Gospel Story Finder

My wife, Chris, and I have been best friends and sweethearts for more than 18 years. We have supported each other through the ups and downs of married life, celebrated and grieved together, and, with our seven children, worked to build a strong, Christ-centered home.
So I was excited by an invitation to speak at a priesthood leadership meeting in which I would address the topic of serving my wife. With confidence, I outlined the main doctrinal points I knew were important, filled in supporting gospel illustrations, and crafted what I believed was a strong, gospel-oriented talk. I concentrated on the eternal aspects of marriage and family, summarizing the words of the prophets on the role of women and emphasizing the responsibility men have to assist them.
I stayed after work one night to put the finishing touches on my talk and headed home with eager anticipation. Chris has always been my “congregation of one” as I have outlined talks and ideas to her before presenting them in public. I can always count on her support and encouragement, and I was sure she would like this talk.
“Chris, do you have a minute?” I asked as I came through the door.
“Hi, honey. I’ll be right there. I just need to check on dinner first,” she replied from the back of the house.
As I walked into the living room and picked up the mail, I could hear her giving instructions to the children: Shannon was to help with dinner, Casey was to set the table, and Caitlin, our two-year-old, was to put her clothes on.
“Okay, what’s up?” Chris asked after a quick kiss and hug.
“Well, I’m giving a talk in a few days at a priesthood leadership meeting. I want to read it to you so you can tell me what you think, and—”
“Just a minute, honey.” Turning toward the kitchen, she called out to the children: “Shannon, the meat smells like it’s burning. Casey, is the table set yet? Brianne, would you please check on Caitlin?”
She turned back to me. “Sorry. The kids are driving me crazy today. I’ve had to constantly remind them of the simplest things. What were you saying?”
I smiled and started over. “I’ve been asked to give this talk at—”
Just then Brianne walked in and said she couldn’t find any clothes for Caitlin. Chris directed her to the laundry room and asked her to start another load of clothes. Before I could say another word, Caitlin came running into the room with several copies of music Chris had ordered for a choral festival.
“Oh, no!” Chris said as she hurried off to rescue a large box filled with about one hundred copies of the music. “I spent all morning and most of the afternoon marking each of these for breathing and pronunciation. All I need is for Caitlin to scribble all over them.”
“Anyway, about my talk,” I continued after she returned. “The subject is serving your spouse. I thought I would have you tell me how a priesthood holder can best serve his wife so that I can see how close I came in my draft.”
“I’d like to hear your thoughts first,” she said over a rising din coming from the kitchen.
“Well, it’s a rough draft, and I was hoping that you would use your perspective to help me fill in the weak spots,” I said. “So tell me, what does a wife need the most?”
After brief reflection, Chris said, “A wife needs someone who’s willing to help her do the things that she does for everyone else in the family. She needs an uncomplaining, good-natured helper who can keep focused on cleaning, cooking, shopping, child rearing, and organization—someone willing to do these things even if deserved recognition and praise do not always come. Do you have that in your talk?”
“Oh-oh,” I said, lowering my gaze.
Warming to the subject, she continued, “This helper should also be able to anticipate the needs of family members, be willing to put personal projects on hold when the children need attention, and be able to quickly find family possessions.”
“I don’t have that in my talk either,” I told her. But my talk did have plenty of good elements. “What about priesthood? Isn’t it important to a wife that her husband hold the priesthood?”
She smiled. I had missed the mark only a little after all. Or so I thought.
“Yes, it means a great deal to me. But what’s important is using the priesthood, not just holding it. A priesthood holder should look for ways to use his priesthood to bless his wife. When a wife has to ask for help and service, she wonders if her husband is really aware of her needs. When a husband is sensitive to his wife’s needs, emotions, and daily trials, she feels valued and appreciated.”
“Thank you,” I said, leaning over and kissing her. “What else can a husband do to serve his wife?”
“Just two more things,” Chris said. “First, he should listen to her. She shouldn’t have to compete with the television or the newspaper or other distractions. He should listen with his heart to what his eternal companion has to tell him. If we’re going to spend eternity with each other, we ought to know each other’s thoughts, opinions, worries, frustrations, and hopes.”
I quietly put down the mail I still held in my hands.
“And second, he should simply love her. He should love her when she is impatient and frustrated after a busy day, or when she burns his dinner, or when she has trouble loving herself, or when she is four and a half months pregnant and doubts her ability to meet the needs of another child.”
That night I rewrote my talk, emphasizing that service means much more than helping my wife only when she asks for my assistance. Chris reminded me that true marriage, just as President Spencer W. Kimball said, is based on a happiness that “comes from giving, serving, sharing, sacrificing, and selflessness” (Marriage and Divorce, Salt Lake City: Deseret Book Company, 1976, page 12).

