Gospel Story Finder

I was born and raised in the Church but chose inactivity in my 20s. I married a good man who was not active in his own faith either. As John and I began our family, which would eventually include five children, my heart began to yearn for the teachings of my youth. I did not pressure John, but he agreed to worship with me and our two sons, John Rowe and Joseph. We began attending our ward every Sunday. The missionaries taught John, who embraced the gospel and was baptized three months later.
We became active members of our ward, fulfilling callings in different auxiliaries. Three more children—Hayley, Tessa, and Jenna—came to our family, and all five thrived in Primary, Activity Days, and Scouting. Over the next decade, John and I took the temple-preparation classes three different times, but they never resulted in our going to the temple. We wanted our family to be sealed, but we didn’t feel ready to live all of the commandments. We were attending church regularly and obeying most of the commandments—that was good enough, wasn’t it? Besides, our children didn’t really know the difference.
We soon realized that wasn’t actually the case. As we tucked him into bed each night, our oldest son began asking when our family was going to the temple. That tugged at our heartstrings.
About this time our bishop invited my husband and me to his office. He wanted to know why we had not committed to making temple blessings a reality for our family. We explained that we weren’t ready to live all of the commandments required for receiving a temple recommend and that we felt we were already doing our best.
As bishops had done before, Bishop Riding counseled us about the importance of these ordinances and the eternal blessings available to our family. But then something happened that I will never forget. Bishop Riding sat quietly for several seconds before saying softly, “I feel impressed to tell you that the time for you to go to the temple is now. The window of opportunity is closing for your family.”
We didn’t know all of the implications of the bishop’s comment, but we instantly felt the Spirit confirm its truth. We realized not only that the temple would bless us eternally but that our sealing could also help our children as they grew older and started making important decisions for their lives.
John and I left the bishop’s office that evening with a new sense of urgency. We set specific goals and a target date for our temple endowment and sealing. From then on we wholeheartedly tried to live all of the commandments—not just the ones we were comfortable with. In addition, we devoted consistent effort to prayer and scripture study and served with more fervor in our callings. As we made these sacrifices, we saw many blessings come into our lives.
When we did struggle, we encouraged each other. I remember one particular night when my husband sensed I was feeling a little bit apprehensive. He read a passage from President Boyd K. Packer’s The Holy Temple,1 which we had been studying together. The words he shared broadened my vision and calmed my fears.
Bishop Riding continued to encourage us, as did ward members. A friend gave us a copy of the Temples booklet, which we pored over. The teachers of our temple-preparation class answered our questions and reached out in kindness and fellowship, and many ward members provided good examples of temple worthiness.
Each night as we tucked our children into bed, we confidently told them yes, our family was going to go to the temple. As the time drew closer, we were able to give them a specific date.
On April 17, 1998, about six months after that life-changing day in our bishop’s office, John and I knelt at the altar of the Dallas Texas Temple with our five children. Many friends from our ward attended, and through their support I realized how eager they were for us to enjoy the blessings they knew in their own families. Without question, our sealing has been the single most important event in our life.
To my husband and me, the effects of our sealing seemed very tangible. For instance, we noticed a change in the atmosphere in our home, particularly in our children. They seemed more obedient, and while they weren’t perfect, they did consistently strive to make good choices and follow the commandments. We experienced an increase in family unity too.
As rich as those blessings were, the reality of temple blessings became especially poignant in 2007. The morning of October 21, our twins, then 17, were in a car accident. Tessa sustained minor injuries, but Jenna’s condition was serious. She was taken to an area hospital, where she lay in a coma. When we learned she might not live, our three oldest children returned from college. As we spent the next days together in Jenna’s hospital room, our family took great comfort in the ordinances that will allow us to be together after death. We spent time talking about the eternal nature of families—of our family. A week after the accident, Jenna passed away.
Our temple covenants have become even more important to us since her death. We miss Jenna terribly and long for the day when we can be together again, but our faith in the plan of salvation and our testimony of eternal families sustain us. We display in our home a picture of our family at the temple, which reminds us of our experience and the promises we know can be ours.
We are grateful for faithful priesthood leaders who counseled with us, particularly for a good bishop who followed a prompting that led to eternal blessings for our family. We are grateful for friends and ward members who encouraged us along the way and who provided good examples for us to follow. Most of all, we are grateful to a loving Heavenly Father, who has made it possible for “family relationships to be perpetuated beyond the grave” through the gift of His Son and through temple ordinances.2

