Gospel Story Finder

Mark helped his sister, Mattie, across the dirt and rubble in the street. The snow that had been white and sparkling earlier that morning on their way to school was now gray with the city’s soot.
As they walked home, Mark thought about his first day of school after the Christmas holiday. The teacher and children had taken down all the Christmas decorations, and the classroom had a clean new look that matched the clean new morning snow.
Maybe, Mark thought, when we get home, Mattie and I can work together and clean our house too.
He was about to tell Mattie his idea when almost at the same moment they saw a green tree limb sticking out of a pile of dirty snow.
They bent down to pick it up, but the limb was crusted over with ice. Twisting and turning together, they were finally able to loosen the ice and snow and pull out a Christmas tree that had been thrown away. Pieces of tinsel and ribbon clung to the brittle green needles, and here and there were small bits of bright paper.
“Do you think we could take it home?” Mattie asked.
“Sure!” answered Mark. “No one else would want it. And now we can have a Christmas tree—even if it is after Christmas!”
Together they dragged the tree to the corner of the street. They struggled up the three flights of stairs of the apartment building and into their living room.
Mark quickly cleared a space by the window and set the tree carefully on a small piece of rug. Then they both sat down in front of the tree and looked at it.
Father lay on the couch as usual. He lifted the paper he was reading to watch them. Mother came from the kitchen and stood in the doorway silently. Neither of them said anything.
Each afternoon Mattie and Mark hurried home from school to see their tree. Mattie cut her favorite bright red ribbon and tied small bows on the tree. Mark went through his box of treasures and found a few things that almost looked like Christmas ornaments. Both of them watched for bits of tinfoil and pieces of bright yarn or string to make their tree more beautiful.
In the long evenings as they sat before the tree, they softly sang carols they had learned in school. Neither Father nor Mother seemed to pay much attention. The children felt as if they were living in a different world, so they were surprised when one night Father started humming the songs with them.
That same night Mother came to the kitchen door and said, “Don’t make so much of that tree. After all, it was the Child who made Christmas, not just a tree.”
“Tell us about the Baby,” Mark and Mattie pleaded.
Mother took the old Bible from the round table, dusted it, and read to them. Night after night they asked for the story. And over and over again Mother read about the small Child in the manger and Mary and Joseph who were so careful and protecting.
“That star was something too,” Father said one night.
“Tell us again about the star,” Mark asked, and no one seemed to think it strange when Father began talking about the star that led the wisemen.
Once when Mother put the book back, she dusted and straightened the round table and swept the floor around the tree. The next night when she read, Mother had on a pretty pink apron.
When the snow began to melt, Mark and Mattie found many shiny bits for the tree, until its branches were filled with color and sparkle. Even though many of the needles on the tree had fallen off, the children noticed that Mother still kept the floor swept clean.
In honor of the tree, they thought.
Mark and Mattie just laughed when the children of the neighborhood called them scavengers. Nothing was too good for their tree!
They were so happy with this bit of beauty in their lives that at first they didn’t even notice their father no longer lay on the couch most of the time.
Then one warm afternoon in March, they came home to noise and confusion. Many people were gathered around their apartment. They heard an officer say to their mother, “I’ve been told that there is still a Christmas tree in your house. I’m afraid it’s dry as tinder and a real fire hazard. The tree must go!”
“But it’s so pretty,” said Mattie.
“Please, can’t we keep it?” Mark pleaded.
The officer sent the curious crowd away. Father came running in, looking excited. The officer closed the door to the apartment and sat down in front of the tree with Mark, Mattie, Father, and Mother.
“Why did you keep it so long after Christmas?” he asked.
Mark explained how they hadn’t had a real Christmas. But when he and Mattie found the tree and brought it home and decorated it, Christmas came at last. Mother told them the story of Christ’s birth, and Father sang songs with them.
Mattie looked as if she was about to cry.
“And now it will all be over,” Mark said, and there was an odd little catch in his voice.
“No,” said Mother quietly. “It’s just the beginning. The tree has been a miracle for us. Because of it, we have changed our ways. Now we can have beauty and happiness in our home without the tree.”
“And next Christmas,” said Father, “we’ll have a tree of our own. I got a job today.”
“You have more than a tree now,” said the officer. “And just so you can keep all you have, we’ll remove the fire hazard.”
After the tree was gone, Mark and Mattie looked at Father and Mother. There was something different about them.
Then they smiled at each other, for suddenly they understood that after all they didn’t really need the Christmas tree to be happy!

Tony Williams, 13, is the only LDS student in his junior high school, so he took advantage of the situation. During the school’s social science fair he set up a display telling the residents of Kennett, Missouri, about the Church, and he walked away with first prize.
Tony’s display included three panels. One part told of the apostasy and restoration while another explained the Church’s First Presidency, Council of the Twelve, Articles of Faith, and the standard works. Details of the pioneer trek from Nauvoo to Salt Lake City was on another panel.
After winning first place in his school’s fair, Tony’s display won third place in the district social science fair held at Cape Girardeau, Missouri.
Active in the Hayti Ward (Memphis, Tennessee), Tony serves on the bishop’s youth committee and is president of his deacons quorum.

“Going to a new school is hard. I hope I can make some friends.”
“Hey, wanna hang out with us?”
“Sure!”
“Wow, I’m glad I won’t be alone today.”
For the first few days, things were going great until …
“Did you see her hair?”
“Look at his shoes; they’re so ugly!”
“Hey! Watch where you’re going!”
“This doesn’t feel right.”
“I don’t think I should hang out with those guys anymore, but if I leave, who will I hang out with?”
“I think I need to stop hanging out with them. I hope I’ll make new friends. But if not, I still want to do what’s right.”
It’s difficult for a while, but he’s still hopeful that he will make new friends.
“Hey, how’s it going? My name’s Antonio. What’s yours?”

