Gospel Story Finder

One day my friend gave me a lollipop. It was my favorite flavor, and I really wanted to eat it. I was starting to unwrap it when my little brother, Steven, saw me and asked me for it. I thought about it for a minute, and then I gave it to him.
Although I wanted the lollipop, I felt very happy when my brother said, “Thanks, Leaney,” and gave me a big hug. When I do something good, I feel very happy. I know that Jesus Christ wants me to be like Him.

I received a letter from Elder Mortenson who served in Buenos Aires, Argentina:
“Six months before I left my mission you spoke at our mission conference in Buenos Aires, Argentina. I felt the Spirit resting upon me so strongly that afterwards I was urged by the Spirit to seek a promise from you. I struggled forward and said to you, Can you look me in the eye and promise me that I can baptize those 10 people?’ I don’t even know if those were my exact words, but those words express the desire I had then. You see, I had not baptized a single soul, and my mission was soon to be over. You looked me in the eye and promised with a voice of certainty that should I be faithful to the utmost and work with all my heart, might, mind, and strength, ‘you will baptize 10 people.’ In my heart I knew you could not be lying, and I knew that I had received the promise that I sought.

“I worked with all my heart and with all my might and mind and strength, and my mission ended two years of faithful endeavor. The Lord did bless me, and the promise was fulfilled. For nearly two years I had baptized no one. The last Saturday of my mission, my companion and I entered the waters and opened the doors of God’s kingdom for 15 beautiful and repentant children of our Father in heaven.”
The promise by me was an easy thing and could have been made by any priesthood leader. Elder Mortenson caught the vision of total selfless service and self-denial, and he achieved his goal.

My friend Marcia had moved several times in her young years as her father’s work required it. She was now ten years old and facing another new school. Marcia’s mother could see the concern on her daughter’s face and sat down with her to discuss what was bothering her.
Marcia talked about the challenge of joining classes at midterm and trying to get in step with the subject matter, teacher, and other students. Mother pledged her support to help Marcia make the adjustment. Then tears welled up in Marcia’s eyes. In all honesty, she shared with her mother, “I can overcome the difficulties with the academics and the new teachers. But Mother,” she said, with tears trickling down her freckled cheeks, “I just hate eating my lunch alone.” Marcia needed someone to recognize her situation and invite her to join a group and get acquainted.
Laura was someone who recognized a potentially awkward situation and did something to avoid it. She and Kate were best friends. The two of them included others in their circle of friends. A few of these girls planned a party, inviting all in the group except Kate. Laura, after becoming aware of what had happened, told the others that she would not be able to accept their invitation unless Kate was included. This kind, loyal act of a friend who followed the golden rule (see 3 Ne. 14:12) prevented pain and sorrow.
We become kind by doing kind things. The Apostle Paul said: “And be ye kind one to another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, even as God for Christ’s sake hath forgiven you” (Eph. 4:32).
The Merrie Miss motto is I Will Follow God’s Plan for Me. God’s plan for us includes our being kind. My challenge to you is to search for opportunities to be kind. The promise is: you will be happy. I pray that each of us will develop a desire to be kind to others and to ourselves and continually act upon that desire.

As a guest in the home of a choice young family only a few days ago, I was invited to offer prayer as we knelt together at the day’s beginning. Loving parents, who knew of my experience with little girls’ prayers, suggested that their three-year-old would like to pray first, as she regularly insists on doing. The tenderness of the moment increased as a six-year-old brother undertook to help her when she faltered.

The purity and openness of little children in their relationship with the Lord points the way for all of us. If we would seek the Lord, we must put off the “natural man” and become “as a child, submissive, meek, humble, patient, full of love, willing to submit to all things which the Lord seeth fit to inflict upon [us], even as a child doth submit to his father.” (Mosiah 3:19.)