Children are uncomfortably adept at seeing through insincerity, and sometimes startlingly open about stating it. I remember taking my son with me to the grocery store once when he was about four years old. At the checkout counter when he wanted a candy bar, I responded, “I’m sorry, Matt, I don’t have enough money for a candy bar.” I thought it was a clever response—I was telling him I didn’t want to while hiding behind words that suggested I didn’t have enough money. That night, when I told him it was time to go to bed, he responded, “Sorry, Daddy, I don’t have enough money to go to bed.” He was not fooled by my words in the grocery store. He knew I was saying that I didn’t want to buy the candy bar, and so he used my manipulative tool, words, to say that he didn’t want to go to bed.

Before any temple is dedicated, children and adults can go to the temple open house and see what a house of the Lord looks like on the inside.
Aubree, Reese, and Ellee M. live a few blocks from the Draper Utah Temple, so they watched as it was built week by week. They even saw a big crane lifting the angel Moroni into place. “That was really awesome!” 10-year-old Aubree said. “But the best day ever was when my family and I got to go inside.”
As soon as they walked through the temple door, the children felt a special spirit. Their tour guide explained that “everything in the temple is sacred,” Aubree said.

It all started in 1988 when three young women from the Jacana Ward in Sao Paulo, Brazil, felt a strong desire to visit the elderly ladies who live in a nursing home near the chapel.
The initial idea turned into a continuous service project called “Adopt a Grandma” and other young women from the ward soon began to participate. Later on, more young people from two other wards were also involved. Now, there are nonmembers who help with the project.
These youth have learned what it means to have the pure love of Christ. The elderly women in the rest home have different backgrounds and histories. Some don’t even know their parents or when or where they were born.
One of these is Sebastiana Maria Catarina de Jesus; a talkative, cheerful lady who appears quite small in her wheelchair. She does not know her age, and has no relatives nor visitors. She has become a different woman since these loving and giving young people began visiting her. Catarina now feels that she has a family. She loves to spend time with these youth who are her new family.
Flora Esperanca Galassi is seventy-nine years old and becomes emotional at the mention of her family. A surprise birthday party was given to Flora, who is touched as she remembers this precious day in her life. She embraces the young people warmly because they are everything she has in life.
Virginia Fernandes, who looks about seventy-five years old, also does not know when she was born. She walks around the nursing home with difficulty and does not hear very well, but her countenance reflects joy in being close to her newly made friends.
They speak words of support and are always willing to help the elderly ladies, whose simple needs are easily met: a towel to Catarina, clothing to Flora or a cake to Virginia. These young people know that they are attending to the needs of a part of the Good Shepherd’s flock. They freely give of their love, affection, and kindness, which is just as freely returned.

