Then the answer came up. Men had lost. Kathy Fiscus, the little girl whom the whole world had come to know, was dead. She had gone shortly after she had last spoken.

And that was all the facts I had to report but not the end of the story. I knew there was something to explain the frantic, futile fight. I looked around the city room. There were the usual reports—wars, strikes, famine, family in trouble, racial problems—and suddenly I saw the contrast. There on the vacant lot in San Marino, California, the whole world had united for a few hours over the life of one little child. Men had not lost. The little girl had got people loving one another. No distinction of color, race or creed, rich or poor rose to mar the efforts of men and women who fought to save one who was made in His image. That was the story, that was the miracle, of little Kathy Fiscus.

I was living in Helaman Halls as a new freshman, and as finals approached, it seemed like everyone was getting sick or stressed out. One good brother in our hallway asked several of us for a priesthood blessing. As a new elder, I was grateful to participate. I felt a sweet spirit in that ordinance and returned to my room and knelt in prayer to offer thanks to my Heavenly Father. As I prayed, a thought came that there might be others who needed a blessing. So, I asked. I received an immediate strong impression, “Yes,” someone did need a blessing. But who? I wondered if I was being overly dramatic, but the Spirit and the impression remained.

As I pondered who might need a blessing, I thought of my cousin, Julia, who was living nearby. So, I gave her a call. This was clear back in ancient times when we had landline phones. Julia’s roommate answered the phone. I’ll call her Emily. I barely knew Emily; we had met briefly once or twice. I asked her if Julia was there and she said that she wasn’t, but it sounded from her voice like Emily was upset, and I had just had an answer to my prayer! So, I simply asked, “Emily, would you like a priesthood blessing?” There was a long pause. “Yes,” she replied. I was stunned. I told her I’d grab someone and be over soon. I put my tie back on, got another brother to come with me, and off we went.

As I recall, we found a little utility closet and, without saying much, Emily sat in a chair and I began to give her a blessing. I initially thought she might be stressed out from finals, but impressions came to my mind and heart that there was more. I blessed her as I felt impressed by the Holy Ghost, and I felt the power of the Lord’s love for Emily in the trials she was facing. When I concluded, Emily was weeping with her face buried in her hands. Through her tears, she said, “How did you know?” I could only honestly reply, “I didn’t. The Lord knew.” I felt I was on sacred ground in that little closet. We walked away and I felt this was a miracle, the kind that comes to those who are in the service of Jesus Christ.

I have to tell you that I hesitated to share this story. Having steadfastness in Christ isn’t about having marvelous manifestations. It’s about consistent, everyday discipleship. Yet, when we follow the Spirit and consistently look to the Savior, there are times when the Lord manifests Himself in power and when we are blessed to partake of His love.

For some reason as Peter Nordhoff walked through the room, the words he heard from the television made him stop. General conference was being broadcast, and his wife, who had been recently reactivated through the fellowship of a friend, was watching.
Peter and Adrina had been raised in the Church and married in the temple, but for nearly ten years they had not been involved much with the Church. At first, his work kept him busy on Sundays. When that changed, they used Sundays to relax together.
But that conference Sunday changed their lives. “The words of a prophet of God affected me,” Peter says. “The Spirit spoke to me through God’s mouthpiece. It was like a second birth for me. Listening to the prophet helped me realize that I must start doing the things I was supposed to be doing if I wanted my wife and daughter near me in eternity.” Later that day, Peter and Adrina went to their bishop.
“We went from less-active to overactive very quickly,” recalls Adrina, smiling.

These area conferences are wonderful experiences. They’re something fairly new in the Church, as you know. Let’s go to Manchester, England, for just a glimpse. The ecstasy on the faces of the Saints as they saw the prophet was more to be felt than to be described. To see the tears coursing down their cheeks as they came in close proximity to him was wonderful. Let’s look into the mind of the prophet for a moment. On Saturday, we had two meetings going simultaneously, a meeting for adults in one building and one for youth in another. President Joseph Fielding Smith was to be the first speaker in the adult session and then, halfway through, at the rest song, was to move to the other meeting. At the time of the rest song, then, Arthur Haycock (the prophet’s secretary), a physician, and myself were accompanying the President between the two meetings. Halfway through the walk we were complimenting President Smith on how well we felt he had done and how he had impressed the Saints with his testimony. He stopped, got our attention, and said, “I haven’t come this far to fail.” You could just feel his whole body desiring to respond to the Spirit of the Lord and to reach out and touch those members that were there assembled.

