Gospel Story Finder

Sixteen-year-old Dieke Mphuti of Welkom, South Africa, lost her parents years ago, leaving her to care for three younger siblings on her own. It was always daunting for her to find enough food, but COVID supply shortages and quarantines made it almost impossible. They were often hungry, scraping by only with the generosity of neighbors.

On a sunny day in August 2020, Dieke was surprised by a knock at her door. She opened it to find two strangers—one a Church representative from the area office in Johannesburg and the other an official from South Africa’s Department of Social Development.

The two organizations had teamed up to bring food to at-risk households. Relief washed over Dieke as she glimpsed the pile of cornmeal and other food staples, purchased with Church humanitarian funds. These would help her to sustain her family for several weeks until a government aid package could begin to take effect for her.

Dieke’s story is one of thousands of such experiences taking place across the world during the COVID pandemic thanks to your consecrated contributions.

I think, too, of Barbara Taylor, whom I met in 1962, on the day I entered Hong Kong as a new missionary. Sister Taylor was the wife of President Robert Sherman Taylor, president of the Southern Far East Mission. The day after I arrived, she took me visiting teaching. With a couple of sister missionaries who could speak Cantonese, we took a bus to the harbor, then a ferry to a place called Aberdeen.

Among the homes we visited were some dug out of the side of a hill. We reached these homes by hiking up hand-dug stairs, scattering chickens and children as we climbed. As we visited with one sister—a beautiful young Chinese mother—I saw and felt things I had not felt before. I looked at the refugee families on the side of that hill and realized they were children of God who deserved all the help I could give them in making sense of life on earth with all the challenges they faced. All around me were hosts of waiting youth, speaking a language I could not understand—yet communicating with me through smiles and feelings, eager to learn and grow and help.

There is a simple parable that has shaped my thinking and my actions.

After a huge storm, thousands of starfish had been washed ashore and lie dying on the beach. An old man observed a boy pitching starfish after starfish into the sea. He approached the young boy asking, "Why are you doing that? There are so many your efforts wont make any difference!" The young boy looked at the starfish in his and tossing it into the sea replied, "It does to that one." We cannot save all the starfish perishing on the shore, but we can save some and with Gods inspiration directing us, we can save the one he wants saved.

I first visited this institution 59 years ago in the fall of 1959 when I was 19 years old. I was a student body officer at Utah State University and USU was playing the University of Hawaii in football. We student officers paid our own way but accompanied the football team on the same airplane. President David O. McKay, who was then the president and prophet of the Church, learned of our trip and invited us to meet with him at Church Headquarters. It was the first time I had met a prophet, and I was impressed with his countenance and his spirit. He was warm and gracious to us.

President McKay then told us about this institution with great enthusiasm. The school had only been in existence for 4 years, and he had dedicated the first permanent buildings the year before. He asked if we would meet with the students and administrators, give them his love and blessing and encourage them in every possible way.

I can remember to this day the feelings of awe that I experienced when I first saw this beautiful setting. The ocean, the mountains, the temple, the magnificent vistas are as inspiring today as they were then. As part of that trip, we also met with the new governor of Hawaii, William F. Quinn. Hawaii had been admitted as a new state in the United States August 21, 1959, just prior to our visit.

Eighty-eight-year-old Brother Thomas Coelho is a good example of one who saw with his heart essential things. He was a faithful member of our high council in Paysandú, Uruguay. Prior to joining the Church, he had an accident while riding his motorcycle. While he was lying on the ground unable to stand, two of our missionaries helped him stand up and return to his home. He said that he felt something special when the missionaries came to his rescue. Later he experienced strong feelings again when the missionaries taught him. The impact of those feelings was such that he read the Book of Mormon from cover to cover in just a few days. He was baptized and served tirelessly from that day forward. I remember him riding his motorcycle up and down the streets of our city, even in the cold and rainy winters, to bring others to church so they could feel, see, and know of a surety as he did.

