Gospel Story Finder

We stopped at a pizza parlor on the way home from the priesthood session of general conference when I was fifteen years old, and as a result I learned a lesson about tithing that I will never forget.
My father, my two brothers, and I were hungry. As we waited for our order, I saw one of my friends working cleaning off the tables. I asked him how he got the job, and he told me they still needed extra help. A few minutes later he came back and told me that the manager would interview me immediately. Perhaps it was because I was wearing a nice shirt and a tie, but the employer seemed impressed. The interview went well. I expressed my wish not to work on Sundays, and he said there would be no problem—plenty of people would work for me. I was hired to begin work as soon as I could.
During the next two years, I gradually worked my way up to the position of pizza cook. Then one evening as I began my shift, I noticed one of my scheduled days had been taken off the calendar. My boss told me that if I wanted to work the regular number of hours, Sunday was open. I worked one Sunday and felt terrible about it, so I declined to work on the Sabbath from then on. My relations with my employer started to deteriorate, and I began to look for another job.
It was interesting that although I was fairly adamant about keeping the Sabbath day holy, I was lax in obeying another commandment—the law of tithing. I didn’t pay tithing at all, unless my parents prompted me. Then I’d say, “Yes, yes,” and put something in the envelope the next week. I just couldn’t understand the sense in giving away one-tenth of my hard-earned money.
I kept searching for a job but with no results. I prayed to my Father in Heaven sincerely, confident that he would help me find employment. One evening while praying, a thought came to me. Why should the Lord help me find another job if I wasn’t paying tithing on the income from my current job?
I studied a couple of scriptures:
“And prove me now herewith, saith the Lord of hosts, if I will not open you the windows of heaven, and pour you out a blessing, that there shall not be room enough to receive it.” (Mal. 3:10.)
I decided to obey the commandment. I went to the bank and secured a large sum of money from my savings account to pay the tithing I had missed. I took it over to the bishop’s house that very evening.
In my pursuit of better employment, I had applied for work in a shop that installed car mufflers. This was in January, and they said they wouldn’t need any additional help until the following December. Two days after I paid my tithing, someone from the shop telephoned with an offer for me to start work the next day. By the time I left on my mission, I was earning three times as much money as I had earned cooking pizza, plus a good commission. I was able to finance half of the expense of my mission by myself. Furthermore, after I had been in the mission field about a year, my employer from the muffler shop called my parents and asked if he could help pay the rest of my mission expenses.
Some might say that all these things happened coincidentally. I would be inclined to say that I was blessed because I finally started living a gospel principle. Tithing opens a door to blessings from the Lord.

Long years ago, Elder Frank Croft was serving a mission in the state of Alabama. While preaching to the people, he was abducted by a vicious gang, to be whipped and lashed across his back. Elder Croft was ordered to remove his coat and shirt before he was tied to a tree. As he did so, a letter he had recently received from his mother fell to the ground. The vile leader of the gang picked up the letter. Elder Croft closed his eyes and offered a silent prayer. The attacker read the letter from Elder Croft’s mother. From a copy of that letter, I quote:
“My beloved son, … remember the words of the Savior when he said, … ‘Blessed are ye when men shall revile you and persecute you and say all manner of evil against you falsely for my name’s sake. Rejoice and be exceeding glad for you will have your reward in Heaven for so persecuted they the prophets which were before you.’ Also remember the Savior upon the cross suffering from the sins of the world when He had uttered these immortal words, ‘Father forgive them, for they know not what they do.’ Surely, my boy, they who are mistreating you … know not what they do or they would not do it. Sometime, somewhere, they will understand and then they will regret their action and they will honor you for the glorious work you are doing. So be patient, my son, love those who mistreat you and say all manner of evil against you and the Lord will bless you and magnify you. … Remember also, my son, that day and night, your mother is praying for you.”
Elder Croft watched the hateful man as he studied the letter. He would read a line or two, then sit and ponder. He arose to approach his captive. The man said: “Feller, you must have a wonderful mother. You see, I once had one, too.” Then, addressing the mob, he said: “Men, after reading this Mormon’s mother’s letter, I just can’t go ahead with the job. Maybe we had better let him go.” Elder Croft was released without harm.