June 27 of this year marks the 150th anniversary of that solemn event when the first prophet of this dispensation sealed his testimony of the Restoration with his blood. I testify that he was a prophet of God. I have seen the Lord convert people to His plan of salvation through the testimony of the Prophet Joseph. Many years ago I served as the president of the Canadian Mission. In the city of Oshawa, Ontario, Canada, two of our missionaries were proselyting door-to-door on a cold, snowy afternoon. They had not had any measure of success. One was experienced, one was new.
The two called at the home of Mr. Elmer Pollard, and he, feeling sympathy for the almost frozen missionaries, invited them in. They presented their message and asked if he would join them in prayer. He agreed, on the provision that he could offer the prayer.
The prayer he offered astonished the missionaries. He said, “Heavenly Father, bless these two unfortunate, misguided missionaries, that they may return to their homes and not waste their time telling the people of Canada about a message which is so fantastic and about which they know so little.”
As they arose from their knees, Mr. Pollard asked the missionaries never to return to his home. As they left, he mockingly said to them, “You can’t tell me you really believe that Joseph Smith is a prophet of God, anyway!” and he shut the door.
The missionaries had walked but a short distance when the junior companion said, “Elder, we didn’t answer Mr. Pollard.”
The senior companion said, “We’ve been evicted. Let’s move on to greener territory.”
The young missionary persisted, however, and the two returned to Mr. Pollard’s door. Mr. Pollard answered the knock and angrily said, “I thought I told you young men never to return!”
The junior companion then said, with all the courage he could muster, “Mr. Pollard, when we left your door, you said that we didn’t really believe Joseph Smith was a prophet of God. I want to testify to you, Mr. Pollard, that I know Joseph Smith is a prophet of God; that by inspiration he translated the sacred record known as the Book of Mormon; that he did see God the Father and Jesus the Son.” The missionaries then departed the doorstep.
I heard this same Mr. Pollard, in a testimony meeting, state the experiences of that memorable day. He said: “That evening, sleep would not come. I tossed and turned. Over and over in my mind I heard the words, ‘Joseph Smith is a prophet of God. I know it … I know it … I know it.’ I could scarcely wait for morning to come. I telephoned the missionaries, using the address which was printed on the small card containing the Articles of Faith that they had left with me. They returned; and this time, with the correct spirit, my wife and family and I joined in the discussion as earnest seekers of truth. As a result, we have all embraced the gospel of Jesus Christ. We shall ever be grateful to the testimony of truth brought to us by courageous, humble missionaries.”

A while back, I went with some friends to a party. When we got there, we saw that there were no parents to supervise us, and I immediately felt uncomfortable. I started to have fun, though, so I decided to stay and hang with my friends.
As the night progressed, I soon realized that people were drinking alcohol and that some of my friends had joined in. I had felt uncomfortable before, but now things had gone too far. Luckily, I’d decided years before what I would do in this situation, so I immediately called my dad to come pick me up.
When he showed up, I left the party, and a few of my friends who were also uncomfortable came with me. I sadly lost some close friends that night, but I gained better ones. And my relationship with my parents and my Heavenly Father improved immensely.
Looking back, I can’t help but think of the scripture in 2 Nephi 2:27, which says, “Wherefore, men … are free to choose liberty and eternal life, through the great Mediator of all men, or to choose captivity and death.”
That was not the last time I had to make a decision like this one. I will always be grateful for the first time I learned to choose liberty.

Sofía was almost eight years old. She was getting ready to be baptized. She was learning lots of important things. One thing she had learned about was prayer. She knew she could pray to Heavenly Father anytime. She knew she could pray anyplace.
One day Sofía and Mama decided to visit Papa at work. It would be a long trip. Papa worked in another town. They would have to ride on a bus, then in a truck, and then in a taxi.
During the bus ride, Sofía fell asleep. She woke up when she heard a baby crying. A mom and dad with a baby had gotten on the bus. The baby was sick and crying loudly. The baby’s parents looked worried.
Sofía felt sorry for the baby. She felt sorry for the parents too. Then she had an idea. She whispered in Mama’s ear. “Could I say a prayer and ask Heavenly Father to bless the baby?”
“Of course,” Mama said with a smile.
Sofía bowed her head and said a silent prayer. She prayed hard. She asked Heavenly Father to bless the baby. She asked Him to help the baby feel better and stop crying.
Sofía knew that we do not always get what we pray for. She also knew that our prayers are not always answered right away. But in a short time, the baby calmed down. Then the baby stopped crying. She seemed to feel better. Her parents did not look so worried.
Sofía felt warm and happy inside. She was happy for the baby—and for the baby’s parents. She knew Heavenly Father had heard her prayer.

