Gospel Story Finder

In sacrament meeting one hot afternoon, the speaker was talking about the Holy Ghost. I couldn’t really imagine what the Holy Ghost was like, but I wanted to know that he was real. One night I found out.
My cousin Chasta came over to spend the night. We wanted to sleep outside in our tent trailer, so we got my sister, Korina, and an armful of games and blankets. It was dark, and my dad lit the lantern so we could have light to play games by. He showed us how to turn off the lantern when we were done with it.
We played for hours. Then I got up and turned off the lantern. We tried to go to sleep, but we all agreed that we wanted to play another game.
We stood a couple of flashlights on the table, but it still wasn’t enough light to see the game by. So I suggested that we turn the lantern back on. I had seen my dad do it several times, so I thought I could do it. I felt important, pumping gas into the lantern with the matches in my hands, while Korina and Chasta stood near me watching.
I went to strike a match, but I stopped. Something told me not to. I had never felt anything like this before. I was stunned. I didn’t know what to say. All I did know was that we would be in danger if I lit the match. The thought came to me to move the lantern out of the tent trailer.
I set the lantern down on a chimney support right next to the house and continued the process of pumping gas, getting the lantern ready to light. The feeling came again just as strong.
I remember my dad saying one night during family home evening that the Holy Ghost was the still, small voice that helps you when you need help and warns you about sudden dangers.
Right next to the house was not a good place either, we decided. I placed the lantern on the cement, away from everything. I realized I was talking aloud. The words, “Be prepared to jump and run, just in case,” came out of my mouth. I hadn’t even thought of saying it. When I finally did light the lantern, it blew up and caught fire. But none of us was hurt, and nothing except the lantern was damaged.
Ever since that night, I think about what could have happened if I hadn’t been warned to get the lantern away from the tent trailer and also away from the house. I felt the Holy Ghost had really prompted me. Now I know he is real and I can feel his promptings.

Several people who lived in Kirtland during the temple-building period have left us their accounts. One was Mary Elizabeth Rollins Lightner, then a young convert. She and her mother were ­living in Kirtland, and when she discovered the whereabouts of one of the rare copies of the Book of Mormon in that city, she went to the owner’s home and asked to borrow it. He agreed, and she read it so avidly that he let her retain it for that purpose. About the time she finished reading it, the Prophet visited her home and, seeing the book on the shelf, recognized it as the one he had given to the present owner, Brother Morley. He was most impressed by young Mary, gave her a blessing, and told her to keep the book—he would give Brother Morley another copy.

Mary and her mother went a few evenings later to the Smith home, where others were already assembled. Soon Joseph came in and they held a meeting, the people mostly sitting on boards put across chairs. The Prophet began addressing the group, but after a while he stopped speaking and remained silent. His countenance changed, and he became so white that he seemed transparent. He stood looking intently over the congregation. Finally he spoke. “Do you know who has been in your midst tonight?” Someone said, “An angel of the Lord.” And Martin Harris said, “I know, it was our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.” The Prophet put his hand on his head and said, “Martin, God revealed that to you. Brothers and Sisters, the Savior has been in your midst tonight. I want you all to remember it. There is a veil over your eyes, for you could not endure to look upon Him.”

Then they knelt in prayer, which he led. His prayer was so long, Mary records, that several of the people rose and rested and then knelt back down to endure to the end. “Such a prayer,” she said, “I have never heard before or since. I felt he was talking to the Lord, and the power rested upon us all.”

Later the Prophet gave a blessing to this dear sister. She became one of the faithful who in her ninety-plus years of life endured incredible trials for the faith.