For more than forty years I travelled the world. After I was called as a General Authority, I began to be concerned about our three younger children. There were times when I was not home much and I knew they needed to spend more time with their father. So one family home evening I announced a new grand bargain. If they would keep the rules, help their mother when I was gone, get to bed on time, and do their home work, once a year I would take each of them individually with me on assignment. At my own expense--anywhere in the world I was going, they could each come with me.
Oh my! Were they excited? Did I really mean it? Anywhere? They wanted my schedule and began to plan their trips. And they knew where they wanted to go. They began alphabetically: Alaska, the headwaters of the Amazon, Anaheim, California, etc.
At the time our son Paul was twelve years old. He was gifted athletically but not spiritually. He had never born his testimony. I wondered if he ever would. But he decided that he wanted to go with me to Mexico. I told him he could but that he would have to bear his testimony there. He said, "Then I won't go."
I had a scheduled conference in Mexico City. As the date drew near my son again asked if he could go with me. I said, "Sure. But you will have to bear your testimony." He was adamant, "Then I won't go."
The time came to order the tickets; again he asked if he had to talk. I said yes. He said, "Does it have to be in Spanish?" I said, "Yes." He sighed and reluctantly said, "O.K." I called the mission president. He also had a twelve-year-old son. He agreed to pick us up at the airport and drive us to the conference. The boys could keep each other company.
One of the meetings was in Celaya. The road we took was narrow and wound through the mountains. As we started down the steep incline into town, the president suddenly braked the car. The road was blocked with a huge pile of logs and branches that had fallen from a rickety cart ahead of us. A woodcutter and his two sons were frantically trying to clear the road and reload their cart. My son said, "Good! Now I don't have to talk."
We shut off the car. We chatted a bit. The logjam didn't seem to be moving. Someone suggested that maybe we should help, so we did. And a kind of camaraderie developed on that mountain road between our sons, dressed in white shirts and ties, and the two barefoot wood gatherers. It just happened as bark filled their hair and sawdust covered their clothes. It took us about thirty minutes to pick up and restack the wood.
When we finished, we said goodbye to our new friends, cleaned up as well as we could, and drove to Celaya. At a convenient moment in the conference I called on my son to bear his testimony. He stood behind the little pulpit and in gringo Spanish haltingly said, "Yo se que el Libro de Mormón es verdadero, porque lo he leído."
It was true. He knew the Book of Mormon was true because he had read it--in Spanish! In painful, two verse at a time, early morning scripture study that our family had conducted for years, in English, and Spanish, and Portuguese, he had read it and he knew it was true. And to me what happened to my son Paul on that road to Celaya was just as important as what happened to his namesake Paul on the road to Damascus. And his testimony was just as valid.