I pounded on the door as the tears streamed down my face. I tried turning the doorknob again, but it was locked. “Please let me in,” I begged. My sister had been struggling with an eating disorder, and I knew that behind the door she was doing something that was harmful, both physically and spiritually.
I knocked on the door again. She knew I was out here. After waiting in silence, I heard her muffled response. “Please go away,” she said. “I don’t want your help.”
Her words broke my heart. My parents knew about my sister’s problem, and they had been taking the right steps to help her. All she needed now was someone she could talk to, someone who could help her find the strength to fight her addiction. I wanted so much to be that person, but she refused to let me in. Overwhelmed with emotion, I lay on the ground and began to sob.
At that moment, I understood a little bit better how our Heavenly Father feels when He sees His children participating in acts that bring them pain. More than anything, all He wants is for us to let Him in so that He can help. He has said, “Behold, I stand at the door, and knock: if any man hear my voice, and open the door, I will come in to him, and will sup with him, and he with me” (Revelation 3:20).

It must have been the feeling of rhythm and strength in my stride that comforted me as I ran along the beach of Puget Sound. Troy, my big retriever, caught my sense of abandon and bounded first ahead, then back, stopping to investigate a shell or seaweed along his way. Out of breath now, I threw a stick out into the swells past the breaking waves and stopped to watch Troy leap after it. I threw the stick again and again as I continued down the beach. Each time Troy would find it in the waves and bring it to me with an expectant look. Finally the sun made work of the game, and I flopped down on the sand.
“Stay away from me,” I warned as the big dog shook salt water all over me. I grabbed his wet head and held it tightly. “You’re still my friend, old boy, even if I don’t spend much time with you anymore either,” I said half to him and half to myself. I needed to sort things out. My interview with Bishop Jenkins the day before had turned my recent vague uneasiness into a knot in my stomach.
“I feel like being able to dance is a gift from God, a talent I must express. I can’t explain it, but I cannot ignore it,” I told the bishop. “I really do want to come to church, but my practices for Young Entertainers are all day Sunday.”
“And you felt that a chance to tour and perform all summer was worth the price of your church meetings,” Bishop Jenkins guessed.
“Yes, I was so sure it was right,” I answered, “and that my dancing is more important. I love the energy on stage. I feel special and important. But, bishop, I feel confused.”
I sat back and tried to organize my fragmented thoughts. “I am compromising so much for my dancing. I feel engulfed in it. I’m too busy for old friends and my family. My new friends in the group think my faith is narrow-minded and naive. Their dancing is their religion. I don’t know what to do. To be a Young Entertainer is a dream come true. Do we dream our dreams and then let them go before they can be realized?”
Bishop Jenkins paused thoughtfully. “Let me share an idea from a talk by Elder Boyd K. Packer,” he finally said.
“‘There are many who struggle and climb and finally reach the top of the ladder, only to find that it is leaning against the wrong wall’” (Ensign, Aug. 1976, p. 61).
Thinking about it now, he didn’t really answer my question, but certainly the part about the person climbing the ladder applied to me.
“Heavenly Father, am I climbing the wrong wall?” I asked silently. “Is that why my life is so out of balance?”
Stirring from my introspection, I looked around for Troy but saw no sign of him. I stood up and searched up and down the beach. Still no dog. Shading my eyes from the glare on the water I thought I saw Troy’s head bob, then disappear under the water. Yes, there it was again. I dashed down to the chilling waves and dove in. The cold water took my breath away, but my concern was for my obviously drowning dog.
As I neared him, he was so exhausted his head barely broke the surface as he struggled. “What is holding onto him?” I swam almost to him. I couldn’t believe my eyes. Troy’s jaws were tightly clenched on a bulb of seaweed! It was evidently still attached to the rocks below the water. He was paddling back and forth trying to free it and bring it to shore. I grabbed his jaws and forced him off the bulb. I half dragged him to shore and we both plopped down totally spent, gasping for breath.
My thoughts were tumbling. Why would Troy hold on to that seaweed until he nearly drowned? Why didn’t he let go and swim to shore if he was in danger?
Suddenly I stopped. How like my own struggle. My dog was working so hard to get something, he didn’t realize the danger he was in. My situation began to appear much clearer. I had been so caught up with my dancing that I hadn’t realized that I was in danger of losing the other things that mattered in my life.
With this revelation came a new agony—what to do. Could I put my ladder against the right wall, keep balance in my life, and still participate in the dance group, or did I need to “let go” and swim for safety now. Mentally tallying the list of compromises I needed to make for the dance group, I determined that my answer was to let it go. A sense of peace and comfort helped soothe the wrenching feeling in my heart and helped me to realize that it was the right decision.
“I can still dream my dreams,” I told Troy, “and perform and prepare so that my climb up the ladder will be on the right wall. Come on, Troy, let’s go home.”