The preparations were everywhere! Peter’s third grade class was planning a huge Easter egg hunt, his Primary was singing with the ward choir for the Easter program the next Sunday, and his mom was busy planning for relatives coming to visit for the holiday. His friends were all busy and excitedly awaiting the Easter holiday.
But Peter was having a difficult time. He wasn’t excited about treats and special lessons at church, because Grandpa Jensen was very sick—so sick that at a family council, Peter and his brothers and sister were told that Grandpa Jensen would soon go back to live with Heavenly Father.
Peter was sure that there was some terrible mistake! Doctors didn’t always know everything. Grandpa Jensen had worked very hard all his life. He was strong and good, and everyone loved him. He just couldn’t be dying!
Peter spent a lot of time praying. He pleaded, “Please don’t take Grandpa home with Thee, Heavenly Father.” He knew that he should say, “Thy will be done,” but it was too hard to say. If I say it out loud, Peter thought, it might mean I’m giving up.
Peter thought about how lonely it would be without Grandpa. He thought about how Grandma would feel without Grandpa by her side. And he knew that all of his family would miss their wonderful Grandpa Jensen. Once in a while Peter found himself laughing and having fun with his friends. Then he’d stop and wonder how he could play and laugh and joke while Grandpa was so sick.
One night at family home evening, Peter’s older brother, Thad, told the story about the Savior’s death and about the joy that Mary Magdalene felt when she knew that He was resurrected. Then Thad talked about their family, how although death would separate them on this earth, because of Jesus, they would someday experience joy when they were all together again. He also talked about the great importance of going to the temple and its blessings. He ended his lesson by saying that Joseph Smith had taught that all people take the love and affection they feel with them when they die. Grandpa would still love everyone in his family as much as ever, even though they were separated. Family is still family—grandpas are still grandpas!
Peter felt much better about Grandpa after that lesson. But then he began to wonder if it would hurt Grandpa to have his spirit leave his sick body. Grandpa was already suffering so much that Peter couldn’t stand that thought. Mom suggested that he talk to Grandpa about it. She said that Grandpa lived close to Heavenly Father already and that he would explain his feelings to Peter.
Sure enough, when Peter told Grandpa his concern, Grandpa explained, “Petey, do you remember that day I took you to the zoo last year?”
“Yes. We stayed so long and had such fun that I fell asleep in the car on the way home.”
“That’s right. You didn’t know that when we got home, I lovingly picked you up and carefully tucked you in your bed. The next morning you were surprised to see where you were. You knew that you were in a different place from where you fell asleep. You didn’t know how you got there, but you knew that someone who loved you took you there. Well, that’s how I believe it will be. Perhaps I will fall asleep, and when I awake, my spirit will be somewhere else. I won’t hurt anymore or be uncomfortable, and I’ll know that Someone who loves me took me there.”
Feeling Grandpa’s arm about him while they talked helped Peter realize that Grandpa wasn’t frightened. And as he closed Grandpa’s door behind him, Peter felt a sense of reverent excitement for the eternal things that Grandpa would experience.
The next Sunday was Easter. During sacrament meeting, Peter listened carefully to everything. The scriptures that were read about Jesus; Jesus’ praying, “Thy will be done”; the telling about the cross, the thorns, the sepulchre, and Mary Magdalene’s joy—all meant much more to him that day.
Jesus had gone through all He had endured because He loved Peter and Grandpa Jensen and everyone else in the world. If Jesus had not atoned in Gethsemane and died for all of God’s children, there would be no hope to ever see Grandpa Jensen again after he died. But because of Jesus, there is hope for every little child and every grandpa to be together again.
As Peter listened to the first line of the closing song, “God loved us, so he sent his Son,”* his heart swelled with joy. That’s it! he thought. That’s the happy message of Easter!