May I close with a story of inconvenience, now well known to you. Two weeks ago Air Florida’s Flight 90 to Tampa, a Boeing 737 with 74 passengers aboard, began rolling down the runway at Washington’s National Airport. Nothing seemed very different about this; hundreds of planes leave that airport every day. But you all know what happened next. The plane slammed into the 14th Street Bridge, smashed five cars and a truck, and then skidded into the ice-clogged river. To quote one source:

For a moment, there was silence, and then pandemonium. Commuters watched helplessly as the plane quickly sank. . . A few passengers bobbed to the surface; some clung numbly to pieces of debris while others screamed desperately for help. Scattered across the ice were pieces of green upholstery, twisted chunks of metal, luggage, a tennis racquet, a child’s shoe. . . .

Within minutes, sirens began to wail as fire trucks, ambulances and police cars rushed to the scene. A U.S. Park Police helicopter hovered overhead to pluck survivors out of the water. Six were clinging to the plane’s tail. Dangling a life preserving ring to them, the chopper began ferrying them to shore. One woman had injured her right arm, so [the] pilot . . . lowered the copter until its skids touched the water; his partner [then leaned out and] scooped her up in his arms. Then [a young woman] grabbed the preserver, but as she was being helped out of the . . . river by [a] fellow passenger . . . she lost her grip. . . . A clerk for the Congressional Budget Office who was watching from the shore, plunged into the water and dragged her to land. But the most notable act of heroism was performed by [another] of the passengers, a balding man in his early 50s. Each time the ring was lowered, he grabbed it and passed it along to a comrade; when the helicopter finally returned to pick him up, he had disappeared beneath the ice. [James Kelly, “We’re Not Going to Make It,” Time, 25 January 1982, pp. 16–17]

I quote from an essay entitled simply “The Man in the Water”:

His selflessness [is] one reason the story held national attention; his anonymity another. The fact that he [has gone] unidentified invests him with a universal character. For a while he was Every man, and thus proof (as if one needed it) that no man is ordinary.

Still, he could never have imagined such a capacity in himself. Only minutes before his character was tested, he was sitting in the ordinary plane among the ordinary passengers, dutifully listening to the stewardess telling him to fasten his seat belt and saying something about the “no smoking sign.” So our man relaxed with the others, some of whom would owe their lives to him. Perhaps he started to read, or to doze, or to regret some harsh remark made in the office that morning. Then suddenly he knew that the trip would not be ordinary. Like every other person on that flight, he was desperate to live, which makes his final act so stunning.

For at some moment in the water he must have realized that he would not live if he continued to hand over the rope and ring to others. He had to know it, no matter how gradual the effect of the cold. In his judgment he had no choice. When the helicopter took off with what was to be the last survivor, he watched everything in [his] world move away from him, and he deliberately let it [go]. . . .

The odd thing is that we do not . . . really believe that the man in the water lost his fight. . . . He could not, [like Nature], make ice storms, or freeze the water until it froze the blood. But he could hand life over to a stranger, and that is a power of nature too. The man in the water pitted himself against an implacable, impersonal enemy; he fought it with charity; and he [won]. [Roger Rosenblatt, Time, 25 January 1982, p. 86]

In this world we are all, you and I, the man or the woman in the water. We often, like this man and Hamlet, must “take arms against a sea of troubles, and by opposing end them” (Act 3, scene 1, ll. 59–60). And sometimes the cost is very high. It was for Christ, it was for Joseph Smith, and it was for this lone man who counted the cost there in the Potomac—and paid it.

I recall a conversation I had with a newly married couple many years ago while serving as a bishop. One night, they had a long, heated discussion regarding the payment of tithing. The young husband had gone through a difficult week at work and wanted to save the money he had earned for some of their personal expenses. However, I remember the young wife’s words when, in front of her husband, she said, “Bishop, I’m willing to not make those expenses and even to stop eating, if necessary, but I want to pay tithing and obey the Lord.”

