Gospel Story Finder

“When are we going camping?” four-year-old Bryce asked as he sat at the kitchen counter eating a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.
“In three more days,” Mother said.
Bryce frowned. “That’s a long time.”
Mother nodded. “Well, you can pack some of your toys and help me make cookies so the time will go faster.”
“Hurray!” Bryce hopped off the stool and ran to get his army men. Later, as he stirred the cookie dough, he said, “We’re going to roast hot dogs and marshmallows and sleep in a tent!”
“We sure are,” Mother agreed. Then she mussed his hair. He laughed.
The next morning Bryce slept in later than usual. At the breakfast table, he didn’t touch his toast and jam.
“Are you OK?” Mother asked.
“I’m tired,” he said.
He climbed off the chair and lay down on the couch with his blanket. Mother put her hand on his forehead. “You feel warm,” she said. “I hope you’re not getting sick.”
His stomach hurt. “If I get sick, we won’t be able to go camping, will we?”
“We’ll see,” Mother said.
Bryce slept most of the day. When Mother took his temperature, she said it was high. She gave him some syrupy medicine that tasted like cherries.
“What if I’m sick tomorrow?” he asked.
“Hopefully you’ll be better by then,” she said.
But that night Bryce’s temperature rose. He fell asleep and had bad dreams. Waking up scared and thirsty, he went into the kitchen to ask for a drink of water. Then he curled up in the recliner in the family room. Mother held up a cup of water to his lips. The cold liquid cooled his mouth and throat as he sipped it.
“Dad’s going to give you a blessing,” Mother said in a soft voice.
Bryce smiled faintly. “Good. Then my fever will go away.”
His parents smiled at each other. He fell back asleep and woke up in his bed when someone touched his shoulder lightly.
“We’re going to give you a blessing now,” Dad said.
One of their home teachers was standing by the bed.
“Are you going to put oil on my head?” Bryce asked. He had seen other family members receive blessings before, and Dad had put oil on their heads.
“Yes.” Dad opened a small bottle and put a drop of oil on top of Bryce’s head.
As Bryce lay on his bed, Dad and the home teacher placed their hands on his head. They gave him a blessing that the fever would break and he would be able to go camping in the morning. When they were done, Bryce fell back asleep. He woke up to see light shining through the cracks in the window blinds. He jumped out of bed and ran to find his dad in the kitchen.
“Am I better?” he asked.
Dad felt Bryce’s forehead. “Yes, the fever’s gone.”
Bryce ran to find Mother in her bedroom. “My fever’s gone! The blessing worked,” he said.
Mother hugged him. “I’m so glad. You had faith, and Heavenly Father blessed you.”

President David O. McKay emphasized the importance of being spiritually and physically alert with the story of Bishop John Wells, a former member of the Presiding Bishopric, whose son was killed in a railroad accident. A few weeks after the funeral, the mother was resting at home, mourning her son’s death, spiritually and physically alert. The son appeared to her and told her that when he realized he was in the spirit world, he first tried to reach his father but could not, and he said to her that his dad was too busy at the office.

“Bridgette, have you seen my takkies?” Jaide said. Sometimes Bridgette borrowed Jaide’s clothes. This time, Jaide’s tennis shoes were missing.
“Bridgette!” Jaide called again. “Have you …”
Bridgette came into the room, holding Jaide’s white shoes. Only they didn’t look white anymore. They were covered with mud!
“What did you do?” Jaide said.
“I had to go outside,” Bridgette said. “And it was raining. So I put on your shoes. But I stepped in some mud and …”
“You’re always ruining my things!”
“And you’re always mean to me!”
That’s when Jaide heard awful words come out of her mouth: “I wish you weren’t my sister!”
Bridgette started to cry. Then she ran out of the room.
Jaide started to cry too. She hadn’t meant to say that.
Jaide looked out the window. Along the street she could see the lavender blossoms of the jacaranda trees. There were lots of them where her family lived in South Africa.
Usually, seeing the pretty trees made Jaide feel happy. But right now she didn’t feel happy at all. She had hurt Bridgette’s feelings with those sharp, ugly words.
Now she wasn’t sure what to do. She sat down at the table and looked at her scriptures. Last night she had been reading a story with Dad and Bridgette. It was about when an angry crowd came to take Jesus away.
Jaide opened her scriptures to that part and read, “And, behold, one of them which were with Jesus stretched out his hand, and drew his sword, and struck a servant of the high priest’s, and smote off his ear.”
The disciple must have been really angry that Jesus was being taken away. Jaide read the next verse:
“Then said Jesus unto him, Put up again thy sword into his place: for all they that take the sword shall perish with the sword” (Matthew 26:51–52).
Then Jesus healed the man’s ear. Jesus was kind, even though the man was there to hurt Him.
Now Jaide realized what she needed to do. She needed to forgive her sister, like Jesus would. And then she would try to help her heal from the cutting things she had said earlier.
Jaide bowed her head and said a little prayer. “Please, Heavenly Father, help me make things right with Bridgette.”
Jaide looked out at the jacaranda trees again. She got a piece of paper and started drawing. She drew a picture of their street, lined with the beautiful trees. In the corner, she wrote, “I love you, Bridgette!” Then she went to find her sister.
Bridgette was sitting alone, staring at the floor.
“I made this for you.” Jaide held out her picture of the jacaranda trees.
Bridgette looked at the picture. “Thank you! It’s so pretty!”
“What I said was mean,” Jaide said. “I’m really sorry.”
“But I ruined your shoes.”
“It’s OK,” Jaide said. “I forgive you. Will you forgive me for saying something horrible that I didn’t really mean?”
“Yes!” Bridgette said. “Do you still want to be sisters?”
“Of course! I love you, and I want to be your sister forever.”
She liked the way those loving, happy words felt coming out of her mouth. It felt good to follow Jesus.