Just this week we received a letter from a mother telling of her Navy son, now stationed on a small island 1,200 miles south of India out in the Indian Ocean. It has only the military base and a small coconut plantation. This young man has located six other LDS boys and they are now holding regular Church services. He wrote his mother telling of his opportunity now to prepare lessons for their priesthood meetings—young men on a tiny speck of land in a vast ocean recognizing and using their priesthood authority. They are different.

As part of a service project, I traveled to Rwanda along with a few other physicians to help with medical needs. After two weeks, near the end of my trip, homesickness crept in. I missed my family, my comfortable bed, and my home.
On my last Sunday in Africa, I was able to coordinate my schedule so that I could attend church. Though the Church was not yet formally recognized in Rwanda, I was able to find a meeting time and directions on the Church’s website.
And what directions they were: “Walk down the cobblestone road across from the Ministry building. Look for an open gate. Then walk down the steps.”
As I followed these directions, I began to hear the distinct refrain of a familiar hymn. I descended the steps, and the words of “How Firm a Foundation” (Hymns, no. 85) reached my ears. The steps ended at a small building, where dozens of smiling people were milling around the entrance. Despite the fact that I was a stranger to the congregation, I felt immediate kinship. Dozens of Rwandan brothers and sisters stepped forward to shake my hand, and as they did, an oppressive load of loneliness lifted off my back—I was home!
Entering the building, I attended a typical three-hour meeting block that was no different from the one in my home ward in California. Holders of the Aaronic Priesthood passed the sacrament, the talks centered on the Savior, and even the Sunday School lesson was the same one taught in my home ward that week.
Most important, the Spirit of the Lord permeated the services. Clearly, the Lord smiled favorably on these good people trying their best to serve Him. I learned that during the previous year, only a handful of Rwandans attended services here. Yet I counted more than 100 attendees, half of them smiling children.
Now that Rwanda has been opened to missionary work, I suspect the missionaries will find great success as the Spirit testifies to increasing numbers of Rwandan investigators that the restored Church is the kingdom of God for the entire earth—for every continent, for every people, and for every child of God. How grateful I am for the Church, whether found on the central coast of California or down a cobblestone path in central Africa.

Elder Alejandro Patanía, a former Area Seventy, relates the story of his younger brother Daniel, who sailed out to sea to go fishing with his crew. After a time, Daniel received an urgent warning that a major storm was rapidly approaching. Immediately, Daniel and his crew started for port.
As the storm intensified, the engine of a nearby fishing boat ceased to function. Daniel’s crew hooked a cable to the disabled boat and began towing it to safety. They radioed for help, knowing that, with the increasing storm, they needed immediate assistance.
As loved ones anxiously waited, representatives from the coast guard, the fishermen’s association, and the navy met to decide the best rescue strategy. Some wanted to leave right away but were told to wait for a plan. While those in the storm continued pleading for help, the representatives continued meeting, trying to agree on the proper protocol and a plan.
When a rescue group was finally organized, one last desperate call came. The raging storm had broken the cable between the two boats, and Daniel’s crew was going back to see if they could save their fellow fishermen. In the end, both ships sank, and their crews, including Elder Patanía’s brother Daniel, were lost.

My friend Brinly has been the best example of what a true friend really is. When I started first grade, I cried every day. I did not like being away from my mom. Brinly was there for me every day. One morning my mom and I had just finished praying when there was a knock at the door. It was Brinly! I think Heavenly Father told her to come. She walked me to the bus, telling me it would be OK. I’m so grateful Heavenly Father has given me a great friend who can be at school with me.
Jada W. with Brinly H., both age 6, Utah, USA

