Gospel Story Finder

Let me tell you a story that I heard recently in Mexico.
Thirty years ago, David Castañeda; his wife, Tomasa; and their children lived on a dry, little, run-down ranch near Torreón. They owned thirty chickens, two pigs, and one thin horse. They walked in poverty. Then the missionaries called on them. Sister Castañeda said, “The elders took the blinders from our eyes and brought light into our lives. We knew nothing of Jesus Christ. We knew nothing of God until they came.”
The elders taught them, and they were eventually baptized. They moved into the little town of Bermejillo. They started in the junk business, buying wrecked automobiles. They gradually built a prosperous business. With simple faith they paid their tithing. They put their trust in the Lord. They lived the gospel. They served wherever they were called to serve. Four of their sons and three of their daughters filled missions. They have been made fun of for their obedience to gospel principles. Their answer is a testimony of the power of the Lord in their lives.
Some two hundred of their family and friends have joined the Church due to their influence. The children, now grown, and the parents take turns going to Mexico City each month to work in the temple. They stand as a living testimony of the great power of this work of the Lord to lift and change people.

In our own family, we have had such an experience with wonderful, watchful priesthood leaders. When I was first called to the Seventy some years ago, we were assigned to move to Solihull, England, to serve in the Area Presidency. Sister Rasband and I took our two youngest children with us on this assignment. Our daughter was a young single adult and our son a 17-year-old who liked American-style football and played it very well. We were very concerned about them. No friends, no extended family, and no American football! I wondered, would this exciting new experience prove to be a serious trial for our family?

The answer came in an early assignment I received. I had been asked to speak to the missionaries at the Missionary Training Center in Preston, England. I called President White of the center and was pleased to hear that he knew of my family situation. He suggested we include our children on our visit to Preston. Once we were there, he even invited our daughter and son to speak to the missionaries! What a thrill for them to be and feel included and share their testimonies of the Lord’s work!

When finished and after tender good-byes to those missionaries, we visited the beautiful Preston England Temple, which was close to the Missionary Training Center. As we walked near the front door, there stood President and Sister Swanney, the temple president and matron. They greeted us and welcomed us into the temple with, “Elder Rasband, how would you and your family like to perform baptisms for the dead?” What a wonderful idea! We looked at each other and gratefully accepted. After performing the ordinances and while my son and I were still in the font with tears of joy in our eyes, he put his hand on my shoulder and asked, “Dad, why haven’t we ever done this before?”

I thought of all the football games, all the movies we had attended together, all of the good times we had shared—certainly happy memories and traditions that are so important to build.

However, I realized we had an opportunity to add more meaningful spiritual experiences with our children like what we had experienced in Preston that day. Thanks to those caring and observant priesthood leaders, I knew then that our family was going to do fine in Europe. How grateful we are for the many priesthood and Young Women leaders who have always been watchful and loving to our children and yours.

Dear brothers and sisters, when our son was in the Provo Missionary Training Center, Sister Gong mailed fresh-baked bread to him and his missionary companions. Here are some of the missionary thank-you notes Sister Gong received: “Sister Gong, that bread was a taste of home.” “Sister Gong, all I can say is wow. That bread is the best thing to enter my mouth since my mother’s enchiladas.” But this is my favorite: “Sister Gong, the bread was wonderful.” He then jokingly continued, “Keep me in mind if things don’t work out between you and Mr. Gong.”

In 1997 I found myself on what was supposed to be a 10-day working assignment in La Victoria, Venezuela. When I realized that I wouldn’t be returning home to Italy as soon as I expected, I began looking for a Latter-day Saint chapel so I could go to church on Sunday.
One day at lunchtime I made friends with a young Italian engineer who knew where to find a chapel in Maracay. He made a map for me. I had a car at my disposal, but unfortunately I hadn’t yet taken the medical examination required to obtain temporary permission to drive.
I was new to the area, I had only a sparse knowledge of Spanish, and several people had advised me against taking public transportation alone. I faced a dilemma. As Easter Sunday approached, I really wanted to renew my covenants by partaking of the sacrament. If I didn’t drive, how could I attend church in Maracay? If I did drive, I risked being stopped for driving without a permit.
As I considered my options, the 12th article of faith came to mind: “We believe in … obeying, honoring, and sustaining the law.” Rather than drive, I knew that I must obey the law of the land (see D&C 58:21), even if doing so meant missing church.
A few days later I transferred to a hotel where several of my co-workers were staying. On Saturday morning, after a walk I returned to the hotel, still trying to figure out how to attend church the next day. As I passed the reception desk, to my surprise, I saw a copy of the Liahona in Spanish.
“Who is a member of the Church here?” I asked. Someone responded that the magazine belonged to one of the hotel workers. The receptionist went to his office and invited him to meet me. As we chatted about the Church, this good brother told me that there was a ward right there in La Victoria and that the chapel was located just a short walk from the hotel. He told me he would be happy to meet me the following morning and accompany me to church. What joy!
I ended up being in La Victoria for two more months. During that time I built many friendships as I happily participated in meetings and activities. Shortly after Easter, I obtained legal permission to drive, which enabled me to attend stake conference in Maracay.
While I was in Venezuela, my testimony of the importance of obeying the law of the land—even when inconvenient—was strengthened. I also obtained a testimony that Church publications are an effective way to share the blessings of the Lord.