When I opened my mission call, I was surprised to see that I had been assigned to the Mexico Veracruz Mission. My family had lived in Veracruz when I was born, and most of my extended family lives there. We are the only members of the Church in our family, so I was excited at the thought of having the opportunity to share the gospel with my relatives.
However, once there, I never served in an area near my relatives. I gave their addresses to my companions so they could visit them.
Fifteen months into my mission, I began having knee problems. My knee hurt a lot and at times the pain was unbearable. When I went to the doctor, his diagnosis was that surgery was the only solution. That meant that I would be returning home early. I couldn’t believe that this was happening; I had only three months left on my mission.
I decided to turn to the Lord to ask for comfort and, if possible, a miracle. In answer to my prayer, I felt deep relief in my heart. My mission president’s wife encouraged me with sincere motherly love to return home to recover, and I wrote my family to notify them that I would be coming home in two weeks.
After that, I had an interview with my mission president. He told me that my mother had contacted him and given him an option: She could come to Veracruz to care for me in the home of an aunt and uncle of mine during my recovery, since I would have to cease missionary activities for a while. My president told me that it might be a feasible option but that he would have to ask for permission.
When I found out later that permission had been granted, I felt my heart leap with excitement—I could stay and finish my mission! I said a prayer of thanksgiving.
On the day of the surgery, my mission president told me, “Sister Gómez, you need to find out why the Lord allowed you to stay in Veracruz.” From that moment on, I was set on finding out the reason.
That same day, my mother, who had arrived in Veracruz, told me, “Your Mamá Lita (my paternal grandmother) is coming to the hospital to see you. This would be a good opportunity to ask her about your ancestors.”
“What a great idea!” I thought. I couldn’t wait to ask my relatives about my ancestors. Mamá Lita asked me about what it meant to be a missionary. I taught her about the Restoration and then talked to her about the plan of salvation, since my grandfather—her husband—had died a few years back. Then came a question I’d been hoping she would ask: “Will I be able to see my sweetheart again?”
Her question filled me with joy, and I answered, “Of course you will!” Her eyes glistened. It was wonderful to share that eternal truth with her. More questions came, all of them focused on the plan of salvation. In turn, I asked her the questions I had about my family so I could fill out my family tree. I felt how the Spirit enabled her to gain an understanding of the plan of salvation.
Later, as I visited the rest of my relatives, I talked with my maternal grandmother, who helped me find more family names. I was also able to share the gospel with all those we visited.
I realized why God had allowed me to first go to Veracruz on my mission and then to stay there after my surgery. I returned to my mission with a deep love for family history. Thanks to my mother’s tender care, I was able to finish my mission.

I loved Primary and had many wonderful teachers who taught me the gospel. One, though, was very special to me. Sister Mary Stevenson taught Primary in the LeGrand Ward in Salt Lake City. One summer she taught our class to play the harmonica. She told us that by summer’s end we would play for George Albert Smith, who was then the President of the Church.
We worked hard, and the important evening finally came. Before we left for President Smith’s house, Sister Stevenson told us that we were going to shake the hand of a prophet, that it would be a special experience, and that we would always remember it. What a thrill to be so close to a prophet!
To such a little boy as I was, President Smith looked very tall. He greeted us with a friendly smile. We played two or three of his favorite songs on our harmonicas. When we finished, he shook hands with each of us and thanked us for our visit. Sister Stevenson was right—I never forgot that experience. I shall always be grateful to my Primary teacher for such an opportunity.

Perhaps this story of the Queen Mary that I recently read is applicable.

When the Queen Mary was launched in 1935, she was the largest and most powerful sailing vessel ever to cross the oceans. She enjoyed a distinguished career—her decades of service included significant involvement in World War II. After her retirement, the Queen Mary was anchored in Long Beach, California, and converted into a hotel and museum. Sister Ballard and I spent a night in the captain’s cabin as guests of the owner.

Restoration crews removed three massive smokestacks in order to scrape and paint them. Once detached from their supported location, however, the stacks crumbled. The three-quarter-inch steel plate from which they had been constructed had completely disintegrated. All that remained of the Queen Mary’s stacks were the layers of paint that had been applied during the years. The Queen Mary suffered a condition that is also common to humankind. Polished and attractive exteriors crumble if not supported internally by enduring substance. Personally and professionally, our lives can break down, deteriorate, or even collapse if we lack a solid set of values and standards.