Christmas for young people today is quite different than Christmas was for me more than sixty years ago. For example, there is a great difference in the way we get Christmas trees. When I was a boy we used to go out onto the sidehills and cut the trees. I remember once my brother and I dragged a Christmas tree off the hill and when we got home there was only one side of it left. We had to stand it up in the corner so the bare side wouldn’t show.
We used to make all of our own decorations. We’d take tissue paper and cut it into strips and paste it together to make chains. And we’d pop corn and then string it to make garlands with which to decorate the tree.
We’d always have a special dinner on Christmas.
My uncle, Gaskill Romney, operated a planing mill and a sash and door factory. He had a lathe on which he would turn out baseball bats for Christmas presents for the boys, and we used to make our own little cabinets for the girls. Our toys were not as sophisticated as they are now.
But Christmas was always a happy time. To us it was the day the Savior was born.

As a young couple, my husband and I were called by our bishop to visit and minister to a family who hadn’t been to church in many years. We willingly accepted the assignment and went to their home a few days later. It was immediately clear to us that they did not want visitors from the Church.
So on our next visit, we approached them with a plate of cookies, confident that chocolate chips would melt their hearts. They didn’t. The couple spoke to us through the screen door, making it even clearer that we weren’t welcome. But as we drove home, we were fairly certain success might have been achieved had we only offered them Rice Krispies Treats instead.
Our lack of spiritual vision made additional failed attempts frustrating. Rejection is never comfortable. Over time we began to ask ourselves, “Why are we doing this? What is our purpose?”
Elder Carl B. Cook made this observation: “Serving in the Church … can be challenging if we are asked to do something that frightens us, if we grow weary of serving, or if we are called to do something that we do not initially find appealing.” We were experiencing the truth of Elder Cook’s words when we decided we had to seek direction from Someone with a greater perspective than our own.
So, after much sincere prayer and study, we received the answer to the why of our service. We had a change in our understanding, a change of heart, actually a revelatory experience. As we sought direction from the scriptures, the Lord taught us how to make the process of serving others easier and more meaningful. Here is the verse we read that changed both our hearts and our approach: “Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, with all thy might, mind, and strength; and in the name of Jesus Christ thou shalt serve him.” Though this verse was so familiar, it seemed to speak to us in a new and important way.
We realized that we were sincerely striving to serve this family and to serve our bishop, but we had to ask ourselves if we were really serving out of love for the Lord. King Benjamin made clear this distinction when he stated, “Behold, I say unto you that because I said unto you that I had spent my days in your service, I do not desire to boast, for I have only been in the service of God.”
So whom was King Benjamin really serving? Heavenly Father and the Savior. Knowing the who and the why in serving others helps us understand that the highest manifestation of love is devotion to God.
As our focus gradually changed, so did our prayers. We began looking forward to our visits with this dear family because of our love for the Lord. We were doing it for Him. He made the struggle no longer a struggle. After many months of our standing on the doorstep, the family began letting us in. Eventually, we had regular prayer and tender gospel discussions together. A long-lasting friendship developed. We were worshipping and loving Him by loving His children.

From that day my parents spoke of little else but plans for emigrating to America. My father went first, and about a year later he sent for my mother, my brother, and me. My mother was at first denied permission to leave Germany, because she had heart trouble, but she insisted my brother and I go; six months later she was permitted to join us.
Everything the missionary had predicted came to pass. My sister, who did not accept the gospel and who still lives in Germany, told us about the events there that transpired as the elder had prophesied.

At the risk of having all of you lose your faith I am going to tell you a story about my own life. When most of you were still in the spirit world, I signed an Edsel franchise with Ford Motor Company. Some of you may not know what the Edsel was. The older brethren know that that was probably the most disastrous national marketing mistake that was ever made in the United States. Ford Motor Company had spent over two hundred million dollars pulling together an automobile. Henry Ford II was then the president of Ford Motor Company. The car would carry his father’s name. The promotion, the anticipation, the excitement were just unbelievable.

You could appreciate what it was like for me, being a relatively young businessman and having all the power of Ford Motor Company being brought about to encourage me to become the Edsel dealer for Salt Lake City. I wrestled with that. I said to my father, who was a great man in my life, “Before I sign the franchise, I want to see the car.” They made a special arrangement for us to fly to California to view the car. Now, I am wrestling about this, I’m talking to the Lord about it, I’m asking for direction, it’s a big decision, it involves a lot of money, a lot of commitment on my part. We walked in, my father and I, and saw that line of automobiles, and the minute I saw them, I had the distinct impression not to go ahead with the franchise.

I got away from that circumstance, and then the powers started to work on me again, influential sales techniques, all the promises of what this line of cars was going to do. It was going to be the greatest thing that ever came into the automobile industry. And I allowed myself to drift from that mooring. I had followed the counsel of the ninth section of the Doctrine and Covenants, but I wavered from the impression that the Lord had given me, and I made the decision to sign the franchise, then went through the torments of the damned, almost. If we had more time, I could tell you that it’s not fun to lose a lot of money fast. And regardless of what I did, I couldn’t stop it. Ultimately, the franchise was sold, and this was, I suppose, a learning experience that causes me to now be able to sit down with just about anybody who wants to talk about the automobile business and almost instinctively draw from that bank of experience over those years and give pretty good counsel.

I think I can think straight when it comes to those kinds of things because of the things which I suffered, and perhaps we need to understand that failure is part of life. We are not going to be successful in everything we do, but we never need to fail to learn the lesson. We can place in the bank of our memories and our existence those things that will cause us to become increasingly more powerful and most importantly increasingly more helpful to the building of the kingdom of God.

Our story begins in 1987 when two elders, Paul Gooch and Garrett Black, were assigned to the Massachusetts Boston Mission. Since there had not been elders in Lowell for a number of years, they felt it was appropriate to seek special help from Heavenly Father on the missionary effort. At that time there were only two Cambodian families who were members of the Church in that area.