Carson could hardly sit still. He was excited to go to Grandma’s house! Every summer Grandma invited all the cousins over to her house for a three-day “Cousin Camp.” Each year the camp had a different theme. Carson couldn’t wait to see what they were going to do. When Carson and his cousins got to Grandma’s house, she met them at the door.
“Welcome to Cousin Camp!” Grandma said. “This year’s theme is service. For our first activity, we’re going to make posters for our local firefighters.”
Everyone split into two groups. Carson joined a group and eyed the candy piled in the center of the table.
“Use this candy to create a kind and fun message for the firefighters,” said Grandma.
Carson and his cousins worked together to make the perfect poster. Carson drew a big red fire truck and taped on his favorite candy.
When they arrived at the fire station, the firefighters were really happy with the posters. They showed Carson and his cousins around the firehouse and even let them sit in the fire truck!
At breakfast the next day, Carson’s cousins tried to guess the next Cousin Camp activity.
“I think we’ll do yard work for Grandma’s neighbors,” Ava said.
“Maybe we’ll make food for people who are hungry,” said Nash.
“Or clean up the park!” said Natalie.
Grandma smiled. “Those are great ideas, but today we’re going to make fleece blankets for children at the hospital. Everyone pick some fabric, and then I’ll show you what to do.”
Carson looked through the stack of fabric and picked one with soccer balls on it. He loved soccer!
“Want to help me with my blanket?” Carson asked Caitlin.
“Sure!” said Caitlin.
“OK. I’ll cut strips along the edges, and you can tie them in a knot.”
Caitlin nodded and concentrated on tying each knot. Soon they were finished, and the blanket looked great! When they got to the hospital, Carson and Caitlin gave their soccer blanket to a girl who was sick. She loved soccer too!
During Cousin Camp, Carson and his cousins also served each other. They helped Grandma make meals. They helped each other make their beds, and they held doors open for each other. Carson never realized there were so many ways to serve! He thought about all the things he could do to keep serving after Cousin Camp was over.
“Today’s the last day of Cousin Camp,” Grandma said during breakfast the next day. Carson was sad it was almost over. He was having a blast!
“You can choose what we do today,” said Grandma.
Hailey and Zoie loved animals, so everyone collected old towels to give to a veterinary clinic. Oliver had the idea to give water bottles to people who were homeless. One man was grateful because it was very hot that day!
Go to “Family Night Fun” for an activity to go with this story!
Grandma said, “You’ve all done an amazing job serving others! I know Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ are happy with the way you’ve all served.”
“Grandma,” Carson asked, “can we do the same thing for Cousin Camp next year?”

Twenty years ago in general conference, I related a story first told by Elder Vaughn J. Featherstone of the Seventy that I believe bears repeating here.
In 1918 Brother George Goates was a farmer who raised sugar beets in Lehi, Utah. Winter came early that year and froze much of his beet crop in the ground. For George and his young son Francis, the harvest was slow and difficult. Meanwhile, an influenza epidemic was raging. The dreaded disease claimed the lives of George’s son Charles and three of Charles’s small children—two little girls and a boy. In the course of only six days, a grieving George Goates made three separate trips to Ogden, Utah, to bring the bodies home for burial. At the end of this terrible interlude, George and Francis hitched up their wagon and headed back to the beet field.
“[On the way] they passed wagon after wagon-load of beets being hauled to the factory and driven by neighborhood farmers. As they passed by, each driver would wave a greeting: ‘Hi ya, Uncle George,’ ‘Sure sorry, George,’ ‘Tough break, George,’ ‘You’ve got a lot of friends, George.’
“On the last wagon was … freckled-faced Jasper Rolfe. He waved a cheery greeting and called out: ‘That’s all of ’em, Uncle George.’
“[Brother Goates] turned to Francis and said: ‘I wish it was all of ours.’
“When they arrived at the farm gate, Francis jumped down off the big red beet wagon and opened the gate as [his father] drove onto the field. [George] pulled up, stopped the team, … and scanned the field. … There wasn’t a sugar beet on the whole field. Then it dawned upon him what Jasper Rolfe meant when he called out: ‘That’s all of ’em, Uncle George!’
“[George] got down off the wagon, picked up a handful of the rich, brown soil he loved so much, and then … a beet top, and he looked for a moment at these symbols of his labor, as if he couldn’t believe his eyes.
“Then [he] sat down on a pile of beet tops—this man who brought four of his loved ones home for burial in the course of only six days; made caskets, dug graves, and even helped with the burial clothing—this amazing man who never faltered, nor flinched, nor wavered throughout this agonizing ordeal—sat down on a pile of beet tops and sobbed like a little child.
“Then he arose, wiped his eyes, … looked up at the sky, and said: ‘Thanks, Father, for the elders of our ward.’”6
Yes, thanks be to God for the men of the priesthood and for the service they will yet render in lifting individuals and families and in establishing Zion.