“Grannie Smith’s coming for supper tonight,” Mom said as Carrie scurried around, getting everything ready for the meeting of the Super Scooper News staff.
“Oh no!” Carrie moaned. “Everybody’s coming over!”
“That’s fine,” Mom said. “Go ahead with your newspaper meeting. I’m sure that Grannie won’t mind.”
“No! Not now. Maybe I’ll call the others to tell them to come some other time,” Carrie said. Then she remembered that last week Shauna hadn’t been able to come, and the week before, Adam couldn’t make it. It had been several weeks since they’d printed their newspaper, and now everybody had plenty of news for another issue.
“It’s up to you,” Mom said. “It’s been ten days since we’ve had Grannie over, and she must be feeling pretty lonely.”
Carrie stomped into the living room to watch TV. Why can’t Grannie be like other grandmothers? she wondered. Adam’s grandma was always baking cookies and giving them to the kids in the neighborhood. One of Shauna’s grandmothers was a writer who published lots of books about all the places she’d traveled. Shauna had an autographed copy of each book that she had written. Carrie’s other grandmother had moved to Arizona, far from the cold prairie winters.
But Grannie Smith was different and something of a problem. Most of the time she stayed in a nursing home, but whenever she came over for dinner, all she did was embarrass Carrie. Sometimes she’d ask Dad what his name was, and she’d call Carrie “Penelope.” Aunt Penelope was Grannie’s sister, but she had died a long time ago. Sometimes Grannie spilled her food, and one time she had even started eating her mashed potatoes with her fingers! When that happened, even Mom had looked as if she were about to cry, though they all realized that Grannie couldn’t help it. She did things like that, the doctors had explained, because she has Alzheimer’s disease.
Carrie heard the doorbell ring and went to open the door.
“Hi, Carrie!” It was Adam, one of the newspaper’s best reporters. “Boy, do I have news! Let’s get it typed up.”
“Great!” Carrie went over to her corner of the living room and sat down at an old beat-up desk. She rolled a sheet of paper into her rickety typewriter. Some of the machine’s letters didn’t print right, and Mom kept saying that she was surprised that the typewriter hadn’t broken down long ago.
Soon Shauna came in, and the three of them sat on the floor, trying to decide which news items to put on the front page.
“Come on in and sit down, Mother.”
Carrie cringed at the sound of Dad’s voice. She wished that she could pretend that she hadn’t heard, but she knew that she had to go give a kiss to the wobbly little lady with the cane and white hair. “Hi, Grannie,” she said.
Grannie stroked a wrinkled hand over Carrie’s hair. “You’re growing like a weed, lass,” she said with a smile. “Run along and play with your friends now; they’ll be waiting for you.”
Carrie gave a sigh of relief and went back to her desk. Maybe, just this once, Grannie won’t do anything awful.
Shauna’s eyes were wide. “How old is she, Carrie?” she whispered.
“Eighty-one,” Carrie said quickly. “Now, about the front page, …”
They decided to use three pieces: Mrs. Currie’s fall off her stepladder, Bryan Wilson’s plans to become a hockey pro, and the mysterious footprints in the dirt around the Adam’s family’s garbage can.
As they worked, Carrie could hear Grannie talking. At first she thought that Grannie was talking to her father, but when she looked around, Dad was in the easy chair, reading the newspaper.
“Look at the clowns!” Grannie was saying. “Oh my—see how many elephants there are!”
Nervously Carrie looked at her friends. Their heads were bent over the dummy sheet that they were putting together. Maybe Grannie’s watching TV. Carrie glanced over at the television set, but the screen was blank. Grannie was staring out the front window.
Elephants on McDonald Street? That’s impossible! Grannie’s seeing things again. Carrie felt her face getting red. Why did Mom have to invite Grannie for the same night that Shauna and Adam were coming?
“Oh! There’s the lion tamer!”
Adam looked up and began to stare.
Carrie quickly turned back to her typewriter and said, “Super Scooper News,” loudly as she picked out the letters.
“Bonnie, come here. I have some treats for you and your friends.”
Carrie’s face got redder. Bonnie was her mother’s name, but she was sure that Grannie was speaking to her. “Just a minute, Grannie,” she said.
But Grannie had sounded so pleased with herself that Carrie couldn’t bear to hurt her feelings. She went over to Grannie’s chair, where the old woman pulled some lint-covered cough drops out of her dress pocket. “Here. And when these are gone, I have some more.”
Carrie nodded and took them.
“What’d you get?” There was an expectant look on Shauna’s face.
“Oh, nothing—just some cough drops.” Carrie tried stuffing them into her jeans pocket, but Adam stopped her.
“Can I have one?”
“Well …”
But it was too late. Adam reached and took one. It had not only lint on it but a clinging hair as well.
“Yuck!” Shauna started giggling.
“She can’t help it!” Carrie whispered, embarrassed. “She just doesn’t know any better.”
“Some people get senile,” Adam said sympathetically. “Boy, I hope I never do.”
It sounded as though Grannie were busy watching her invisible circus parade again. Tears burned in Carrie’s eyes as she turned back to the typewriter once more. “What’s the best title for this one—‘Mrs. Currie Breaks Leg in Kitchen Fall’?”
“So you’re using that typewriter again, Penelope.”
Oh no! Grannie was coming over! Carrie wished that she could tell her grandmother to leave her alone. She poked at the r extra hard, and her finger went between the keys, jamming the r and t keys together.
Now Grannie was looking over her shoulder. “I used to be a real good typist in my day,” she said. “I could type eighty words a minute—clean copy, without a single error.”
Carrie’s head lifted. She had to admit that that sounded fast. “We’re doing our newspaper, Grannie,” she said.
“Oh yes!” Grannie beamed. “Our newspaper, Penelope! I’d almost forgotten. Be sure to tell about how Mrs. Schneider’s cat chased off those huge dogs.”
Shauna looked uncomfortable. Adam looked restless. Carrie’s finger hurt, and the letters were still jammed. “I need to type now,” she finally said in a low voice. Maybe Grannie would take the hint and go back to her chair.
Grannie reached out and unjammed the keys. “Careful, Penelope.”
“I’m Carrie,” Carrie said loudly. Shauna began to giggle.
The old woman sighed and shook her head. “Carrie. Yes, Carrie. Sometimes I get so mixed up these days.”
Does she ever! said the look in Shauna’s eyes. Adam looked puzzled. And Grannie looked very sad.
Carrie took a deep breath. Does Grannie feel bad about the way she is? It must be terrible to be so forgetful and not be able to do anything about it. “Want to help, Grannie?” she asked. “You could type, and we’ll dictate the copy to you.”
Grannie’s smile was like sunlight coming through clouds. “Why, yes, Penelope! You just tell me what to type, and I’ll be extra careful to get it right.”
Carrie held her breath. Shauna was holding her breath too. Grannie sat down at the typewriter. Adam began reading in a loud, steady voice: “‘Mrs. Currie Breaks Leg in Kitchen Fall.’”
Nervously Carrie looked over her grandmother’s shoulder. The words were typed just as Adam had read them.
Maybe Grannie was a little strange and sometimes got all mixed up, but she really was a special person. Besides, the Super Scooper News staff didn’t need cookies or autographs right now—they needed their newspaper typed. And from the look of it, Grannie was going to give them the neatest copy they’d ever had!

Need an idea for a Super Saturday activity? How about trying what the seminary students in the Thatcher Arizona Stake did? They had notified stake members that they would be coming. Then they spent the morning collecting donations of food and clothing for the homeless and needy.
All in all, the 300 young people who participated collected, sorted, and delivered several tons of usable clothing and bedding, and a ton and a half of food—enough to provide 4,000 meals.
“It made us feel so good inside to know we were doing something to help so many people!” said one of the participants. “It was really neat to see such well-organized chaos,” added another.