Elder Gooch’s journal entry of April 11, 1987, reads: “On this beautiful, clear, spring day, Elder Black and I went upon the top of Fort Hill overlooking the city. We asked that Lowell be blessed as a place of refuge for the Asian people where they could rest in peace and safety, where the Spirit could dwell amidst them in their homes.” Both elders felt inspired. The entry continues, “We asked that Lowell be blessed as a place where the Asians might come to know Jesus as their Savior.”
The elders’ first meeting with Chea was quite accidental. Looking for another family, they happened to knock on his door. Chea was the only family member who spoke English. In the course of their conversation, he told them that he loved Jesus, wanted to find a church, and made them promise to take him to church the next Sunday. Elder Gooch recalls, “I was very impressed with Chea. He was extremely mature and seemed like a 25-year-old in an 11-year-old body.” Chea’s parents told the elders that their son visited several Christian churches on his own, but “didn’t feel right in any of them.”
Chea’s maturity is no doubt a result of many of the things he has experienced in his young life. Like many Cambodians who have found refuge in the United States, Chea and his family are survivors. He was four and his sister Soph was ten when they escaped with their parents from Cambodia after suffering through long days of fear and hard work on a rice farm. The Touch family does not like to speak about the events in their past life. It is painful to recall the tortures and brutal slayings. Seven of their children died in Cambodia.
Chea and his remaining family were able to escape one night in 1979 after the Khmer Rouge was overthrown by the Vietnamese forces. They trekked through the mountains and made their way to the Kavidan refugee camp in Thailand.
They lived in the refugee camp until 1984, when relief organizations sponsored their relocation to the United States. They’ve been in Lowell, Massachusetts, since then. Chea now has two younger sisters: Lundi, who is six, and Dani, age four.
After hearing the discussions and attending sacrament meeting, Chea knew he had found what he was looking for. “The people are so nice. I feel I belong. As I learn the scriptures and read the Book of Mormon, I can feel Heavenly Father’s love for me.” Chea loves to sing and adds, “The music makes me very happy.” Although his parents have taken the missionary lessons, attend church often, and fully support Chea, they have not joined.
After his baptism, Chea and the elders became very good friends. “Almost every day Chea would hop over the back fence and climb the stairs to our apartment,” recalls Elder Gooch. “After fixing himself a piece of unbuttered toast, he would tell us about friends and relatives he wanted us to visit. Sometimes we had a hard time keeping up!”
With a twinkle in his eye, Chea recalls the first person he told the elders about. “Sothom Chea was in my class at school. At first I was afraid of him. I thought he didn’t like me. I asked him if he would like to meet my friends, Elder Black and Elder Gooch. When Sothom said yes I was surprised but very, very happy.” Chea accompanied the elders to all of Sothom’s discussions. He says, “I enjoyed translating the lessons. I learned so much. I could feel the Holy Spirit. Besides, it was fun.”
Old as well as young have benefited from Chea’s desire to share his newfound knowledge. His neighbor, Sophon Heng, a mother of four, and her elderly mother Hong Heng were baptized as a result of Chea’s efforts. Sophon recalls, “Chea was so kind to us. He asked us if we would like to meet two men who would teach us and make us happy. When we said yes, Chea and the elders came to our home each week and taught us the gospel.”
For Chea it is not a sacrifice but a real joy to share Heavenly Father’s message. “Each time I go with the elders I seem to learn something new. I enjoy learning about how to return to Heavenly Father—what I must do and what I must avoid.”
Irene Danjou, Chea’s former Primary president, beams as she remembers, “Each Sunday he would bring a different friend to church. He’d introduce them to me, spell their names, tell me their ages, and sit with them until they felt comfortable. Then he would go to his own class. He did this every week for a whole year!”
One example of Chea’s diligence and enthusiasm as a young missionary is recorded in Elder Gooch’s journal: “I was home for lunch, sitting on my hardwood rocking chair, trying to prepare a talk for zone conference. Somehow I just couldn’t get my thoughts gathered. The telephone rang. It was Chea. He told me that he wanted Elder Black and me to visit the Vongs, a Cambodian family that had been in Lowell for a year. They were praying and fasting to find a church they could attend.”
Saveth Vong and her three children, Chetena, Chendra, and Tola, had narrowly escaped execution. Her husband, a pilot in the Cambodian Army, had been captured. Saveth and her children managed to get out of prison three days before they were scheduled to be shot.
Chea smiles as he recalls his and the elder’s first visit to the Vong home. “Everyone seemed so eager to learn. There were many questions. The Spirit was very strong.” Although the Vongs used a Book of Mormon printed in Cambodian, they needed help with gospel principles. Chea played an important role, assisting the elders as he translated discussions and shared his own experiences in the Church. Elder Gooch’s journal entry continues, “Day after day, Chea sat quietly by Saveth helping her understand the things we taught. He never seemed to tire of the message of the gospel.”
Indeed, as Chea taught the gospel his testimony grew. He recalls, “I remember reading 3 Nephi 27:7: ‘Therefore, whatsoever ye shall do, ye shall do it in my name; therefore ye shall call the church in my name; and ye shall call upon the Father in my name that he will bless the church for my sake.’ [3 Ne. 27:7] I thought, how could it be that I’ve never seen this scripture before? It makes so much sense. Heavenly Father’s true church must be named after his Son!”
This scripture also confirmed for Chea what he knew in his heart was true—that if he prayed to Heavenly Father in the name of Jesus and asked for help to share the gospel message, Heavenly Father would bless his efforts.
When the Vongs made the decision to be baptized, Chea was delighted. Elder Gooch recalls that evening, “While we were driving home, Chea asked Elder Black and me to stop by a grove of trees in a nearby park so that we could thank Heavenly Father. We took turns giving thanks and expressing our joy. When we were finished, Chea climbed on my shoulders. After a few quiet moments Chea lovingly looked down, flashed his million dollar smile and said, “The Holy Ghost is with us, Gooch, isn’t it?”
“Yep, Chea, sure is.”
“I know—I felt it!”
The Vongs were baptized a week later.
Chea will be entering the sixth grade this fall. He loves to fish and play basketball and enjoys video games. Like other Cambodian youth in America, he plays an important role in helping his parents learn their new language and culture. The adults spend long hours working to make ends meet and don’t have much free time to learn English. The youth, on the other hand, pick up the language quickly and bring it home. Chea’s been particularly fortunate. Along with his regular public school classes, he’s in a special program at the Sylvan Learning Center in Chelmsford, Massachusetts. Director Joan O’Brien sees Chea as a unique child. “I think he’s a youngster who will be a real leader in the Cambodian culture. He’s like a pitcher that cannot be filled.”

