Gospel Story Finder

Six years ago Elder Bruce R. McConkie, a member of the Council of the Twelve Apostles for twelve years, lay on his deathbed. His wife, Amelia, leaned down to him and said, “Bruce, do you have a message for me?” Though weak and dying, he responded in a firm voice with his last words, “Carry on” (see Marvin J. Ashton, “Stalwart and Brave We Stand,” Ensign, November 1989, p. 36).

To carry on—what a grand message. What a way to live and love life.

But my involvement with my parents was, in particular, emotionally heartbreaking yet also spiritually uplifting.

Sadly, on May 2nd of this year, 2007, my mother passed away. She was 87, a survivor of cancer, triple bi-pass heart surgery, and a host of other potentially terminal ailments. She was apparently the sick one in a large family of 13 but, to the surprise of many, outlived all her siblings by several years. Her love for her husband and her family, her strong faith in the Lord Jesus Christ, and an enthusiasm for life kept her going. She actively engaged in many types of sporting, cultural, business, political, community and faith-based activities and had a tremendous endurance capacity. In accordance to her dying wishes, we took her body from New Zealand to Rarotonga, where she wanted to be buried next to her mother.

At the graveside, my father sang a farewell song, gave a powerful testimony about temple marriage and praised his beloved companion of 70 years. Although he was 95 years old, many of his students, 30 years his junior, marveled at his mental and physical state. Everyone thought he would be with us much longer. Sadly, a month after my mother departed, on June 1st 2007, my father also peacefully passed away.

The passing away of my mother and father and the manner in which they always expressed affection for each other, and to our Heavenly father right to the end, gave me an even stronger testimony and sincere appreciation of the power of the priesthood and our individual responsibility to anxiously engage and endure well.

It entrenched in me the beauty of love in an enduring relationship between two couples who never stopped loving each other. For all seventy years of their marriage, they actively engaged in maintaining a strong and loving relationship.

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

Later, Rodney and Randy and Chris returned to the restoration site to witness the baptism they had helped prepare for. Matt McDevitt of the Honesdale Branch was being baptized. A small group of Saints from his branch accompanied him to share the happy moment. They walked carefully down the newly widened path and gathered at the riverside.

The day had begun with rain, and the clouds sullenly refused to break. They didn’t exactly roll back now. They did seem to grow a little lighter, though, and a thin wash of sunshine turned the water from dull lead to a pale silver. There was a hymn, a prayer, two brief talks, and then Matt was lead into the Susquehanna by his brother Mark. They stood in silence a moment under the leaves of overhanging trees as Mark raised his right arm to the square. The calm water near the shore reflected them in splashes of white as he said the simple, powerful words. Then he laid his brother gently beneath the cleansing ripples. For a moment the Susquehanna flowed over him—157 years downstream from the day when a being of light acknowledged two searching young men as his fellow servants.

Afterward, they climbed up to the restoration monument, where one having authority conferred the gift of the Holy Ghost on Matt, offering also a few heartfelt words of blessing and counsel in the name of the Savior.

The three young men from the Montrose Branch stood quietly on the fringes of the group. Most of the baptismal party didn’t even know of the work they had done. They were just three Saints sharing in the joy of living downstream from a day of glory.

When disaster struck in Oklahoma City last April, rescue workers were on the scene almost immediately. Many workers, who gave up regard for personal safety, made one request. They wanted some candy—it helped to keep their energy up while they were working.
Laurels in the Choctaw Ward, Oklahoma South Stake, went to work, stringing candy “leis” together for the workers to wear around their necks. Other leis were given to bomb victim’s families as a symbol of the love and prayers the Laurels were sending to all the people involved.
“We took the leis to the hospital and met a man whose wife and two sons had been hurt in the bombing. Our leis let them know they were loved and we were behind them,” says Laurel Rebecca Nevin.