About three years ago, Sinah M., a 17-year-old young woman from North Rhine-Westphalia, Germany, faced these questions. Her answers were influenced by what had come before that moment.
“I danced all my life and was very passionate about it,” says Sinah. “I did ballet, modern dance, jazz—a bit of everything, but mostly ballet.” Dancing made her happy and was a big part of her identity. “Everything revolved around dancing,” she says.
But then she started feeling pain in her feet whenever she would dance. She felt it even when she walked, and it wouldn’t go away. She sought answers and healing through doctors, priesthood blessings, and prayer. But the cause of her pain remained a mystery, and relief from her physical suffering did not come.
“I definitely had moments where I suddenly had thoughts like, ‘Does Heavenly Father love me? Why do I have to go through this? Why does he allow it to hurt me so much?’” says Sinah.
But in spite of such thoughts, she responded to this trial with overwhelming faith and trust in the Lord.
Before facing this challenge, Sinah had already developed faith in Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ.
“I’ve always been interested in the gospel,” says Sinah. She’s glad her parents taught her the gospel, took her to church, and planted within her a desire to learn about the gospel for herself.
“I’m a person who questions a lot, but I don’t despair in this questioning,” she says. “It wasn’t until I was a teenager that I actually learned that it’s OK to have questions. I allowed myself to have questions, and I prayed for knowledge and strength and that Heavenly Father would help me to build my testimony even stronger.”
Over time, she noticed that this approach had, in fact, made her testimony stronger. “I’ve always been very open to the gospel, but I also allowed myself to have questions when they came, and I sought gospel knowledge even more.”
Though her physical struggles were at times hard to deal with, Sinah’s foundation of faith prepared her to face this challenge.
“I actually told myself from the beginning that no matter how hard it is, no matter how much it hurts, no matter what I’m going through, I don’t want to blame the Lord or be angry with Him,” she says. “So I told myself I can be frustrated, I can be sad, but I don’t want that to be a reason why my testimony suddenly starts to crumble. I’d rather come out of this stronger than suddenly have doubts.”
“I told myself I can be frustrated, I can be sad, but I don’t want that to be a reason why my testimony suddenly starts to crumble.”
Sinah also decided early on that she would not go through this trial alone. Since she doesn’t dance anymore, she now finds great joy in just being together with family and friends. And she has sought comfort and counsel from her Heavenly Father as well as from parents and leaders.
For example, she says, “I’ve talked about it a lot with people on temple trips and so on, and they’ve said that questions often pop into your head—always this why. But they’ve said, ‘Father in Heaven knows that you’re strong enough to deal with it.’ And hearing that from other people is very helpful.”
She has also felt love and strength from Heavenly Father by being with other youth at FSY conferences. But perhaps more than anything, she has felt strength and peace through priesthood blessings. “With every blessing I’ve received, I’ve felt the Spirit so strongly and really noticed that Heavenly Father is really there and that He really loves me. I notice that it can’t have been said to me just by the priesthood holder, but it was really inspired.”
“Because I couldn’t dance anymore, I had to set a different center,” says Sinah. “And that is becoming more and more the gospel. Of course, it’s still hard. But I’ve simply learned to trust in the Lord much more.”
That trust means she’s able to move forward despite not having the answers or the outcome she would have liked. “The healing I was hoping for has not yet come,” says Sinah. “But I have learned even more that Heavenly Father does have a plan, that I am going through this for a reason.”
“The healing I was hoping for has not yet come. But I have learned even more that Heavenly Father does have a plan.”
Her faith also gives her perspective. “I don’t know when I might be pain-free again or if that will be the case for the rest of my life,” she says. “I don’t know, but I have faith in the Lord that at the very latest when I am back with Him, I will no longer have to be in pain and that there is somehow a reason why I am going through this.”

One airman who ventured to our prayer meeting just listened at first. When it came time for him to pray, he asked to be passed over. But a few weeks later, he joined in, praying one evening that his family would be helped with problems at home and that he would be strengthened during the final weeks of training. He told us he was going to miss our meetings when the training ended and that he planned to say a personal prayer each night before going to bed.
While praying with our group soon thereafter, he expressed gratitude that his prayers for his family had been answered. In addition, he said he had been strengthened, which gave him confidence to continue with basic training.
The night before we departed to our assigned technical schools, this same airman explained that before coming to basic training, he had been taught little about God and did not believe in Him. But after reading scriptures with us and seeing the example set by the other airmen who prayed, he had started to develop faith. He confided that the first prayer he had said with the group was the first prayer he had ever said.

There is an urgency in this work that motivates us to extend the blessings of the temple to as many of our Heavenly Father’s children as possible. I was impressed with an experience of President Wilford Woodruff when he told of a visitation he received from the Prophet Joseph Smith some time after the Prophet was martyred. According to President Woodruff’s own account: “[Joseph Smith] came to me and spoke to me. He said he could not stop to talk with me because he was in a hurry. The next man I met was Father Smith; he could not talk with me because he was in a hurry. I met half a dozen brethren who had held high positions on earth, and none of them could stop to talk with me because they were in a hurry. I was much astonished. By and by I saw the Prophet again and I got the privilege of asking him a question.
“‘Now,’ said I, ‘I want to know why you are in a hurry. I have been in a hurry all my life; but I expected my hurry would be over when I got into the kingdom of heaven, if I ever did.’
“Joseph said: ‘I will tell you, Brother Woodruff. Every dispensation that has had the priesthood on the earth and has gone into the celestial kingdom has had a certain amount of work to do to prepare to go to the earth with the Savior when he goes to reign on the earth. Each dispensation has had ample time to do this work. We have not. We are the last dispensation, and so much work has to be done, and we need to be in a hurry to accomplish it.’
“Of course, that was satisfactory,” President Woodruff concluded, “but it was new doctrine to me.”