The story of Sukiman Abraham, who serves as Clementi Branch mission leader, gives us an idea of the challenges unique to Singapore. Sukiman belonged to a non-Christian religion. His parents, who were born in Indonesia, moved to Singapore before World War II. When young, Sukiman attended religious services with his parents and studied his religion.
Although his parents were devout, they allowed Sukiman to attend a school taught by Latter-day Saints. One Saturday, he was playing basketball with some Latter-day Saint players, who invited him to church. He attended the next day. He says, “I learned a little about the restored gospel and received a copy of the Book of Mormon. I started to read it on the way home. I began to take several lessons a week. My father scolded me and threw away my copies of the scriptures. My mother asked me to take some time. After one month, I decided to be baptized.”
Sukiman’s parents asked him to leave. For two months he had no home, until he joined the armed forces. After a while, his parents reconsidered, and his mother asked him to come home. He completed his military service, then worked in shipping. In 1982, his father died. “On his death bed,” Sukiman remembers, “he asked me to take care of my mother, though I was Christian. I became the main support for her and the rest of the family. I wanted to serve a mission, but in my parents’ faith, leaving one’s mother is unfilial. One night in 1985, the answer came to my prayer: ‘Just go, and I will take care of her.’ So I went. The Lord did provide for my family. They were all right when I got back.”
“My mother and I are at peace, and she visits me often. She knows that the gospel has made me a better man and a more obedient son.”

In 2002 I learned an important lesson about problems. While in Asunción, Paraguay, I met with the city’s stake presidents. At that time, Paraguay faced a terrible financial crisis, and many Church members were suffering and unable to make ends meet. I had not been to South America since my mission and had never been to Paraguay. I had been serving in that Area Presidency for only a few weeks. Apprehensive about my inability to give guidance to those stake presidents, I asked them to tell me only what was going well in their stakes. The first stake president told me about things that were going well. The next mentioned things that were going well and a few problems. By the time we got to the last stake president, he mentioned only a series of vexing challenges. As the stake presidents explained the magnitude of the situation, I grew increasingly concerned, nearly desperate, about what to say.
Just as the last stake president was finishing his comments, a thought came into my mind: “Elder Clayton, ask them this question: ‘Presidents, of the members in your stakes who pay a full tithing, pay a generous fast offering, magnify their callings in the Church, actually visit their families as home teachers or visiting teachers every month, hold family home evening, study the scriptures, and hold family prayer each day, how many have problems they cannot address on their own without the Church having to step in and solve their problems for them?’”
Responsive to the impression I had received, I asked the stake presidents that question.
They looked at me in surprised silence and then said, “Pues, ninguno,” meaning, “Well, no one.” They then told me that none of the members who did all of those things had problems they were incapable of resolving on their own. Why? Because they lived in the finest homes. Their faithful living provided them the strength, vision, and heavenly help they needed in the economic turmoil that surrounded them.

