Gospel Story Finder

When I was 14, my dad left our family, and my mom was forced to flee the country. I was left with my three younger siblings, Ephraim, 9; Jonathan, 6; and Grace, 3 (names have been changed). Nothing could have prepared us for this sudden change. For the first time, we were alone.
Extended family soon offered to take each of us in, but if we went to live with them, we would be separated. It was a difficult decision. How could we reject their well-intentioned help? But at the same time, how could we give up years of playing, laughing, caring for one another, and watching each other grow?
Initially, my brothers and I turned down their help, thinking I could work to support us and we could stay together. But we knew that we could not provide the care our youngest sister needed, and so, with tears in our eyes, we let her go.
For the next few months, I worked as a building painter to buy food for my brothers and me. My income was insufficient to pay the bills for electricity and water, so we had to live without them.
Despite this trial and the gossip of others that accompanied it, our faith didn’t waver. Every night, I would gather Ephraim and Jonathan around a lamp to read the Book of Mormon. I would trim the wick so that it would produce less smoke, but we would still have to clean our noses that had turned black by the time we finished reading. But it was worth it.
Reading the Book of Mormon brought us closer to Christ. After we read, we would kneel together and take turns saying our prayers. We asked for comfort for our problem that seemed to be without a solution. We finished reading the Book of Mormon, and our faith in Jesus Christ grew stronger.
One day I came home tired from work and threw myself on our lower bunk bed. Looking up, I saw a paper posted under the bed above me. It said: “I Know That My Redeemer Lives!” My brother Jonathan had put it there. How close children are to the heavens that even a Primary child can be an instrument in sending a message from God to comfort a troubled heart and mind!
This testimony sustained me when I realized I just couldn’t provide for our needs and we had to leave our home. Jonathan was taken to live with my mother’s side of the family, but Ephraim and I chose to stay with our other grandparents because they were Church members. In their home we arose early to do chores before school and then cared for our grandfather late into the night. It was exhausting. However, the Lord was mindful of us, and we stayed close to the Church.
Every time I felt like giving up, I was reminded of the special moments I had had with my siblings as we read from the Book of Mormon surrounding a lamp. I know Christ was there beside us in those difficult times. From the moment our family members separated from one another, He did not forsake us. “I know that my Redeemer lives!”
Now, years later, I still have the picture of those words from above my bed in my heart and mind. That message has helped my brother Ephraim and me in our years of service as full-time missionaries and in striving now to live celestial marriages.
I could have missed a lot in my life had I doubted instead of trusting Christ. No matter how difficult life is, it has never been too difficult for the Savior, who suffered in Gethsemane. He can sustain one’s life with one sentence. He knows everything from the beginning to the end. His comfort is more powerful than any heartache this life can bring. Through His Atonement, there is no permanent problem—only constant hope, grace, peace, and love. Believe me, I know! I know that my Redeemer lives!

President David O. McKay told about the grief suffered in a family due to the loss of a precious, priceless son. His death had occurred as the result of a tragic accident, and the parents were inconsolable. The mother was particularly troubled and went about her round of duties relentlessly trying to block out her intense sorrow.

One day the mother was at home, quietly going about her work, and her thoughts turned toward the son they mourned so much. And then something very unusual happened. This son came to her briefly. He explained that he had tried to visit his father, but his father’s life was too busy, and he hadn’t been able to get through to him. He wanted his parents to know that he was fine and that there was no need to worry about him (see Gospel Ideals [Salt Lake City: Deseret Book Company, 1953], pp. 525–26).

This spiritual experience was a great source of comfort to the mother, and to the father when she recounted it to him. But the father learned a great lesson. Sometimes we need to be still for a moment. We need to slow down and be less frenetic. Psalm 46:10 teaches us, “Be still, and know that I am God.”

I’ve seen what “suffereth long” and “endureth all things” mean. A family moved into a house near us. The home was new, so I was part of the crew of Latter-day Saints who spent a number of nights putting in landscaping. I remember the last night, standing next to the husband of the family as we finished. He surveyed our work and said to us standing nearby, “This is the third yard you Mormons have put in for us, and I think this is the best.” And then he quietly but firmly told me of the great satisfaction he got from membership in his own church, a conversation we had often in the years he lived there.