Not long ago, I was feeling spiritually adrift. I couldn’t understand it. I was going to church, rattling off prayers, and glancing at my scriptures. I occasionally felt spiritual promptings, but overall, I felt somewhat disconnected.
As I told Heavenly Father this in an anxious prayer, these words came to mind: “Be still, and know that I am God” (Psalm 46:10).
It was as if the word still was highlighted, underlined, and in bold type.
I may have been doing all the right things, but I was doing them at high speeds and with shallow focus. I had adopted a distracted approach to living the gospel.
No religious practice could bring me deep spiritual connection if my participation was cursory and distracted. It was much more than a quippy scripture. To come to know God and to connect with the divine, permeating knowledge I was craving, I needed to slow down and be still.
Heeding that prompting wasn’t easy. But it made all the difference.
For me, slowing down meant kneeling and speaking out loud as I prayed. The reverent posture and my own audible words helped me focus better. Slowing down meant studying from physical scriptures and taking physical notes. It takes more effort and time, and that increased effort and time is a good way to “awake and arouse your faculties,” thus allowing the Spirit and the desire for truth to “work in you” and that seed of testimony to “get root, and grow up, and bring forth fruit” (Alma 32:27, 37).

Isaac could tell that his Primary class was almost over because he could hear people moving around outside the door. Sure enough, his teacher asked someone to say the prayer.
As soon as he said, “Amen,” Isaac stood up and hurried to the door. He liked his Primary class, but he was always eager to see his mom and dad and little brother, Luke. Before he could get the door opened, however, his teacher said, “Isaac, would you come here for a minute, please?”
“Sure,” Isaac answered as Sister Nelson called a few more kids over to her chair. Sister Nelson held out some little pieces of paper to him and the others. “Will you please give a talk in opening exercises next week?” she asked him.
“Oh, OK.” Isaac was five now, so he could see that his name was written on the paper with a lot of other words. He didn’t try to read them—he was sure they just said stuff about his talk. He had said yes because he always tried to do what his teacher wanted him to do, but he was scared to talk to the whole Primary. He knew that even the youngest children took turns giving talks, scriptures, and prayers, but he couldn’t remember doing any of those before.
He thought about the talks other children had given. Sometimes when a really little child got up, he or she ended up being too scared to say anything and his or her mom or dad had to give the talk! Sometimes children read stories for talks, but Isaac couldn’t read that well yet. Some of the other talks were so hard to understand that he forgot to even listen. He couldn’t imagine what kind of a talk he could give when he was only five!
“Oh, well,” he said to himself, “maybe she’ll forget she asked me.” He stood in the doorway and soon saw his mom and Luke coming toward him from the nursery room. “Hi, Mom!” he said, giving her a big hug.
“What’s this?” Mom asked, taking the paper out of his hand. “Wow! You get to give a talk next week.”
Isaac tried to smile, and he nodded his head a little. Maybe Mom would forget too, he hoped.
On the way home, Mom told Dad about Isaac’s talk. “How exciting!” Dad said. “We’ll be sure to come hear you, Isaac. Do you want Mom or me to help you give your talk?”
Somebody could help him with his talk? He suddenly felt a lot better about it. “Mom, I guess,” he said.
“OK,” Mom answered. “We’ll start working on it soon.”
Sunday, Monday, and Tuesday went by, and Isaac forgot all about the talk. But on Wednesday, Mom said, “Isaac, let’s get your Primary talk ready!”
“Oh, no!” he said to himself. “She remembered.” He walked slowly over to where Mom sat holding a pen and notebook. His stomach felt funny. “I don’t really want to give a talk, Mom. I don’t know how, and I’m scared.”
“It will be all right. Let’s just talk about it for a minute.” Mom put her arm around his shoulders. “Your talk is supposed to be about faith in Jesus Christ. What do you think faith is?”
Isaac remembered his Primary teacher talking about faith, and Mom and Dad talking about it in family home evening. But he was pretty sure he didn’t know enough about it to give a whole talk. “Is it like praying and keeping the commandments?” he asked, his forehead wrinkled with worry.
Mom wrote something in the notebook. “Sure,” she said. “Why do we pray and keep the commandments?”
“Because Jesus and Heavenly Father want us to.” That was an easy question.
Mom wrote something else down. “What happens to your faith when you pray and keep the commandments?”
“It grows.” He remembered his teacher saying that choosing the right helps your faith grow.
“How do you feel when it grows, Isaac? How do you feel when you pray and keep the commandments?”
“Happy!” Isaac wished it was as easy to give a talk about faith as it was to talk with his mom about it.
“Just a few more questions,” Mom said. “Do you believe in Jesus Christ?” When he nodded, Mom asked, “Why?”
“Because the scriptures say He lives.” Isaac had a nice feeling inside when he talked about Jesus. He could feel Jesus loving him. He smiled and leaned against his mom while she wrote.
Suddenly Mom surprised him by saying, “OK! You’ve finished writing your talk! Now let’s practice giving it.”
On Sunday morning, Isaac stepped carefully to the front of the Primary room. He unfolded the paper his mom had written on when she asked him questions. His answers were his talk! He had practiced giving it to Dad a few times. Now Mom moved to his side and began whispering the questions he had answered before. Isaac gave his talk in his very own words:
“Faith in Jesus Christ means praying and keeping the commandments. We pray and keep the commandments because Heavenly Father and Jesus want us to. When we do, our faith grows. I feel happy when I pray and keep the commandments, and my faith grows. I believe in Jesus Christ because the scriptures say He lives. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”
He saw Dad smile at him from the back of the room, and everyone was quiet—they had been listening! When he walked past his teacher, he saw that she was happy. He felt really good inside. He had given a talk that was really his, and he was sure that Jesus was happy about it too!