He was still only a teacher in the Aaronic Priesthood, but Grandpa (Lorenzo Snow) was president of the Salt Lake Temple, so Chauncey was ordained an elder and received his endowments. He also participated in baptisms for the dead. He enjoyed almost a unique opportunity to examine the interior of the Temple:
“We started to see the interior of the Temple at one o’clock and went in the six towers as far as we could safely get. We went almost to the top of the west, middle tower, up past the last strait projection. I never care to be in a nicer place than the Temple. When we came back down, I sat in the chair made for the President of the Temple (my Grandpa). It was as soft and easy as life could wish to rest upon. I walked over the top of the Temple. We came out after 3 hours of walking and seeing. I went through as thoroughly as anybody and more than visitors and workers.”
The next day, too, he spent time looking through the Temple, “and enjoyed myself very much under its holy roof.”

In a high school not far from here, a young mentally handicapped student we will call Frank wanted so much to be accepted by the popular crowd. He would follow them around, always on the outside looking in, hoping to be included but never achieving it.
One day in the cafeteria, some of the more popular boys and girls encouraged Frank to get up on the table and dance. Thinking he would please them, he did it. In his awkward way, he twisted and twirled. The group yelled, clapped their hands, and laughed. They were laughing at him, and Frank thought they were laughing with him.
A few tables away, Dave was eating lunch with a friend and watching it all. He courageously leaped up, faced that crowd of tormentors, and through clenched teeth said, “I’ve had as much of this as I can stand!” He helped Frank down and said, “Frank, you come and have lunch with us.”
The Savior is counting on you to be a champion of those who need you, and they are all around you—in your school, in your neighborhood, in your family.

I was at my friend’s house, and we were riding our bikes. My friend’s neighbors were riding their bikes too. We all decided to play cops and robbers. We played and played for about an hour. It was fun! Finally we were tired, so we put down our bikes and sat in the grass. I was so excited. I had made some new friends!
Then a kid picked up his cell phone. He scrolled through it. Then he said, “Hey, guys, look at this!” He showed us a funny video. It was really funny! And then he showed us another video. All of a sudden, I felt a bad feeling. They watched the video over and over. I felt worse every time. Again and again. Worse and worse. I was scared. If I left, my friend might not be my friend anymore. But if I kept watching, I wouldn’t be having faith.
Finally, I whispered to my friend, “I need to go home.”
He said, “Why?”
“I don’t like these videos.”
“OK, bye,” he said.
As I rode my bike back home, I felt the bad feeling slip away. An amazing feeling replaced it. I got the gift of the Holy Ghost a few years ago, and I felt it that day.
I had followed the Holy Ghost.

Three weeks after my baptism and confirmation, Bishop Ayala interviewed me and asked how I was progressing. I replied, “Very well. I have finished reading the Book of Mormon for the second time. I’m also reading the Gospel Principles manual so I can learn more and put into practice what I’m reading.”
Then he said, “Your Heavenly Father is mindful of you and is calling you to be a Sunday School teacher for the youth ages 14 to 17.”
Immediately I realized that several of the youth in the class, who were just a few years younger than I was, had been raised in the Church and knew the gospel better than I did.
I said to him, “I’m not ready for this kind of an assignment.”
The bishop replied, speaking very deliberately, “Roberto, Heavenly Father is the one extending this calling to you. He knows your abilities and your faithfulness.”
“I’m simply not prepared. I need more time,” I persisted.
The bishop looked straight into my eyes and said serenely but in a strong voice, “If you feel you can’t accept this calling, you shouldn’t tell me. Kneel down and tell your Heavenly Father. He will answer you, and I will accept your decision.”
A prolonged silence followed. Then, looking at me the way a father looks at his son, he said, “Roberto, this isn’t a church of cowards; it is a church of courageous people.”
My heart was suddenly contrite. With tears in my eyes and a voice filled with emotion, I said, “Bishop, when do I start?”
He embraced me, slapped me on the back, and said, “I’m going to help you prepare your first lesson this week.”
I was filled with joy to know that Heavenly Father had given me such a special leader, a bishop who taught not only by word but by example.
I remembered this experience often during my mission and while serving in other callings. I think of it now and feel grateful to Heavenly Father to be a member of the Lord’s Church.
Roberto Carlos Pacheco Pretel, Peru