In all that time, the acts of kindness extended to him and his family never ceased because the neighbors really came to love them. One evening I came home to see a truck in his driveway. I had been told they were moving to another state. I approached to see if I could help. I didn’t recognize the man I saw loading household things into the truck. He said quietly as I drew near, “Hello, Brother Eyring.” I hadn’t recognized him because he was the son, now grown older, who had lived there, married, and moved away. And because of the love of many for him, he was now a baptized member of the Church. I don’t know the end of that story because it will have no end. But I know that it begins with love.

One of Elder Kimball’s most remarkable mission experiences occurred in Alabama.
"Let me call your attention to an incident. It happened away down in Alabama. That was at a time in the ’90’s when I presided over the southern states mission. The elders had been asked to assemble themselves together. They were laboring in that low, marshy, malarial district that was scarcely safe for a human being to live in, … suffering with malaria, rather low-spirited, because they had been travelling without purse or scrip through that section of the country. We assembled to hold a conference. After the conference was over, two days, we were to hold a priesthood meeting. We had no place to meet in those days except in the woods, but I had instructed the elders to clean some place off in the woods, a circle, where we could meet together and hold our priesthood meeting. On that occasion there was a young man whose mother was a remarkable woman, a Latter-day Saint. The father had left the Church years and years ago. He opposed the boy, he stood out against him, … but the mother’s faith and the faith of the young man who was in that conference did not fail. I don’t know what the trouble was, but one of his legs was as large as my body, and it looked like a great piece of raw meat. It looked like it would burst. The people there did the best they could for him. He had no physician. We did not know what a physician was in the South, in my day. There may have been physicians there, but I never happened to meet any. So on this occasion I said to this elder: ‘Well, you will have to stay here with the people. You can’t go up there.’ ‘Why,’ he said, ‘Brother Kimball, I have been dreaming about this, and I have been talking about it. It would ruin my whole mission unless I can be at that priesthood meeting.’ ‘Well,’ I said, ‘if you feel that way, two of the elders will carry you up there, one mile.’ We went there in order to get away, to a place where we would be secluded, and when we got into the woods in that little circle and sat down, as best we could, I looked those elders over. I was not very well myself, but I said: ‘Brethren, what are you preaching?’
“‘We are preaching the Gospel of Jesus Christ.’
“‘Are you telling these people that you have the power and authority, through faith, to heal the sick?’
“They said, ‘Yes.’
“‘Well then, why don’t you believe it?’
“This young man spoke up and he said: ‘I believe it.’ He sat down on a stump and the elders gathered around him. He was anointed and I administered to him, and he was healed right in their presence. It was quite a shock; and every other elder that was sick was administered to, and they were all healed. We went out of that priesthood meeting and the elders received their appointments, and there was a joy and happiness that cannot be described. The people gathered around, and the elders before their departure, got down and they cried. Those elders, many of them, had never seen one another until they assembled in that conference, and ‘Such love,’ those people said, ‘we have never known’" (in Conference Report, Oct. 1927, pp. 52–53).

On 3 September 1925, President Heber J. Grant announced that the First Presidency had decided to open missionary work in South America. Following the Lord’s pattern for unlocking the doors of the kingdom in all nations, the First Presidency called Elder Melvin J. Ballard, a member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles and my own grandfather, along with Rulon S. Wells and Rey L. Pratt of the First Council of the Seventy to go to South America. They were called to dedicate the land for the preaching of the gospel, to open a mission there, and to lay the foundation for establishing the Church in that vast continent. After a three-week journey by ship, covering more than seven thousand miles, the three missionaries arrived in Buenos Aires in December 1925.

On Christmas morning of 1925, at 7:00 a.m., Elder Ballard dedicated the land. The missionary work was very slow and difficult in those early months. Of the sixteen people attending the first Church meeting, almost all were German immigrants. In the first ten months while grandfather was there, the missionaries saw only a small handful of converts join the Church; perhaps only one or two of them were native Latin people. However, before leaving South America on 4 July 1926, Elder Ballard prophesied:

The work of the Lord will grow slowly for a time here just as an oak grows slowly from an acorn. It will not shoot up in a day as does the sunflower that grows quickly and then dies. But thousands will join the Church here. It will be divided into more than one mission and will be one of the strongest in the Church. The work here is the smallest that it will ever be. The day will come when the Lamanites in this land will be given a chance. The South American Mission will be a power in the Church. [Melvin J. Ballard, Crusader for Righteousness(Salt Lake City: Bookcraft, 1966), p. 84]

Brothers and sisters, many of you are aware of the remarkable growth of the Church in South America.