Illustration by Brad Teare
Lucia wiped away a tear. She didn’t want the other kids to see. She left the school grounds and hurried toward home.
Lucia lived on a small, beautiful island. She was the only member of the Church at school. Everybody else went to the same church. They teased Lucia and wouldn’t play with her because she was different.
That wasn’t the only problem. Sometimes the teachers ignored Lucia when she raised her hand.
But today was the worst! Lucia thought. She kicked a pebble down the road. During class, the teacher read some Bible verses that Lucia didn’t understand. They made it sound like Heavenly Father, Jesus, and the Holy Ghost were the same person. Then the teacher said there were some churches that didn’t believe what the Bible taught. She looked straight at Lucia. Everybody in class laughed.
Lucia was confused. Weren’t Heavenly Father, Jesus, and the Holy Ghost separate? What was going on?
Suddenly she had a happy thought. She could ask the missionaries! They came to Lucia’s village every day. They’ll know how to help! she thought.
When Lucia got home, she saw Sister Brown and Sister Ruiz. They were helping pump water up to a tank on the roof.
Lucia asked her question right away. “Why does the Bible say Heavenly Father and Jesus are the same person?”
Sister Brown smiled. “That’s a good question. After lunch let’s look for some scriptures to help.”
Lucia hardly tasted any of the yummy ropa vieja stew Mama had made. All she wanted was the answer!
Finally lunch was over. Lucia and the missionaries opened their scriptures. They read about Joseph Smith’s vision. Then they read about Jesus’s baptism. Both scriptures showed that Heavenly Father, Jesus, and the Holy Ghost were separate.
“So why do those other scriptures say they’re the same?” asked Lucia.
Sister Brown started turning the pages. “Let’s read in John 17:21–22. That’s where Jesus prays to Heavenly Father about His Apostles.”
They all took turns reading. In the scriptures, Jesus prayed that His Apostles “may be one” like He and Heavenly Father are one. Lucia counted three different times He said it.
“The Apostles couldn’t all become the same person,” Sister Ruiz said. “But they could become one in how they believed and acted. That’s how Heavenly Father, Jesus, and the Holy Ghost are one.”
Lucia began to feel warm inside. She knew it was the Holy Ghost. He was telling her that what Sister Ruiz said was true.
Heavenly Father and Jesus weren’t the same person. But They were the same in what They said and did. And Lucia knew that They both loved her.

Perhaps you will remember the story of Corrie ten Boom, a 50-year old spinster who became a militant heroine of the anti-Nazi underground during World War II. I would like to share with you two examples of how love worked in her life to help her do good when she had been extremely ill used.

The first time was when she was a young woman in Holland. She was very much in love and had thought her love was returned. But then one day the young man came to her door with another young woman. He wanted to introduce Corrie to his fiancée. The family rallied around to help her face this crisis. After the young couple left, Corrie fled to her bedroom, where she lay sobbing. She writes: “Later, I heard Father’s footsteps coming up the stairs. For a moment I was a little girl again waiting for him to tuck the blankets tight. But this was a hurt that no blanket could shut out, and suddenly I was afraid of what Father would say. … Of course he did not say the false, idle words.
“‘Corrie,’ he began instead, ‘do you know what hurts so very much? It’s love. Love is the strongest force in the world, and when it is blocked that means pain.
“‘There are two things we can do when this happens. We can kill the love so that it stops hurting. But then of course part of us dies, too. Or, Corrie, we can ask God to open up another route for that love to travel. … Whenever we cannot love in the old, human way, Corrie, God can give us the perfect way.’”
Later, after the terrifying experience of a wartime Nazi concentration camp, she found herself face to face with one of the S.S. guards.