So resounding was that “Behold, here I am,” expressed with such great testimony by the young wife, that the husband and I felt a strong spirit during the conversation. In the end, I don’t know if it was out of his own desire or because he was persuaded by his wife, but the husband ended up paying his tithing that weekend.

The following Sunday, prior to the meetings, the young husband asked for a quick word with me. With a countenance that was different from the previous week, he told me, “Bishop, you know that last week I finally paid my tithing, and I was afraid that I wouldn’t have enough money for food, but I just wanted you to know that this week we had twice the amount of money for food we usually have. Bishop, it was a miracle, and I want to always see those miracles in my life.” To me, it was as if that young man was telling me, “Bishop, I’m willing to respond with a ‘Behold, here I am’ to whatever God asks of me.”

Brother Soliai and his family were the only Latter-day Saints in their little village of Nuuuli on Tutuila. On one occasion, he asked Opapo to come bless his children, his house, his property, and his friends. Present on that occasion was a wealthy nonmember widow, Salataima Puailoa, who was deeply troubled because her husband’s family was taking steps to deprive her of the land she had inherited from him. Impressed by the blessings, she requested one herself; but Opapo was reluctant because she was not a member.
She investigated the Church and was baptized, then came to him again and requested the blessing. In it, Opapo promised that she would receive the land without any hindrance from her husband’s relatives and that she would, if she were faithful, be an instrument in the Lord’s hands to further the work of the Church in American Samoa.
In the early 1950’s, that blessing was fulfilled. The Church purchased some of her property and on it built a high school, faculty housing, a large welfare farm, and a stake center.

I’m having the same problem right now and I’m in the middle of solving it. My mom gave me some great advice. I don’t know about you, but I can sometimes get offended pretty easily. She told me to stop that. She also said that most people aren’t going to stay your friend if you do that sort of thing. I have made a few friends since that talk. It really helped me to understand a lot of things.
Leah Puckett, 12,Grand Junction, Colorado

In December 1991, Terry Anderson, an American journalist, was released after 2,455 days—nearly seven years—as a hostage in Lebanon. During a televised news conference, he was asked how he intended to help capture and punish his captors. Mr. Anderson replied that he had no intention of being involved in a pursuit of his kidnappers. “I’m a Christian … ,” Mr. Anderson said. “It’s required of me that I forgive, no matter how hard it may be. … I have a whole new life. It’s going to be happy.”1
Terry Anderson’s reply, perhaps disappointing to reporters seeking a sensational comment, reminds us that in a world often filled with anger and revenge, there are courageous people committed to the principle of forgiveness. Indeed, the sorrows of the entire world would be immeasurably lightened if more people would cultivate a forgiving heart.

5. Sam went to the store to buy a candy bar. After he had chosen the one he wanted, Sam reached into his jacket pocket for fifteen cents but the money wasn’t there. He left the store wondering what had happened to his money. When he got home a candy bar fell out of his jacket pocket as he hung it up. He had been so concerned about losing his money that he had unintentionally put the candy bar into his pocket. Should Sam return the candy bar to the store and explain what he had done, even if it embarrasses him?