It was not a good time. Questions swirled in my head that seemingly didn’t have answers. For months I had been struggling with who I was and what direction my life was taking. To remedy this problem I began attending many different churches, searching for the truth. But it seemed I always ended up at the church my family went to. Somehow, though, it never felt quite right. As I thought about my feelings, I just assumed I felt this way because my life was so mixed up. I was also associating with the wrong crowd and allowing these people to influence my life, which didn’t help matters. Deep inside, all I felt was utter loneliness.
I realized I needed to change my life. I stopped hanging around with people who were a bad influence on me, and I stopped putting myself in situations that would force me to choose between God and my friends. Even with these changes, I didn’t feel like I was receiving any answers or encouragement from God, and I sometimes wondered if He really was there.
In December I graduated from college, and I decided to move back in with my family in Utah. Those plans changed when my dad took a job in another state. Since I had already accepted an internship in St. George, Utah, I decided to stay. In St. George, I began going to my church, but once again felt alone and desolate. It was as if part of me were dead or missing.
One night in my room, I cried out to the Lord and asked Him for guidance and direction. I started to tremble and cry because I so desired to have Him in my life.
At that moment, I heard something or someone say, “Read the Book of Mormon.” It wasn’t a booming voice; it was gentle, quiet, and peaceful. This prompting confused me. I had been exposed to the LDS Church before and had no desire to learn about it. In fact, a high school friend had given me a copy of the Book of Mormon, and I had given it away.
I tried to brush off the voice, but it came again: “Read the Book of Mormon.”
“Why would I want to read the Book of Mormon?” I thought. The prompting came again. “It’s the perfect time. You’re on your own now.” As crazy as this seemed, I suddenly felt a strong desire to get a copy of this book, and I figured the visitors’ center at the St. George Utah Temple was a good place to start. I went on a tour with Sister Pang, a missionary serving in the center, and afterward we watched a movie and talked. The feeling of a presence—a holy presence—was so apparent that I had to fight back tears. It was like I was on the verge of discovering something wonderful. Sister Pang gave me a Book of Mormon as I left.
I went straight home and immediately began reading. As I studied 2 Nephi 27, I began to feel very tired. I almost closed the book, but again I knew I had to press on. I said a prayer that I would be able to understand what I was reading, and I continued. As I re-read the passage I decided to compare it to Isaiah 29 and 30. For me, these scriptures were the key that unlocked knowledge and understanding of the gospel. I knew then without a doubt that the words in the Book of Mormon were true. They were another testimony of Jesus Christ.
I rushed out of my room and told my roommates the Book of Mormon was true. To see the shock and excitement on their faces was great. I rushed to the visitors’ center, but Sister Pang wasn’t there. So I met Sister Taylor, and we talked for hours about the gospel. I asked the missionaries to teach me the discussions, and I set a baptism date after the first discussion.
It wasn’t all easy after that. For the next couple of weeks I received letters and phone calls from my family and friends telling me what to do—and what not to do. I didn’t mind giving up my friends and my lifestyle. But my family’s dislike of my decision made this time in my life very difficult. I decided to stop taking the discussions, to stop praying, and to stop reading. For a week I turned away from everything. I felt so alone and confused. Then one day I called my dad and told him I was determined to be baptized. He told me he loved me and then he hung up the phone.
The joy and peace I felt at that moment cast out everything else. I immediately prayed that Heavenly Father would comfort my family. I began the discussions again, and soon I received a letter from my father. He again told me he loved me no matter what, and I would always be his daughter.
The Lord had taken care of my family and led me to a new life. I’m so thankful for the missionaries, and I’m thankful for my friends who strived to live the gospel principles. Mostly, though, I’m grateful to be a child of God. Every day I’m amazed at the love and the comfort the Lord brings to me. To be recognized by Heavenly Father is so precious.