My name is William Paul McCallister, but everyone calls me Willy. I’m ten years old, and last year my parents decided that our family would go to general conference in Salt Lake City.
We live in Calgary, Alberta, Canada, so it was a long drive for us. Then we had to stand in line a long time—more than two hours—so that we could sit in the Tabernacle for the Saturday morning session. But it was all worth it. When I saw President Benson, I got a swelling in my chest, and my eyes got all watery, and I knew that he really was a prophet of God. I knew, too, that I should listen and do what he said because he spoke for Heavenly Father.
President Benson looked all around, then started to speak. He said that it was time for the earth to be flooded with the Book of Mormon and that it was the responsibility of every member to help.
Later, as we were driving home, our family talked about what we could do to follow the prophet. Mom suggested that we give copies of the Book of Mormon to the missionaries, with our pictures and testimonies inside. We did that the year before, and it was fun, but we didn’t hear from any of the people that got them.
Dad suggested that we give copies of it to some of our friends so that we would know the people who got them.
I thought about it a lot. There are so many people in the world! If I gave a Book of Mormon to someone, it would be like adding one little drop in a whole ocean of people. But I decided that lots of drops added together could flood the earth.
When we got home, I told Mom that I wanted to give a Book of Mormon to someone. She got me one, and I put my picture and my testimony inside it. I wrote that I knew that the Book of Mormon was true because Joseph Smith was a real prophet of God. I said that anyone who read the Book of Mormon and really wanted to know if it was true could pray and ask God, and the Spirit would let him know that it is true. Finally I signed my name. After I finished, I felt kind of scared because I really didn’t know who I was going to give it to.
The next day I put the Book of Mormon in my backpack and took it to school. I guess I expected somebody to just come up and ask me for it, but nobody did.
When I got home, Mom knew that I was discouraged. She said that if I prayed about it, Heavenly Father would help me to know whom to give the Book of Mormon to. So I prayed really hard. I told Heavenly Father that I would do whatever He wanted me to if He would just show me what to do. After I finished, I still didn’t know who to give the Book of Mormon to, but I knew that Heavenly Father was going to help me. I sure didn’t expect things to turn out like they did, though!
In the morning I put the book in my backpack again. During recess, I took it out and set it on my knees. I looked at it for a while, then opened it to my favorite scripture: “I will go and do the things which the Lord hath commanded, for I know that the Lord giveth no commandments unto the children of men, save he shall prepare a way for them that they may accomplish the thing which he commandeth them” [1 Ne. 3:7]. Right then I surely needed the Lord to provide a way for me to give that Book of Mormon to someone.
Suddenly a shadow fell across my book, and I looked up at a kid standing there. I had seen him lots of times before, but I didn’t know his name.
“What’re you reading?” he asked.
“The Book of Mormon.”
“Oh. You must be a Mormon,” he said. “My mother says that Mormons are pretty OK people, although she doesn’t believe that any church is the true church.”
“Well”—I hesitated, hoping that the Holy Ghost would help me know what to say—“that’s just because she doesn’t know about our church. We have a real prophet, and Jesus Christ is the head of the Church. He tells the prophet what to say to us.”
“Really? My mother says that even if there is a God, no one can really know for sure, because He doesn’t talk to people anymore.”
I took a deep breath and prayed for more help. “Don’t you think that God would want you to know that He exists and to know what He wants you to do?”
“I guess so.”
“A prophet tells people what God wants them to do,” I said.
“So what does your prophet tell you?” he asked.
I could tell that he didn’t believe me. I prayed really hard for help. “He says that we should study the Book of Mormon because it’s an inspired book of scripture and that a person can get close to God by reading it.”
“Is that what you’re reading?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said. “Do you want to see it?”
“Sure.”
I handed him my Book of Mormon.
“I have one question,” he said. “How do you know that someone isn’t just trying to fool you with all that stuff about God and real prophets, like my mother says?”
“I’ll show you.” I was getting really excited. I reached over and turned to Moroni 10:4. When I found it, I read out loud:
“‘And when ye shall receive these things, I would exhort you that ye would ask God, the Eternal Father, in the name of Christ, if these things are not true; and if ye shall ask with a sincere heart, with real intent, having faith in Christ, he will manifest the truth of it unto you, by the power of the Holy Ghost.’ See,” I said, “you don’t have to take my word for it. If you pray about it, you can find out for yourself if it’s true, because God will tell you. But you have to read it first.”
The boy looked at the scripture again and read it himself. Then he looked at me. “I wonder what my mother would say about this.”
“Well,” I said, “maybe you could ask her. You can have this Book of Mormon. Then she can read it, too, and find out if it’s true.”
Just then the bell rang, and he left with my Book of Mormon under his arm. I was feeling pretty happy as I went back inside the school. Then I realized that I still didn’t know his name and that if they asked me, I would have to tell Mom and Dad that I didn’t know who had gotten my Book of Mormon.
Then a couple of weeks later, the boy found me during recess and said that his name was Chris Brown and that his mother wanted to know more about the Church. That was six weeks ago. Now we’re friends, and tomorrow he and his whole family are being baptized.
I have another Book of Mormon in my backpack now.

One day when I was seventeen years of age, I came across a former neighbor of mine. He invited me to attend his church the next Sunday because he was to be a speaker in the meeting. It was there he gave his two-and-one-half minute talk, and I met the missionaries for the first time. One year later, I was baptized in the swimming pool of the Hong Kong mission home and became a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