A youngster was assigned by his father to move a large rock. The boy tugged and pushed, and he lifted and struggled unsuccessfully. Some friends were enlisted, but even together they could not move it. Reluctantly he reported to his father that he could not budge the rock.
“Have you done all that you could?” asked the father.
“Yes,” said the boy. “I’ve tried everything.”
“No, Son, you haven’t,” said his dad. “You haven’t asked me.”
Why do so many of us, “heirs of God, and joint heirs with Christ” (Rom. 8:17), fail to go to Him, to keep in touch with our Father? He is anxious to help, but He wants us to learn our need for Him, to open the door to Him.
The prophet Isaiah said, “And therefore will the Lord wait, that he may be gracious unto you, and therefore will he be exalted, that he may have mercy upon you” (Isa. 30:18).

Have you ever been in a place where there is no light? When I was a college student, my friends and I hiked into a cave near Logan, Utah. We were prepared with food and water and, most importantly, flashlights. We hiked about a mile into the mountain, and at the end of our hike in the cave, in a somewhat open chamber, we sat down to eat a snack and drink some water. At one point, we wanted to see what it would be like to be in the dark, so we turned off all of the lights. I will not forget the feeling of being in complete darkness. You could not see your hand if you held it an inch from your face. You lose all sense of direction. You cannot tell left from right or up from down. You can't tell where you are from where you have been. You do not dare to move for fear of running into something or falling, and you can feel helpless. It would be difficult, if not impossible, to find your way out of the cave without light. I cannot imagine physically walking in complete darkness.

Thankfully, we do not have to walk in complete spiritual darkness. When my friends and I emerged from the cave on our little spelunking adventure, it was about 10 p.m. It was dark outside but not nearly as dark as in the cave. It is amazing how much light the moon and stars give us. In our lives we do not need to walk in darkness. We have all been given the light of Christ to help illuminate our way. We also have the gift of the Holy Ghost to guide and direct us.

I went into a hospital one day in New Zealand to bless a woman who didn’t belong to the Church. She was dying. We all knew she was dying. The doctor even said so. She was having her farewell party. Ah, that’s one thing I like about the natives. When you go they give you a farewell party. They all gather around. They send messages over to the other side. “When you get over there tell my mother I’m trying to do my best; I’m not so good, but I’m trying.” “Tell her to have a good room fixed for me when I get over there and plenty of fish, good meals.” My, it’s wonderful how they send you off. There they were, all gathered around this poor sister. She was about to be confined, and the doctor told her it would kill her. She was tubercular from head to foot.

I had with me an old native, almost ninety. She was his niece. He stood up at the head of the bed and he said, “Vera, you’re dead. You’re dead because the doctor says you’re dead. You’re on your way out. I’ve been to you, your home and your people—my relatives. I’m the only one that joined the Church. None of you has ever listened to me. You’re dead now; you’re going to live.” He turned to me and said, “Is it all right if we kneel down and pray?” I said, “Yes.” So we knelt down. Everybody around there knelt down, and after the prayer we blessed her. The last time I was in New Zealand she was physically well from head to foot and had had her fifth child. She has not joined the Church yet. That’s the next miracle I’m waiting for.

Choosing the right is not always easy, but a comforting spirit will accompany the decision. Emily Naegle of Woods Cross, Utah, felt the peace of the Spirit when she decided to obey the commandment to keep the Sabbath day holy.

“A few months ago I had to make one of the hardest decisions of my life,” writes Emily. “I am an athlete, and for the past three years I have been involved in volleyball year-round. The only downside to this is that it required me to play on Sundays. I knew that playing on the Sabbath was wrong, but I wanted to be successful in volleyball too.

“When tryouts rolled around again this year I decided not to play. It was the hardest week, and I had to pray continually to reaffirm that I had made the right decision. I wanted to play so badly, but I wanted to follow the prophet even more. When I went to the fireside, I was still shaky about my decision. But when I left the Conference Center, a warm feeling of peace and comfort surrounded me, and I knew I had done the right thing.”