I could see by the length of the shadows that it would be almost dark by the time I got home. Supper would be over at our house, and, being late, I’d get only what was left over. The fire in the stove would have burnt itself out, so I’d probably eat another cold meal too. I put a little more effort into my stride, because thinking of food had made me hungry.
As I walked, I thought about some of the people I wanted to be like when I grew up. One was Uncle Milton. He always said, “If you will say ‘please’ and ‘thank you,’ along with ‘you’re welcome,’ you can make friends and get along with most everyone.” Since he was so well liked, I tried hard to practice what he said.
Then I thought about my cousin Garn. To me he was a great horseman and cowboy. Garn came by our house and showed me the rope tricks and fancy riding he could do. He used me in one of the tricks he did: He loped his horse almost at a run. Then, as he went by, he reached down and grabbed me under my arms and swung me up on the horse with him.
Garn had surprised me the first time he snatched me off the ground. Once I got over the shock and got my breath back, I asked him to do it again. After just a few times, I felt secure with his strong arms around me, and we soon had the trick worked out so it looked smooth and easy.
The first time Mother saw Garn and me do the snatch-up trick, she was upset. “What if you drop Adam, and he breaks something?”
Garn didn’t have much to say, so I came to his defense. “We’ve done it lots of times, and nothing has happened.”
Father put his arm around Mother and added, “It’s much safer than Adam’s riding a half-broken horse.”
Nothing more was said, but I knew that Mother worried.
A few days later I was showing off my little gray mare by loping her up and down the streets of town. I met my friend Marlene and asked her, “Would you like to learn the snatch-up trick?”
She just kept walking without answering me, so I asked again, adding, “I’ll give you a ride anywhere you want to go, if you will.”
She finally nodded. “OK.”
I rode down the street, turned the horse around, and loped toward her. As I got close, I leaned over in the saddle and got a firm grip on the horse with my knees, just like Garn did. Then I reached under her arms to pick her up.
She was heavier than I thought, but I got her up off the ground without slipping out of the saddle. I just had to swing her up in front of me. But her long dress flew up and spooked the little gray horse. It shied, and I lost my hold and dropped Marlene.
Before I could get the frightened horse stopped, Marlene had scrambled up and run down the street and into her house. I assumed she was all right and went on home.
The next evening Mother said, “Doctor Meeks has been at Marlene’s house. He had to set her broken arm. When Father gets home, he and I have something to say to you.”
While I waited for Father, I learned that the break was just below the elbow and that Doctor Meeks had said it would probably heal as good as new. He’d had to pull the bones back in place before putting on a cast, though, and she’d cried hard.
Father came home and said, “Adam, do you know that what you did was wrong?”
“I guess I shouldn’t have tried to do the snatch-up trick with her.”
“I will pay the doctor. What do you think that you should do?”
“Well, she said she’d do the trick with me, and it wasn’t my fault the horse shied.”
“While you are thinking about what you did not do, and about what you need to do to make amends, you are not to get on a horse—yours or anyone else’s—until Marlene’s arm is well. You are not to accept rides on wagons or buggies, either. In other words, wherever you need to go, you will walk!”
So I walked. I walked for more than eight weeks. When my friends found out what happened, they made sure to ride by me on their horses and say things like, “Adam, are you practicing to be a foot soldier?”
I also had to get up much earlier in the morning to get to the fields to work, and I got home long after everyone else, usually to a supper of cold leftovers, like tonight. I started to avoid people and went out of my way when I saw someone coming who I was sure would ask, “Adam, how much longer are you going to be walking?” And I started to think about why I was in this fix. I had made a mistake, and someone else had been hurt. Each step I took seemed to pound that fact more firmly in my head. I started to pray as I walked—for Marlene and for me.
Last week Doctor Meeks passed me in his buggy. I waved him to a stop and asked, “Doctor, how much longer do you think it will be until Marlene’s arm will be better?”
“Well,” he said, “we set it right, and she’s been careful. She was given a priesthood blessing of healing by her father, so I haven’t worried about her. Usually six weeks is long enough for that bone to heal, but we didn’t get hers set until the next day, remember, so it may take at least two more weeks. Then it should be as good as new, and she’ll probably forget all about it, except when she sees you.”
Doc reached over and tousled my hair. “Be careful, Adam. No more trick riding. I have enough sick people to take care of without you helping to make more.”
He clicked to his horse and went on down the road, leaving me to walk on alone.
When the two weeks had passed, I started looking forward to church so I could see if Marlene had the cast off her arm. She still had it on last Sunday, and it had been a few days more than eight weeks since the fall. The past three nights I had walked by her house, hoping to see her without the cast. I was sure people were saying, “There is that Adam. Let him walk and let it be a lesson to him.”
I was feeling pretty bad tonight as I came to our street. Then I remembered that my Uncle Milton’s advice was not just to say “please” and “thank you” but also “I’m sorry” and “It was my fault.”
I hurried past our house and went up to Marlene’s door and knocked. She called out, “Just a minute, please.”
It was a long minute before she answered the door. I just stood there looking down at my dusty shoes. Then I looked up at her. Her arm was still in the cast, and it was a bit soiled. I looked her in the eye. “Marlene … I’m sorry. Really! It was all my fault. I hope sometime you can forgive me.”
She let me stand there a moment longer. Then she said, “I’m glad you came, Adam. Your mother said that you would probably remember to come and say you were sorry for what happened before the doctor took the cast off. You made it—it comes off tomorrow.” She smiled. “Last night I prayed you would come today.”
“And you’ll forgive me?” I asked.
“Yes, I forgive you.”
I felt so warm inside as I walked home that I didn’t even mind the idea of one more cold supper.