My own faith had its beginnings following a time of sorrow.
My father and mother were sheep farmers in New Zealand. They enjoyed their life. As a young married couple, they were blessed with three little girls. The youngest of these was named Ann. One day while they were on holiday together at a lake, 17-month-old Ann toddled off. After minutes of desperate searching, she was found lifeless in the water.
This nightmare caused unspeakable sorrow. Dad wrote years later that some of the laughter went out of their lives forever. It also caused a yearning for answers to life’s most important questions: What will become of our precious Ann? Will we ever see her again? How can our family ever be happy again?
Some years after this tragedy, two young missionaries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints came to our farm. They began teaching the truths found in the Book of Mormon and the Bible. These truths include the assurance that Ann now lives in the spirit world. Because of the Resurrection of Jesus Christ, she too will be resurrected. They taught that the Church of Jesus Christ has once again been restored on earth with a living prophet and twelve Apostles. And they taught the unique and remarkable doctrine that families can be bound together forever by the same priesthood authority Jesus Christ gave His chief Apostle, Peter.
Mum instantly recognized truth and received a witness of the Spirit. Dad, however, wrestled for the next year between doubts and spiritual nudges. Also, he was reluctant to change his way of life. One morning following a sleepless night, while pacing the floor, he turned to Mum and said, “I will be baptized today or never.”
Mum told the missionaries what had happened, and they immediately recognized the flicker of faith in my father that would now be either lit or extinguished.
That very morning our family traveled to the nearest beach. Unaware of what was happening, we children had a picnic on the sand dunes while Elders Boyd Green and Gary Sheffield led my parents into the ocean and baptized them. In a further act of faith, Dad privately committed to the Lord that come what may, he would be true all his life to the promises he was making.
One year later a temple was dedicated in Hamilton, New Zealand. Shortly thereafter our family, with someone representing Ann, knelt around the altar in that sacred house of the Lord. There, by the authority of the priesthood, we were united as an eternal family in a simple and beautiful ordinance. This brought great peace and joy.
Many years later Dad told me that if not for Ann’s tragic death, he would never have been humble enough to accept the restored gospel. Yet the Spirit of the Lord instilled hope that what the missionaries taught was true. My parents’ faith continued to grow until they each burned with the fire of testimony that quietly and humbly guided their every decision in life.
I will always be thankful for my parents’ example to future generations. It is impossible to measure the number of lives forever changed because of their acts of faith in response to profound sorrow.

On July 27, 2013, after a long battle with Alzheimer’s disease, my life partner of 25 years passed away. Jay Eldredge was a world-renowned cardiologist. We had both served missions for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints when we were younger but then distanced ourselves from the Church because of same-sex attraction.

Jay’s death, although not unexpected, was devastating. I felt heartbroken and lost and alone.

While driving home after making the funeral arrangements, I felt the influence of the Spirit overwhelm me so strongly that I had to pull over to the side of the road. I knew that God was speaking to me, calling me back to Him, but I was resistant. “Can’t you see that I’m suffering?” I said aloud. “I can’t face going back to church right now.”

But the more I protested, the more the Spirit pulled at me, inviting me back to church.

I was deeply worried about returning to church. I hadn’t been to a sacrament meeting in 25 years. Would they even accept me? Would I accept them? What would the bishop say? I felt anxious and unsettled and still heavy with grief.

But my testimony of the gospel had never wavered in all those years. Jay and I loved the Church and its guiding principles—namely, charity, mercy, and forgiveness. I knew that Christ was my Savior and that His Church was The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. I had known that since my conversion and baptism at the age of 14. I wasn’t about to deny that now.

Finally, after mustering the necessary courage, I called the Linwood Ward in New Jersey, USA, to find out what time sacrament meeting started.

As Sunday approached, the adversary put many obstacles in my path that could have easily prevented me from attending. How grateful I am that the Holy Ghost persisted.

I felt nervous as I entered the building, but the opening hymn in sacrament meeting reassured me that I was home again. The hymn “Come, Come, Ye Saints” (Hymns, no. 30) invited the Spirit so powerfully that tears flowed down my face. I knew in that instant that Heavenly Father was aware of me and the deep sadness I was feeling.

That hymn has become an unofficial anthem of sorts for the Church, but it has become my personal anthem as well.

“Come,” the hymn invites me. “Though hard to you this journey may appear, grace shall be as your day.”

My journey was hard. But grace did attend me as promised.

Bishop Darren Bird and the rest of the congregation were wonderful and welcoming. They accepted me as their brother in Christ.

The words of “Come, Come, Ye Saints” took on greater meaning to me, however, as I felt Heavenly Father directing me on how I should proceed.

We’ll find the place which God for us prepared,
Far away in the West,
Where none shall come to hurt or make afraid;
There the Saints will be blessed.