One day I decided to visit my granny who lives far away in the country. She invited me over for lunch and to ride her horses. We had a wonderful afternoon together and enjoyed each other’s company. After we talked for a couple of hours, it was time for me to go. I started up my motorcycle and began my long journey home.
After two hours of driving I was in the middle of nowhere. Suddenly my motorbike ran out of gasoline. I couldn’t believe it! And my grandmother was too far away to help. I put my hand in my pocket to look for my cell phone, but it wasn’t there. I was terrified. Where could it be? I must have dropped it in the road.
I thought I had no way out of this situation. I had no idea what to do. Then suddenly I felt a voice that said: “Pray always, that you may come off conqueror” (D&C 10:5). So I decided to pray. In that moment two of my friends appeared and rescued me.

A true story from the USA.
William ripped open the package and held up his shiny new watch. It was finally here! He was so excited. He had worked hard to earn the money to buy it, and it was worth it.
He strapped the watch onto his wrist and started scrolling through its screen. There were so many cool games! He tapped on a dinosaur game and started to play.
The next day at recess, William showed his watch to his friend Liam. “Whoa, cool!” Liam said. He watched William play games on it for a while. Then he asked, “Want to play kickball now?”
“Maybe later,” said William. Liam ran off to play, and William sat under a tree to play the dinosaur game.
At recess the next day, William played with his watch again. Liam ran up to him. “Are you going to come play?”
William looked up from his watch. “No, I want to keep playing this game. Maybe later.”
Liam frowned. “But we always play kickball at recess!”
“I just want to finish this game,” William said.
Liam turned and walked away.
The same thing happened the next day. And the next day. On the bus ride home, Liam sat next to William. “Why didn’t you play with us today?”
“I was just playing a quick game on my watch,” William said. “I’m so close to passing the next level.”
Liam folded his arms. “You always play on your watch. You never play with us anymore!”
William felt his face get hot. “Recess is the only time at school that I can play my game,” he said. His voice was getting louder. “I can do whatever I want during recess!”
Liam looked upset. “Well, then we aren’t friends anymore!”
William didn’t say anything after that. He turned to the window so Liam couldn’t see his face. His eyes stung with tears.
When the bus got to William’s stop, he ran home as fast as he could. He plopped onto the couch and started to cry. He wished he’d never bought his watch.
“What’s wrong?” Mom asked.
William sniffed. “Liam said we can’t be friends because I always play on my watch.”
Mom sat next to him. “It sounds like he thinks you care more about your watch than you care about him.”
“That’s not true!”
“I know you care about Liam.” Mom gave him a hug. “But the way we spend our time can show what we think is most important.”
William thought for a moment. “People are more important. But can’t I play on my watch too?”
“Can you think of a way to do that?” Mom asked.
William nodded. “Maybe I can play kickball with Liam at recess, and only play with my watch for a little while when I get home from school.”
“That’s a great idea.”
The next day at school, William found Liam at recess. “I’m sorry I played too much on my watch,” he said. “Can I play kickball with you again?”
Liam grinned. “Sure!”
When it was his turn, William kicked the ball and ran as fast as he could. He could hear Liam cheering.
His watch could wait. It felt good to be with his friend.