In faraway Bucharest, Romania, Dr. Lynn Oborn, volunteering at an orphanage, was attempting to teach little Raymond, who had never walked, how to use his legs. Raymond had been born with severe clubfeet and was completely blind. Surgery had corrected the clubfeet, but Raymond was still unable to use his legs. Dr. Oborn knew that a child-size walker would enable Raymond to get on his feet, but such a walker was not available anywhere in Romania.
Let us turn now to Provo, Utah. The Richard Headlee family, learning of the suffering and pitiful conditions in Romania, joined with others to assemble a 40? (12.2 m) container filled with 40,000 pounds (19,000 kg) of needed supplies. The deadline arrived, and the container had to be shipped. No one involved with the project knew of the need for a child-size walker. However, at the last possible moment, a family brought forth a walker and placed it in the container.
When the anxiously awaited container arrived at the orphanage in Bucharest, Dr. Oborn said, “Oh, I hope you brought me a child’s walker for Raymond!”
One of the Headlee family members said, “I can vaguely remember a walker, but I don’t know its size.” Another family member crawled among the bales of clothes and boxes of food, searching for the walker. When he found it, he cried out, “It’s a little one!” Cheers erupted—which quickly turned to tears, for they all knew that they had been part of a modern-day miracle.
There may be some who say, “We don’t have miracles today.” But the doctor whose prayers were answered would respond, “Oh, yes we do, and Raymond is walking!” She who was inspired to give the walker would surely agree.
Who was the angel of mercy? Her name is Kristin Bestor. She was born with spina bifida, as was her younger sister, Erika.
Kristin’s father said to me at a celebration one evening, “President Monson, meet Kristin. She is the one who felt impressed to send her walker to Romania, hoping that some child there would be benefitted.”
I spoke to Kristin as she sat in her wheelchair: “Thank you for listening to the Spirit of the Lord.”
Later, as I walked out of that celebration, I looked upward toward the heavens and offered my own thank-you to God for children, for families, for miracles in our time.

A mother was busily preparing dinner when her little boy burst into the kitchen. “Mother, will you play darts with me?” “Just-a-minutes” didn’t seem to satisfy the little boy, so the mother followed him down the basement stairs. As they came into the playroom, she said, “I don’t know the rules or how to play.” “Oh, it’s not hard at all,” he beamed confidently. “I just stand right here and throw the darts, and you stand over there and say, ‘Wonderful! Wonderful!’” Pretty easy rules to remember, aren’t they?