“I will go first,” says Irinka every first Sunday of the month. With hands holding tight to the chair and eyes full of excitement, she works up the courage. Irinka is only nine years old, but it seems like she’s the bravest of all eight members who come to church regularly in her branch in Bulgaria.
Before she stands up, Irinka usually waits to see if someone else wants to bear testimony first. Everyone secretly gives her a glance and waits for her to go up front. Finally, with a big smile, she walks to the pulpit. The branch president gets her a stool to step on so she can see the members. Irinka, the only child in Primary, looks at the small congregation and starts talking.
She doesn’t appear nervous that everyone is looking at her. The members listen to her sweet voice. As she speaks of Christ, the scriptures, and the truthfulness of the Church, she is influencing the testimony of everyone else.
When she sits down, everything is quiet and it seems that the Spirit has touched other hearts. Then one of the members stands up to bear testimony, and then another and another …

I remember working with one young woman who was offended. She could not understand why she was receiving inappropriate, aggressive e-mails and telephone calls from male friends. She questioned why they would think she appreciated receiving these less-than-polite e-mails and calls. When I visited with the young men, they said they were just joking. Because of the way she had behaved earlier, they thought she would enjoy receiving these edgy messages—messages that sounded like they came from bad TV shows or B movies. Both sides realized that in their behavior toward one another they had crossed over the line of appropriateness and had not followed the counsel of latter-day prophets and the Savior regarding the treatment of others.