Her father chuckled. “He’d have to, to convince a constable sent to arrest him, and a hardhead like you. I’d like to hear him speak. My family and I will join you next Sunday.”
At noon on Sunday the Weston family began the long walk to the Benbow farm. Charity didn’t mind walking. She’d waited all week for this. Maybe something exciting would happen!
The meeting hall was almost filled when they arrived. She sat high on her father’s knee so that she could see over the heads of the people.
Suddenly a wave of whispering rolled through the people. Charity turned and saw two men dressed in dark suits sit down behind them.
Charity heard Father whisper to Mother, “Those are the rector’s clerks. He must have sent them to find out what is so all-fired appealing about this new preacher. I hope that they won’t cause any trouble. I have my heart set on hearing a good old-fashioned sermon.”
The audience quieted as Mr. Woodruff stood to speak. In a short time another wave flowed over the audience. This time it was the power of the Holy Ghost. Everyone sitting there could feel the truth of Mr. Woodruff’s words. They knew that he’d been sent to teach them about the Savior.
Tears rolled unchecked down her mother’s cheeks, and her father’s arm tightened around Charity as he grew more absorbed in the sermon.
When Mr. Woodruff finished speaking, he invited everyone to join the true church. Her father and mother stood up, ready to join those seeking to be baptized. Before they could move, the two clerks shouldered their way toward the pulpit.
The crowd parted as the two black-garbed men made their way to the front. Their faces were solemn, and Charity began to shiver. What would they do?
Mr. Woodruff greeted them pleasantly and waited for them to speak. With heads high, they humbly asked to join Christ’s church.
Another wave of noise filled the hall. Everyone wanted to talk about the clerks, the constable, Elder Woodruff—and their own baptisms! This was unheard of! It was an exciting time.
Father’s chuckle soothed her like the sound of water flowing over smooth rocks. “That does it for the rector,” he said and chuckled again. “He’s lost a constable and two clerks. I don’t think he’ll dare send anyone else to hear this preacher. Any good man will recognize the truth of his words. Any good person would feel the Spirit. I believe him. I’m going to be baptized into Christ’s church by someone with the authority to do so.”
Charity held onto his hand as he cleared a path to the front for his family. She felt a feeling of peace and security, and she knew that her father and mother would guide her along the right path until she, too, was old enough to be baptized.

It was a sweaty Sunday afternoon, and the chapel was stifling. My wife was wrestling with the children to keep them reverent, and I was wrestling with my eyelids to keep them open. We were both losing.
The speaker didn’t help me any in my fight against sacrament meeting slumber. He was a typical youth speaker, and he followed the pattern of most youth speakers in our ward—he read to us from a book.
As he mumbled on, my wife and I both surrendered: she took the children out to the foyer, and I fell asleep. Soon I was dozing comfortably.
Maybe I was too comfortable or maybe somebody poked me awake—it’s happened before. At any rate, my head slipped out of my hands and “thwap!” my forehead hit the bench in front of me.
I don’t normally have such headaches in sacrament meeting, but a dull speaker and a stuffy chapel almost always make me drowsy.
Sometimes, though, it’s easy to listen to and learn from speakers no matter how uncomfortable the setting. It’s the speaker, not the conditions, that has a sleeping effect on me. So, what does it take to be a good speaker? Can anyone, including youth speakers, give interesting talks in church?
I never gave much thought to why some speakers are more interesting than others until one of my own sacrament meeting talks failed. I had prepared what I considered a good talk about patriotism with plenty of quotations and scriptures, but they didn’t help much. I ended up putting people to sleep. I was so embarrassed that I vowed I would never give a boring talk again.
I started paying close attention to what other speakers, interesting speakers, did in their talks. A few weeks after my sacrament meeting disaster, I went to a fireside featuring our stake presidency. Each man delivered inspiring, stimulating messages, and as I looked around the audience, not a single person looked bored.
The second counselor spoke first. He talked about his childhood in a small town and how he made the extra efforts to befriend a boy who had been rejected by all the other children at school. He told us how, twenty years later, that friendless boy, now a successful man, came to him and thanked him for his kindness. He concluded his talk by quoting a scripture about the worth of souls and bearing his testimony of the gospel.
Next the first counselor told of his great-grandmother, a woman who had personally known all the presidents of the Church since Brigham Young. He related his last visit with her and how she admonished him and his young family, in a firm but aged voice, to “Keep the faith!” He then read a scripture about enduring to the end and finished his address with his testimony of the importance of constantly striving to do good.
Our stake president was the final speaker. He talked of the importance of showing love in families and told the story of the last time he saw his father alive. His parents were at the bus stop to bid him farewell as he left for his mission. In parting he shook his father’s hand, hugged and kissed his mother, and turned to board the waiting bus. As he stepped aboard the bus, the Spirit prompted him to return to his father and say good-bye again. We listened raptly as he told us that he stepped off the bus and went to his father to embrace and kiss him one final time. His father did not live to see him again.
In concluding he bore testimony of the importance of showing love to one another in our families. We were all deeply touched and inspired by his message.
After the meeting, I thought about what each of the fireside speakers had done to present an interesting, uplifting speech. They all used the scriptures to teach a gospel principle, they told a relevant inspiring anecdote or personal experience, and they bore their testimonies.
In the next general conference, I noticed that many of the General Authorities used the same scripture-anecdote-testimony formula in their talks. Could that same formula be used by others with success?
I decided to try the scripture-anecdote-testimony combination in my next speaking assignment to see if it might improve my effectiveness. I spoke about the temple and the joyous experience my family and I shared when we were sealed together. Next I explained the importance of temples and quoted a scripture to emphasize my point. Finally, I bore my testimony of temples and the eternal blessings they provide.
The congregation didn’t stand and applaud my talk at the end of the meeting, but they didn’t fall asleep either. As a matter of fact, several people complimented me on my talk—something that was usually done only by my wife and the bishop. I felt good about the talk I had given.
Anybody can give a talk in sacrament meeting, and most everybody does, sooner or later. Your turn will come soon (or again), and you can make it a successful, enjoyable experience for you and your listeners if you’ll include some of the same simple steps used by effective speakers.
First, prayerfully select or consider your topic. Next search the standard works for one or two pertinent scriptures. Then review your own experiences (or those of others that you’ve read about) and select an uplifting anecdote to relate. Finally, plan to bear your testimony about the principle you discuss in your talk.
If you include these four steps as you plan your next talk, and if you’re well prepared, you’ll deliver an effective, interesting talk in sacrament meeting.
And I promise I won’t fall asleep.