I want to tell you an experience about my BYU days. You didn’t know I was a BYU student, did you? When the time came for me to begin my schooling here, I settled all the arrangements and came on the train from Arizona up to Salt Lake. From Salt Lake I took the inter-urban railroad to Provo and to the school I planned to attend. As I got off this inter-urban and got my suitcases about me, I looked around and saw a great white building on the hill in the distance. I thought, “Well, that’s the BYU, all right.” So I gathered my things together, and I walked all that distance from Center Street up to this white building that was so attractive. When I got close to the building, I saw many men in their overalls working in the yards. So I walked on up straight into the building, and got me a drink at the water fountain, but at about this time I realized I was in the wrong place. So I turned around and went out the door and came down into town where I found people who directed me to the BYU campus. At any rate, that was the first of my BYU days. After I finally found the school, I remember that we went to class for one week, and then we went to the peach orchards for the second and third and fourth weeks. But by that time, the man in charge of the military in my home town sent me a telegram from Safford, Arizona, and said, “Please get down here in a hurry. Your turn for the Army has come.” So I rushed back to Safford to take care of my responsibility as it was outlined for me.

When he was President of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, many people brought their problems to President John Taylor. He listened to the Holy Ghost and used his talents to help them. Once, two faithful brethren called on him. The two men were angry with each other.
Brother 1: President Taylor, we have had an argument and would like for you to hear our case.
Brother 2: Whatever you decide we will follow.
President Taylor: Brethren, before I hear your case, I would like to sing one of the songs of Zion.
The men agreed. President Taylor was a very talented singer. After singing the first hymn, President Taylor asked permission to sing another.
President Taylor: Brethren, I have never heard just one of the hymns of Zion without wanting to hear another.
Brother 1: All right, President Taylor.
After the second song, President Taylor wanted to sing a third hymn.
President Taylor: I heard there was luck in odd numbers.
Brothers 1 and 2: Yes, President, we’d like to hear another.
President Taylor: Now, brethren, I do not want to wear you out, but if you will forgive me and listen to one more hymn, I promise to stop singing and will hear your case.
After the fourth and final hymn, the two brethren were in tears.
President Taylor: Now, brothers, what is troubling you?
Brother 2: President, please excuse us. We are sorry to have taken your time.
President Taylor’s singing had helped them to reconcile their feelings. He later served as President of the Church from 1880 to 1887. His leadership and his ability to listen to the Holy Ghost and do as he was directed helped the Church progress.

There was an experience in my life which has often reminded me of the joy resulting from asking the question “What would the Savior do in this situation?”
I was among the first wave of Marines to go ashore in Japan after the signing of the peace treaty following World War II. Entering the devastated city of Nagasaki was one of the saddest experiences of my life. A large part of the city had been totally destroyed. Some of the dead had not yet been buried. As occupation troops, we set up headquarters and went to work.
The situation was very bleak, and a few of us wanted to give more. We went to our division chaplain and requested permission to help rebuild the Christian churches. Because of government restrictions during the war, these churches had almost ceased to function. Their few buildings were badly damaged. A group of us volunteered to repair and replaster these chapels during our off-duty time so they would be available for the holding of Christian services again.
We had no command of the language. All we could accomplish was the physical labor of repairing the buildings. We found the ministers who had been unable to serve during the war years and encouraged them to return to their pulpits. We had a tremendous experience with these people as they again experienced the freedom to practice their Christian beliefs.
An event occurred as we were leaving Nagasaki to return home that I will always remember. As we were boarding the train that would take us to our ships to return home, we were teased by a lot of the other Marines. They had their girlfriends with them saying good-bye to them. They laughed at us and indicated that we had missed the fun of being in Japan. We had just wasted our time laboring and plastering walls.
Just as they were at the height of their teasing, up over a little rise near the train station came about 200 of these great Japanese Christians from the churches we had repaired, singing “Onward, Christian Soldiers.” They came down and showered us with gifts. Then they all lined up along the railroad track, and as the train started down the tracks, we reached out and just touched their fingers as we left. We couldn’t speak; our emotions were too strong. But we were grateful that we could help in some small way in reestablishing Christianity in a nation after the war.