“Remember, just five minutes,” warned the attendant as he ushered Salt Lake businessman Nephi L. Morris into the plush Chicago office of important financier Thomas N. McCauley. Handing the tycoon the caller’s business card, the attendant posted himself by the door to be sure the five-minute limit would not be exceeded.
“From Salt Lake City I see,” remarked the busy executive. “Sit down Mr. Morris. Because you are a Utahn, I want to tell you about an experience I had years ago out in your part of the world.” Not waiting to find out Brother Morris’s business reason for the visit, Mr. McCauley disregarded his own tight business schedule—and his upset attendant—and for a full hour related to his visitor a singular experience cherished in his memory.
Mr. McCauley explained that while still a young man he had amassed a fortune in the East before the turn of the century. But the strain of business finally broke him physically. His doctor warned that the only hope for recovery was for the young executive to spend six months to a year in the West, living in the open. Reluctantly accepting this advice, Mr. McCauley turned his extensive business affairs over to associates and went west, accompanied by the doctor.
For months the two men camped in a covered wagon while leisurely traveling about the Rocky Mountain regions. Then, when recovery seemed near, McCauley suddenly developed a fever of 102 degrees and severe chills. The doctor, fearing for his patient’s life, hurried the wagon to the nearest settlement: Bunkerville, Nevada, a small Mormon settlement near the southwest corner of Utah. Having a deep dislike for Mormons, the doctor nevertheless swallowed his pride and appealed for help at the home of a local farmer, Edward Bunker, Jr., who turned out to be the town’s bishop and the son of the man for whom Bunkerville was named.
The strangers had not known that this man’s home often served as a hospital or hotel for people passing through those barren regions. While bishop from 1883 to 1908, Brother Bunker served as the local doctor, setting about 40 broken limbs, amputating fingers, lancing sores, and once even successfully sewing on a boy’s foot that had been amputated by a mowing machine. According to local tradition, the Bunker family rarely dined alone because of the good bishop’s hospitality. Travelers could stay at the Bunker home as long as they wanted, said the Bunker rule, but they would be treated like one of the family and could not disrupt the normal family life.
The Easterners were quickly made welcome and were promised every accommodation within the tiny community’s power to give. Their wagon and team were cared for. Food was provided. Bedding and supplies materialized, and the Bunker parlor was converted into a makeshift hospital ward.
Day after day the doctor and the Bunkers carefully nursed the critically ill patient. Weeks passed and McCauley made only slow progress. The doctor spent his time with the sick man or off by himself. While confined helplessly to his bed, however, the young man was in a unique position to witness the everyday activities of this humble Latter-day Saint family.
At times the parlor door was left ajar, and McCauley could look into the next room where, after a day of hard farm toil, the family blessed and then ate their evening meal. Many times at nightfall McCauley observed them kneeling in family prayer, the bishop himself often praying aloud.
At last the patient’s condition improved enough for the doctor to allow him to resume the journey. On the morning of the doctor and McCauley’s departure, the Bunker family arose early as usual. Unknowingly they had awakened their guests, who could not help but overhear the special family prayer offered in their behalf. The family gathered in the dining room where the sturdy bishop, kneeling beside his children and as humble as they were, reverently poured out his soul in supplication. Among other things he fervently thanked God for blessing their guest with a great recovery of health, and he invoked a special blessing for a full and complete healing.
During the prayer McCauley noticed his doctor friend slip quietly from the parlor with tears on his cheeks. McCauley, recognizing the faith being exercised in his behalf, could barely suppress his own tears as a deep feeling of gratitude welled up in his heart. As he confessed while telling the story to Brother Morris years later, “I have never heard such a prayer in all my life.”
Arising from prayer the family went about their daily chores while Bishop Bunker came into the parlor to say goodbye to his guests. Shaking hands with McCauley, he expressed to the Easterner his great pleasure at “having been favored with the privilege of rendering an act of kindness,” then wished him and the doctor a pleasant journey.
“I am greatly indebted to you, Bishop Bunker,” said McCauley, “and I desire to properly compensate you for your merciful kindness and care of me, which is responsible for saving my life. I am a man of ample means and to reward you generously would be a great pleasure to me.”
Knowing the Bunkers’ existence was hard and that they lacked many material things, he was amazed when the bishop kindly refused the offer. “No,” said the Mormon, “I can’t accept anything from you. I have only done what any man should do for his brother.”
“But I must do something to compensate you for what you bestowed upon me. I cannot let you go uncompensated. Please tell me what I can do for you in money or otherwise.”
To this earnest request the hospitable bishop replied: “I am already amply repaid for my helpfulness to you. The only way you can pay me is by doing for some other person who stands in like need of help as I have cheerfully done for you.”
And that closed the transaction as far as Bishop Bunker was concerned.
But McCauley never forgot the debt he felt he owed, and in following years he repaid it—mainly by helping Latter-day Saints. When donations were sought to build a monument in Utah to Brigham Young, McCauley’s name headed the donors’ list with a $1,000 contribution. During Utah Senator Reed Smoot’s membership trial in the United States Senate, the influential financier personally lobbied with Vice-president William Howard Taft in defense of the Mormons. He offered financial opportunities to various Utah and Church leaders. When two prominent Mormons suffered financial reverses during the panic of 1907, McCauley gave them back their notes and canceled their loan obligations to him.
And whenever opportunities presented themselves, even if it meant turning a five-minute appointment into an hour’s discussion, the financier felt an obligation to tell Utahns like Brother Morris about his struggle with death in the Nevada wastelands where a Mormon bishop, whom he had not seen before or since, had exercised faith in God to help a stranger recover. That was something, McCauley explained, which all his own wealth and power could not accomplish.
The story so impressed Brother Morris that he immediately noted it down. Twenty years later, in 1943, he wrote to Bishop Bunker’s descendants and shared the story with them, for whom it now is a source of family pride and inspiration.