My mother lived to be 92 years old and recently passed away. She was in the hospital when the doctors decided that there was nothing more that could be done except to keep her as comfortable as possible until she passed on.
As preparations were being made to take her home, two brethren from a local ward came into the room and asked me if my mother would like the sacrament. At first I told them, “No, thank you.” Mom could hardly swallow. Then I said, “On second thought, let me ask her.” I leaned close to her ear and said, “There are two priesthood holders here. Would you like to try to take the sacrament?” In a faint but clear voice she answered, “Yes.”
After the blessing, I picked up a piece of bread from the tray, broke off a tiny crumb, and gently placed it in her mouth. She worked on it for a bit, and I quietly apologized to the men for it taking a while. They assured me it was OK. After the second prayer, I took a small plastic cup of water and held it to her lips. She took only a small sip, but I was surprised at how well she swallowed it.
I thanked the brethren, and they left for the next room. Mom died peacefully about an hour later.
In the days that followed, I realized what a sacred moment I had been allowed to share with my mother. The last thing she did in this life was partake of the sacrament. The last word she spoke was “Yes”—yes to receiving the sacrament, yes to offering her sacrifice of “a broken heart and a contrite spirit” (3 Nephi 9:20), yes to taking upon herself the name of Jesus Christ and promising to always remember Him, yes to receiving His Spirit. The last things that passed through her lips were the emblems of the sacrament.
How sweet her last supper must have tasted to her! Although too weak to move or speak, how alive in Christ she must have felt! How grateful she must have felt for His redeeming and enabling power, which carried her through those final moments of her mortal journey and extended to her the hope for eternal life.

Jason stepped high and smashed his foot right in the middle of a muddy puddle again and again. Splat! Sploosh! Splat!

“Jason Andrew, what are you doing?” his mom hollered from the open kitchen door.

“I’m bored,” he replied as he walked toward the back door of his house.

“And you are muddy from the knees down.” His mom smiled at him. “Go change your pants and put on some dry socks and shoes. Then come back. I have something that you can do for me.”

As he went upstairs, Jason noticed that the house smelled of fresh-baked cinnamon-raisin bread. It made his mouth water. He really wanted a piece of the warm bread with lots of melted butter on it. But he would do what his mother wanted him to do first. After he changed, he went back downstairs to the kitchen.

“I’m here, Mom. What do you want me to do?”

His mom turned from the dishes and said, “Will you please carry this loaf of bread over to Sister Chester’s house for me? She can’t bake anymore, and she enjoys homemade things. She’ll probably try to say she doesn’t need it, but I want you to tell her, ‘Just being neighbors, Sister Chester.’ It is important to tell her in just those words. Can you remember them?” Jason nodded. “When you get home, you can have a glass of milk and a slice from this second loaf.”

Jason watched as his mom wrapped the fragrant bread in a piece of shiny foil. Then she placed a large red ribbon around it.

As he walked across the street with the warm bread, he practiced saying, “Just being neighbors. Just being neighbors.” He wondered why it was so important to say exactly that.

As Mom had said, Sister Chester objected to taking the bread. However, as soon as he said, “Just being neighbors, Sister Chester,” she smiled and took it.

“Thank you,” she said.

The screen door closed behind Jason with a bang when he came home. “Mom, why did Sister Chester change when I told her we were ‘just being neighbors’? After I said that, she smiled, took the bread, and said thank you.”

After eating two slices of cinnamon-raisin bread (with melted butter) and drinking a large glass of cold milk, Jason went outside. He sat on the back porch with his chin in his hands.

He was bored again. He looked across the fence. Mr. Jensen’s yard was full of leaves. Normally he would have the leaves raked and bagged and sitting on the curb by now for the garbage collector to take. But Mr. Jensen’s arm was broken, and he didn’t have anyone to help him. Jason’s mom had just taken dinner over to him.