As a young man, Heber attended a meeting and heard an appeal for donations. After the meeting he handed his bishop $50. The bishop returned $45 to him and said that $5 was his fair share. Heber J. Grant gave the bishop the entire $50 and said, “‘Bishop Woolley, didn’t you preach here today that the Lord would reward fourfold? My mother is a widow and she needs two hundred dollars.’ He said: ‘My boy, do you believe that if I take this other forty-five dollars you will get your two hundred dollars quicker?’ I said: ‘Certainly.’ Well, he took it.” As Heber walked from the meeting, he got an idea. He wired a man he didn’t know and completed a business transaction. Heber J. Grant’s profit was $218.50. The next day he went to his bishop and said: “Bishop, I have made two hundred eighteen dollars and fifty cents, after paying that fifty dollars donation the other day, and so I owe twenty-one dollars and eighty-five cents in tithing. I will have to dig up the difference between twenty-one dollars eighty-five cents and eighteen dollars fifty cents. The Lord did not quite give me the tithing in addition to his ‘four to one’ income.”

While I was growing up, I felt like my life needed to be mapped out too. But it wasn’t so easy for me to decide what I wanted to do. I felt like I wasn’t smart enough, dedicated enough, or brave enough to set a course for my life and stick with it. To be honest, I still struggle with this sometimes.
As I’ve gotten older, I’ve learned that many young people feel the same way. Few people know exactly what path to take early on. Most of us figure it out as we go. And that’s all right! Thankfully, we don’t have to go it alone. There is help along the way.
Being unsure of what direction I wanted to take caused me to often feel uneasy. I felt that I should be doing something else or be somewhere else. I felt like there was just one thing that Heavenly Father wanted me to do, and if I missed it, I would derail my opportunities for eternity. As you can imagine, this created a lot of unnecessary anxiety in my life!
I’ve since learned that Heavenly Father has blessed each of us with spiritual gifts and that there are many good things we can do that will please Him. We don’t need to worry about finding the one and only path for our life. As long as we’re living the gospel and making and keeping sacred covenants, He will help us make the most of where we are now and know how to move forward.
When I received my patriarchal blessing, one part stood out to me—something that applies to all of us. I was reminded that getting to the celestial kingdom isn’t done by one decisive act or one great deed. It’s done in the choices—big and small—that we make each day, particularly as we choose to come unto Jesus Christ and live His gospel.
As we take action in all areas of our lives with faith in Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ, we put ourselves in a position to be guided. We’ll also find that wherever They lead us will be exactly where we want to be too.
Even with the best-laid plans, things don’t always turn out the way we think they will. My dad’s life didn’t. He never became an astronaut, but he’d be the first to tell you that the Lord guided him to what was best for him and our family.
The scriptures teach us to “search diligently, pray always, and be believing, and all things shall work together for your good” (Doctrine and Covenants 90:24). Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ know how all things work together. They also know what is good for us because They know and love us perfectly.
Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ don’t expect us to figure out our lives all on our own. If we trust Them and allow Them to walk this life with us, we will be encouraged to keep going and make decisions that will help us make the most of our lives.

The music screamed from the radio, jerking me from my peaceful sleep. “Turn the radio down, Eric!” I bellowed.
I cracked open my eyes and watched my brother dance insanely in front of his dresser. His good left hand was clenched around an imaginary microphone, and his partially crippled right hand flapped as he twisted to the music.
“Eric!” I yelled again, and he turned toward me, gave me his sheepish grin—and turned up the radio. I lunged after him, and he bolted out the bedroom door, laughing as he ran. His straw-colored blond hair flapped as he ran, exhibiting more energy than I could ever match. I shut the door and climbed back in bed.
My brother Eric is a unique individual. He was born seven weeks prematurely and has had health problems his entire life. Two strokes, as a baby and at the age of two, left his right side partially paralyzed and destroyed a third of his brain.
When he was ten, he began having seizures, so we took him to a neurologist. After reviewing his CAT scans, the doctor came into the room expecting to see a drooling, severely retarded child. Instead, he met my brother, the electronics wizard and family clown. The doctor thought someone had accidentally switched scans. That’s because he didn’t know the miracle, my brother.
Eric’s brain damage left him with problems. He had a limited attention span and lacked many of the “normal” behavioral inhibitions. It was not uncommon to see him walk along and suddenly burst into an absurd song and dance. Those who didn’t know him thought, “Who is that?” But those who did know him thought, “That’s Eric.”
Eric was born a year and a half after I was. Our older brother, a headstrong toddler, demanded a lot of attention. Eric’s health problems also required a lot of my parents’ attention. As a result, my parents couldn’t give me as much attention as they, or I, would have liked. For years I resented Eric. “He’s a mistake,” I thought. “I’m really the youngest.” I tormented him and punched him and tried to make him miserable. But Eric always smiled at me and never hit me back.
One night I did something that made Eric cry, and when I did I felt like the lowest and the worst. Eric was watching TV. We had been fighting over something, so I started making fun of his disability. I never had before. I must have felt malicious. I made my hand look like his right hand, curled up and spastic, and I limped around and talked gibberish while I drooled.
The thing I remember most, as Eric started crying, was that he looked down at his crippled hand and hugged it to his chest. At that moment I wished the floor would swallow me, and I think I tasted what hell might be like.
Our relationship changed after that incident. As we grew older I tormented him less, and when I did, he fought back. We basically ignored each other until our family moved to California one summer.
When school started, Eric and I were the only people we knew at school, and we had to rely on each other. Instead of eating lunch by myself, I met Eric and we sat on the stone steps together. As we dug through our brown bags and munched ham sandwiches, I was surprised at the growing number of people who waved at, talked to, and sat down beside Eric. His cheery grin, relaxed attitude, and silly jokes soon had us in the middle of a noisy group of friends. Others saw in Eric what I had kept myself from seeing, and they showed me his strength, his dedication, his strange but hilarious sense of humor, and his amazing ability to shrug off pain.
One lunchtime Eric was a couple of minutes late. He spotted our group and sprinted across the sloping lawn, gripping his brown sack in his good left hand. His backpack bumped against him, his shirttail billowed, and his shoelaces straggled behind him. His weak right ankle tangled with his charging left foot, and he went down in a heap. He tried to catch himself, but his right arm crumpled and he plowed the grass with his face.
A couple of guys and I jumped up and ran to him. By the time we reached him, he was sitting up in the middle of his spilled backpack and smashed lunch. Dirt and grass smeared his nose and forehead, and he had a bloody scrape on his chin. He grinned up at us and said, “I hate it when that happens!”
One of the guys asked him incredulously, “Did you do that on purpose?”
Another example of his determination was when he joined the swim team. I had swum the year before and lettered in water polo. Eric decided he’d like to take a crack at competitive sports. He never missed a practice, even though he never placed higher than last in any meet. Sometimes he ended up in the wrong lane because his left side was so much stronger than his right, and he often worked up such momentum that he crashed into the concrete pool sides. But by the end of the season, he had halved his personal best time for the 50-meter freestyle.
Eric has been an example to me, even when I wouldn’t admit it. He taught me how to be tolerant of other people’s differences, how to overcome and overlook weakness, and how to find strength. He taught me to use what I have and to never give up. He showed me the value of being myself and how to love without condition.