Caridad peeped out between the pieces of cardboard that mended the broken window in the one-room house. The lady missionaries had said that they would return mañana por la tarde (tomorrow afternoon). At ten years of age, Cari was old enough to understand the message of hope that they brought.
The tinkle of a bicycle bell floated across the dirt courtyard, and Cari raced outside. “You’re here! Welcome, hermanas (sisters),” she said joyfully.
“We came as soon as we could,” Sister Martin said as she leaned her bike against the adobe house. The dwelling was whitewashed outside, but it still showed the mud bricks inside. “Where is your mother?”
“Waiting inside. Come on!” Cari rushed ahead and opened the door. “Mamá, aquí estan (they’re here)!” she called.
Señora Arguello hurried forward, taking the missionaries’ outstretched hands and giving the sisters the customary kiss on the cheek. “Pasen, no mas (Come in),” she welcomed them as she showed them to the chairs at the table, the only furniture other than the bed in the tiny room. “Cari, see that the sisters have cups,” Señora Arguello said, bustling outside to the rustic stove where hot cocoa was warming.
Cari quickly set the table for four. Of course, she and her mother would drink very little of the precious cocoa, but perhaps the sisters wouldn’t notice.
When the cups were empty, the lady missionaries began teaching Cari and her mother more of the marvelous truths that had brought such hope to the Arguellos. As Sister Martin and Sister Darnell told about the Savior’s love and plan of salvation for all men, Cari felt a tear sting her eye. Her father had died four years before in an accident. Would she really see him again someday? She sniffed loudly.
“Here, Cari.” Sister Martin handed her a handkerchief. “Borrow mine,” she said with a wink.
Cari dabbed her eyes, then smoothed the handkerchief out. The material felt fine and soft. “This feels good, Hermana,” Cari said. “What a shame that some of the embroidery has come out.”
“It is beautiful,” said Senora Arguello. “If you like, I can mend it for you.”
“Oh, would you? It was a gift from a former companion.”
“Of course. I’ll have it ready tomorrow.”
“Hermana Arguello,” Sister Martin said, turning again to her lesson, “we’re holding a baptismal service on Saturday. Will you and Cari be baptized then?”
Cari held her breath. She had only been to church once. She had to take turns with her mother, since they owned only one pair of shoes between them.
“Sí (Yes), we will be most happy to become members of the true church,” she answered.
“Wonderful! And on Sunday we want you to come to church together! No more excuses.” Sister Darnell smiled at them.
Cari exchanged worried looks with her mother.
“Perhaps. We’ll see,” her mother said softly.
“Sister Arguello, I know the Lord wants you to attend. When you are baptized, you are making a commitment to attend every week. Both of you.”
“I know. I know. We’ll try.”
The sisters looked doubtfully at one another. Cari could see they were not satisfied. They left a few minutes later, with promises to return mañana.
That night Cari and her mother talked long about the Church. They tried to think of some way to get enough money for another pair of shoes, but there just wasn’t time between then and Saturday.
The next day, Cari waited in the courtyard for the sisters. When they finally wheeled in on their bikes, she called out excitedly, “Guess what? I’ve read all of First Nephi! Mamá and I read very late last night, and she was still reading when I fell asleep.”
“That’s wonderful, Cari,” said Sister Martin, drawing her close for a hug and kiss. “I think you really do want to become a member of the Church.”
“Oh, yes. More than anything!”
Sister Martin paused, “Then you be sure to go to church next Sunday. They need smart little girls like you in Primary!”
Cari’s face fell. Next Sunday was her mother’s turn. “I’ll see,” she mumbled.
The missionaries didn’t urge her further as they all went inside.
“Here is your pañuelo (handkerchief), Hermana,” said Señora Arguello, handing it to Sister Martin.
“What lovely work! Thank you!” As she looked at the handkerchief, a smile began to light up her face. “Hermana Arguello,” she said, “this gives me an idea. Could you embroider some pañuelos for my friends in the United States? I’ll be glad to pay for your time and the materials.”
Senora Arguello’s eyes lit up. “Of course! If you’ll bring them over, I’ll do them right away!”
Later, when the sisters brought the handkerchiefs, Cari looked longingly at the lovely, fine cotton squares. She had never owned anything so delicate. Her hand caressed one gently.
Sister Martin noticed Cari’s longing. Leaning down, she said, “I brought an extra one. Would you like it, Cari?”
“Oh, yes!” Cari clapped her hands. “Thank you!”
Later Cari’s mother pulled her close. “Mi preciosa (Honey), why don’t you help me embroider the pañuelos? If we do yours, too, we might just make enough money to buy a pair of shoes. Can you part with it, darling?”
Cari fell silent. She had never owned anything of beauty in her life. She reached out and touched the pañuelos again, then answered, “Sí, Mamá.” She turned and went out to scrub clothes in the cold water from the spigot in the courtyard. She would try to forget the lovely gift.
When the sisters returned on Friday, the pañuelos were ready.
“Here, take all of them.” Señora Arguello handed the beautiful handkerchiefs to Sister Martin. “Thank you for the one you gave to Cari, but it would be foolish to keep it when we need the money for necessities. Está bien (Is that all right with you)?”
“Of course. Here you are.” Sister Martin paid Señora Arguello for all of the handkerchiefs, then carefully tucked them away.
Cari smiled bravely at Sister Martin. After all, there were things more precious than handkerchiefs. She would have shoes for church. What else mattered?
The baptismal service was beautiful. Cari could hardly wait to go to Primary as a real member of the true Church! On Sunday she and her mother entered the chapel together. People they had met only briefly hurried up to them and made them welcome.
“¡Buenos días (Good morning)! We knew you’d both be here!” Sister Martin and Sister Darnell each gave them big abrazos (hugs).
Cari sat proudly by her mother, and as the sacrament came by, she reverently thought of the Savior. A small tear of happiness escaped, and Cari wiped it away with the back of her hand.
“Here,” Sister Martin whispered. She handed Cari a small handkerchief. “Use mine.”
After sacrament meeting, Cari told Sister Martin that she’d return the handkerchief as soon as it was washed.
“Please don’t bother,” Sister Martin said. “It’s such an old worn-out thing. It’s about time I threw it away.”
“May I have it, Hermana?” Cari asked, looking longingly at its little pink flowers and dainty lace edge.
“If you really want it—but it won’t last long, I’m afraid.”
Sister Martin was wrong. It would last forever as a reminder of the most precious thing in Cari’s life, the gospel of Jesus Christ.