One day at school, a few of my classmates were making fun of another student by calling him names. It looked like fun, so I joined them. For a few weeks, I made fun of him with my friends.
Several weeks later, the boy told me how he was feeling. He was hurt by our words, even though he pretended like he didn’t care that we were making fun of him. He said he cried every night. I almost cried when he told me. I wanted to help him and decided to apologize for what I had said to him.
So the next day, I went up to him and put my arm around his shoulder. I said, “I’m really sorry that I made fun of you.” He nodded at my words, and his eyes filled up with tears. But the other kids were still making fun of him. Then I remembered what I learned in my Primary class: choose the right.
So I told my classmates, “Stop making fun of him! Do you guys know how hard this has been for him? Please say you’re sorry for what you have done and be his friend.”
But they wouldn’t change that easily. Instead, they were mad at me and said, “What’s the matter with you all of a sudden? You made fun of him too!”
I still felt bad for what I had done before. So I said, “I already said sorry to him. I want you to understand how he feels and stop making fun of him too.”
One of them said sorry, and the three of us became good friends. A few people still make fun of him, but he feels better because he has us. I will choose the right by helping a friend in need.

The third type of love I want to share is a bit personal and yet needs to be shared. Prior to serving a senior mission, I had not heard much about a unique and wonderful blessing of strengthening that occurs within one’s marriage. In our case, we have been happily married for 42 years, and they have been wonderful and joyful years. However, with children, grandchildren, Church callings, a demanding professional career, and a variety of exciting extracurricular activities, we found that our time together had become limited to a few hours here and there, large family and church gatherings, and not terribly regular date nights. However, as we began serving as full-time senior missionaries, we found ourselves together all the time. Naturally, this required some companionship interviews. The result has been an unexpected and unimaginable blessing, even a rediscovery of why we got married so many years ago. I am reminded of how twitterpated I felt when I first set eyes on the blonde hair, blue eyes, and brilliant smile of Sue Maughan. She has the same spell over me as she did many years ago.

Not many young women set a turkey trot race as their goal—but Debbie and Lori Wright of the Orem 47th Ward, Orem Utah Windsor Stake, did. They decided to accept the challenge of running the 4.25-mile race with their Laurel adviser, Lorraine Gaufin. Since neither of the sisters had raced before, they set up their own jogging schedules, trained on their own, and even got matching T-shirts with “Lorraine’s Laurels” printed on the back. The race was long enough to discourage them. It wasn’t the easiest goal they’ve ever achieved, but they ran a good race, They both finished the course, and Debbie brought home a turkey she won in the post-race drawing.

I was visiting Yellowstone National Park with my daughter and her family, and we had spent the day sightseeing. It had been a rainy day, but we were not going to let it get us down. My daughter had been driving for much of that day, but at the end of the night I was prompted that I should be the one to drive back to our lodging.
It wasn’t clear to me why I needed to be the one driving, but I always try to follow promptings of the Holy Ghost when I feel this way. As Joseph Smith taught, “Be careful and not turn away the small still voice; it will teach [you] what to do and where to go.”1
It had become dark, and the rain was coming down hard. Out of nowhere, something appeared in front of my truck. I wasn’t sure what it was, but it was close. I knew we were going to hit it. I realized a piece of the hillside had broken away and fallen in our path. As quickly as I could, I tried swerving around the large boulder, but it was too close and we hit it.
The momentum of the truck pushed us up onto the rock, causing the truck to tilt and go on two wheels. I tried to stop the truck, but the gas pedal was stuck. We continued to rapidly move forward, like a rocket flying down the road on two wheels. In that instance, I realized we were heading toward a guardrail by a cliff that led down into Yellowstone River. I had lost control of the vehicle, and I knew what was on the other side of the railing if we went over it.
In that moment, I said a silent prayer: “Father, please help me save my family!” All of a sudden, the Holy Ghost prompted me to turn off the engine. That would require me to remove one hand from the steering wheel, but it was taking both of my hands to control the truck. I thought, “I can’t let go.” I felt a comforting whisper from the Holy Ghost: “It’s OK. I will help you. Turn off the ignition.” I reached for the ignition switch and removed the key. When the truck started slowing down, I was able to once again steer it so we stayed on the road.
I know it was the prompting of the Holy Ghost that led me to turn off the engine. It was as if angels were holding tightly to the wheel so I could remove my hand to turn off the engine. I know Heavenly Father and the Holy Ghost helped me that night. I am so grateful for the gospel in my life that made it possible for me to be prepared to receive the promptings that guided us to safety.