Perhaps some of you can relate to a young friend I met while serving as president of a stake that included West Point Academy in the state of New York. He was a bright 4.0 student at the academy. He had been given leave from West Point to serve a mission and was readmitted on completion of his mission—not a common occurrence at West Point. On one of my visits to the West Point Branch he requested some time to talk.

As we talked he told me of how he had deepened his conversion to the gospel as he served his mission. He remembered the feelings and strength of his testimony as he returned to West Point following his mission.

Then he said: “In the two years since my mission I have gradually felt the Spirit slipping away from me. Every day I am associating with other cadets with different values. Their whole focus in life is successfully graduating from the academy. Periodically the honor code is compromised. Nearly every weekend is party time—alcohol and young women. I am hazed and ridiculed because I have refused to join with them.

“President Staheli, I need help. I feel like I am being tossed to and fro on the seas of life and I have lost my mooring. My gospel anchor of the past seems to be giving way to the life of fun and pleasures enjoyed by my colleagues at the academy.”

As we talked it became clear that the magnet of the adversary was gradually but surely drawing him into Satan’s grasp. My young friend had lost his mooring—not because Satan’s magnet had become stronger but because he had not been nurturing and tending to his testimony. He was in the process of losing what he had previously so deeply cherished.

Five years ago, I started a journey towards finishing my post-graduate studies in agriculture, specialising in plant breeding. I was offered a bursary from a prominent research institute in South Africa. Despite the challenge of raising a family, I embraced this dream. From a young age I have always been drawn to outdoor activities that had to do with touching soil and planting greens. Growing up in Mozambique, I used to love working with my grandmother on her small plot on the outskirts of Beira where she planted, amongst other things, sweet potato and rice. I cherish those memories and hold them very close to my heart.
When I embarked on the journey to become a plant breeder, I was on track to finish my studies and graduate in the winter of 2020. I had endless dreams of how perfect life was going to be. Looking at the demand for such scarce skills in the industry in previous years, I was really excited for the new possibilities that were unfolding before me. I had been a freelance language and media consultant for most of my working career. I was looking forward to finally being able to work in research and applying the skills that I had been acquiring in my studies.
With the rapid spread of the COVID-19 pandemic in South Africa, it became clear that although I had submitted my thesis at the end of 2019, I was not going to make it for the winter graduation as I had hoped. The most important thing for me was not the graduation ceremony, but to be able to complete the degree and to get a good job. I knew that it would take time to find the kind of job that I was looking for—I sent out one job application, then two—and eventually there were so many sent that I lost count.
This experience taught me some valuable lessons: some of our plans in life do not unfold exactly how we wish them to. Here, a year later, I am still searching for that dream job. This is not just for me, but my immediate family and society in general also have high expectations for someone with an academic degree like mine.
Upon meeting a friend, she asked how things were going in my life and if I had been able to find a job. I replied that I had not yet found one. We talked about several things. As I drove home, I was reflecting upon my lifestyle and my state of mind during the pandemic. I then realized how the hands of the Lord had blessed me. When thinking back I was able to pick up on the many skills that I had gained and the amount of time I had been able to spend with my family. There were simply too many small miracles to count. I had been able to afford my basic needs. I took my budget before COVID-19 and readjusted it. With more time on my hands, I was drawn to my passion of working the land. I planted a vegetable garden, the kids and I learned how to mow the lawn and to trim trees—the list is endless. Today our vegetable garden feeds us most of our greens, such as spinach, lettuce and rocket. We find meaningful time to play and work as a family. We enjoy to going on short night walks in our neighbourhood.
As I reflect upon my experiences in the past nine months—despite not having the things that I dreamed of—I have been generally content. I see more good around me than bad. I have gained a deeper understanding of trusting in the Lord’s timing. He knows what is best and has better plans for me and for my family. As I count my blessings, I have come to realise that the Lord is in control of many aspects of my life. He knows me individually and I matter to Him. He cares for our righteous desires. He wants us to trust Him and to be happy. I have come to know that with all my heart.