Jason’s face broke into a smile, and he headed for the shed.

As he began raking the leaves from Mr. Jensen’s yard, Mr. Jensen and Jason’s mom walked out of the house.

“Jason, you don’t need to do that,” Mr. Jensen said.

“Just being neighbors, Mr. Jensen, just being neighbors!”

Jazlyn E., age 6, Washington, USA
I was scared to take swim lessons. I said a prayer to help me be brave enough to learn to swim. The Holy Ghost is the best!

Together Again on Monday Night
It was Monday again, and the Veras family of the Gazcue Ward, Santo Domingo Dominican Republic Stake, was learning about the importance of listening to the prophet. Eight-year-old Shantalle led the singing. Four-year-old Yeraly helped her mother, Awilda, tell the story of Noah and the ark. Aaliya, two, was content sitting with her father, Nelson, as he bore testimony of President Gordon B. Hinckley.
Brother Veras’s rendition of “Head, Shoulders, Knees, and Toes” sent the three girls into peals of laughter. A prayer followed, then treats.
Family home evening had turned the Veras family’s cramped downtown Santo Domingo apartment into a peaceful haven five stories above the busy street. “I love being with my family,” Shantalle says of family night.

Prairie Girl: The Life of Laura Ingalls Wilder, by William Anderson, illustrated by Renée Graef. In the 1880s, a young girl living on the American frontier grew up to be a famous writer whose books are loved by children everywhere.

This is the story of how timid Kazan goes out to seek his courage. Kazan is ordered to kill a monster, and he meets the monster in a most unusual way. You will be delighted to read how Kazan and an old horse defeat a whole army. The color and the black and white illustrations add much excitement.

In Romania I met Raluca, a 17-year-old young woman who had recently joined the Church. Her baptism was a happy event because, among other things, her whole family attended. Her mother and sister felt the Spirit there and wanted to have the missionary discussions too. This concerned the father, for he felt he was losing all of his family to this unfamiliar church. So he did not allow it, and for a time there was a feeling of discord in their family. However, Raluca remembered that she had made a baptismal covenant to take upon her the name of Jesus Christ. She tried to hold up His light by doing in her home the things He would do. She was a peacemaker. She was an example. She was a teacher. She was a healer.

Eventually her father’s heart softened, and he allowed the others to learn more about the Church. Then they too were baptized. And finally, much to everyone’s joy, the father of the family also joined the Church. At his baptism he spoke and said that for a time their family had been as two hearts beating at a different rhythm in the same household. But now they were of one faith and one baptism, with their hearts knit together in unity and love. He gave thanks to the missionaries and members who had helped them. Then he paid a special tribute to his daughter Raluca for being so Christlike in their home during that difficult period, for being the peacemaker, the healer, the teacher, the example, and the light that eventually brought their entire family to the Church of Jesus Christ.

As I approached my 18th birthday and prepared to enter military service in World War II, I was recommended to receive the Melchizedek Priesthood. Mine was the task to telephone President Paul C. Child, my stake president, for an interview. He was one who loved and understood the holy scriptures, and it was his intent that all others should similarly love and understand them. As I knew from others of his rather detailed and searching interviews, our telephone conversation went something like this:
“Hello, President Child. This is Brother Monson. I have been asked by the bishop to visit with you relative to being ordained an elder.”
“Fine, Brother Monson. When can you see me?”
Knowing that his sacrament meeting time was 4:00 and desiring minimum exposure of my scriptural knowledge to his review, I suggested, “How would 3:00 be?”
His response: “Oh, Brother Monson, that would not provide us sufficient time to peruse the scriptures. Could you please come at 2:00 and bring with you your personally marked set of scriptures?”
Sunday finally arrived, and I visited President Child’s home. I was greeted warmly, and then the interview began. He said, “Brother Monson, you hold the Aaronic Priesthood.” Of course, I knew that. He continued, “Have you ever had an angel minister to you?”
My reply, “I’m not sure.”
“Do you know,” said he, “that you are entitled to such?”
Came my response: “No.”
Then he instructed, “Brother Monson, repeat from memory the 13th section of the Doctrine and Covenants.”
I began, “Upon you my fellow servants, in the name of Messiah I confer the Priesthood of Aaron, which holds the keys of the ministering of angels …”
“Stop,” President Child directed. Then in a calm, kindly tone, he counseled, “Brother Monson, never forget that as a holder of the Aaronic Priesthood you are entitled to the ministering of angels. Now continue the passage.”
I recited from memory the remainder of the section. President Child said, “Splendid.” He then discussed with me several other sections of the Doctrine and Covenants pertaining to the priesthood. It was a long interview, but I have never forgotten it. At the conclusion, President Child put his arm around my shoulder and said, “You are now ready to receive the Melchizedek Priesthood. Remember that the Lord blesses the person who serves Him.”