One year ago last month on the 31 of May I was at one of my stake conferences in Sao Paulo, Brazil. It so happened that on that very day President Kimball was arriving in order to set apart some sealers in the temple. I knew President Kimball wasn’t well. He had just received his pacemaker about two or three weeks previous to this date. His physician and security were with him. After he finished his work in the temple, I hurried back from my stake conference and met him at the temple at noon. As I met him, I said, “President, are you feeling well enough to greet 27 new missionaries here at the MTC?”
He said, “Yes, of course,” in his kind way.
We had 27 Bolivianos and Peruanos. They never thought in all their life they would ever see the prophet of God. They did not know he was there. When we sent word to them that he would like to greet them, they were speechless. They came into the temple one by one. I stood by him to translate the few words they could utter. These are some of the few things they said: “I know you are a prophet of God,” “This is the happiest day of my life,” or they said, “I love thee.” And then with his strong arms he embraced and kissed each one. Do you think those 27 left the same way they came in? They were different people. They felt of his influence. They knew he was the Prophet of God. They went out with a certain and strong testimony that he is.

When I was in high school, I found it necessary to support myself. I suppose I was about sixteen, and I went to Globe, Arizona, the big mining camp, and there secured a job milking cows twice a day for a dairy. In those days we had no machines, and we milked with our hands. I milked between eighteen and twenty-eight cows twice a day, separated the cream, bottled the milk, washed the cans and bottles, fed the cattle, and cleaned the manure. For all of this, I received my meals, a cot in a bunkhouse, and $47.50 a month.
I was now on my own. No one was there to check up on me. When I received my first paycheck, I asked myself, “Should I or should I not pay my tithing?” I sent my dairy check home to the bank and received a receipt and a checkbook. I numbered the checks on the book and my first check was made out payable to the bishop.
The Lord has promised that if boys and girls and their parents are faithful in paying their tithing, he will pour out great blessings upon them. I know he keeps the promise.

President Smith then explained:
“This custom of holding fast meetings on Thursday was continued in Nauvoo and also after the coming of the members of the Church to the Rocky Mountains. I can remember the time when certain business houses closed their doors each fast day and placed on the doors, ‘Closed for fast meeting.’ …
“The change from the first Thursday to the first Sunday of the month came about in this manner. Hyrum M. Smith, who later became a member of the Council of the Twelve, was a missionary in Newcastle, England, in the year 1896. On the Thursday of the fast meeting, members of the Church in that land had to get excused from their employment with a loss of pay. Some of them were workers in the coal mines. When these came from the pits, they had to go home, bathe, and change their clothes. This was a loss both of time and compensation. Hyrum wrote to his father, President Joseph F. Smith, and asked why, under such circumstances, the fast day had to be a Thursday and not a Sunday. President Smith took the letter to the meeting of the First Presidency and the apostles and presented it there. The following is an excerpt from the minutes of the meeting held November 5, 1896:
“‘President Joseph F. Smith introduced the subject of fast meetings, suggesting that a change of the time from the first Thursday to the first Sunday in each month would probably be beneficial. This was endorsed by President George Q. Cannon, and after other brethren had spoken on the subject, it was decided that the Tabernacle services would be dispensed with on the first Sunday of each month, and that the saints in this city as well as in the country wards, should have the privilege of meeting in their meeting houses at 2 o’clock p.m. to observe fast day.’” (Improvement Era, Dec. 1956, p. 895.)