In the summer of 2001, Sister Oaks and I were in Manaus, Brazil. I spoke to about 100 missionaries in that great city on the Amazon. As I stood to speak, I was prompted to put aside some notes I usually use on such occasions and substitute some thoughts on the importance of timing—some of the scriptures and principles I have been discussing here.
I reminded the missionaries that some of our most important plans cannot be brought to pass without the agency and actions of others. A missionary cannot baptize five persons this month without the agency and action of five other persons. A missionary can plan and work and do all within his or her power, but the desired result will depend upon the additional agency and action of others.
Consequently, a missionary’s goals ought to be based upon the missionary’s personal agency and action, not upon the agency or action of others. But this is not the time to elaborate on what I told the missionaries about goals. Instead I will share some other applications of the principle of timing, giving illustrations from our personal lives.
Because of things over which we have no control, we cannot plan and bring to pass everything we desire in our lives. Many important things will occur in our lives that we have not planned, and not all of them will be welcome. Even our most righteous desires may elude us or come in different ways or at different times than we have sought to plan.
For example, we cannot be sure that we will marry as soon as we desire. A marriage that is timely in our view may be our blessing or it may not. My wife Kristen is an example. She did not marry until many years after her mission and her graduation.
The timing of marriage is perhaps the best example of an extremely important event in our lives that is almost impossible to plan. Like other important mortal events that depend on the agency of others or the will and timing of the Lord, marriage cannot be anticipated or planned with certainty. We can and should work for and pray for our righteous desires, but despite this, many will remain single well beyond their desired time for marriage.
So what should be done in the meantime? Faith in the Lord Jesus Christ prepares us for whatever life brings. This kind of faith prepares us to deal with life’s opportunities—to take advantage of those that are received and to persist through the disappointments of those that are lost. In the exercise of that faith, we should commit ourselves to the priorities and standards we will follow on matters we do not control and persist faithfully in those commitments, whatever happens to us because of the agency of others or the timing of the Lord. When we do this, we will have a constancy in our lives that will give us direction and peace. Whatever the circumstances beyond our control, our commitments and standards can be constant.
The commitments and service of adult singles can anchor them through the difficult years of waiting for the right time and the right person. Their commitments and service can also inspire and strengthen others. Wise are those who make this commitment: I will put the Lord first in my life, and I will keep His commandments. The performance of that commitment is within everyone’s control. We can fulfill that commitment without regard to what others decide to do, and that commitment will anchor us no matter what timing the Lord directs for the most important events in our lives.
Do you see the difference between committing to what you will do, in contrast with trying to plan that you will be married by the time you graduate or that you will earn at least X amount of dollars on your first job?
If we have faith in God and if we are committed to the fundamentals of keeping His commandments and putting Him first in our lives, we do not need to plan every single event—even every important event—and we should not feel rejected or depressed if some things—even some very important things—do not happen at the time we had planned or hoped or prayed.
Commit yourself to put the Lord first in your life, keep His commandments, and do what the Lord’s servants ask you to do. Then your feet are on the pathway to eternal life. Then it does not matter whether you are called to be a bishop or a Relief Society president, whether you are married or single, or whether you die tomorrow. You do not know what will happen. Do your best on what is fundamental and personal and then trust in the Lord and His timing.
Life has some strange turns. I will share some personal experiences that illustrate this.
When I was a young man I thought I would serve a mission. I graduated from high school in June 1950. Thousands of miles away, one week after that high school graduation, a North Korean army crossed the 38th parallel, and our country was at war. I was 17 years old, but as a member of the Utah National Guard, I was soon under orders to prepare for mobilization and active service. Suddenly, for me and for many other young men of my generation, the full-time mission we had planned or hoped for was not to be.
Another example: After I served as president of Brigham Young University for nine years, I was released. A few months later the governor of the state of Utah appointed me to a 10-year term on the supreme court of the state. I was then 48 years old. My wife June and I tried to plan the rest of our lives. We wanted to serve the full-time mission neither of us had been privileged to serve. We planned that I would serve 20 years on the state supreme court. Then, at the end of two 10-year terms, when I would be nearly 69 years old, I would retire from the supreme court and we would submit our missionary papers and serve a mission as a couple.
I had my 69th birthday two years ago and was vividly reminded of that important plan. If things had gone as we planned, I would have submitted papers to serve a mission with my wife June.
Four years after we made that plan I was called to the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles—something we never dreamed would happen. Realizing then that the Lord had different plans and different timing than we had assumed, I resigned as a justice of the supreme court. But this was not the end of the important differences. When I was 66, my wife June died of cancer. Two years later I married Kristen McMain, the eternal companion who now stands at my side.
How fundamentally different my life is than I had sought to plan! My professional life has changed. My personal life has changed. But the commitment I made to the Lord—to put Him first in my life and to be ready for whatever He would have me do—has carried me through these changes of eternal importance.
Faith and trust in the Lord give us the strength to accept and persist, whatever happens in our lives. I did not know why I received a “no” answer to my prayers for the recovery of my wife of many years, but the Lord gave me a witness that this was His will, and He gave me the strength to accept it. Two years after her death, I met the wonderful woman who is now my wife for eternity. And I know that this also was the will of the Lord.

Soon after I was baptized in 1974, I attended my first general conference in Salt Lake City with my brother, John. I was surprised when Elder Boyd K. Packer (1924–2015) of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, who had met my aunt in New York City three weeks before that conference, referred to John and me during his Sunday morning talk.
Quoting my aunt, Elder Packer said: “Two of my nephews have joined your Church. I can hardly believe the change that it’s made in their lives.”
Because of that profound change (see Alma 5:14), a fire burned inside me that I wanted to share. Soon, I found myself in Idaho as a full-time missionary. Halfway through my mission, my father, who was my greatest hero and best friend, passed away. My mother called my mission president and asked that I come home to give a eulogy. When my mission president left the decision up to me whether to leave, I told him I wanted to pray and fast for 24 hours before deciding.
That night I had a dream. My father appeared to me. In the midst of sublime and meaningful discussions with him, he told me, “Son, stay on your mission.”
I followed Dad’s counsel and stayed.
Because of the profound change that followed his conversion, “a fire burned inside” Randy that he wanted to share as a full-time missionary.
Six months after my mission, I held my mother’s hand as she took her last breath. Decades later, my wife, Lisa, found a letter from my parents in an old box. Dad had written it to me during my mission but died before sending it.
“Our hearts were and are and always will be full of love for you. I realize that things have not always been perfect, but that is life. … Christ did not say, ‘Follow me and it will be easy.’ He said, ‘Take up [your] cross, and follow me’ [Matthew 16:24]. He carried the cross, but we all have our splinters. Perhaps our place in heaven will depend upon how we handle ours. Son, we love you very much.”
Growing up, I was rough on my parents, but I never doubted their love. Since finding the Church, I have worked hard to thank them and honor them.
On February 17, 2018, two weeks before the Washington D.C. Temple closed for renovation, I was sealed to my father and mother, 42 years after they had passed through the veil into eternity. My oldest son, Randall, acted as proxy for my father, and Lisa acted as proxy for my mother. I felt that my parents, who had been sealed to each other earlier, were both there in spirit.
In the temple we find cords that bind us forever to our loved ones. I am certain of that.
When I was young, I didn’t want to get married or have children. But today my wife, children, and grandchildren are my greatest treasures. The Church is a miracle, and my life in the Church has been miraculous. With Joseph Smith, I say, “If I had not experienced what I have, I would not have believed it myself.”
Fifty years ago, I was a construction worker on the Washington D.C. Temple. I was convinced that my life had no happy future. Today I am an ordinance worker in that same temple, having accepted the Lord’s invitation to follow Him, receive His healing, embrace His ordinances, and strive to become like Him.
Randy and his wife, Lisa, serve in the Washington D.C. Temple, which he helped build 50 years ago.
Photograph by Leslie Nilsson
The restored Church is not a theory, a philosophy, or merely a community or culture. It is the true Church of our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.
I thought I would find what I was looking for in San Francisco. I didn’t. I found it in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and in the house of the Lord, “the crowning jewel of the Restoration.”