I went west and bought a home in Fountain Hills, Arizona, USA, where I met Bishop Jerry Olson. When I requested to meet with him and shook his hand, the Spirit impressed upon me that this man would help bring me back into full activity in the Church.

As I began visiting with the bishop and embarking on this reconciliation with Heavenly Father, I witnessed many spiritual miracles. I was open with the bishop, for which he was grateful. He said that helped him better understand where I had been and where I was now in my relationship with God. He also lovingly informed me that this was the first time that he had had an opportunity to minister to someone with same-sex attraction, and he asked for my patience and forgiveness if he said or did anything to offend me throughout the process.

I thanked him for his honesty and said, “Well, this is my first time as well. We’ll learn together.”

Thus began a wonderful journey and friendship!

Soon I had an action plan on how to become a member again. I accepted the loving and prayerful counsel with a grateful heart and began the process.

Later, as I followed that counsel and worked hard to draw closer to Christ, I received the restoration of my priesthood and temple blessings and accepted a call to serve in the elders quorum. In the holy temple, as I communed with Heavenly Father, He showed me how much He loves all His children. I felt solace and a deep desire to please Him.

Months later, a new bishop was called, with whom I have also developed a loving friendship. Bishop Larry Radford knew of my circumstance and appreciated my service in the elders quorum, where he said I had served with love and devotion not only for the quorum but also—and more importantly—for God. His kind words and encouragement helped me feel that the Lord and my fellow Saints were pleased with my service.

I now faithfully serve as the ward clerk.

Having same-sex attraction and being an active member of the Church is not always easy. But as I put all my faith and trust in God, I can feel Him strengthening me. Critics will no doubt say that I’m not being true to who I am or that I’m disappointing the LGBT+ community.

I understand their frustration, and I obviously don’t have all the answers. I can only speak of my own experience. And that experience has taught me this: I am Heavenly Father’s son, a child of God. That’s the one and only label that matters to me. As a result, I try not to allow the world’s labels to define me. I fear that will limit my potential and eternal progression.

Satan is very clever. He knows that by using labels, he can divide us as a community and as a church.

With that perspective in mind, the choices I make are not based on my same-sex attraction but on how to be a true disciple of Christ with same-sex attraction. As Nephi said:

“O Lord, I have trusted in thee, and I will trust in thee forever. I will not put my trust in the arm of flesh. …
“… I know that God will give liberally to him that asketh. Yea, my God will give me, if I ask not amiss; therefore I will lift up my voice unto thee; yea, I will cry unto thee, my God, the rock of my righteousness. Behold, my voice shall forever ascend up unto thee, my rock and mine everlasting God” (2 Nephi 4:34–35).

Throughout my return, I felt the loving companionship of my leaders and fellow Saints, including active and less-active LGBT+ members. I found a place where I could thrive. I found among them the attributes of Christ that I had always associated with my faith: mercy, compassion, understanding, and, above all, love.

As I struggled along the path with my Savior, I felt comfort and peace as I turned to Him, knowing that I wasn’t walking that path alone. Several bishops were there beside me. Members of my quorum. Sisters in the ward. I even had a young man in the ward ask me if I would ordain him a priest. His kind invitation deeply moved me. He saw me as a man who holds the priesthood of God and who can exercise that priesthood in service to others.

These opportunities to serve and worship with my fellow Saints have lifted me and—along with the many blessings I’ve received from the Lord—helped me experience the love, understanding, and acceptance that I needed.

The Savior said, “I will not leave you comfortless: I will come to you” (John 14:18). Those words are true. I needed comforting, and He came to me, more abundantly than I could have imagined.

I am an ardent sports fan. Long will I remember a TV sportscaster as he lauded the marvelous performance of Y. A. Tittle, one of the all-time great professional football quarterbacks. He said: “This will be the key play of the game. Tittle has the snap from center; he fades to throw, but his line cannot hold. It appears the game is over.
“Wait! Tittle has eluded his tacklers; he has fallen deep behind the line. He cocks his arm to throw, and the pass is away and caught in the end zone for a touchdown.
“That was a great second effort by Y. A. Tittle!”