Hilda knelt down and carefully lifted the cloth-wrapped roots from the shallow pool of water beside Elk Horn Creek. Holding them in both hands, she hurried to the top of the hill where she could see the covered wagons stretching in a long line. Hilda knew that everyone was ready to leave, so she hurried to her own wagon. She reached the wagon just in time to carefully lay the roots beside a barrel before the company captain shouted, “Let’s roll!”
“Walk by me, Hilda,” her father invited. He used a big stick to goad the oxen, and slowly, their great heads swaying, the animals moved forward. Hilda looked up at her mother, who rode in the wagon with their new baby.
Until the baby was born, Hilda had not thought about the wrapped roots. But when her father took her into the wagon to see her little brother, Hilda’s mother said, “Now you must learn to do special things to help, Hilda.”
“Your grandmother grew beautiful yellow roses in Vermont,” Mother continued, “and when she moved to Nauvoo, she took roots from her favorite rose with her. There she planted the roots and they grew. When we left Nauvoo, I took roots from Grandmother’s yellow rose. Now that we are going west, the rose must go too.”
Mother explained how Hilda must keep the heavy cloth around the roots damp. “We hope,” she said, her voice sad, “that roses will grow in our new home. The roots must not dry out, Hilda. Keeping them damp will be your responsibility.”
Each day as the long hot hours passed, Hilda worried that the rose roots might become dry. Every night after the wagons circled, she looked for a stream of water where the roots could be soaked in a quiet pool.
Hilda learned many things about the streams and rivers they passed by or camped near as the wagons rolled westward day after day.
“This is the Platte River,” her father said as they came to a broad shallow stream that flowed to the east. “Our people travel along the north bank of the Platte, while folks going to California or Oregon travel along the south.”
As Hilda put her rose roots into the water, she gazed across the wide river. Wagons were circled on the other side too, and she wondered whether children there carried roses or other plants they hoped would grow in a far-away place.
Several days later they camped on the steep banks of the river near Fort Laramie.
Hilda was frightened of this wild country, so she soaked the roots very quickly in the Laramie River and hurried back to camp.
When the wagon train crossed the North Platte River, Father’s wagon almost tipped over in the deep fast current. “We nearly got your roots too damp that time, Hilda,” he laughed, but his voice was shaky.
On the banks of the Sweetwater River, as Hilda sat watching the cloth around the roots grow dark in the water, an old man sat down beside her. Hilda knew he had lived for many years in the wilderness, because the leader of their wagon train had asked the old man many questions.
“Funny how this river got named,” he said to Hilda. “Long years back when there wasn’t much in these mountains except Indians and buffalo, traders started hauling goods to trade for furs.” He nodded remembering, “The first wagon hauled across the river was loaded with sugar. The mules balked and dumped the load.” The old man paused and a smile lighted his wrinkled face. “Oh, was that river water sweet! Been called that ever since—the Sweetwater.”
Many of the rivers and streams where Hilda dampened the roots had names she did not understand. Although she looked, she found no strawberries near Strawberry Creek. The Big Sandy had no sand in it. And who, wondered Hilda, would name a river “green” when the cold water was so brown?
She was glad when they finally reached Fort Bridger, because a stream ran right beside their camp. For once Hilda could sit while the roots soaked and watch the women of the wagon train build fires to cook their meals.
At last the wagons rolled through Emigration Canyon and slowly made their way down to the new settlement in the Valley of the Great Salt Lake. Hilda’s father found a small cabin he could use for his family.
That same afternoon Hilda took the rose roots from the wagon and tenderly unwrapped them. She wondered if the roots were as weary as she was! Did they too feel strange in this valley? She had faithfully dampened them in the rivers and streams they had crossed, but would the roots live?
Hilda nearly cried when she removed the cloth and found the roots dry and brown. But she would not give up. Choosing a place beside the cabin wall, she dug a hole and filled it with water. Then she placed the roots inside the hole and packed dirt snugly against them, until only one tiny tip stuck out. Around that Hilda packed straw.
During the cold winter that followed, Hilda often felt discouraged. She knew Mother and Father did too, but no one complained.
Finally the long winter ended and the snow melted. One sunny spring day Hilda went around the cabin and lifted the damp straw. Growing bravely out of the roots, a new green shoot lifted into the spring sun.
Slowly Hilda stood up, tears running down her face. Suddenly a fresh new feeling of happiness came to her. If a yellow rose could grow and bloom in the Salt Lake Valley, she could too!