On the day her sister was married in the Nuku‘alofa Tonga Temple, Saane could see her happiness. “It made me want to be worthy to be married there someday,” Saane says.

However, Satan will try to keep that from happening for any of us. He has already convinced many that sexual intimacy outside of marriage is acceptable and without consequences. But misusing the power God has provided to create life is a serious sin that can cause spiritual, emotional, and physical harm.1

“Satan is trying so hard to stop us from returning home to our Heavenly Father,” Saane says. “If I’m not careful to keep the law of chastity, I may lose the opportunity to be married in the temple.”

Juan can’t remember how old he was when he started working with his dad in the fields. “The children would start going with me when they were small,” Juan’s dad, Joel, says. “They learned by watching and then doing what they could, depending on their strength and capacity.”

But plowing, planting, and tortilla making aren’t the only things being passed from one generation to the next. As Mayra’s mother, Carmela, molded and shaped tortillas, she was also giving shape to her daughter’s character. As Brother Ordoñez prepared, planted, or cultivated the ground, he was doing the same for Juan’s heart.

There is great strength in being highly focused on our goals. We have all seen the favorable fruits of that focus. Yet an intense focus on goals can cause a person to forget the importance of righteous means. When I was serving in a stake presidency, a man bragged to me about the way he had managed to preserve his goal of perfect attendance at our stake leadership meetings. On one occasion, he was required to report for work during one of our stake meetings. When the employer denied his request for permission to attend this Church meeting, he told me with pride that he “called in sick” so he could come anyway.

I kept an eye on that man after that. I wondered if he would steal money in order to pay his tithing. That may be an extreme example, but it illustrates the point I wish to make. We cannot be so concerned about our goals that we overlook the necessity of using righteous methods to attain them.