I used to be guilty of judging by appearance back in the days when I could see, before I lost my sight because of diabetes. I remember in particular my girls’ chorus teacher in junior high school. She was about as plain as a person could be, and she wore drab clothing. Even in conducting the choir she seemed to be a shy, backward person with about as much personality as a soda cracker. I am ashamed to admit that we girls made many rude remarks and cruel jokes about her behind her back.
One day at the end of the school year, some friends of mine thought it would be funny to leave an anonymous note on her desk telling her what we really thought of her. I was elected to do the dirty work. But as I went into the empty room to leave the note, I couldn’t do it. Instead, overcome by what I now suspect was the Spirit, I quickly wrote a note thanking her for her efforts in leading the chorus and telling her I had enjoyed singing.
As I was leaving the note on her desk, she entered the room. I was frozen to the spot as she walked to the desk, picked up the note, and read it. As I watched, I was astonished to see tears come to her eyes and flood down her cheeks. She clutched the note to her heart and in her mild way said, “Thank you.”
As I looked into her eyes at that moment, I believe I saw her clearly for the first time. I felt like I saw straight into her soul and sensed at once her loneliness, her pain, and her gentle goodness. At that moment, I loved her with a love that was far more powerful than anything I had ever felt for my favorite teachers. The Lord permitted me to see her heart as he sees it.

Tim’s foot hurt. His cast felt hot and itchy, and he was tired of just lying on the couch.
“Mom,” Tim called and waited.
“Mom,” he called again, a little louder. She must be upstairs with the baby, he decided. He looked over the stack of movies she had borrowed from the library. He’d already watched them all—twice. He looked out the window. In the backyard, little Heidi climbed up on her plastic slide while David slid down. Sun lit their hair, and he could hear them laughing. “It’s not fair,” Tim grumbled to no one in particular. He wished his foot wouldn’t ache anymore.
He heard a rumble approaching the house, followed by a loud squeal. The school bus. Soon the front door creaked open, and he heard the thud of backpacks and instrument cases hitting the floor. Brian and Eric are home, he told himself. He listened to their footsteps heading toward the kitchen.
“Hey, Tim,” Brian’s voice said.
Tim couldn’t see him over the back of the couch. “Hi,” he answered quietly.
“Feeling any better?” Brian’s head popped into view.
Tim frowned up at him. “No. And I’m bored.”
“Do you want a snack?” Eric called from the kitchen. “There are lots of frozen treats in here.”
“No thanks.”
“I’ll have a grape one,” Brian said.
Tim heard a box snap open and wrappers crunch as Eric fished one out.
“Catch.”
Tim flinched when the frozen treat hurtled over the couch and bashed against his cast. “Ouch!” he yelled.
Brian grabbed the treat.
“Oops, sorry,” Eric called, taking his treat outside.
“So, have you worked on your castle yet?” Brian asked.
Tim shook his head.
“Why not?”
“It’s downstairs.” Tim had crutches, but he wasn’t supposed to use them yet. His bedroom—and everything else downstairs—had been pretty much off-limits since his foot surgery last week.
“Do you want me to get the stuff for you?”
Tim shrugged. The castle was to be made out of tiny plastic blocks of many shapes and colors. Even though the set was brand-new, it would take him hours to find all the pieces he’d need—especially because he wasn’t supposed to even sit up for very long.
“I can help you put it together,” Brian offered. “I don’t have that much homework to do.”
Tim smiled. “Really?”
“Sure. We can build it on this table right by the couch. I’ll hand you the pieces, and you figure out how they fit.”
“OK.”
Brian threw his empty stick into the trash and tromped down the stairs. Tim listened to hear his steps coming back up.
“Here it is.” Brian handed the box to Tim.
“Thanks.” Tim slid his finger between layers of cardboard and opened the box. Inside, the pieces glittered in plastic bags. He handed Brian some colorful pages with pictures and directions.
“Awesome,” Brian said. He moved the box to the table and began sorting blocks. “Here’s one you’ll need for the foundation,” he said, holding it out for Tim.
By the time Dad got home, the castle was almost finished.
“Tim, this looks great!” Dad exclaimed.
“Brian helped a lot,” Tim said.
“Wow, Brian, that was nice of you!” Dad looked at Tim again. “And how’s your foot?”
“Lots better,” Tim said. “I even forgot it hurt.”
Dad patted Brian on the back. “You should be a doctor, Son.”
Brian grinned down at the last few blocks. “We’ll call it the castle cure,” he said.

Our Savior cares for all of his sheep. What a tribute it is to be recognized as one who cares. Let me share with you a story about the quiet caring of an unusual person who was brought to my attention during the last few weeks.