Many years ago when we lived at a different location, Merlene said she wanted a rock garden. On a particular Saturday I went out into the field that was right behind our home and decided that if I dug a hole six feet deep, six feet wide, and six feet across, the dirt from that hole should be enough to provide her with a hill whereon we could place rocks and beautiful flowers in the corner of our yard.
To begin with, as I started digging the hole, I could throw the dirt, each shovelful, over my shoulder, over the fence, and into the corner where Merlene wanted the rock garden. As the hole got deeper and I became more tired, I would have to throw the dirt up on the side of the hole. Then I would climb out of the hole and throw the dirt onto the pile across the fence. As the hole became even deeper, I finally had to lower a bucket into the hole, fill the bucket, and lift it out, and pour it on the hill over the fence.
As I started the hole, Lawrence, our three-year-old, began to gather his little friends around. There must have been 15 or 20 little friends watching me dig the hole. When I got deep enough in the hole to use a bucket to lift the dirt out, I said to Lawrence and his little buddies, “If you’ll pull the bucket filled with dirt out of the hole and dump it on the shoulder of the hole each time I fill it so that I will not have to climb out, when I get finished with this hole, I’ll give it to you.” Now a hole isn’t much of a prize for an adult, but for three- or four-year-old boys, a deep hole with a little trench leading down into it is a great prize. So they began to assist me.
After doing this work for a few minutes, Lawrence said to me, “Dad, why are you lifting the dirt out of the hole, then climbing out of the hole and throwing it over the fence onto that pile of dirt?” I said, “Lawrence, your mother wants a rock garden in that corner, so I came out here to get enough dirt to build the hill for her rock garden. What your mother really wants me to do, that is what I do.” Then Lawrence turned to his little buddies and said, “Our mom is our leader.”

I have learned that the best gifts remind us of the Saviour—they come from the heart and often involve sacrifice. When I returned from serving my mission in Hong Kong, I was so busy with school and work, that I did not notice the preparations my parents made for Christmas. When the time came to open presents, I received a great surprise—nearly all of them were for me.
My parents smiled as I opened the gifts; they seemed happy to have so little for themselves. I was humbled by their sacrifice. They had given up much so that I might have clothes for my schooling and work. Their kindness reminded me of the reason for the season.

In the midst of the late spring rainy season in Phnom Penh, Cambodia, the Tonle Sap River—which has poured into the Mekong River for months—defies its natural movement and changes course to flow in the opposite direction.
This directional change causes the Tonle Sap Lake at the head of the river to swell to five times its size, bringing much-needed nutrients to the fish and birds that feed there.
Like the river that changes direction, members in Cambodia have felt how the gospel of Jesus Christ has helped change the direction of their own lives. Their hearts now overflow with the joy and peace the gospel brings. This swell of joy provides spiritual food for their souls.
Although the country has faced dark times, the gospel of Jesus Christ has helped many Cambodians see the light of a new day shine through the darkness of the past.
During the country’s political turmoil in the 1970s, many Cambodians were driven from their homes and lost family members.
Loy Bunseak, president of the Siem Reap Branch in the Cambodia Phnom Penh Mission, was nine years old in 1975, when he and his family had to leave their home. They—along with millions of others—were required to perform hard manual labor in the country’s vast fields.
During this time, President Loy lost both of his parents and five of his eight siblings.
Despite the hardships, President Loy always had at least one thing to help get him through his pain.
“I always had hope,” he says.
The determined hope that helped President Loy get through the trials of his childhood is the same hope that later allowed him to recognize the truth of the gospel of Jesus Christ.
Because Cambodia is largely a Buddhist country, President Loy grew up without a knowledge of Jesus Christ. He began to learn about the Savior when Latter-day Saint missionaries came to his home and told him and his family they had an important message to share.
“I had never heard of Jesus Christ until I met the missionaries,” he says. “I wanted to learn more about Him.”
After intense study and discussion, President Loy and his family were baptized in 2001.
“The missionaries helped me learn from the Book of Mormon, but I received my testimony of its truthfulness from God,” President Loy says. “I could see how living by the teachings of the Book of Mormon made my family happier.”
President Loy’s experience is not unusual. Khan Sarin, president of the Sen Sok Branch in the Phnom Penh Cambodia North District, was separated from his family as a teenager and forced to work in the fields.
“I felt hopeless at this time,” President Khan says. “I did not know if I would survive.”
Looking back, President Khan feels that the Lord protected him from harm several times in his life. As a young man he joined the army and was shot at from as close as 20 feet (6 m) away but was not hit. He also stepped on many active land mines that did not explode. One land mine he stepped on did explode, but he was not seriously injured.
Because of the dangerous circumstances soldiers found themselves in, they did whatever they could to be protected. Several men in the military got tattoos because they believed the tattoos could help keep them safe.
“Before I became a member of the Church, I didn’t know anything,” President Khan says. “Now I know that it was Jesus Christ—not the tattoos—that saved me.”
After President Khan’s wife, Suon Sokmo, met the missionaries and was baptized, he was impressed by the changes he could see taking place within her. He accepted her invitation to study the scriptures together, and he soon decided to be baptized.
“The most important thing that I ever received in my life is the testimony I obtained from studying the scriptures,” he says.
Pich Sareth, a member of the Phnom Penh 12th Branch in the Phnom Penh Cambodia North District, also saw trials at a very young age. He was only five years old when he was separated from his family and forced to work in the fields. He would sometimes find crabs or frogs he could eat to quell his hunger.
Brother Pich’s wife, Seng Tha, and her family were also forced from their home. Because she was only four years old and small, she was not required to work, as other children were. She was separated from her family much of the day and was watched by elderly women who could not work.
After meeting the missionaries in 1995, Brother Pich and his wife began to learn about the love Heavenly Father has for them. “When I had problems, I could see that praying helped me get through them,” Brother Pich says. “I knew Heavenly Father cared.”
After Brother Pich decided to be baptized, his wife also gained a testimony of the gospel and was baptized.
Since their baptisms, Brother Pich and his family have recognized the joy that stems from gaining a testimony of Jesus Christ. The Pich family takes time every day to read the scriptures. As they have done this, the joy of the gospel has permeated their souls.
“We feel we are on the right path now, and we want to stay on this narrow path and continue to progress,” Sister Seng says. “I am grateful every day that we can have our children on this path with us.”
The joy that President Loy feels extends in both directions—to his ancestors as well as his descendants. President Loy and his family visited the Hong Kong China Temple in 2004. Not only were President Loy’s wife and children sealed to him, but the saving ordinances of the temple were also completed for his father, mother, and the brothers and sisters he had lost.
“I cannot even explain the joy I felt in the temple,” President Loy said. “I knew my family was being made strong. I know that the temple is necessary for families to live together forever.”
President Khan and his family also had the opportunity to be sealed together as an eternal family in the Hong Kong Temple. “The feeling I felt at the temple is something I had never felt before. It is hard to express my feelings in words,” President Khan says.
Thanks to the spreading of the gospel, members in Cambodia are receiving the spiritual nutrients they need to survive. Although the Church is growing in Cambodia, members hope that this growth is just a precursor to a huge blossoming of the gospel in their country.
Just as the fish and animals receive needed nutrients when the Tonle Sap Lake overflows, a growing number of Cambodians are receiving the spiritual nutrition they need thanks to the overflowing desire in members’ hearts to share the gospel.
“When a pot is covered, it boils over,” President Khan says. “This is the feeling I have in my heart. I must open my heart to tell everyone what it is feeling.”
President Loy hopes the residual effect of the gospel being taught in his home will be that his daughters will continue to embrace the gospel and teach their children.
“After I found out about Jesus Christ, everything became better in my life and with my family,” he says. “Having the priesthood in our home brings us together. If we have a problem, we sit and discuss it as a family.”
Since the government of Cambodia granted the Church legal recognition in 1994, thousands of Cambodians have accepted the gospel. The Pich family looks forward to the day when the gospel will spread across all parts of the country. Brother Pich says, “I hope someday there will be a temple in Cambodia.”
Sister Seng agrees: “Heavenly Father and His Son, Jesus Christ, are alive. My hope for the future is that the Church will continue to grow so a temple can be built.”
President Khan recognizes the ways his life has changed since learning of the Savior. He believes the gospel of Jesus Christ is the only thing that can heal Cambodians from their past trials.
“After I became a member of the Church, I lost a lot of the pain I felt from things that had happened in the past. I’ve received a new light that I never had before,” he says. “Everything feels new.”