When I was a mission president in Australia, I once said to those of my missionaries in Tasmania: “Tomorrow we shall climb Mt. Wellington and hold our missionary meeting on the top. We shall there seek to commune with the Lord and partake of his Spirit.”

We made the climb, and while on top of the peak we visited a television broadcasting station. A bright young man explained to us in words I had never heard, and using principles I could not and do not understand, how the sounds and scenes of television were broadcast into the valley below.

That night, back in the city of Hobart, my two young sons and I sat before a television set that was tuned to the proper wave band, and we saw and heard and experienced what had been described to us in words.

Now I think this illustrates perfectly what is involved in the receipt of revelation and the seeing of visions. We can read about visions and revelations in the records of the past, we can study the inspired writings of people who had the fullness of the gospel in their day, but we cannot comprehend what is involved until we see and hear and experience for ourselves.

A young missionary who transferred from a teaching assignment to a service assignment struggled with some personal challenges that left him needing Christ’s healing power. Consecrated service brought that power into his life. He said, “I felt that when I was struggling, I could feel Christ lifting me up. There is something special about seeing Him bless people through a food pantry, in the temple, and through His gospel.”

This elder began to feel deeper joy, and his newfound enthusiasm blessed him and his entire family. The Spirit entered their home more abundantly, they attended the temple together more regularly, and Christ became a greater focus in their family. This missionary believes that Christ saved his life and blessed his family through service.

The sisters’ strong faith induced in them a willingness to sacrifice for worthy goals. After two of her children had been born, Barbara Ann Phelps Allen’s husband was called on a preaching mission to the Southern States. He left in June, and Barbara Ann milked from eight to ten cows while he was gone. Nine years later, by which time she had six children, he was called on another mission to the Eastern States, and she performed the same task. To cap it off, after their children were reared, she and her husband filled a mission together.21

I once heard a story about an imaginary king whose wife gave birth to a baby boy. The parents knew that the lad would someday inherit the kingdom. Desiring that their son be a wise king, fully familiar with the needs of the people over whom he would reign, the king and queen took the infant into the country to be raised as part of a peasant family. He was to be told nothing of his secret destiny until he became a man.

At the appropriate time the king and queen returned to the country to confer on their son the kingdom. They were greatly disappointed. Having been told nothing of his appointed destiny, he was exactly that which life had prepared him to be. He understood the proper care of animals and the gathering of crops, but he knew nothing of armies and palaces and courtyards and presiding. He had lost his vision.

It should not be difficult for you to glean the truth in this story. Another King, your Father in Heaven, has sent you away from His presence to have experiences you would not have had in your heavenly home—all in preparation for the conferral of a kingdom. He doesn’t want you to lose your vision. You are children of an exalted being. You are foreordained to preside as kings and queens. You will live in a home and environment of infinite refinement and beauty, as reflected in the language, literature, art, music, and order of heaven.