“It was at a church service in Munich that I saw him, the former S.S. man who had stood guard at the shower room door in the processing center at Ravensbruck. He was the first of our actual jailers that I had seen since that time. And suddenly it was all there—the roomful of mocking men, the heaps of clothing, [her sister] Betsie’s pain-blanched face.
“He came up to me as the church was emptying, beaming and bowing. ‘How grateful I am for your message, Fraulein.’ he said. ‘To think that, as you say, He has washed my sins away!’
“His hand was thrust out to shake mine. And I, who had preached so often to the people in Bloemendaal the need to forgive, kept my hand at my side.
“Even as the angry, vengeful thoughts boiled through me, I saw the sin of them. Jesus Christ had died for this man; was I going to ask for more? Lord Jesus, I prayed, forgive me and help me to forgive him.
“I tried to smile, I struggled to raise my hand. I could not. I felt nothing, not the slightest spark of warmth or charity. And so again I breathed a silent prayer. Jesus, I cannot forgive him. Give me Your forgiveness.
“As I took his hand the most incredible thing happened. From my shoulder along my arm and through my hand a current seemed to pass from me to him, while into my heart sprang a love for this stranger that almost overwhelmed me.
“And so I discovered that it is not on our forgiveness any more than on our goodness that the world’s healing hinges, but on His. When He tells us to love our enemies, He gives, along with the command, the love itself” (Corrie ten Boom, The Hiding Place, New York: Bantam Books, 1971, pp. 44–45, 238).
Love is the life-giving force that renews the spirit of men and women and brings a new life to the world, a life that brings a longing for immortality.

When Sister Gong and I were falling in love toward marriage, I learned about agency and decisions. For a period of time, we were in school studying in two different countries on two different continents. It is why I can honestly say I earned a PhD in international relations.
When I asked, “Heavenly Father, should I marry Susan?” I felt peace. But it was when I learned to pray with real intent, “Heavenly Father, I love Susan and want to marry her. I promise I will be the best husband and father I can be”—when I acted and made my best decisions, it was then the strongest spiritual confirmations came.

Once there was an old, wise, and prudent king who had three sons. As the king grew older, he decided it was time to confer his kingdom upon one of them. So he called his sons to him and said, “Soon I will go the way of all the earth. Before I die, I will crown one of you the next king. I know that all of you are good men, so I am going to give you a test: Here are three small coins for each of you to take to the marketplace and buy something that is useful and that will fill my whole house.” Then he told them to come back the next day with what they had bought.
The three sons left their father’s house and went to the marketplace, which was very big. It was full of all kinds of things that were interesting and beautiful, simple and useful. Wonderful smells were floating in the air. Here you could find anything you needed or wanted.
The oldest son scurried around the marketplace, wondering what he could buy with his three small coins. Although he was a very busy husband and father, and had a business to take care of, he would honor his father’s unusual request. If only he could find something quickly!
Glancing at the rugs, he thought they were very beautiful. The rugs were useful, too, and could fill his father’s house—but they were far too expensive. Then he saw something else that was quite useful, and he could buy enough of it to fill his father’s house. He made his purchase and hurried home with it, thinking, That was easy!
The second son slowly wandered in and out of the stalls and shops. He was becoming very discouraged because he simply could not see a thing that he could buy with only three small coins. He thought that his father’s request was really impossible to fulfill. He was hungry and ready to go home, when something caught his attention. The son bought several with his coins and went home. At least he wouldn’t go back to his father empty-handed.
The youngest son was also very puzzled over his father’s strange test. He walked around the marketplace all day, looking and looking. Once he stopped to help a lost little girl find her mother. Another time he helped an old woman load her donkey with bundles of firewood. He talked with the men and laughed with the children playing games. But his search for something useful that could fill his father’s house seemed in vain. He had just about given up finding anything, because it was getting dark and the market was closing.
I’ll try once more, he decided. And as he passed a small shop for the last time, he saw exactly what he needed! “Why didn’t I think of it before?” he said out loud. He spent his three small coins and carried his treasure home.
The next day, the three brothers again found themselves before their father, the king. Each was ready to show what he had bought with his coins.
The oldest son carried in a large, bulky bundle of straw. He scattered the straw across the floors in all the rooms of the king’s house. It smelled sweet and made a crunchy, swishy sound as all in the household went about their chores. But soon the children were playing in it, and it stuck to their hair and got in their clothes. Then the chickens came into the house to scratch in the straw and to make their nests. And the women in the king’s house complained that they could not keep the house clean and that they couldn’t find small things that were dropped.
The king frowned. He decided that the straw was too troublesome to really be useful.
The second son filled small bowls with burning sticks of incense. Carefully, he placed a bowl of the incense in various places in the house. Its sweet smell started drifting through the rooms, and the people stopped their work, trying to catch a whiff of it. But the delicate scent was soon gone with the gentle breeze that came through the open windows.
The king shook his head and decided that the incense did not fill his whole house long enough and that when they smelled it, people didn’t seem to want to do their work.
Finally the youngest son came in. In each room of the house he set out a candle and lit it. A soft, warm glow filled the corners and hallways. Everyone began chatting amiably as they busied themselves around the house, for the light had chased away the shadows. The children giggled and played, or practiced their lessons. Women sang while they did their housework and took care of the babies. And the men were able to do their work faster, and more safely too.
The old king sighed a happy sigh, and smiled with contentment. The new king would be his youngest son, who filled the castle with light and helped his people enjoy their labors.