It was on Monday, December 20, 1852, when the first large company of 294 Saints left Copenhagen, Denmark. They boarded the ship Obotrit and sailed from the customhouse under the direction of Elder John E. Forsgren. A great many Danish people gathered at the dock as the ship left. The atmosphere was filled with hate because fellow countrymen were disgracing themselves by following a “Swedish Mormon priest” and departing for America.

The journey to Kiel, Holstein (now part of Germany), was stormy and unpleasant, but the ship arrived safely on December 22, 1852. The journey continued by rail to Hamburg. On December 24 the Saints boarded the steamship Lion, which proceeded down the River Elbe. Because of fog, the ship’s captain cast anchor and they celebrated Christmas Eve aboard ship.

On Christmas morning the ship sailed to the mouth of the river. Because of heavy headwinds the ship didn’t reach the open sea until midnight. A terrible storm ensued as the ship sailed the North Sea. The ship’s bridge was damaged, but the emigrants were not injured. On the evening of December 28 the ship steamed into the harbor of Hull, England. It was learned that about 150 vessels had been lost on the North Sea during the storm.

The Saints continued their journey by rail to Liverpool on December 29. On December 31 they boarded the packet ship Forest Monarch. Storms prevented the ship leaving port for about two weeks. One night the ship became entangled with another vessel and sustained some damage. A few days later, because of a storm, the anchors were pulled and the ship was set adrift. Two tugboats came to the rescue just before it ran aground.

Finally, on January 16, 1853, the Forest Monarch began its voyage to America. There were 297 souls onboard ship. Although very pleasant weather accompanied the voyage across the Atlantic Ocean, a perfect calm hindered the journey for several days. Also, provisions were poor and the supply of fresh water ran out.

After arriving in America at the mouth of the Mississippi River, the Saints took a steamboat from New Orleans to Saint Louis. After about a month in Saint Louis, where commodities were purchased, they traveled to Keokuk, Iowa, by steamboat. There they spent several weeks receiving their wagons and teams of oxen. They left Keokuk on May 21 and finally arrived in the Salt Lake Valley on September 30, 1853. As many as 20 emigrants had died during the journey, some children were born, and a few had lost their faith amid all the hardships.

I was born in Spain and lived there for eight years. We didn’t go to church a lot, so I wasn’t baptized when I turned eight, but I really wanted to be. One day I asked my parents why we weren’t going to church anymore and why I wasn’t baptized.
As I explained to them my desire to be baptized, it touched their hearts, and we started going to church again. It felt good. My mom was such a good example and an inspiration to me. She had a strong testimony and often read the scriptures.
Later on, we moved to Venezuela, where my dad is from. We lived there for two years, and because of the difficulties in the economy, we faced a lot of challenges. But there were good things too. I loved the food, and I had family there who were anxious to meet me. They were such humble people, and we all went to church together and felt the Spirit.
Even though we were going to church and I could feel the Spirit, I knew my family and I were missing something. I really felt that we needed to be sealed as an eternal family. One Sunday morning, the bishop invited everyone in the congregation to read the Book of Mormon before the end of the year. I knew this would help my parents and me more fully live the gospel of the Lord. Little by little, as we read the Book of Mormon, the Savior started giving us more knowledge and blessings, and we continued to read the scriptures regularly.
Soon I got baptized. I could really feel the Spirit in my life, and my parents did too. My testimony started growing more. We moved to Florida, USA, and we had to make a lot of changes and sacrifices again, just like when we left Spain. But our testimonies were growing stronger. We went to church every week and kept reading the scriptures.
After a lot of effort and a lot of reading the scriptures, praying, and choosing the right, we wanted to get sealed as an eternal family. We talked to our bishop, and even though it took some time, the day finally arrived. We were so excited to go inside the temple.
I got to do baptisms while I waited for my parents to complete the temple work for themselves. I felt like I was getting baptized again. I was really happy I could help people beyond the veil. Now my family and I go to the temple every week. I regularly do baptisms because I love helping there. I am so glad I got to be sealed in the temple to my parents for eternity and have the opportunity to live forever with them.

It is true that some people seem born with faith. And many people die with a full complement. My own grandmother spent her last months pining for death because she was the last of her generation; she “missed her people” to an excruciating degree; and she grew more and more disconnected from a world she saw as simply irrelevant, without the power to interest or lay hold upon her. It was striking to watch the world and persons beyond the grave assume, in her mind and in her conversation, a fully fleshed-out texture and presence that utterly displaced the inhabitants of the here and now. Faith did not seem a choice for her. It descended upon her as naturally, irresistibly, and encompassingly as the heavy snowfalls on her upstate New York farm.