The bell rang. It was late at night. We did not expect anyone that evening, and I was wondering who it could be. I opened the door, and to my amazement, there stood the two missionaries who were teaching in the neighborhood.
The elders asked quickly if my boys were available so they could ask them a question. They were not. This was the time for them to be in bed for they were only 14 and 15 years old. The missionaries looked at each other, and the senior, obviously gathering his courage, asked me if I would talk to my boys and tell them to behave well at school because they were teaching one of the boys’ schoolmates. It was important that they, the missionaries, be able to tell their young investigator that my boys were members of the Church and then ask her if she had noticed any difference! What a terrible thing it might have been if my boys had not been behaving well! I promised the missionaries that I would forward the message and discuss the challenge with my boys.
The elders left, reassured, and as I closed the door, a scripture came flashing through my mind. I had used it often in the past years in meeting with the missionaries. “Go forth … that ye may show forth good examples unto them in me, and I will make an instrument of thee in my hands unto the salvation of many souls.” (Alma 17:11.)

After wandering spiritually in her college years, Amanda Freebairn of the United States took the small step of praying, which led her to follow a prompting to visit her local temple grounds. “Feeling the Spirit there rekindled my faith,” she says. Returning to church and accepting a calling to teach Primary deepened her faith, and she kept taking steps that brought her to fully embrace the gospel. Along the way, Amanda observes, “I found answers to the questions I so desperately needed.”

When I was in high school, I remember trying sometimes to sit at lunch with the right people, the ones that were popular. I guess that’s why I was struck by what my granddaughter, Grace, did. I guess you can say that she’s eligible to be at the cool table—she’s good looking, athletic, and has a big personality. Unsurprisingly, Grace sat with other girls like her at lunch. One day, she noticed that a Somali immigrant student was always sitting alone. She knew that he spoke virtually no English. Most kids were distantly friendly to him, but sitting next to him at lunch when you couldn't even converse with him just didn't make sense. Except to Grace. She walked over to his table and sat down. Not once, but every day. They communicated as best they could, and as his English improved, they became true friends. After a few months, Grace asked him if he had any other friends at school. Yes, he said, one other girl. It turned out to be Grace’s best friend from church.

I mentioned that Grace is athletic. She’s also quite tall—five foot eleven inches. And she has no trouble attracting the attention of the tall athletes at school. But Grace invited the shortest boy in school—a seriously short kid— to go with her to prom. The two of them got quite a laugh at how they looked. Grace figured that he would have been uncomfortable asking another girl, or maybe he would have just stayed home, so she just stepped up, so to speak.

Grace’s way is the Savior’s way. She reminds me that I also can reach out to the one.

Elder Higgins had been a musical theater major in college before his mission. My first day in the area had been a prep day and while we were doing our laundry, Elder Higgins sang songs from Oklahoma to the ladies in the laundromat. They loved it. He made five appointments while our clothes were drying. He sometimes sang to people at doors. I was just a little more reserved with people—shy and scared were more descriptive.

Prophets have charge for the whole earth, not just for members of the Church. I can report from my own experience how personally and devotedly the First Presidency takes that charge. As needs grow, the First Presidency has charged us to increase our humanitarian outreach in a significant way. They are interested in the largest trends and the smallest details.