I was the healthy father of two beautiful children and the husband to a wonderful and hardworking wife. I had a good job with a stable income. Life seemed to be perfect, but my world started to fall apart when I was diagnosed with nasopharyngeal cancer, a rare type of head and neck cancer.
I was serving as a counselor to the bishop at the time, and we were holding our annual basketball tournament at the church when I began to feel very sick. I went to see the doctor, and after many lab tests, he announced that I had stage 4 nasopharyngeal cancer. I was worried and scared. I wondered if this was the end of my life and what would happen to my family if I died. The only thing I could really depend on for guidance and comfort was prayer to Heavenly Father.
After three days of constant prayer, I felt as if a soft voice whispered, “Fear not.”
From that moment on, the fear of death was no longer on my mind. Things were still difficult for me. There was a time I couldn’t swallow any food and I was too sick to sleep, but I never gave up or turned away from God—and He has helped me.
My cancer has been in remission for more than 18 years. I don’t know how long God will allow me to live, but I’m glad that I can still serve my brothers and sisters. I know that our Heavenly Father never leaves or abandons us. And if we want to receive blessings from God, we can’t leave or abandon Him.

Darkness had already fallen for several hours when I pulled into the town where Sisters Hucks and Matson were serving. The hour was late, but I thought I should drop by to say hi since I had to leave early the next morning. The lights in their apartment were on so I guessed correctly that they were there. I was greeted with enthusiasm, and they started an immediate chatter, “Guess what happened with us tonight, president.”
“Tell me, what happened?”
“Well, the ward mission leader has been acting kind of strange all week. He never asked us—he told us to be at a meeting down to the church tonight. We were almost angry at him, and we wondered what was going on. When we got to the church there were a few cars parked but no one in sight.
“We went into the church and could see lights on and hear voices in one of the rooms down the hall. We walked down there and knocked on the door.
“Everything went quiet, and then the doors opened wide.
“To our surprise the room was filled with people, and on the front row looking right at us with radiant smiles was the family we had been teaching. They were all dressed in white baptismal clothes.” Unable to speak further, the sisters smiled at me through their tears.