Recently, during a twenty-fifth anniversary ward reunion in the Salt Lake Valley, a “Best Scouter Ever” award was presented. The special evening in the cultural hall, which included dinner as well as a fine program, drew many people back to the ward event because of the good feelings created over the past twenty-five years.

The person acting as master of ceremonies introduced a young man to make this special award. He looked to be about six feet four inches tall and well over two hundred pounds. He walked to the microphone and said, “We would now like to pay tribute to the best Scouter this ward has ever had.”

Immediately names and faces of past Scout leaders jumped into the minds of those attending. Who would it be? There had been many great Scoutmasters in this ward. How could those in charge decide?

The tall, handsome young man mentioned many names of past Scout leaders and then said, “No, it is none of these, though they have all been great Scouters. Our ward ‘Best Scouter Ever’ award goes to someone who has worked in the Primary and as a Scout leader teaching boys for forty years. This individual has received the Silver Beaver Award, one of the highest awards given in Scouting, and the Silver Beehive Award, the highest award given by the Church in Scouting.” Then with a voice that trembled slightly, he said, “Our ‘Best Scouter Ever’ recognition goes to Sister Jennie Verl Keefer.” There came a hush over the audience, then knowing voices of approval, then a burst of applause that seemed to go on forever.

Sister Keefer was called up to the front. All present intently watched her quietly make her way. From the back of the room, this gray-haired bundle of energy hesitatingly came forward, her five-foot frame barely taller than those who were seated. Once at the microphone, the surprised recipient expressed a quiet and emotional, yet firm, thanks. She said between tears of gratitude it wasn’t quite forty years she had served. It was only thirty-seven years. And then Sister Keefer proudly added that during all her time of service, she had never had a bad boy.

Then the presenter asked all those whom Sister Keefer had ever taught and cared for to come to the stage. Here was the amazing thing. Men and boys started from the audience and filled the space behind this tiny woman. Big men, men in suits, doctors, bishops, presidents of companies, husbands, fathers holding babies, returned missionaries, contractors, computer workers, dentists, carpenters, and more. All these Scouts had been boys touched by the service and caring of this one noble and great woman—the best Scouter ever in the ward’s entire history. She had the gift of caring, and here were some of the fruits of her labors. Generations yet to come will bless her name for what she has done. What a great gift have those who know how to care!

Five years ago, I accepted the true gospel of Jesus Christ and was baptized and confirmed a member of the Church. Since then, I was nourished by the good word of God through leaders, teachers, callings, and sweet members. One Sabbath day, I was touched and inspired by a testimony borne by a 6-year-old primary kid on his temple experience. I was so much moved and inspired that I decided then to prepare myself along with my family to go to the temple.

At any given recovery meeting, a variety of addictions may be represented. Steve, for example, was addicted to prescription drugs. He initially took medication for a back injury, but after his injury had healed, he lied and eventually stole in order to get more prescription drugs. Steve, who served as a counselor in a bishopric, ended up in jail wearing his suit one Sunday when he was supposed to be conducting sacrament meeting. It was at that point he knew he needed help.
Steve, who found himself in jail wearing his church suit, says, “Today I’m clean and sober because of my Heavenly Father and the 12 steps.” His activity in the Church is especially meaningful to him. “I am a father. I am a priests quorum adviser. I am also a facilitator because I want to give back to a program that gave so freely to me.”

One of the greatest lessons in devotion came when George T. Benson received a mission call. “I was about 13 years of age when father received a call to go on a mission. He went, leaving mother at home with seven children. The eighth was born four months after he arrived in the field.

“Mother was a stalwart. Never did we hear a murmur from her lips. The letters we received from Father were indeed a blessing. They seemed to us children to come halfway around the world, but they were only from Cedar Rapids, Marshall Town, Iowa; Chicago, Springfield, Illinois; etc. There came into our home, as a result, a spirit of missionary work that has never left it.

“Father returned home and while we were sitting in the yard on one-legged milking stools, milking cows the ‘armstrong method,’ he would sing over and over again, ‘Ye Elders of Israel,’ ‘Israel, Israel, God Is Calling,’ ‘Come All Ye Sons of God,’ ‘Ye Who Are Called to Labor,’ until I learned every word of these great missionary songs. Today I don’t need a songbook when we sing these great songs that Father sang to us morning and evening.”