When he was in the navy during World War II, there were those in the great and spacious building21 who made fun of his principles, but two of his shipmates, Dale Maddox and Don Davidson, took note and did not. They asked, “Sabin, why are you so different from everyone else? You have high morals and don’t drink, smoke, or swear, but you seem calm and happy.”
Their positive impression of my father did not match what they had been taught about the Mormons, and my father was able to teach and baptize both shipmates. Dale’s parents were very upset and warned him that if he joined the Church he would lose his sweetheart, Mary Olive, but she met with the missionaries at his request and was also baptized.
Near the end of the war, President Heber J. Grant called for missionaries, including some married men. In 1946, Dale and his wife, Mary Olive, decided Dale should serve even though they were expecting their first child. They eventually had nine children—three boys and six girls. All nine served missions, followed by Dale and Mary Olive, who served three missions of their own. Dozens of grandchildren have also served. Two of their sons, John and Matthew Maddox, are currently members of the Tabernacle Choir, as is Matthew’s son-in-law Ryan. The Maddox family now numbers 144 and are wonderful examples of being “all in.”
In going through my dad’s papers, we came across a letter from Jennifer Richards, one of the five daughters of the other shipmate, Don Davidson. She wrote: “Your righteousness changed our lives. It is hard to comprehend what our lives would be like without the Church. My dad died loving the gospel and trying to live it to the end.”22
It is hard to measure the impact for good each individual can have by standing up inside. My father and his two shipmates refused to listen to those in the great and spacious building who were pointing the finger of scorn.23 They knew that it is far better to follow the Creator than the crowd.

Elizabeth loved going to Primary every week. She loved singing Church songs and feeling the peaceful spirit there. She loved all her friends in Primary. But then her Primary class changed.
A new boy named Joseph moved in, and he seemed different from the other kids. His clothes were rumpled and dirty, and he didn’t seem to know when to talk and when to be quiet. He never raised his hand.
When Elizabeth talked to her mom about the new boy, her mom said that Joseph came from a “hard situation.” Elizabeth wasn’t really sure what that meant, but she noticed that Joseph’s family didn’t come to church with him.
A few weeks after Joseph started coming to Primary, the trouble started.
“Everyone sit down so we can begin class,” Sister Johnson said. All the kids started to take their seats, but when Joseph sat down, everyone moved away from him.
From then on, if Joseph sat on one side of the room, everyone hurried and moved to other side. It was like a game of musical chairs, where everyone tried to move as far away from Joseph as possible. Elizabeth had been taught to be kind, but even she began to play the musical chairs game. Sister Johnson told everyone to stay in their seats, but it was obvious—no one wanted to sit by Joseph.
Then one week at church, Joseph wasn’t there. Then another week, and another week passed, and Joseph still didn’t come.
Elizabeth wondered about Joseph and why he wasn’t coming to church anymore. She thought that maybe it was because of his “hard situation.” Or maybe he had moved away. But she just couldn’t get rid of an icky feeling that she had done something wrong. The more she thought, the more Elizabeth realized that their musical chairs game had been mean and wrong and that maybe it was the reason Joseph stopped coming to church.
One night after family prayer, Elizabeth gave her mom a hug and started to cry.
“Mom, I think I did something wrong. I didn’t mean to, but I did.”
Elizabeth told her mom about how no one in her Primary class wanted to sit next to Joseph. She told her how they had all laughed and tried to get the farthest seat away from him and how she felt bad for being mean to him. Elizabeth and her mom talked about repentance and what she could do to feel better and make things right.
Mom said, “Joseph is a child of God. It doesn’t matter if he looks and acts different; Heavenly Father loves him. We should always treat others like they are valuable, because they truly are.”
Elizabeth promised herself that she would never treat anyone like that again. Even if it meant being less popular, she would treat everyone like a child of God.
One Sunday, Joseph finally returned to Primary. When the other kids started to giggle and race to find a seat away from Joseph, Elizabeth chose the seat right next to him.
“Hey, Joseph! What’s up?” she asked with a warm smile.
Go to “Family Night Fun” for an activity to go with this story.
For Elizabeth, the musical chairs game was over. Joseph would always have someone to sit by now.