He just didn’t look like my grandpa anymore. Or act like him, either. It was like Grandpa was gone and had left an old man who sat in the recliner and stared out the window.
“I don’t know if I want to go to his birthday party tomorrow, after all,” I told Mom. “Maybe this whole thing isn’t such a great idea.” When she didn’t say anything, I added, “He used to be so much fun.”
Mom raised her eyes from the knitting in her lap. Her eyes were sad. “Well, you know why, Cari. Right?”
I nodded. Of course I did. Grandpa was sick. He couldn’t swim or play Ping-Pong or do much of anything anymore. Before I went to bed that night, I picked up the framed picture that sat on my bookshelf. It was a photograph of Grandpa turning a cartwheel. His big sneakers waved wildly in the air. Those stupid cartwheels!
Oh, when I was a little kid, I thought it was cool. But as I got older, I realized how ridiculous it was to have your grandfather doing stunts like that. What was he thinking—that he was an acrobat or something? I wondered. Talk about embarrassing!
After a while, I started staying away from Grandpa. For as long as I could remember, I’d been going over to his house after school. Grandpa taught me to snorkel and to bake bread. But when I refused to turn cartwheels with him these past couple of years, he never understood why. Somehow I don’t think he realized that I might be humiliated by something he did.
“Why should I?” I’d say.
Grandpa would chuckle. He’d take off, bounce on his toes, then spring sideways. “For the pure joy of it!” he’d call as his feet whizzed over his head. Once upright, he’d grin and say, “‘This is the day which the Lord hath made; we will rejoice and be glad in it.’”*
Whatever, I’d think. But I wouldn’t be caught dead turning a cartwheel. It was bad enough watching him act like that.
Later I’d actually avoided Grandpa whenever I could. Oh, I dropped by after school—but only because Mom asked me to check on him. I’d stand by the front door and ask, “Anything I can do for you?”
Grandpa’s eyes looked duller every day. “I’m fine, Cari. Thanks.”
I’d put my hand on the doorknob. “Well, then …”
He’d nod. “Go find something fun to do.”
But looking at that picture made my eyes burn. I gulped at the piano-sized lump in my throat, but it didn’t go away. I slapped the picture facedown on my bookshelf and crawled under the covers. After a while, I actually went to sleep.
I was watching TV the next afternoon, the day of Grandpa’s party, when the electricity went out.
I wandered around the house. The clock on the mantel said four o’clock. Great. Mom wouldn’t be home for about an hour and a half. I could only hope that the power would be back on tonight while Mom was at Grandpa’s birthday party. In the meantime, … what? Idly, I picked up the picture of Grandpa from my bookshelf. The look on his face caught me, held me. That smile! Even upside down, anyone could see it came straight from his heart.
My chest ached. I got up and looked at myself in the mirror. I looked like someone who had lost her best friend. My mouth turned down; my eyes, hazel like Grandpa’s, were dull. The thought struck me—I looked the way Grandpa had looked this afternoon after school as I’d stood with my hand on his doorknob, waiting to get away from him. I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Grandpa must feel like he’s lost his best friend too. And wasn’t it true about both of us? But did it have to be this way?
I heard Grandpa’s voice saying, “‘This is the day which the Lord hath made; we will rejoice and be glad in it.’”
Wasn’t it about time I started rejoicing? The girl in the mirror straightened her shoulders. The reflected eyes brightened. Suddenly I had a mission—and not much time!
“You’re coming to the party?” Mom had an ear-to-ear smile as she put the final touches on the cake. “That’s great, Cari. It will make Grandpa so happy.”
I nodded, opened my mouth to say something, but couldn’t figure out what to say or how to say it, so closed my mouth.
Mom squeezed my shoulder. “I know,” she said softly.
And that’s how it happened that while Mom was cooking lasagna in Grandpa’s kitchen, I was turning cartwheels in Grandpa’s living room. With my aunts and uncles and cousins and cousins’ boyfriends and girlfriends there, I was playing to a full house. Let’s face it, I was hardly poetry in motion. Even with the afternoon of practicing, I was pretty rusty.
I heard one cousin mutter to another, “It takes all kinds.” The other one said, “Yeah, what a show-off, huh?” And, I have to admit, I felt like a clown! Maybe this had been an absolutely ridiculous idea after all.
But then I saw the grin on Grandpa’s face, the old sparkle in his eyes. He had the exact same look on his face that he used to have when he was doing this stunt for me. And he laughed. A laugh that seemed to come from his toes.
I had to stop and just watch him for a while. I guess it was the first time I ever saw a heart cartwheel!

Twelve-year-old Louisa Bishop gently rocked her baby sister, Emma, in the old, hand-carved rocker. Their mother lay in bed, her face almost as pale as the white pillows. A deadly illness called diphtheria had struck the children of the family, killing three of Louisa’s five siblings. Exhausted from overwork and grief, Louisa’s mother also became sick. Just when it seemed that happiness would never shine on their world again, little Emma had been born. Louisa, now recovered, lovingly cared for her baby sister so their mother could rest and get well. Emma adored her big sister in return.
As the years passed, Emma and Louisa became closer and closer friends. By the time Emma was 11 years old, Louisa had married, and her husband had left to serve a mission in England. Emma was delighted to go to Louisa’s cabin each day to help out.
One day Emma paused in her sweeping and watched quietly as Louisa emptied the butter out of her sparkling glass butter dish and into a jar. “I hope she isn’t doing what I’m afraid she’s doing,” Emma thought.
Louisa stepped to the washbasin and poured in some clean water from the pitcher. Then she carefully washed the butter dish and laid it on a dish towel to dry. Turning to Emma, she handed her the jar of butter. “Now, Emma dear, I need you to take this to the bishop and pay my tithing.”
Emma folded her arms and shook her head. “I won’t do it!” she exclaimed. “You need that butter more than the bishop does.”
Louisa’s mouth drew into a stern line, but her eyes twinkled with amusement. “Emma,” she softly scolded, “tithing is a law that must be kept. If I am willing to do a big thing like letting my husband serve a mission so far away, then surely I can do a small thing like giving up some butter.”
Emma wasn’t convinced. “But it’s a big thing when you have so little.”
“Don’t worry,” Louisa told her with a smile. “I have faith that the Lord will provide.”
Emma looked closely and saw that her sister’s eyes were glistening with tears. Louisa truly believed what she was saying! Emma took the jar of butter and walked out the door without another word, though she still had doubts.
When she returned to Louisa’s cabin, Emma stopped in the doorway and stared, her mouth wide open. The butter dish was back on the table, and inside was a pound of butter! Emma’s eyes asked the question her lips could not—where had the butter come from?
Louisa smiled. “I told you the Lord would provide,” she said. She took a clean dish from the cupboard and placed the butter in it. Then she stepped again to the washbasin and filled the bowl with clean water. She washed out the beautiful glass butter dish and lid. But instead of setting them on a dish towel to drip dry, she dried them and handed both to Emma.
“I want you to have these,” she said. “And whenever you look at them, I want you to remember that the Lord will always take care of us if we keep His commandments. Remember that, Emma. Tithing comes first.” Emma’s eyes misted with tears as she accepted the butter dish.
All her life Emma remembered the lesson she had learned. Each year as her family gathered on her birthday, she told the story again. After Emma’s death, the butter dish was passed down through the family. And everyone who saw the dish heard the story of how Emma learned to always pay her tithing.