When he was 15, his family moved to New Jersey, where he had some of his most memorable testimony-building experiences. “It was during that time that my faith matured into a full-blown testimony,” he says. “I grew up with faith among family and friends and others who influenced my life; I don’t recall a time when I didn’t have that belief that the gospel was true. But in New Jersey I became conscious of knowing that it was true and that it mattered.”2
During that time, he and his brother Greg participated in the Hill Cumorah Pageant in New York for two summers. Once when he was about 16 years old, he was searching for a personal testimony of the gospel and thought that the pageant would be the perfect time to get it. He recalls:
“One night after the performance, I decided to go to the Sacred Grove alone. It was a beautiful, clear summer night. I thought, This is it—the place, the time. What more ideal setting could I have? I prayed for a long, long time—well over an hour. Nothing happened. I finally gave up and walked back to Palmyra, wondering, What did I do wrong or what didn’t I do right? What was missing?
“I’ve since thought a lot about that experience. One of the lessons I learned from it was that you shouldn’t try to dictate to God the timing or the content of revelation. It was later that summer—when I was home by myself in a little basement bedroom, reading the Book of Mormon—that a witness came very powerfully. It just overwhelmed me. I know from that experience the truth of what Joseph Smith witnessed and the truth of the Book of Mormon and the reality of the Savior. That hasn’t been my only witness, but it was a great strengthening of my testimony.
“I found that you don’t have to be in a special place to receive that witness. You will receive answers to your prayers if you are earnest and keep asking and searching. … Anywhere in the world, the Lord will speak to you.”3

A little over a year ago, my husband and I visited Nauvoo. As we walked through the Old Pioneer Cemetery searching for the grave of an ancestor, Zina Baker Huntington, I was touched by the peaceful solitude and spirit I felt. I walked through the trees and read the names on the gravestones, many of them children and families. I wept as my heart was turned to our forefathers, many of whom had joined the Church and come to Nauvoo. In my mind I asked many questions: Why did they leave their comfortable homes and families? Why did they suffer persecution, sickness, even death? Why did they sacrifice all that they had to come to this place and build a temple? They hardly had shelter, and yet they were building a temple! Why did they do it? And when the temple was nearly completed, how could they leave it behind? As I sat silently contemplating this scene, the answer came forcefully yet softly to my mind and heart: “We did this for you.”

About 30 years ago I met a man whom I will call Thomas. He was 45 years old when I met him. Twenty years earlier his parents had joined the Church. Thomas had no interest in his parents’ new religion. But his parents loved him, and they treasured the hope that someday their son might be brought to know the truth of the restored gospel. As the years passed, they tried many times to persuade him to at least meet with the missionaries and hear their message. He refused again and again, and he mocked his parents for their religious faith.

One day in desperation his mother said, “Thomas, if you will take the missionary discussions one time, then I will never again talk to you about the Church.” Thomas decided this was a good bargain and agreed to meet with the missionaries. During the first three discussions, he simply sat there full of pride, occasionally making fun of what the elders were teaching.

During the fourth discussion, about the Atonement of Jesus Christ and the first principles of the gospel, Thomas said nothing but grew unusually silent and listened closely. At the end of the lesson, the elders bore their testimonies of the Savior. One of the missionaries then felt prompted to open his Bible and read these words:

“Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.

“Take my yoke upon you, and learn of me; for I am meek and lowly in heart: and ye shall find rest unto your souls” (Matthew 11:28–29).

Without warning, Thomas burst into tears. “Are you trying to say that Christ can forgive me of my sins?” he asked. “I have lived a terrible life. I am haunted by the memory of my sins. I would do anything to be freed of the guilt I feel.”