Rene, for example, lived in a nice apartment in Michigan, USA. But when she retired, her Social Security and pension weren’t enough to meet her expenses. Finances became such a worry that her children suggested she look into low-income housing.

She found a retirement residence and moved in. “I’m stress-free now because I have enough money to live on,” she says. “I like my new ward and neighbors, and this apartment is perfect for family parties.”

A few days ago, I visited Florida, USA, after Hurricane Irma hit. I met a group of Latter-day Saints who were helping clean up. They had left Georgia at 4:00 in the morning, driven for hours, worked into the night, and worked again the next day!
As we were leaving, a man walked up to our car and said, “I’m not a member of your church. I can’t believe what you have done for us. God bless you.” Other members of the Church from that part of Florida went hundreds of miles to another part of Florida that was hit even harder.
I have heard that some people have started calling the Latter-day Saints who are wearing the yellow Helping Hands T-shirts “the Yellow Angels.”

One evening my mom and stepdad were really tired, so I decided to tuck them into bed. First I put toothpaste on their toothbrushes so they could brush their teeth. Next I pulled down the comforter and the sheets so they could climb into bed. When they were in bed I read them a story from the Friend. They really liked it. Then I sang them two songs—“I Am a Child of God” and “You Are My Sunshine.” Then I went to bed.
A few minutes later my mom came in and told me how special I am and that she really appreciated what I had done for them. She explained to me that this was charity—to do nice things for people. I felt really good inside.

Grandma and Grandpa had always loved Hawaii so deeply that they vowed to share their experiences with their family. It was in this final year of her life that Grandpa insisted that we take this trip as an entire family (over 30 people) to Hawaii. One of their sons with his family was serving a mission at the time. The rest of us said we could wait until they returned home from their mission in the coming year, but Grandpa was determined that we had to go immediately. Only he knew the seriousness of Grandma’s illness, so he insisted that we take the trip quickly, though we did not know why. Grandma died several months after we returned from that family trip to Hawaii.

I offer this as profound conviction born in the fiery crucible of life’s experience. Our second son, Adam, entered our lives when I was far away in the jungles and rice paddies of Vietnam. I still have the joyful telegram announcing his birth. Adam was a blue-eyed, blond-haired little fellow with an impish personality. As he turned five years old, Adam eagerly looked forward to starting school. Then a common childhood illness blanketed our southern California community, and Adam contracted the disease. Aside from concern for his comfort, we were not worried. He even seemed to have a light case. Suddenly one morning he did not arise from his bed; he was in a deep coma. We rushed him to the hospital, where he was placed in intensive care. A constant cadre of devoted doctors and nurses attended him. His mother and I maintained a ceaseless vigil in the waiting room nearby.

I telephoned our dear stake president, a childhood friend and now a beloved colleague in the Seventy, Elder Douglas L. Callister, and asked if he would come to the hospital and join me in giving Adam a priesthood blessing. Within minutes he was there. As we entered the small, cramped space where Adam’s lifeless little body lay, his bed surrounded by a bewildering maze of monitoring devices and other medical paraphernalia, the kind doctors and nurses reverently stepped back and folded their arms. As the familiar and comforting words of a priesthood blessing were spoken in faith and earnest pleading, I was overcome by a profound sense that Someone else was present. I was overwhelmed by the thought that if I should open my eyes I would see the Savior standing there! I was not the only one in that room who felt that Spirit. We learned quite by chance some months later that one of the nurses who was present that day was so touched that she sought out the missionaries and was baptized.

But notwithstanding, Adam made no improvement. He lingered between this life and the next for several more days as we pleaded with the Lord to return him to us. Finally, one morning after a fitful night, I walked alone down a deserted hospital corridor. I spoke to the Lord and told Him that we wanted our little boy to return so very much, but nevertheless what we wanted most was for His will to be done and that we—Pat and I—would accept that. Adam crossed the threshold into the eternities a short time later.