One winter day, I was walking the school grounds with my friends Alice and Trevor when we came across a sign that read: “Cups of tea now available.” Excitedly, Trevor offered to buy us each a cup of tea. “No, thank you,” I said.
Trevor offered me tea each day, and I continued to decline. Finally, he asked me why I wouldn’t drink the tea. I told him about the Word of Wisdom, hoping that he would understand. But he just turned it into a big joke. He tried to get me to break the Word of Wisdom.
“It’s not like you’re taking drugs,” he said. “A cup of tea is harmless!”
The next week, he and his friends started teasing me even worse. I tried to hold my head high, though it wasn’t easy.
Over time, they felt bad for their actions and stopped teasing me. One day, my teacher told me: “You have always been an example of your faith and religion. I am proud of you.”
I am proud of myself too. It isn’t always easy, but I know I’ll be blessed for standing up for my standards.
Nicolé M., West Midlands, United Kingdom

There is a picture of another girl in that yearbook. She was not particularly beautiful. But she had a wholesome look about her, a sparkle in her eyes, and a smile on her face. She knew why she was in school. She was there to learn. She dreamed of the kind of woman she wanted to be and patterned her life accordingly.

She also knew how to have fun, but knew when to stop and put her mind on other things.

There was a boy in school at the time. He had come from a small rural town. He had very little money. He brought lunch in a brown paper bag. He looked a little like the farm from which he had come. There was nothing especially handsome or dashing about him. He was a good student. He had set a goal for himself. It was lofty and, at times, appeared almost impossible of attainment.

These two fell in love. People said, “What does he see in her?” Or, “What does she see in him?” They each saw something wonderful which no one else saw.

Upon graduating from the university, they married. They scrimped and worked. Money was hard to come by. He went on to graduate school. She continued to work for a time, and then their children came. She gave her attention to them.

A few years ago, I was riding a plane home from the East. It was late at night. I walked down the aisle in the semidarkness. I saw a woman asleep with her head on the shoulder of her husband. She awakened as I approached. I immediately recognized the girl I had known in high school so long before. I recognized the boy I had also known. They were now approaching old age. As we talked, she explained that their children were grown, that they were grandparents. She proudly told me that they were returning from the East, where he had gone to deliver a paper. There at a great convention he had been honored by his peers from across the nation.

I learned that they had been active in the Church, serving in whatever capacity they were asked to serve. By every measure, they were successful. They had accomplished the goals which they had set for themselves. They had been honored and respected and had made a tremendous contribution to the society of which they were a part. She had become the woman of whom she had dreamed. She had exceeded that dream.

The life of the other had been difficult. It had meant scrimping and saving. It had meant working and struggling to keep going. It had meant simple food and plain clothing and a very modest apartment in the years of her husband’s initial effort to get started in his profession. But out of that seemingly sterile soil there had grown a plant, yes, two plants, side by side, that blossomed and bloomed in a beautiful and wonderful way.

Those beautiful blossoms spoke of service to fellowmen, of unselfishness one to another, of love and respect and faith in one’s companion, of happiness as they met the needs of others in the various activities which they pursued.

As I pondered the conversation with these two, I determined within myself to do a little better, to be a little more dedicated, to set my sights a little higher, to love my wife a little more dearly, to help her and treasure her and look after her.

The next Sunday in our priesthood lesson, Brother Baron told the story of President Spencer W. Kimball’s father, Andrew Kimball, who was called on a mission to the Indian territory in 1884. The summer of that year, both Elder Kimball and his companion got malaria and lay sick in bed for many weeks. Malaria had caused many missionaries to return home early from their missions. Some even died, so the Church sent word to Andrew Kimball that he and his companion could return home, which his companion did. But Elder Kimball sent this message back to Salt Lake: “I have the priesthood with me. I will get well and prefer to stay.” And he did stay for two more years.
“You see,” Brother Baron said, “the priesthood is a great, great privilege. It’s your enlistment into the army of God. And when you are given an assignment, I think the Lord watches as much to see how hard you try as He does to see whether you succeed or fail.”

Sister Mercy Dady, beads instructor, declared, “When our class started, getting beads was not easy for YSAs due to financial challenges.” Sister Dady purchased all the beads required for the first two weeks and provided the class with all essential tools and materials. This initial sacrifice gave the class a successful start. Some of the YSA were able to contribute small amounts of money to purchase the beads required for subsequent classes.