It all began when Annie was just six years old. One early August morning, Cousin Golda came skipping barefoot through the red sand to our house.
“Guess what!” she panted, “we’ve got two new babies, and one of them is a brother.”
“Twins!” Mama exclaimed, setting the milk pans on the kitchen table.
Happily Golda nodded. “A brother and a sister!”
Mama stooped and hugged Golda.
“Oh Mama, can we go see them?” Annie pleaded.
“Later,” Mama replied.
“How come Aunt Mary has two babies?” four-year-old Kate asked.
“Because it’s a ‘double blessing.’ That’s what Grandma always says,” Golda replied. “Especially if one of them is a brother. Now I’ve told you, I have to hurry home.” The screen door slammed behind her.
Papa came in with a foaming bucket of milk and strained it into the pans Mama had set out. “You should have seen Lew this morning,” he said. “His feet scarcely touched the ground. He didn’t bother to open the pasture gate, but jumped the fence to tell me about his son. ‘Mary has a baby boy!’ he hollered.”
“Mary has twins,” Mama corrected.
“Yes, I know. But one of them is a boy,” Papa stressed.
Annie wondered if Papa had something in his eyes, because he blinked as he said, “I’m glad for Lew. It’s important for a man to have sons.”
“I know,” Mama said, turning her face toward the cupboard.
Poor Mama, Annie thought, all she has is girls, three of them, counting Baby Mildred. A hundred times over Papa had said, “If we had sons of our own, I wouldn’t always be borrowing Ren’s boys to ride the range with me.”
Mama’s usual retort was, “Be thankful you have nephews.”
For the next few days Papa had so much to say about Lew’s son that it was plain to see that he was eating his heart out for a boy of his own.
“After all, George,” Mama finally reminded him, “we have to leave some things up to Heavenly Father.”
One day just when Annie had begun to think Papa didn’t care for girls at all, Mildred toddled over to him and wrapped her chubby arms around his legs. With a hearty laugh, he picked her up and tossed her to the ceiling. “Ah, you’re a precious one,” he crooned. “Little girls bring joy to a man’s heart.”
Well! What a relief! Annie thought.
Mama had said they could see the babies later, and later had finally come. How cuddly the twins looked, sleeping side by side in the wide new cradle Uncle Lew had built.
Fascinated, Annie and Kate gazed at them while Golda stood proudly by.
“Oh, aren’t they cute,” Annie purred.
“The one with the most hair is my brother,” Golda volunteered.
“They don’t either one have hair,” Kate observed.
“Yes, they do,” Golda countered. “See that little bit of pink hair?” Golda pointed.
“He’s a boy.”
“Why is a boy so much?” Kate asked.
“Because boys don’t get scared of the dark,” Annie replied.
“But the baby sister is the cutest,” Kate insisted.
Aunt Mary chuckled from her stack of pillows.
“They’re both the cutest. Two babies are twice as cute as one,” Annie defended.
The baby girl squirmed.
“Would you like to rock the cradle, Annie?” Aunt Mary asked.
“Oh yes,” she said, beaming. Gently she rocked, then remarked, “I love them and I wish we had twins just like them.”
“Papa only wants a boy,” Kate observed.
At the supper table that evening, Annie and Kate prattled on about the twins.
“Do all baby boys have pink hair?” Kate asked.
“No,” Mama replied. “Aunt Mary’s little boy has white hair. But it looks pink because his head shines through.”
“Oh,” Kate said, satisfied. Then, after a moment, “Do boys always tease? When he grows up will Aunt Mary’s boy tease like my cousin Cliff does?”
“Maybe Cliff did put a beetle in your mud pie once, but he made a water-willow whistle for you too,” Papa reminded her.
Thoughtfully she said, “I like my whistle. I think maybe we’ll have a brother too.”
Chuckling, Papa patted her head, then went out to do the chores.
Annie and Kate sat on the front steps in the gathering dusk, while sleepy birds twittered in the mulberry tree.
“Kate, shall we surprise Mama and Papa?” Annie asked.
“How?”
“Let’s ask Heavenly Father to send us twins like he did to Aunt Mary and Uncle Lew—a girl and a boy.”
“All Papa wants is a brother,” Kate said glumly. “We’ve already got a little sister.”