Stories or poems will help your listeners remember the points you are trying to make. For example, a talk on ambition might include the following illustration:
A young boy named Tommy was showing a visitor some of his drawings—birds, dogs, cars, houses. He confided that these were not his best drawings. “May I see your best drawings, then?” asked the visitor. “Oh,” replied Tommy, “I haven’t done those yet.” (Vaughn J. Featherstone, “Of Mind and Muscle,” Do-It-Yourself Destiny, Bookcraft Publishers, p. 109).

Bart and Chad sat with their mother in sacrament meeting as the bishop made an announcement. “Brothers and sisters, we are blessed to have several missionaries serving from our ward. We have been asked to keep a certain sum of money in the ward missionary fund, and right now we are below that amount.”
He held up a donation slip. “Fortunately, the blessing of supporting the missionary program isn’t just for full-time missionaries and their families. We can donate to the ward missionary fund to help support missionaries from our ward or to the general missionary fund to help missionaries all over the world.* What a great opportunity this is for each of us to personally support the missionary program.”
The bishop then asked ward members to contribute to the ward missionary fund if they felt they could.
Bart and Chad arrived home bursting with excitement. “Mom, we need to help the missionaries!”
Mom smiled at their enthusiasm. “When you earn money and pay your tithing, maybe you could also give a little extra money to the missionary fund.”
A look of concern crossed Bart’s face. “Mom, we have to give more than that!”
“And the bishop said they need money now,” Chad added.
“What do you suggest?” Mom asked.
Bart thought for a few moments, then went to his room and returned with a box of change he had been saving.
“This is all the money I have right now,” he explained, pouring it out onto the table.
Chad followed his brother’s example and soon returned with his own savings, which he added to the mound of coins.
Bart noticed an empty quart jar next to the sink, and an idea popped into his head. “Mom, could we please use that jar for our money?”
“Sure.”
“And would it be OK if we went through the house and added any loose coins we find?”
“I think that’s a great idea.”
Bart and Chad discovered that hunting for missionary coins was more fun than any treasure hunt. With each quarter, dime, nickel, and penny they dropped into the jar, their smiles widened and their determination grew.
Together they searched every cupboard, drawer, and closet. They peered under every rug, bed, and piece of furniture. When they were sure they had not missed a square inch of the house, they presented a nearly full jar to their mother. “Would you please call the bishop and make an appointment for us?” Bart asked.
Mom dialed the phone number and soon reported that the bishop would be happy to meet with them that afternoon.
As the bishop welcomed them into his office, Mom explained why they were there. Tears filled the bishop’s eyes as Chad and Bart proudly placed the jar of coins in his hands. Together they counted the money, filled out a donation slip, and poured the coins into a large envelope.
The bishop smiled warmly. “Thank you so very much for such a wonderful contribution to the missionary fund. If you don’t mind, I would like to keep this jar as a reminder of one of the most wonderful experiences I have ever had. This may look like an empty jar, but to me it will always be filled with love and the testimonies of two special young men.”
As they left the building, Bart turned to Mom. “I feel just as full as that quart jar.”
“So do I!” Chad exclaimed.
“That makes three of us,” Mom said, giving her boys a big hug.

While we were growing up, our father was a ward clerk for fifteen years, and I remember that every Sunday evening he would come home after meeting and go into the dining room. He would pull down the blind and on the oak table he would put the money that he had gathered that day for the bishop—the tithes and offerings.

He would count it and account for it and put the ones and the fives and the tens in a pile; and then he would get the ironing board and an iron and a wet rag, and then our dad would take each of these paper bills and iron it smooth.