Frankly, we still grieve for our little boy, although the tender ministering of the Spirit and the passage of the years have softened our sadness. His small picture graces the mantel of our living room beside a more current family portrait of children and grandchildren. But Pat and I know that his path through mortality was intended by a kind Heavenly Father to be shorter and easier than ours and that he has now hurried on ahead to be a welcoming presence when we likewise eventually cross that same fateful threshold.

Matthew, Andrew, and Isaac aren’t the only brothers in the Clarkson family. There are four more: Levi (9), Eli (7), Sam (4), and Titus (2), and a baby on the way.
When President Nelson invited the women of the Church in October 2018 general conference to read the Book of Mormon before the end of the year, Matthew, Andrew, and Isaac, along with their father and younger brothers, decided to offer Mom their support. “We’ll read it with you!” they said. Every morning before seminary, they woke up to read together.
“When we took on this challenge, I thought it was going to take a lot of time,” Andrew says. “I worried that I wouldn’t have enough time to do everything I wanted to do, like play the guitar or hang out with my friends. But I realized that it just doesn’t work like that. The more I was into reading the Book of Mormon, the more time I actually seemed to have. I realized that if I keep up on reading the scriptures as much as possible, my life is balanced. I have more time in the day.”
Matthew was going through a hard time when the family started reading every morning. He says, “I wasn’t doing well in school. I struggled with my personal scripture study and my relationship with Heavenly Father, and I kept it all to myself. I didn’t talk about it with my parents.”
However, as Matthew spent more time reading the Book of Mormon, the gospel began to take first priority in his life. He also put more effort into school. He worked hard and got his grades up.
“I also realized how much Heavenly Father and my parents love me and how much they help me. And I have a greater testimony of Jesus Christ. He has helped me overcome bad habits and helped me get my life headed in the right direction. I’m so glad we took President Nelson’s challenge as a family. It changed my life.”
Accepting President Nelson’s invitation also strengthened Isaac’s testimony. “We circled the words God, Lord, Redeemer, Savior, and Christ every time we found them,” he says. “On the day we finished, I flipped through the Book of Mormon and saw all the words I had circled. I thought, ‘Man, that’s a lot!’ I had never noticed how many there were. I felt much more spiritual reading the Book of Mormon. I’m glad we did it.”
Matthew, Andrew, and Isaac are amazed that their family finished the Book of Mormon in just two months. “It usually takes us a year,” Isaac says. Together, they discovered the blessings of following the prophet’s invitation.
“If you do what you’re supposed to do,” Andrew says, “like building a relationship with Heavenly Father through prayer, scripture study, and staying fully active in the Church, life is so much better.”
These three brothers have helped each other progress in the gospel. They follow the prophet, who has called on members “to increase their faith in our Lord Jesus Christ and in His Atonement, to … [make] and [keep] their covenants with God, and to strengthen … their families.”1

It is not uncommon for family members to have mistaken ideas about The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Loving and clear communication can do much to ease any tension that may arise in these situations. I joined the Church when I was a teenager. Shortly after my baptism, I learned that my Catholic grandmother believed I would no longer consider myself her grandson due to my newfound faith. What a relief it was when I was able to clear up this misunderstanding!

Joe Pickett, a deacon in the Napa Third Ward, Napa California Stake, is a real hero. After a swim one day in his family’s backyard pool, instead of going inside the house, Joe felt prompted to look in the shallow end of the pool. His little brother, three-year-old Jonathan, had fallen in, and no one had noticed. Thinking quickly, Joe jumped in and pulled his brother to safety and called to his mother for help. When his mom got to the pool, she took over, and Joe phoned 911. Thanks to Joe, Jonathan returned to full health after a short stay in the hospital.