“But Mildred doesn’t look little anymore. Think what a big surprise it would be if we had twins.”
“Especially the boy part,” Kate giggled.
That night as they knelt by their bed, Annie prayed first. “Dear Heavenly Father,” she said, “Papa wants a boy so bad. Please bless us with a baby brother. And, also, could you send us a little sister too. We want twins just like Aunt Mary’s. Thank you for Papa, Mama, Grandma, my sisters, and my happy home. We will take good care of the twins. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen. Now, Kate, you pray.”
So, for the days, weeks, and months that followed, Annie and Kate faithfully prayed in secret for the big surprise for Papa and Mama. In Kate’s mind the deadline for the twins to arrive was Christmas. When they did not come then, she was very disappointed.
“But you got a rag doll and some cookies. That’s plenty,” Annie comforted.
“From now on, I’m only asking for a brother,” Kate said decisively. “A brother can help carry water from the barrel like Cliff does.”
“Well, I’ll still keep praying for a really big surprise,” Annie emphasized.
Springtime brought a problem. The family moved to the sawmill on Kolob Mountain, and Kate decided to put off praying for a brother until they moved back to town for the winter. “Heavenly Father would have a hard time finding our little one-room cabin and tent among the pines,” she reasoned.
But Annie said, “I’ll tell Him where we are.” And she did.
July was more than halfway gone. The hammering, hollow sound of a woodpecker in the ponderosa by the tent awoke Annie. It was barely daylight, still everyone was up and busy except her and her two sisters. She knew, from the smell of wood smoke curling from the cabin chimney, that the cracked wheat for breakfast would already be simmering. The music of the dawn was sweet contentment to her as she listened to the rush, then the hush of the wind in the pines. Mingled with the jubilant chirp of the robin and the cheeping of the wrens was the ring of Papa’s axe, chopping firewood. Through the open tent flap, she saw the bracken ferns and larkspurs waving in the breeze.
Slipping quietly out of bed, she walked out into the morning, barefoot, holding her long nightgown above the trampled meadow grass. A squirrel chattered from his perch in an oak, and wild roses fluttered delicately pink by the door. Heaven seemed to kiss the earth. Surely, this must be a special day.
“Well now, how’s my little early bird? Papa asked, approaching with his armload of wood. “I’ll bet you can’t guess what a big surprise we have for you!”
Annie’s heart leaped. “Mama has twins,” she declared.
Papa stopped with astonishment. “How in the world did you guess?”
Breathlessly she opened the door and rushed inside. There sat Grandma in front of the warm oven with a tiny baby on her lap.
“Come and see your brother, Annie,” she said.
“Oh, baby brother,” Annie cooed, “I knew you’d find us.” Then scanning the dark shadows of the cabin, she asked, “Where is our baby sister?”
“Who said there was a sister?” Papa teased.
By now Annie’s eyes were accustomed to the dimness and she spied the bunk bed. With a bound, she was at Mama’s side. There, nestled snug against her was another baby.
“Oh Mama, what a tiny, cute sister.”
Everybody looked at everyone.
Tenderly Annie said, “We prayed a long, long time for this big surprise. Kate just asked for a brother, but I kept praying for twins like Aunt Mary’s. We knew how surprised and happy you’d be.”
Amazed, Grandma shook her head, and her voice choked as she said, “The simple and perfect faith of a little child!”
Papa blinked his eyes, the same as he did when Uncle Lew’s son was born. Only this time he couldn’t blink fast enough to keep the tears from falling. “It’s a miracle,” he said softly.
Annie slid into the empty chair next to Grandma. “May I hold him please?”
Gently Grandma laid the tiny bundle in her arms. Papa picked up the baby from the bed and put her in Annie’s arms too. Softly Annie cooed as she rubbed her cheek against each little silken head. With a face as radiant as that of an angel, she whispered, “Oh you sweet, sweet little double blessing.”
And that’s how I happened to be a twin, for I was that baby girl.