Now you would wonder what four little boys would recognize about this. The one thing they got from it was that whatever you do for the Lord, you do the very best that you know how. There is nothing that is too good for the Lord.Bishop H. Burke PetersonOf the Presiding Bishopric

This morning, I invite you to join with me on an African journey. You won’t see any lions, zebras, or elephants, but perhaps, by journey’s end, you will see how thousands of members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints are responding to Christ’s second great commandment to “love thy neighbour” (Mark 12:31).
Imagine for a moment the rural, red dirt of Africa. You see from the parched and barren earth that rain has not fallen in any measurable quantity for too many years. The few cattle which cross your path are more bones than flesh and are being driven by a blanket-covered Karamojong herdsman who, with sandalled feet, trudges on in hope of finding vegetation and water.
As you navigate the rough and rocky road, you see several groups of beautiful children and wonder why they are not in school. The children smile and wave, and you wave back with a tear and a smile. Ninety-two percent of the youngest children you see on this journey live in food poverty, and your heart groans with anguish.
Ahead, you see a mother carrying a carefully balanced five-gallon (19 L) container of water on her head and another in her hand. She represents one of every two households in this area where women, young and old, walk more than 30 minutes each way, each day, to a source of water for their family. A wave of sorrow washes over you.
Two hours pass and you arrive at a secluded, shady clearing. The meeting place is not a hall or even a tent but rather under a few large trees providing shelter from the sweltering sun. In this place, you notice there is no running water, no electricity, no flush toilets. You look around and know you are amongst a people who love God, and you instantly feel God’s love for them. They have gathered to receive help and hope, and you have arrived to share it.
Such was the journey of Sister Ardern and me, in the company of Sister Camille Johnson, our General Relief Society President, and her husband, Doug, and Sister Sharon Eubank, director of the Church’s Humanitarian Services, as we travelled in Uganda, a country of 47 million people in the Africa Central Area of the Church. On that day, under the shade of the trees, we visited a community health project that is jointly funded by the Church Humanitarian Services, UNICEF, and the Ministry of Health of the Ugandan government. These are trusted organisations, carefully selected to ensure the donated humanitarian funds of the members of the Church are prudently used.
As heart-wrenching as it was to see malnourished children and the effects of tuberculosis, malaria, and incessant diarrhea, there came to each of us an increase of hope for a better tomorrow for those we met.
That hope came, in part, through the kindness of Church members from around the world who donate time and money to the Church humanitarian effort. As I saw the sick and the afflicted being helped and lifted, I bowed my head in gratitude. At that moment, I better understood what was meant by the King of kings, who said:
“Come, ye blessed of my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you … :
“For I was an hungred, and ye gave me meat: I was thirsty, and ye gave me drink: I was a stranger, and ye took me in” (Matthew 25:34–35).
Our Saviour’s plea is to “let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father which is in heaven” (Matthew 5:16; see also verses 14–15). In that far-flung corner of the earth, your good works brightened the lives and lightened the load of a people in desperate need, and God was glorified.
On that hot and dusty day, I wished you could have heard their prayers of praise and gratitude to God. They would have me say to you in their native Karamojong, “Alakara.” Thank you.
In that distant land, on that unforgettable day, I stood then and stand now as a witness of the soul-stirring and life-changing compassion of members of the Church, both rich and poor.
All those months ago, we found the hungry and the afflicted on a dry and dusty plain and were witnesses to their pleading eyes for help. In our own way, we groaned in the spirit and were troubled (see John 11:33), and yet those feelings were tempered as we saw the compassion of Church members at work as the hungry were fed, the widows were provided for, and the afflicted were comforted and their tears dried up.

When he recalls the rigorous years he spent at Harvard Business School, Elder Robert D. Hales of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles says of his graduate program, “I was stretched to my capacity.”
About this time Elder Hales received a call to be elders quorum president. He was concerned about the added pressure such a call would create on his schedule. “It was one of the few times in my life I didn’t say yes on the spot,” he explains. “I went home to my wife and said, ‘I will probably fail in school if I accept this calling.’”
Sister Hales responded, “Bob, I would rather have an active priesthood holder than a man who holds a master’s degree from Harvard.” She then put her arms around him and added, “Together we will do both of them.”
They knelt in prayer and then went to work. The ensuing months were difficult, but they managed to “do both of them.”

“Did I ever tell you about the Missouri snake?” Grandpa asked.
“No,” said Emily. She sat down on the cool grass to listen.
“One day, my brother Lee and I were out playing by a rock pile, when we saw a snake, a great big one. Mom had told us to stay away from snakes because one might be poisonous, and we were scared. Lee and I started throwing rocks at it. We threw so many that we moved nearly the whole rock pile!” he said.
“Did you kill the snake?” Emily asked.
“I don’t know,” Grandpa Charles laughed. “We never did get brave enough to go and see.”