Recently, we brought to them one of the protective medical gowns that Beehive Clothing sewed for hospitals to use during the pandemic. As a medical doctor, President Russell M. Nelson was highly interested. He didn’t want to just see it. He wanted to try it on—check the cuffs and the length and the way it tied in the back. He told us later, with emotion in his voice, “When you meet with people on your assignments, thank them for their fasting, their offerings, and their ministering in the name of the Lord.”

One of the favorite stories of our family comes from a true incident in the life of a woman who was the victim of cerebral palsy. The woman tells how as a child she would look forward to meeting her father at the gate of the ranch corral each evening as he returned from rounding up the cattle. He would drive the herd into the corral, close the big gate, and then hoist her up into his arms and steady her hand as she practiced placing the rope over the post to secure the gate. One evening she waited in her usual place by the gate. She watched as the cattle ran into the corral. Then she looked for her father, but he did not come. Panic struck her as she realized the gate must be closed and secured without his steadying hand to guide her own. It was with great effort and struggle that she tried over and over again to slide the rope up and over the gate post. With great concentration and with her strength almost completely exhausted, she finally succeeded. As she completed what was for her a very difficult task, she looked up to see her father nearby. He had been there for some time watching her determined struggle, wanting to reach out and help her and to steady and guide her hands as he usually did; but he knew she needed that experience. She needed to know she could do the task and thus gain the confidence to try other difficult tasks on her own. As much as he loved her and wanted to make her trial easier, he had to permit her to struggle, to learn through her own efforts the satisfaction that comes from personal sacrifice and achievement.

Chanta and Sounthara Luangrath sat in their home in California, USA, wondering what they should do. They had prepared their four children to serve missions, and now they knew it was their turn. The decision was bigger than they’d expected: they would miss their grandchildren so much! They were also concerned about a few health issues. And what would they do with their home and belongings while they were gone?
The Luangraths’ concerns about serving a mission are not unique to them. In fact, Elder Robert D. Hales of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles identified four categories of obstacles to senior missionary work: fear, family concerns, finding the right mission opportunity, and finances.1
Overcoming these obstacles requires great faith, a trait the Luangraths demonstrated when they heard President Thomas S. Monson’s call for more missionaries in the October 2010 general conference. “We felt the Spirit so strong,” they reflect. “We wanted to follow the prophet, so we turned in our mission application.”
The Luangraths were called to serve as humanitarian missionaries in Laos, the land where they were born, raised, and married. Their worries faded as they prepared to serve: their family supported them, they resolved their health issues, and they made their home available for lease. They felt confident as they did what the Savior commanded: “Go thy way, … take up the cross, and follow me” (Mark 10:21).

Several years ago Sister Packer and I determined that we should get our records in order. However, under the pressure of Church responsibilities with my travels about the world, and the obligations with our large family and a home to keep up both indoors and outdoors, there just was not enough time. But we were restless about this family history responsibility, and finally we determined that somehow we would have to make more time in the day.
During the Christmas holidays when we had a little extra time, we started. Then as we moved back to a regular schedule after the holidays, we adopted the practice of getting up an hour or two earlier each day.
We gathered together everything we had, and in the course of a few weeks we were amazed at what we were able to accomplish. The thing that was most impressive, however, was the fact that we began to have experiences that told us somehow that we were being guided, that there were those beyond the veil who were interested in what we were doing. Things began to fall into place.
As I have traveled about the Church and paid particular attention to this subject, many testimonies have come to light. Others who assemble their records together are likewise having similar experiences. It was as though the Lord was waiting for us to begin.
We found things we had wondered about for a long time. It seemed as though they came to us almost too easily. More than this, things that we never dreamed existed began to show up. We began to learn by personal experience that this research into our families is an inspired work. We came to know that an inspiration will follow those who move into it. It is just a matter of getting started.
Once we started, we found the time. Somehow we were able to carry on all of the other responsibilities. There seemed to be an increased inspiration in our lives because of this work.
The Lord will bless you once you begin this work. This has been very evident to my family. Since the time we decided that we would start where we were, with what we had, many things have opened to us.