The other week was my little brother Gabriel’s birthday. He would have been seven, but he had cerebral palsy and passed away two years ago. In Primary we sang “Gethsemane.” The words were clear and meaningful. It filled the room with the Spirit.
After the song, Sister Webster bore her testimony of the Atonement of Jesus Christ. It filled the room even more with the Spirit. Then she talked about how her brother had died several years ago. It made me think of Gabriel, and I almost started crying. I thought about when I held Gabe for the last time. I was sad, but I also felt peace.
Sister Webster talked about how she was so glad to know that she would see her brother again. She said she knew all of us would see our loved ones who had passed on.
After Primary I gave Sister Webster a hug. We cried together for a few minutes. The Spirit was so strong. She told me that I would see my little brother again. She said the Atonement of Jesus Christ was not only for the wicked but also for the hurt. She asked what I missed the most about Gabe, and I said that I really missed his laugh.
I told Sister Webster that I had been sad because it was Gabriel’s birthday that week and I really needed to know that I would see my brother again. She told me that the tears that we were crying were tears of joy. I could feel the Spirit, and I knew what she said was true. I am sure that I will see Gabriel again, and that makes me so happy. I love him. I know that because Jesus Christ loves me, He gave His life so that I can see Gabriel again.

The year after I turned 12, several things changed in my life. I was ordained a deacon in the Aaronic Priesthood. I was old enough to join the Boy Scout troop in our ward. And I moved up from elementary school to junior high school.
Just beginning the seventh grade brought many new experiences. I rode a bus to school every day. I had seven teachers instead of one. I put my backpack, lunch sack, and jacket in a locker each morning—no more coat hooks or cubbyholes. And I had different books and papers for every class.
I was especially proud of the three-ring binder that had reams of blue-ruled notepaper and folders for each subject. By the time the first few weeks of school had gone by, each folder was thick with homework assignments, handouts, and other school papers.
Going to school with eighth-and ninth-grade students was one of the biggest changes of all. I often felt small and unnoticed as I hurried down the halls, dodging classmates and strangers who seemed much more confident than I ever felt.
In several of my classes, I sat with students who were two and even three years older than I was. My first-year Spanish class had students from all three grade levels: seventh, eighth, and ninth. One boy, a ninth-grader named Jared, was tall, liked to talk, and frequently said things that made the students and even our teacher, Mr. Bishop, laugh.
I wanted to do that, too, but there were so many new things all around me that I often felt shy and usually stayed quiet. I was not small, but many of my fellow seventh graders were bigger than I was, and all my friends from elementary had lunch at a different hour.
One thing that made it difficult for me to adjust and make new friends was that during this first year I endured my share of rough pranks that junior high school students often play. I remember one in particular.
I was walking by the school’s main office between classes, in an area where dozens of students were hurrying past in both directions. I had my usual armload of books, including my three-ring binder, nestled against my hip.
Suddenly another student stepped up behind me, reached out a hand, and gave the books a hard flip. They flew out of my grasp and slid across the floor ahead of me. When the binder landed, it snapped open and folders and papers went spinning everywhere.
It was hard not to cry as I got down on my hands and knees and tried to scoop everything up as quickly as I could. I felt certain everyone was watching me, which only made me feel worse. Then a ninth-grade girl knelt down beside me and asked if I was okay. She smiled, squeezed my arm, and started to help me gather my books and papers.
Following her example, a tall boy came over and asked me if I’d seen who had knocked my books out of my arms. It was Jared from first-year Spanish, and he too knelt down to help.
I never learned the ninth-grade girl’s name, but I’ve never forgotten her kindness. Her actions reminded me of the Book of Mormon story of King Benjamin, who taught his people to always treat each other with love. And like Ammon, the great Book of Mormon missionary, this unknown friend of mine set an example by her actions that others followed.

Rebecca Swanston, a 12-year-old member of the Mt. Zion Baptist Church, had a speaking part in this year’s program. She participated with two LDS boys, Jean Gonzalez and Jason Godwin. Rebecca’s lines were about the lives of prominent African Americans and their contributions to society. Rebecca will remember those important facts, but she will also remember her new friends.

“I probably wouldn’t know Jason and Jean if we hadn’t done this program,” she says. “We’ve had a great time. I can’t wait for next year’s Black history program.”