Quite recently I was privileged to observe this process in the life of a brother named Stan, who had been less active for some 45 years. He had lived a good life and supported both his wife and son in their activity as faithful members in the Church. Yet for personal reasons he chose to remain outside the fellowship of the Church. Even so, each month he welcomed the home teachers.

During February 2006, Stan received new home teachers. Their first visit was pleasant enough, although Stan showed no real interest in the gospel or in any matters remotely associated with spiritual things. Their next visit did little to alter their initial observations, even though Stan was a little warmer and friendlier. On their third visit, however, there was a visible change in Stan’s countenance and demeanor. To their utmost surprise and even before they were able to present their message, Stan interrupted them with a number of thoughtful questions. In the ensuing discussion he also recounted his experiences during the past month, in which he and his wife had commenced reading one chapter a day from the Book of Mormon.

Elder Bruce R. McConkie eloquently described the type of reawakening Stan experienced: “Here is a man who gains a copy of this blessed book, begins to read it, and continues … until, having read it all, his famished soul is filled with the bread of life. He cannot lay it aside or ignore its teachings. It is as though the waters of life are flowing into the barren deserts of his soul, quenching the arid, empty feeling that theretofore separated him from his God.”

The home teachers were reminded of the remarkable power of the Book of Mormon and how very real the influence of the Spirit of the Lord is when we turn to its sacred pages. They also more fully understood the Prophet Joseph Smith’s declaration “that the Book of Mormon [is] the most correct of any book on earth, … and a man would get nearer to God by abiding by its precepts, than by any other book.”

Stan’s thirst for learning and rediscovery of the restored gospel soon expanded his reading beyond one chapter a day, accompanied by deep soul-searching and fervent prayer. To those who sometimes are concerned whether the Lord will actually hear their prayers, the Savior reminds us:

“If a son shall ask bread of any of you that is a father, will he give him a stone? or if he ask a fish, will he for a fish give him a serpent? …

“If ye then, being evil, know how to give good gifts unto your children: how much more shall your heavenly Father give good gifts, through the Holy Spirit, to them that ask him?”

Our beloved prophet, President Gordon B. Hinckley, also counseled: “You can’t do it alone. … You need the help of the Lord … and the marvelous thing is that you have the opportunity to pray, with the expectation that your prayers will be heard and answered. … He stands ready to help.”

During August of 2006, Stan ventured alongside his ever-faithful wife into his ward sacrament meeting—his first in 45 years. There, with a humble and prayerful heart, he listened to the simple sacramental prayers offered by the youthful priests. Feeling unworthy and sensing something of the depth and the meaning of this most holy ordinance, he reflected deeply and painfully without partaking of the bread or the water for a number of weeks.

President Joseph Fielding Smith, in a tender testimony many years ago, said: “In my judgment the sacrament meeting is the most sacred, the most holy, of all the meetings of the Church. When I reflect upon the gathering of the Savior and his apostles on that memorable night when he introduced the sacrament … my heart is filled with wonderment and my feelings are touched. I consider that gathering one of the most solemn and wonderful since the beginning of time.”

Stan continued studying, praying, attending church, and receiving appropriate counsel and encouragement from his home teachers. Then the day arrived when, joyfully, he felt he was ready to put forth his hand to partake of the precious sacrament. When we partake worthily, thoughtfully, and reverently of the holy sacrament, we are enabled to become “partakers of the divine nature” because of the Atonement of Christ and the power of the Holy Ghost.