His pride had been a facade that hid a soul captive to sin and guilt. The elders assured Thomas that Christ would forgive him and free him from the burden of guilt if he would but repent and be baptized and confirmed. Then they bore testimony of the power of the Atonement. From that moment on, everything changed in Thomas’s life. He had much to repent of and to overcome, but through the blessings of the Lord, he qualified for baptism.

More than 20 years later, as I sat in the chapel of the Frankfurt Germany Temple, a gray-haired man in front of me turned around and said, “Aren’t you Elder Porter?” To my great joy, I recognized Thomas—a man freed from bondage by the power of Jesus Christ.

I met a young woman in California who told me this story. She started keeping company with a young man who was a member of the Church, but he wasn’t active. When he got serious and proposed to her, she said, “I will never marry a man who doesn’t honor his priesthood and do his duties in this church. I want to be able to say to my children, ‘You follow your father.’” He wasn’t willing to pay the price, so their courtship ended right there. She was an uncommon girl.

Ephraim Hanks learned this in 1856 when he responded to the voice of a messenger in his bedroom and then to the prophet Brigham Young and participated in one of the greatest rescue missions in the Church's history, coming to the aid of those stranded handcart companies who were caught in early, heavy snows. In addition to the temporal relief he brought in the form of meat from two recently slaughtered buffalo and the skill of hunting he employed on the way home to feed the starving Saints, he also brought the gift of healing, using his priesthood power to bless and heal dozens and bring comfort to many others.[6]

After a young mother was diagnosed with cancer, she felt alone and filled with fear. But as the news of her illness spread throughout her ward, she was soon surrounded by the love and concern of her fellow sisters. As her difficult treatments began, sisters drove her to her appointments and sat with her during long chemotherapy sessions. They prayed with her, encouraged her, brought her the few treats she could eat, and brought meals to her family week after week. Other sisters took time away from their own busy lives to clean her house. One sister knew certain treatments would make it hard to fall asleep, so she planned late-night visits to watch comedy movies. Instead of tossing in bed, the young mother was able to turn away from fears for a while and feel the healing power of laughter and friendship. Through these ministrations, priesthood blessings, and ward fasts, she was carried through an extremely difficult time, and strong bonds of love grew between all who were involved.

When I selected the painting of the Savior, a couple of my brothers and sisters snickered. Items that they thought were more valuable still remained among the things that had belonged to Mom and Dad.
We were gathered at our childhood home, where Mom had been living when she died a few weeks earlier. Dad had passed away five years before, in 2001. Now it was time to divide up their belongings. We drew numbers and selected items, the person with the lowest number making the first pick.
The bedroom set went first, followed by the refrigerator, dining room table and chairs, and late-model car. I selected the piano, even though I don’t play. We had enjoyed music in our home when I was growing up. Dad often served as ward music director, and both my parents sang well. My father, who was a big man with a powerful voice, never turned down an opportunity to sing. The piano meant a lot to me, as did the painting of the Savior.
When I chose the painting, which was framed alongside a copy of “The Living Christ: The Testimony of the Apostles,”1 it was hanging on the wall of the family room, where we were sitting.
At such a time I couldn’t help but think about the Savior, the plan of salvation, and how much my parents meant to me. And I couldn’t help but feel gratitude for the way they had raised us, the gospel they had taught us, and the example they had set for us, including their willingness to serve.
These thoughts crowded upon my mind as we finished dividing up my parents’ belongings. After returning home, I looked for the right place to hang the painting of the Savior. As I flipped it over, to my surprise I saw that it had been dedicated to my father: “We will always remember Bishop Taylor as a big man with a heart to match.” It was signed by our stake presidency: “President Cory, President Carter, President Stubbs.”
Suddenly the painting became even more valuable to me. Today it hangs on a wall in my home above my parents’ piano. There are still some things at our old home that I selected but haven’t picked up. It doesn’t matter. I have the things of greatest worth.