A few days ago Elder Butler and I were at the grocery store and started talking to a man named Frank Cooper. He said that he had always been curious about the Hill Cumorah Pageant but had never gone to it. So we invited him to go to it with us. As we sat on the lawn at the foot of the Hill Cumorah with hundreds of other people, Book of Mormon stories came to life before our eyes. The music was beautiful, and the costumes were colorful.
Mr. Cooper was deeply touched by the pageant and wanted to know more about the Book of Mormon and Joseph Smith and the Church. The very next day we went with him, first to the Joseph Smith house and then to the Sacred Grove, where we taught him a discussion about Joseph Smith. It was a powerful experience for all of us. Helping just one person like Mr. Cooper find real meaning in his life is worth all the hard times and discouragement that we might have on a mission.

Can you remember a moment when someone gave you a gift that changed your life? This October marks 40 years since I received one of the greatest gifts in my life. While I was in high school, I noticed that one of our classmates had a light that was different from most of the other young people. I enjoyed being around him. One day he told me he was a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Then he offered me a gift: a copy of the Book of Mormon. He invited me to read a few pages and meet with two friends who could answer my questions. Those friends were the missionaries.
When I met with the missionaries, they taught me the doctrine of Christ and invited me to follow the prophet Moroni’s invitation: “When ye shall receive these things, I would exhort you that ye would ask God, the Eternal Father, in the name of Christ, if these things are not true; and if ye shall ask with a sincere heart, with real intent, having faith in Christ, he will manifest the truth of it unto you, by the power of the Holy Ghost” (Moroni 10:4).
I read several pages of the Book of Mormon and prayed. Although I did not yet have a deep understanding of all the things that the missionaries were teaching me, I felt in my heart that what I was reading was good and came from God. I received the confirmation of Moroni’s promise: “And by the power of the Holy Ghost ye may know the truth of all things” (Moroni 10:5).
After I was baptized into The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, some friends tried to convince me that I had made the wrong decision. But each time I faced such doubts or opposition, I received renewed confirmation through studying the scriptures and praying to stay true to the covenants I had entered into with God. Since then, the Book of Mormon has been my companion and has become an immeasurable treasure in my mortal journey.

After days of working long hours in the hot sun, I became exhausted. Eventually, I got sick.
I called the full-time missionaries, and we scheduled a time to meet at the branch site. When I arrived the following day, nobody was there. As I waited outside, I prayed, “Heavenly Father, I know You can heal me, if that is Thy will. Please help me.”
The missionaries soon arrived with the branch president. When these three priesthood holders laid their hands on my head, I felt the power of the Holy Ghost run from the top of my head to my toes. Immediately I was healed.
In a small town far from my home country, I sought help from priesthood holders. The Lord blessed me through His priesthood and my faith. In my travels since then, I have asked for many blessings from priesthood holders worldwide. I am grateful to know that priesthood power held by worthy priesthood holders is the same in every land.

Glancing back over his shoulder across two hundred yards of dry powdery snow, Brian could hardly believe he had lengthened the distance between himself and the nearest challenger.
Tom Stacy was trying hard to repeat his last two wins in the annual cross-country ski race. But Brian was trying just as hard to capture the championship that had eluded him twice before. Realizing there was less than a mile to go, Brian was confident that Tom had little chance of catching up.
Listening to the soft shush, shush of his skis, Brian watched the clouds boiling over the hills and across the valley. The sky seemed to be getting darker and heavier by the minute.
It could be a whopper, he thought. But it’s probably a couple of hours away. Then his thinking drifted to Tom and how disappointed he would be at his failure to make three wins in a row. This was the last year Tom and Brian would be eligible for this particular race. After the ski season they would both be past the age limit. It was Brian’s last and only hope for a win which, he remembered bitterly, he might have had last year except for a stupid mistake.
Coming in ahead of Tom would be final proof of his skill. They were both good skiers. But then, Tom was good at everything he tried—swimming, running, jumping, and all kinds of team sports. Brian, though not inept, had never been outstanding in any of those things. But when he started skiing he discovered he had an unusual talent for it.
Casting another look backwards, he saw the space between himself and Tom hadn’t changed. As he rounded the brow of a hill, Brian noticed a small dark object in the snow ahead but he paid little attention. He kept his even, steady stride, not easing up or increasing his lead. Though it seemed unlikely, with a superhuman burst of speed Tom could overtake him.
Brian couldn’t help watching the dark object in the snow ahead. Then he saw it move and his curiosity was heightened. When he came closer, he found that a dog was struggling to get through the snow, but it was making little headway through the powdery drifts.
Brian tried to offer some encouragement to the dog as he passed by. “Come on, boy. You can make it,” he coaxed.
Hearing Brian’s voice, the animal looked up with a beaten, hopeless expression. The dog whined, a pathetic, pleading sound as forlorn as its expression.
Glancing from the stricken animal to the finish line ahead, Brian convinced himself the dog likely belonged to one of the nearby farms and, in spite of its painfully slow progress, should be able to get home.
He went on a few feet and the dog whined again. When he turned around, Brian was met with an expression even more pathetic than before. “You little mutt,” he said dismally. “Why do you have to keep looking at me that way?”
Sidestepping back, he made a quick decision and weighed his chances of carrying the dog to the finish line before Tom caught up. It might be a tip-to-tip race after all, but Brian still felt capable of winning.
It wasn’t until he knelt down that he discovered the dog was favoring one foot, trying to struggle through the snow on three legs. As Brian took the leg to examine it, the dog yelped with pain.
“Oh, oh, fella,” he said. “You’re in trouble.”
Tom had already cut the distance between them in half. The storm, too, was getting closer and uglier and might easily turn into a blizzard.
Brian picked the dog up in his arms. “Come on,” he said hoarsely. “We’ll win this race together.”
After another two or three hundred yards, however, it was plain they wouldn’t be able to do it. The dog was too heavy. It had already slowed Brian so much he could hear Tom’s skis behind him, sliding over the snow. At this rate he might not even come in second because the next racer wasn’t too far behind Tom.
No more than a minute later, Tom’s skis were even with Brian’s.
“What are you trying to do,” Tom asked, when he saw Brian carrying the dog, “give me a handicap?”
There was no taunt in the way he said it and Brian knew it was an offhand, spur-of-the-moment remark. Then Tom slowed and asked seriously, “What’s the matter with the dog?”
“It’s hurt, Tom,” Brian said. “I’ll bet its leg’s broken.”
Tom came to a complete stop and asked with sincere interest, “Are you sure?”
“I don’t know. He can’t move it at all, and the little fella yelps whenever I touch it.”
Tom shot a look backward at their nearest pursuer, who was gaining rapidly.
“Take off your coat, Brian.”
“What for?”
“Just take if off,” Tom repeated, at the same time unsnapping his own parka. He laid it out on the snow and asked Brian to do the same, then he lapped them across one another. As Brian settled the dog gently on the makeshift sling, Tom carefully wrapped the trembling body. Then he worked the coats around until the snapped sides were underneath, providing a snug, hammocklike cradle.
“Grab the sleeves on your side, Brian.”
Brian picked up two sleeves and Tom held the sleeves on the opposite side. By the time they started again, their closest competitor was a scant hundred yards away.
Matching strides, the boys kept together as they approached the group of people waiting at the finish line, their pursuer still too far behind to catch up with them.
“If you cross that line one inch ahead of me,” Tom teased as they neared the end of the race, “I’ll wring your neck.”
“I won’t,” promised Brian, smiling.
The tips of their skis crossed the finish line so close together that the judges had no choice but to call the race a dead heat.
“I wouldn’t have believed it could happen,” the official said, but the expression on his face showed that he was glad about the way the race turned out. “I guess the only thing we can do,” he added, “is to let you share the trophy. I suggest we flip a coin to see who gets it first.”
“That’s all right with me,” Tom said.
“Okay with me too,” Brian agreed, grinning broadly.
It wasn’t exactly the kind of win either of them would have preferred, but Brian couldn’t help feeling a warm satisfaction as he and Tom watched one of the cars drive away to take the dog to a veterinarian.