Joseph Sr. preceded Lucy and the children to Palmyra. By the time the family was reunited, their ready money had been reduced to a few cents. But that arrival showed two important traits of the family. First was their unconcealed joy at being reunited. Lucy wrote that she felt joy “in throwing myself and my children upon the care and affection of a tender husband and father” and witnessing the children “surround their father, clinging to his neck and covering his face with tears and kisses that were heartily reciprocated by him.” And second was a united approach to solving their problems. Lucy said, “We all now sat down and maturely counseled together as to what course it was best to take [and] how we should proceed to business.” Joseph Sr., Alvin, and Hyrum worked to pay for land. To maintain home and to replenish provisions, Lucy, aided by Sophronia and the younger children, took care of household chores and sold Lucy’s oilcloth art. They also made baked goods and root beer, which young Joseph sold in the village from a homemade handcart.
The family’s united effort greatly improved their material circumstances. Two years after arriving in Palmyra as “strangers, destitute of friends, home, or employment,” Lucy wrote, “we were able to settle ourselves upon our own land [in] a snug, comfortable, though humble habitation, built and neatly furnished by our own industry.”

When I turned 12 years old, I went on my first overnight campout with the Scouts. With eager hands I packed my hand-me-down camping gear and headed to the mountains with the troop. I ended up sleeping in a large tent with several other boys, including my older brother. Being the newest and youngest Scout, I felt somewhat intimidated by it all. It was nice to have my older brother with me. He was big and strong and older than most of the other Scouts.

As we all prepared for bed, I quietly climbed out of my sleeping bag and knelt down to say my nightly prayer. As I was praying, I could hear some of the other boys laughing at what I was doing. I was embarrassed and stopped.

My older brother came to my rescue. Responding to the teasing boys, he said in a loud voice, “If my little brother wants to pray, he’s going to pray. Anybody object?”

Not a word was said, and I went back to my prayer. I have often thought of this experience, and I’m thankful for my brother who taught me not to be ashamed to pray regardless of where we are.

I learned a lot of lessons from my grandparents. My grandpas worked hard and taught me to do the same. They also taught me lessons in charity. I can't tell you how many times grandpa Taylor would hand me two hot sacks and tell me to fill them with chicken and rolls from the buffet and then he would say, "Come with me." As we walked out of the café with chicken, rolls, pies and whatever else we could grab (usually a gallon of milk, a dozen eggs and a loaf of bread), I never had to ask where we were going. We would get in the van and end up at an unknown house to drop off the food. I didn't know who these people were but he knew they needed help and he blessed a lot of lives. Over the years, I have heard stories of generosity about my grandparents and not just meals they provided but missions and educations they funded, Eagle Scout projects they pushed through, jobs they provided, and the lives they touched without anyone ever knowing about it. What a legacy to live up to.

If you take a social psychology course, you will learn about a 28-year-old woman named Kitty Genovese, who was returning home from her job at about three o’clock in the morning. As she left her car, she was attacked and stabbed by a knife-wielding man. Her screams woke up the people in the building next to the parking lot, and the attacker fled but returned a few minutes later and stabbed her again. She screamed for help. Later investigations revealed that about a dozen people had either heard or seen the attack but did nothing.