As Stan returned to activity in the Church, he received a calling and, some months later, was ordained an elder.

In July 2007, Stan and his wife knelt across the altar in a house of the Lord and, by the authority and eternal law of God, were married for time and for all eternity.

A few weeks ago I was tending grandchildren while their Mom and Dad, Traci and Hans, participated in a sprint triathalon, that's the shortest triathalon. It was early in the morning. I fed Truman, nine months old, his bottle and put him on the floor with some toys. Grayson, five years old, and Chole, three years old, sat by my side on the couch and I began reading them a story. The story was getting exciting and Truman started fussing. We gave him more toys and continued our reading. He fussed again and we found his binky and popped it into his mouth. We were close to the climax of the story and he fussed again. Grayson said, "Truman is more important than this book."

In Alma 32:23 it says, "Now this is not all; little children do have words given unto them many times, which confound the wise and the learned" (grandmas).

I don't know how the story ends, but Grayson helped me think about what matters most.

Steve* was 15 when his parents divorced. When his family split up, Steve drifted into complete inactivity. Today, he recommends that teens lighten their burdens by staying close to the Lord. “Getting out of the Church is not the way to find relief,” he says. “Life is a rocky road, and you need all the help you can get.”
Steve says that when his parents divorced, he felt betrayed. “We were Latter-day Saints, and divorce was not supposed to happen to us. But by leaving the Church, I made things a lot tougher on myself. You need the Holy Ghost with you.” Steve eventually returned to activity, which led to his temple marriage and a happy family of his own.
Steve believes children of divorced parents can learn from their parents’ mistakes. “I believe I have gained insight,” he says. “I’m aware that everything needs hard work.”
Steve has always tried to be honest with both parents about his feelings and preferences. In addition, “I just refuse to get in the middle of any disagreement or negativity. I have made that clear.” If one parent talks negatively about the other, Steve asks that parent to stop, asking to be excused from the room if necessary.

Having a strong testimony is the bottom line for Kate. She is always excited to go to young women camp and youth conference with her stake. When asked about her favorite scripture, Kate mentions an experience she had while attending Especially for Youth. She hadn’t planned to bear her testimony, but then she had a feeling that someone there needed to hear what she had to say. She had been reading in her scriptures and had come upon Mosiah 8:18: “Thus God has provided a means that man, through faith, might work mighty miracles; therefore he becometh a great benefit to his fellow beings.”

Kate says, “I stood up and talked about my patriarchal blessing where it says I would be an example to others and people would be watching me. Now it’s my favorite scripture because it came as an answer to me.”

While serving as a mission president I would often have a new missionary approach me and ask the question, “How do I regain the spiritual intensity I enjoyed at the MTC?” Further discussion would reveal he was having a hard time adjusting to the rigors of the work and the daily adversity and rejection he faced. To help him through this period of his mission I came up with an analogy.
Every spring at our home in Bountiful, Utah, we plant flowers. We go down to our local garden center and painstakingly pick out the cartons containing the healthiest flowers we can find including many already blooming. We come home and carefully plant them in the soil, fertilize them, water them, and sit back to watch them grow. Much to our dismay, after a few days they start to wilt.
Why does this happen? These plants had lived their whole life in a greenhouse where conditions were ideal, and suddenly they faced the real-world shock of our flower garden. We may get a late snowstorm or a heavy rain; dogs run through the flower beds; grandchildren kick their soccer ball into them or pull the whole flower up and proudly present it as a gift to my wife; deer come often to dine on the tender shoots and nip off the buds or pull the whole flower up and spit out the roots. Last year I trapped and transplanted nine squirrels that delighted in feasting on every new blossom our petunias produced. Our plants had left the greenhouse where all of the elements were ideal and entered the real world.
However, the miraculous thing is that after a few weeks the plants sank their roots deeper and you would see new and stronger growth emanating from within the plant that could withstand the storms of the real world.
The MTC is a wonderful greenhouse, but the time comes when missionaries must leave and be subjected to the adversities as well as the joys of the real mission field. It is a delight to watch them grow.