I experienced this firsthand when, as a young graduate student living in a large metropolitan city, I was called to serve as executive secretary in a stake with some 2,000 members from 115 countries. I expect that just about every difference that could possibly exist among disciples of Christ existed among the members of that stake. As I worshipped with and served alongside this beautifully diverse body of Saints, their examples inspired, strengthened, and taught me. My understanding, and my heart, were changed.

For example, from the long-serving immigrant bishop, whose personal poverty far exceeded many of those who came to him seeking welfare assistance, I learned to more fully “consider the lilies.” [45]

From the unassuming, but unshakable, young Aaronic Priesthood holder who came to church with bruises on his body because he refused to stop home teaching ward members that lived in the declared territory of a local street gang, I learned something more of what it means to “do well, and suffer for it,” [46] and to “care not for the body, neither the life of the body; but care for the soul, and for the life of the soul.” [47]

From the faithful single mother whose Sunday best was pocked with crayon marks and juice stains, who arrived late to church almost every week but who came to church every week, even though she knew she would most likely spend the majority of the meetings in the hallway with whichever child’s turn it was to have a total meltdown—who, despite the seeming imbalance and chaos of it all never once turned down a calling, no matter how challenging or thankless—I learned that true discipleship cannot be performative, and that every ward would be well served by a few more cheerios in the front pew cushions.

From the lonely, longing student struggling to reconcile felt physical realities with unalterable eternal truths, I learned something of the perfect work of patience [48] and witnessed the depth of compassion that flows from meek souls who succeed, as we all must do, in putting off the natural man and becoming saints through the Atonement of Christ the Lord. [49]

And it was the example of the many members from all walks of life who came to unburden themselves through confession and repentance that changed my understanding of what it means to have “clean hands and a pure heart” [50] and my perception of what it looks like to walk well the covenant path.

I don’t doubt that each of those I just mentioned wondered at some point whether they really belonged and were wanted and needed by the Lord. Their impact on me is “exhibit A” in answering those questions in the affirmative. I am a better friend, brother, husband, father, and disciple of Christ because of each of them.