Ashima had 10 siblings, the youngest of whom, Reza, no one talked about. He was considered a black sheep. Reza had joined the restored Church after meeting the full-time missionaries while attending college in England. At the time, he was a Muslim scholar, so when he left Islam to join the Church, it was a big deal.
While Reza was living in Toronto, Canada, he dreamed that he needed to return to India and contact his sister Ashima. Before his trip, he also dreamed about a woman he had never met. Because he kept seeing her face in his dreams, he felt an added urgency to return to India.
Reza was worried, however, because his family had shunned him. But when he reached out to Ashima in New Delhi, she said, “I miss you. You should come.”
My mom wasn’t in New Delhi at the time, so Ashima called one of my aunts, Assiya. “Can you come over?” she asked. “It will be better if other people are here so that we don’t fight.”
So, my Aunt Assiya went. When she arrived, Reza immediately recognized her as the woman in his dreams. They quickly fell in love and got married. When they moved to Toronto, my Aunt Assiya started asking Reza about the Church, why he had left India, and why he was willing to be shunned by his family.
Reza answered her questions and shared his testimony of the restored gospel. My aunt soon joined the Church.

Lincoln Babbage, branch president of the Melbourne 2nd Branch, says, “I’m grateful for the Spirit that the Book of Mormon brings into my life. One time, while pondering the purpose of life and how to live a good life, I was reading in Alma, chapter 5 about life and resurrection. I had a really warm feeling in my heart and felt the Spirit telling me to stay on the straight and narrow path (of keeping God’s commandments) and all would be well.”

Recently a dear friend of mine passed away from cancer. He and his family are people of great faith. It was inspiring to see how their faith carried them through this very difficult time. They were filled with an inner peace that sustained and strengthened them. With their permission I would like to read from a family member’s letter written just days before her father passed away:
“The last few days have been especially difficult. … Last night as we gathered at Dad’s bedside, the Spirit of the Lord was palpable and truly acted as a comforter to us. We are at peace. … It has been the hardest thing any of us has ever experienced, but we feel peace in the knowledge that … our Father in Heaven has promised that we will live together as a family again. After the doctor told Dad in the hospital that there was nothing left to be done, he looked at all of us with perfect faith and boldly asked, ‘Does anybody in this room have a problem with the plan of salvation?’ We do not and are grateful for a father and mother who have taught us to have perfect trust in the plan.”

For 17-year-old twins Titaina and Titaua Germain, from the Haumi Branch on the island of Moorea, those special missionaries are Elder Nelson and Elder Snowden. The twins, who share everything including remarkably similar faces, said, “When the missionaries explained to us about the principles of the gospel, we were truly astounded. It was as if we had dreamed of meeting people who lived like this and a church that worked like this one.”
The twins have to wait until their 18th birthday to be baptized, but they attend all their meetings and institute classes besides. “We were both interested from the moment we heard about the gospel from Elder Nelson and Elder Snowden,” said Titaina. Or was it Titaua? “We feel the same about things.”

When my husband’s beloved mother was diagnosed with cancer last year, we had to emulate Martha’s faith. Although we were devastated, I knew where my hope had fallen short during my first experience with cancer, and I knew I needed to take a different approach this time.

Strangely, exercising hope and faith in Christ meant acknowledging the reality that my incredible mother-in-law might pass away. Of course, I yearned and prayed for her healing, but I had hope that Christ could heal her and me, whether she lived or passed on. I hoped that, through the promises of Christ, joy was possible in either outcome.

All the sorrow of considering a future without her was still there while she grew sicker, but I didn’t have the anxiety that had gripped me when my brother was ill. And after a few months, she too passed away.

The unfairness of the situation is sometimes suffocating, the grief too heavy to bear. But somehow, I am clinging to the promises of healing through Jesus Christ, and that gives me just enough courage to continue to the next day.

I was disappointed not to be able to pick more of the fruit before the season ended, but school was about to begin again and with it, early-morning seminary. On the first morning of seminary, our teacher welcomed us to the class and went through the requirements for completing the course. I listened with enthusiasm. Knowing that we were required to read the Book of Mormon as part of the course, I had read it all during the summer break.
Following the class, I explained to my teacher that I had already fulfilled the requirement to read the Book of Mormon. My teacher insisted that I would need to read it again. But, I thought, “I don’t need to read it again!”
Disappointed, but obedient, I began to read the Book of Mormon a second time. And in reading, I discovered “fruit” I had somehow missed before.
It seemed that the Book of Mormon had more verses since I had last read it, and inspiring new scriptures stood out from the pages. Even characters I did not remember appeared. It was like picking blackberries. Wherever I looked, more fruit seemed to appear.
I realized that if I followed the commandment to “press forward, feasting upon the word of Christ” (2 Ne. 31:20), I would need to read the Book of Mormon over and over throughout my life. But unlike blackberry season, the season for picking this fruit will not come to an end.