When I was young, I was always so scared of sharing the gospel with my friends.
But when I got my mission call, all my friends at school knew that I would be going to Spain after graduation, though most of them weren’t entirely sure why. So I took advantage of their questions to tell them more about the Book of Mormon, about what I would be doing as a missionary, and about Jesus Christ.
I ended up giving five copies of the Book of Mormon to my closest friends and even to a few teachers at school before the end of the year, and even though my heart would pound in fear when I would share it with them, I would feel excited and energized from the Spirit soon after.

Many years ago I read of an experience at Christmastime which took place when thousands of weary travelers were stranded in the congested Atlanta, Georgia, airport.1 An ice storm had seriously delayed air travel as these people were trying to get wherever they most wanted to be for Christmas—most likely home.
It happened in December of 1970. As the midnight hour tolled, unhappy passengers clustered around the ticket counters conferring anxiously with agents whose cheerfulness had long since evaporated. They too wanted to be home. A few people managed to doze in uncomfortable seats. Others gathered at the newsstands to thumb silently through paperback books. If there was a common bond among this diverse throng it was loneliness: pervasive, inescapable, suffocating loneliness. …
The fact of the matter was that there were more passengers than there were available seats on any of the planes. When an occasional plane managed to break out, more passengers stayed behind than made it aboard. …
Gate 67 in Atlanta was a microcosm of the whole cavernous airport. Scarcely more than a glassed-in cubicle, it was jammed with travelers hoping to fly to New Orleans, Dallas, and points west. Except for the fortunate few traveling in pairs, there was little conversation at gate 67. A salesman stared absently into space as if resigned. A young mother cradled an infant in her arms, gently rocking in a vain effort to soothe the soft whimpering.
Then there was a man in a finely-tailored gray flannel suit, who somehow seemed impervious to the collective suffering. There was a certain indifference about his manner. He was absorbed in paperwork: figuring the year-end corporate profits perhaps. A nerve-frayed traveler sitting nearby observing this busy man might have indentified him as an Ebenezer Scrooge.
Suddenly the relative silence was broken by a commotion. A young man in military uniform, no more than 19 years old, was in animated conversation with the desk agent. The boy held a low-priority ticket. He pleaded with the agent to help him get to New Orleans so that he could take the bus to the obscure Louisiana village he called home.
The agent wearily told him that prospects were poor for the next 24 hours, maybe longer. The boy grew frantic. Immediately after Christmas, his unit was to be sent to Vietnam—where at that time war was raging—and if he didn’t make this flight, he might never again spend Christmas at home. Even the businessman looked up from his cryptic computations to show a guarded interest. The agent clearly was moved, even a bit embarrassed. But he could only offer sympathy, not hope. The boy stood at the departure desk casting anxious looks around the crowded room, as if seeking just one friendly face.
Finally the agent announced that the flight was ready for boarding. The travelers who had been waiting long hours heaved themselves up, gathered their belongings, and shuffled down the small corridor to the waiting aircraft: 20, 30, 100, until there were no more seats. The agent turned to the frantic young soldier and shrugged.
Inexplicably, the businessman had lingered behind. Now he stepped forward. “I have a confirmed ticket,” he quietly told the agent. “I’d like to give my seat to this young man.” The agent stared incredulously; then he motioned to the soldier. Unable to speak, tears streaming down his face, the boy in olive drab shook hands with the man in the gray flannel suit, who simply murmured, “Good luck. Have a fine Christmas. Good luck.”
As the plane door closed and the engines began their rising whine, the businessman turned away, clutching his briefcase and trudged toward the all-night restaurant.
No more than a few among the thousands stranded there at the Atlanta airport witnessed the drama at gate 67. But for those who did, the sullenness, the frustration, the hostility all dissolved into a glow. That act of love and kindness between strangers had brought the spirit of Christmas into their hearts.
The lights of the departing plane blinked starlike as the craft moved off into the darkness. The infant slept silently, now in the lap of the young mother. Perhaps another flight would be leaving before many more hours. But those who witnessed the interchange were less impatient. The glow lingered gently, pervasively in that small glass and plastic stable at gate 67.