Fourth, through the giving of themselves. A very special young friend of mine served as a missionary of this Church in Japan. His dedication to missionary work and the Japanese people was so complete and full that, rather than spend all of the money his parents sent to him, he unselfishly made a regular contribution of part of his money to help another local Japanese missionary. His parents sent him extra money so that he could buy some camera equipment available in Japan to record in pictures a few of the great experiences he was having. Rather than buy the camera equipment, which would have served him well for a lifetime, he chose rather to send the money back to his parents. In time, as with most missionaries, the clothes of my young friend became threadbare and thin. In order for him to be able to come home, it was necessary for him to buy a second-hand suit from one of the other elders. His regular denial of himself, in order to share his substance with the local Japanese missionary, was a very closely guarded secret. He is a good example of the young elect of God of this Church, as are hundreds of thousands of others.

Not long ago, a friend recounted to me an experience he had while serving as a mission president. He had undergone a surgery that required several weeks of recuperation. During his recovery, he devoted time to searching the scriptures. One afternoon as he pondered the Savior’s words in the 27th chapter of 3 Nephi, he drifted off to sleep. He subsequently related:
“I fell into a dream in which I was given a vivid, panoramic view of my life. I was shown my sins, poor choices, the times … I had treated people with impatience, plus the omissions of good things I should have said or done. … [A] comprehensive … [review of] my life was shown to me in just a few minutes, but it seemed much longer. I awoke, startled, and … instantly dropped to my knees beside the bed and began to pray, to plead for forgiveness, pouring out the feelings of my heart like I had never done previously.
“Prior to the dream, I didn’t know that I [had] such great need to repent. My faults and weaknesses suddenly became so plainly clear to me that the gap between the person I was and the holiness and goodness of God seemed [like] millions of miles. In my prayer that late afternoon, I expressed my deepest gratitude to Heavenly Father and to the Savior with my whole heart for what They had done for me and for the relationships I treasured with my wife and children. While on my knees I also felt God’s love and mercy that was so palpable, despite my feeling so unworthy. …
“I can say I haven’t been the same since that day. … My heart changed. … What followed is that I developed more empathy toward others, with a greater capacity to love, coupled with a sense of urgency to preach the gospel. … I could relate to the messages of faith, hope, and the gift of repentance found in the Book of Mormon [as] never before.”
It is important to recognize that this good man’s vivid revelation of his sins and shortcomings did not discourage him or lead him to despair. Yes, he felt shock and remorse. He felt keenly his need to repent. He had been humbled, yet he felt gratitude, peace, and hope—real hope—because of Jesus Christ, “the living bread which came down from heaven.”
My friend spoke of the gap he perceived in his dream between his life and the holiness of God. Holiness is the right word. To eat the flesh and drink the blood of Christ means to pursue holiness. God commands, “Be ye holy; for I am holy.”

One morning a good many years ago, a member of the Council of the Twelve came to my office and told me of a beautiful, touching experience that had happened to him that day. He had gone to the old Deseret Gym to enjoy the steam bath for a while. As he sat there in the heavy steam, he heard the door open and looked upward toward the door to see who was entering. He could not see anyone, but he had a feeling someone else was there in the room with him. After a few minutes he saw a young Primary-age boy about eight or nine years old who had seated himself two or three feet away. The boy gradually slid closer to the Apostle, and they finally said “hello” to each other. Then the boy moved even closer until he could look up into the face of the Church leader. The little boy said, “Mister, I think I know who you are.” The Apostle said, “Who am I?” The boy said, “I think you are one of the Apostles of the Church. I think you are the one who travels all over the ocean on big boats and little boats and all kinds of airplanes—and you are the one who never gets sick or hurt in any wrecks.” The Apostle acknowledged that he was the one who was having those great experiences. The boy then said to him, “Do you know why it is you don’t ever get killed or get hurt?” The Apostle said, “No, why is that?” The little Primary boy said, “That’s because I pray for you.”
What a touching, lovely expression of faith in a simple, wonderful way! This experience happened forty years ago, but I think of it frequently. There is far more power in simple prayer than many of us think possible.