When I went to Sunday School class that day my teacher was giving out red leather Bibles to some of the children who had 100 percent attendance for a year. I wanted one of those Bibles so bad I could hardly stand it, but there was no way I could get one now. I’d be gone in less than a month.
After class I went up to the front of the room just to look at the one beautiful book that was left. As I reached up to touch it, the teacher turned around from cleaning the blackboard and looked at me.
“You’re moving away, aren’t you, Dora?” she said.
I nodded my head.
“I’ll miss you in my class. I can tell when I see you listening that you are very close to our Heavenly Father.”
I nodded. She was right. I was close to Him. I knew He understood me even when no one else did.
“Would you like to have that Bible to take with you?” she asked kindly.
I bobbed my head up and down so fast I could feel my curls bouncing. She handed me the book, and I hugged it to me.
I reached up and kissed her cheek and skipped from the room, so happy I wanted to sing.
“Thank You, oh, thank You,” I murmured, glancing heavenward.

I saw that same miracle in the bedroom of a man who had given sufficient faithful service to think that he had done enough to rest.
I knew that he had undergone lengthy and painful treatment for a disease and had been told by the doctors that it was terminal. They offered neither treatment nor hope.
His wife took me to his bedroom in their home. There he was, lying on his back on the top of the carefully made-up bed. He wore a freshly pressed white shirt, a tie, and new shoes.
He saw the look of surprise in my eyes, laughed quietly, and explained, “After you give me a blessing, I want to be ready to respond to the call to take up my bed and go to work.” As it turned out, he was ready for the interview he would soon have with the Master, for whom he had worked so faithfully.
He was an example of the fully converted Latter-day Saints I meet often after they have given a life of dedicated service. They press on.

There are those families comprised of mothers and fathers, sons and daughters who have, through thoughtless comment, isolated themselves from one another. An account of how such a tragedy was narrowly averted occurred many years ago in the life of a young man who, for purposes of privacy, I shall call Jack.

Throughout Jack’s life, he and his father had many serious arguments. One day, when he was 17, they had a particularly violent one. Jack said to his father, “This is the straw that breaks the camel’s back. I’m leaving home, and I shall never return.” So saying, he went to the house and packed his bag. His mother begged him to stay; he was too angry to listen. He left her crying at the doorway.

Leaving the yard, he was about to pass through the gate when he heard his father call to him, “Jack, I know that a large share of the blame for your leaving rests with me. For this I am truly sorry. I want you to know that if you should ever wish to return home, you’ll always be welcome. And I’ll try to be a better father to you. I want you to know that I’ll always love you.”

Jack said nothing but went to the bus station and bought a ticket to a distant point. As he sat on the bus, watching the miles go by, he commenced to think about the words of his father. He began to realize how much love it had required for him to do what he had done. Dad had apologized. He had invited him back and left the words ringing in the summer air: “I love you.”

It was then that Jack realized that the next move was up to him. He knew the only way he could ever find peace with himself was to demonstrate to his father the same kind of maturity, goodness, and love that Dad had shown toward him. Jack got off the bus. He bought a return ticket and went back.

He arrived shortly after midnight, entered the house, turned on the light. There in the rocking chair sat his father, his head in his hands. As he looked up and saw Jack, he arose from the chair and they rushed into each other’s arms. Jack often said, “Those last years that I was home were among the happiest of my life.”

“One of my fondest childhood memories is of my dog. Mother and Father bought me a collie, and I named him Scotty. Collies are smart, but this dog had an uncanny ability to know what time it was. Every morning Scotty walked with me through the park to the corner and left me there to cross the street on my way to school. He seemed to sense that that was as far as he should go. I live close to school and came home for lunch, and every day at noon Scotty was there to walk home with me and then back to the corner after lunch. At 3:30 he was there again to walk home from school with me. He was as faithful a companion as you would ever want to have. Scotty lived with us many, many years. He and I were inseparable. He was my protector, and ours was a great relationship. I was very sad when he died. I never had a brother, but it didn’t seem to matter because my best pal was Scotty. I hope that other children have pets that mean as much to them as Scotty did to me.”

When Norman D. and Luana Shumway, directors of Church hosting in Salt Lake City, met a prominent Christian minister from the midwestern United States, he told them he didn’t know exactly why he had come to visit. Brother and Sister Shumway decided to take him on a tour of the Latter-day Saint Humanitarian Center and Welfare Square to help him find out.
“During the more than two hours we spent with him,” recalls Brother Shumway, “the words that he used over and over again were ‘incredible,’ ‘unbelievable,’ ‘amazing.’ And he kept saying, ‘Oh, there’s so much we can learn about how to be followers of Christ.’”