Jay Roberts stared out the window and sighed, then slowly stirred his cereal. He could hardly believe that summer was already gone.
“Hurry up, Jay,” Mother called from the hall. “Dad is ready for family prayer before he leaves.”
After the prayer, Jay carried his cereal bowl to the sink, then trudged up the stairs to brush his teeth. Who invented school anyway? he wondered.
When the school bus arrived, he dutifully climbed on. There were only a couple of seats left. He chose the one across the aisle from his best buddy. “Hey, Lance,” he said.
“Yo,” Lance replied. He said “yo” all the time now, after seeing a guy in a movie do it.
“Who do you want for a teacher?” Jay asked.
“Anyone except Mrs. Turnbull,” Lance replied. “I heard she’s really hard.”
Suddenly Jay was aware of a slight groan beside him. He turned around and saw a very small boy sharing the seat. “Hey,” Jay said to his neighbor, “I’m Jay.”
The little boy hesitated a moment before mumbling, “My name’s Rickey.”
“Well, hello, Rick,” Jay answered. “What grade are you in?”
“None.”
“None? What does that mean?”
“I’m just in the kid garden.”
“You mean in kindergarten?” Jay asked, trying not to smile.
Rickey nodded solemnly. “And I’m not sure where the garden is.”
“It’s OK,” Jay assured him. “There will be teachers at school to help you get where you’re going. And if there aren’t, we’ll show you.”
Rickey stared at Jay for a moment and then asked, “What’s your grade?”
“Lance and I are in fifth grade,” Jay replied, motioning toward his friend.
The little boy looked across the aisle and waved to Lance.
“Yo, Rick,” Lance said, nodding his head.
“This bus is pretty scary, huh?” Rickey said. “I mean, I never was in such a big car before.”
“Yeah,” Jay replied, “it’s bigger than anything else on the road. Everybody gets out of the way of the bus. And all the cars have to stop when we’re getting off and on.”
“Oh,” Rickey replied, looking around with a new interest. He turned toward the window. “I do kind of like looking down at all the cars.”
“I’ve been riding the bus for years,” Jay said importantly. “It isn’t too bad.”
Rickey looked at Jay’s bag. “What’s in there?” he asked.
“It’s my lunch—a peanut-butter sandwich, an apple, some raisins, and if I’m lucky, a brownie.”
“How do you know?” Rickey asked.
“I told you, I’ve been doing this a long time. Mom used to pack a different sandwich every day, but then she found out that I just traded them off, so now she just packs peanut butter.”
“Traded?”
Jay nodded. “Right. It works pretty good. Whatever you don’t like, you just trade with someone else. Sometimes you can get some really good stuff.”
Rickey considered this information. “Lunch sounds fun.”
“Did your mom tell you about recess?”
“Yes,” Rickey replied. “That’s playtime. But I don’t know who to play with.”
“You’ll make friends,” Jay replied, looking at Lance. “I guess friends are the best thing about school.”
“How come?” Rickey asked.
“Because they help you solve problems and get you through the tough stuff.”
“Like what?”
“Like when you don’t do so well on a test, and they play with you at recess and help you remember you’re the best soccer player in school. Or when you get a goofy part in a play, and they tell you it’s cool in front of all the other kids. That kind of stuff.”
The bus pulled up in front of the school, and Rickey still looked scared.
“It’s OK, Rick,” Jay told him. “Come on.”
“I’m afraid of the teacher.”
Jay gently pulled Rickey to his feet. “You don’t have to be afraid of the teachers. They’re kind of like your mom or dad away from home.”
“Really?”
“Absolutely,” Lance chimed in. “I even called my kindergarten teacher ‘Mom’ once.”
Jay looked at his friend with a raised eyebrow.
“Well, it was only once,” Lance said, shrugging.
“Let’s go,” Jay said, as the three boys walked toward the door. When they arrived at the kindergarten class, Rickey peered inside and was greeted with a smile from his teacher.
“Gotta go,” Jay said. Lance was already hurrying toward the fifth-grade classrooms.
“Listen, Jay,” Rickey told him, “if anyone makes fun of you about that play or something, just tell them you’re my friend.”
Jay nodded his head. “For sure!” With a wave he started off down the hall. Turning the corner, he saw Lance motioning to him.
“Hey, Jay,” Lance called, “we’re in the same class. We have Mrs. Turnbull!” Surprised by the grin on Jay’s face, he asked, “Did you hear me?”
“Absolutely!” Jay kept on grinning.

My second example is also simple, but it too will never be forgotten. Following the closing prayer at a session of general conference in October 2017, the General Authorities and officers were leaving the stand when one of the Seventy tapped me on my shoulder and said, “Brother Brough, your shoe is untied.” He then knelt down and tied my shoe. He knelt down and tied my shoe!

I did not know what to do. I thought of pulling my foot away and saying, “No, I will do that.” At first, I was embarrassed that a member of the Seventy was kneeling and tying my shoe. Then I found myself feeling such love from this servant of Heavenly Father and also from Heavenly Father Himself. This was one of the kindest acts I have experienced in my whole life. With tears in my eyes, I thought, “What a great example! I might not be able to do much, but I, too, can always tie someone’s shoe.”

It was my second day as a missionary in Denmark. My companion and I had planned exchanges in which we would do home teaching with some of the members in the ward. I went with two brothers; one was an elder, and the other a priest.
As we headed off, I asked, “Where are we going first?”
“We’re going to visit a sick member and give her a blessing,” one of them replied.
I didn’t think much about his answer until I realized that I would be part of the blessing. Fear immediately struck me. Although I had given blessings before, I was still struggling with the Danish language, and I knew I didn’t know the words needed to give an anointing or a blessing. I quickly scanned the missionary handbook, looking for the section on how to give a blessing in Danish, but with no luck.
Soon we were at the home of an older sister. I could tell she was sick by her constant coughing. I still didn’t know what to say, but this sweet sister, probably seeing how scared I was, said to me, “You can do it in English.”
I was very relieved, and the fear and panic inside of me left. I did the anointing in English, and the other brother did the sealing in Danish. The Spirit of the Lord was very strong, and we could all feel it.
The blessing had an immediate effect, and the sister we blessed was well enough to come to church that Sunday. During the course of my mission, I was able to give blessings to other people, but I will never forget that first blessing I was able to be a part of as a missionary. It gave me a strong testimony that no matter what language we speak, the power of the priesthood is the same.
[illustration] Illustration by Sam Lawlor

One day during morning playtime at school, my friends and I were practising for our school’s sports day. I was taking part in the 80-meter sprint. All of a sudden, a little girl came marching up to me.
“Can I play with you?” she asked.
I wanted to say, “You’re a bit small,” but she looked kind of lonely, so I said, “OK, then.”
My friends gave me a weird look, but I remembered that Jesus did not turn anyone away. I started to feel good inside, and, do you know, I enjoyed that playtime very much. So did my friends.
Leila Robinson, age 10Hedon, East Yorkshire, England

I was excited when Mom told me that Sean was coming for dinner.
He’s my big brother, but he doesn’t live at home anymore. He moved out when he finished high school. My other brother, Mike, went on a mission when he finished high school, but Sean doesn’t even go to church. He’s a great brother, though, and I love him. I especially love it when he teases me. When I was smaller, he let me take horsey rides on his back. He ran all over the yard with me hanging onto his neck and him holding onto my legs. I hollered, “Giddy-up!” and pretended to whip him, and he snorted and bucked around like a real horse.
I’m too big for that now, so, instead, he shows me wrestling moves. He won the city wrestling championship in the eleventh grade. I was really proud of him that night. Sometimes we throw the football around, and sometimes we just sit and talk. I was really looking forward to his coming over tonight because I wanted him to help me make my pinewood derby racer. Sean is good with his hands, and I like to work with him in the garage.
I helped Mom set the table to make the waiting go faster. As I put the knives and forks out, I noticed that something was wrong. “Hey, you have too many plates on the table,” I said.
“No, dear. Sean is coming tonight, remember, and so are the missionaries.”
“The missionaries!” I cried, slamming down the last fork. “Why do we have to have the missionaries when Sean is here? I wanted to have him to myself. I wanted it to be a special night.”
Mom looked at me in surprise. “It can still be a special night,” she replied gently. “The missionaries are nice young men. I’m sure you’ll like them.”
That’s all she knew about it. How could Sean play and work with me when the missionaries were there? I knew that he’d be polite and spend his time talking to them.
By the time Sean arrived, I had worked myself into a real lather. He could tell I wasn’t happy, but I knew better than to tell him why. Mom and Dad would be really disappointed if I ever complained about the missionaries to him. More than anything else in the world, they wanted him to come back to church. So did I, but I didn’t think talking all night to the missionaries would make it happen.
When the missionaries arrived, Mom had dinner all ready, so we sat right down to eat. Everyone had a good time. Mom was right—the missionaries were great guys. They cracked jokes with Sean, and both faked surprise when he told them he had wrestled in high school. Sean’s not my big brother just because he’s older, but also because he’s big. Not fat and flabby big, but muscle and bone big.
Dinner ended with everyone laughing and joking. Then it happened. Elder Blair asked if he could leave a message and a prayer before they went on to their next appointment. Well, this is the end of the night for me, I thought, my head sagging. Sean won’t be helping me with my racer tonight. He was going to escape before anyone could talk religion to him.
I waited for the scraping back of his chair, the excuse why he couldn’t stay. But nothing happened. Slowly I looked up, and he was still there, watching Elder Blair thumb through his Book of Mormon. When Elder Blair found what he wanted, he read a few verses. Then he started asking Sean questions. Mom and Dad just sat there looking worried and hopeful. Sean answered each question in a humorous kind of way. He had stayed because he enjoyed having fun with the missionaries, and now he was going to go on joking even though the elders were being serious.
Suddenly Elder Meeks, the skinny one, caught on to what Sean was doing. “Sean,” he said, looking him straight in the eye, “do you believe in Jesus Christ?”
The whole atmosphere in the room changed. Sean looked back at him, but instead of answering in an offhand way, he very softly said, “Yes.”
“Then why are you making fun of what we’re saying?”
I looked at Mom. She had tears in her eyes. Dad did, too. What’s the matter with them? I wondered. Were they upset with Sean or with the missionaries?
Sean and Elder Meeks continued talking, Elder Meeks asking questions and Sean giving him straight answers. Finally Elder Meeks said, “Sean, when was the last time you went to church?” Sean shrugged and looked at Mom and Dad for help, but they both shook their heads. They couldn’t remember, either.
I could remember—not the date, but how happy I had felt sitting beside him, feeling proud to be his brother, how glad I was to sing along with him, even though he couldn’t sing very well. I wanted to tell them all this, but suddenly there was a big lump in my throat, and I wasn’t sure I could speak.
“Sean,” Elder Meeks asked, “will you go to church with us on Sunday?”
Sean was looking at his hands. I couldn’t see his face, but we could all see his head slowly nod up and down. The lump in my throat grew bigger, and now I had tears in my eyes, too. Everyone in the room was crying, but we all had smiles on our faces.
As I looked from face to face, I paused at Sean and Elder Meeks. I didn’t see a scrawny elder and a wrestling champion. I saw David and Goliath. Once again David had saved the day because he had the Spirit of the Lord with him. That’s why we were all crying—we could feel that Spirit, and it felt good.
I love my brother Sean, but at that moment I wanted to be like Elder Meeks. I wanted to have the Lord on my side all the time, and I think Sean did, too. Mom was right. This had been a special evening. I had seen David, unafraid, go into battle with Goliath, and they had both won!

My first contact with President N. Eldon Tanner was in Canada more than twenty years ago. We had called a thirty-minute meeting for 7:00 p.m., prior to the other meetings, just to meet with the stake presidents. I remember well that night when seven o’clock arrived—two of us were there. I was there and a man I had never met before, a President Tanner. I will never forget the remark and the lesson that I learned as I looked at my watch, saw that it was seven o’clock and asked this man I had never met before, “President Tanner, what do you suggest we do?”

He looked at me and replied, “You’re here; I’m here; it’s seven o’clock. Let’s start.”

What does one pray for when your eternal sweetheart is at the gate of Heaven? I must confess my initial prayers as my Darla went into cardiac arrest were for her to live. But, as my son offered a priesthood blessing and was unable to pronounce life, I knew the will of God. So my prayers turned to understanding the will of the Father and what he would have me learn and do. On the very last night before Darla left this mortality, I sensed her proximity to her mortal exit, and asked my children to have the night alone with my wife. Although she was unconscious, I read her a collection of scriptures. I told her what lessons I learned and bore witness of her next journey. I expressed my eternal love. I held her non-responsive hand and offered a prayer to our Eternal Father. As I was praying I had an interesting feeling come over me. It was as if the Spirit was prompting me to ask whatever I desired, and it would be granted. As I pondered this feeling briefly, I responded by saying, Father, if it be thy will, please take my sweetheart to her eternal state. I then laid my hands on her head and offered the last mortal priesthood blessing she would have.

Often for us to understand the will of the Father, it requires us to go beyond our mortal desires and short-sightedness. We must as Paul taught see the things that are not seen. I know the love Darla and I share is not limited to the boundaries of mortality, but expands to the eternities. I have been blessed by countless tender mercies to know she is my eternal companion, and though we are separated by a veil, we walk together in spirit. I know she is performing a heavenly work that required her to go beyond my understanding, but my faith relieves all doubts. The scales of my mortal eyes have fallen. I have obtained a peace. It is the unusual peace described by the Savior, Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you; not as the world giveth, give I unto you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid (John 14:27). With eyes now opened by the Lord, my troubled heart was healed, and I was not afraid of the future. I could also declare, "Whereas I was blind, now I see."