Dirk set the tip of the shovel into the sod and pushed hard on it with his foot. The shovel made a crunchy sound as it cut through the tough grass that had started creeping into his mother’s iris garden. Although his arms and shoulders were tired, Dirk had to admit that the iris bed was beginning to look much better. Earlier his mother had told him that if he helped her Saturday morning he could do whatever he wanted in the afternoon.
While he was digging and shaking the soil from the tangled grass roots, Dirk thought about batting a few balls with Ethan, Rick, Chad, and some of his other friends over at the park. Spring had seemed so late that they’d hardly had any time for baseball practice.
Dirk set the shovel aside and went to get the rake to finish his job. His mother had been separating and thinning her iris plants while he worked and had a pile of them at one end of the garden.
“What are you going to do with all of those?” Dirk asked.
“Aunt Maria wants a few of the yellow ones. And Mrs. Cox asked me to save her half a dozen of the blue irises.” Mother shook her head. “It seems a pity.”
“A pity?” Dirk echoed.
“A pity to throw the rest away when they could brighten a yard somewhere. If we just knew someone who could make use of them.” Mother laughed. “But through the years as I’ve separated my plants, I’ve given starts to everyone in the neighborhood who had space. The neighbors have traded back and forth until every yard on the street is filled with flowers.”
“Not every yard,” Dirk said. And he looked surprised as an idea popped into his head. “Hey, Mom, may I have the extra irises?” he asked eagerly. “There is one spot on our street that doesn’t look good. You know, the old vacant lot that’s too little for a house. No one takes care of it.”
“That’s true,” Mother said. “Mr. McCarty lives right next door to it and kept the lot looking nice for years. But now he’s barely able to keep up his own yard and no one else has cared about doing it.”
Dirk nodded in agreement. “Everyone says it’s an eyesore, but no one does anything about it. People passing the lot often throw papers on it and the kids don’t care either. I guess we’re all to blame. Maybe we’d all be more careful if a few flowers were growing there, and iris plants spread fast.”
“And they don’t need as much water as most flowers do,” Mother added.
“I could carry water until they get started,” Dirk suggested. “I believe even a few flowers near the sidewalk at the front of that lot would make people think twice before they threw trash in there.”
“I’m sure they would,” Mother said. “You have a great idea, Dirk, and are welcome to all of the plants you want. Maybe I can even find a little time to help you later this afternoon.”
After lunch Dirk was so busy raking leaves and grass and rubbish from the spot he had chosen for planting his irises on the little lot that he hardly looked up. He collected three bags of rubbish before he cleared a spot large enough to suit him. Then he started spading up the earth. When Ethan saw Dirk digging he came across the street to find out what his friend was doing. “That looks like work!” Ethan said.
Dirk answered with a grin, “It’s work all right, but it’s fun.”
After he explained about the iris plants he asked, “Do you want to help me?”
Ethan thought for a moment and then he nodded. “I’ll go home and get a shovel. This old lot has looked awful for a long time.” In a few minutes Ethan came back with a shovel and a rake. He was grinning as he explained, “I told my mother about your idea and she thinks it’s great. She’s separating some big double shasta daisies and we can plant them right next to the fence. My dad says he’ll come help us after while.”
The boys worked fast, pausing only to grin at each other now and then. They were so busy they didn’t see Monica walk by until she asked them, “Why are you raking and digging in this old vacant lot?”
The boys explained about the iris plants and the daisies. In unison, they asked, “Want to help us?”
“The old lot looks better already,” Monica said. “I’ll be glad to help. I’ll go home and get a shovel.”
In a few minutes she was back with her older sister, Andrea, who carried a box with six peony plants to put near Ethan’s double shasta daisies.
Before Dirk had finished spading his iris bed, Chad came to see why they were all so busy and decided he wanted to help too. He went home for a rake and brought back four yellow rose bushes to put at the back of the little lot where they could grow tall against the back fence.
Mr. McCarty hobbled out to see what was going on next door. His eyes brightened with interest. “I’ve wished many times that I could still take care of this plot,” the old man said, smiling happily. “If you folks are willing to plant and care for some flowers, then the least I can do is provide the water for you. We can just pull my garden hose through the fence whenever the place needs watering.”
Dirk was grateful for Mr. McCarty’s offer for he hadn’t looked forward to carrying water to get all the plants started.
The afternoon went by quickly. With so many working together, there was a lot of talk and laughter and fun. Before the sun went down, nearly everyone on the street had come to help, to offer plants or fertilizer or hours of care to keep the garden blooming.
When they had finished and each family had taken a few boxes or bags of rubbish to put out with their own garbage, they all came back to look at their new garden.
“I believe that this will be the loveliest garden in our whole neighborhood,” said Mr. McCarty. “It’s a very special spot now because it’s everybody’s garden. Not only will we enjoy it, but everyone who walks or drives past will have a spot of beauty to enjoy in place of that awful eyesore.”
Everybody’s garden, Dirk thought happily as he walked home. It was going to be fun to have everyone working together to make something beautiful.

For something like seven months, I fell away from activity in the Church.
But then I began to carefully read the Liahona (Spanish) and discovered the counsel of the Brethren to be both powerful and convincing.
Based on my own experience, I invite everyone who is not fully active in the Church to read and study the messages in the magazine and in the scriptures. If they do this with humble hearts, their testimonies will become so strong they will have the desire to return to the Church.
Cristino RodríguezIsla PatrullaUruguay

Everything in the green velvet bag with the gold drawstring was good for something. That’s what Willie told his older brother, Roger, when he asked why Willie carried it with him everywhere.
“But that stuff is just junk!” Roger protested. “It’s a stupid-looking bag, anyway!”
Willie just shrugged and kept on looking for things to put into it. He decided to call it his “good for something” bag.
Willie emptied his bag onto the kitchen table one morning and carefully examined the blue shoelace he’d found on the school playground. Only one plastic tip was missing.
Then there was the lopsided tennis ball, a stick, and a brown lunch sack. He put each item back into the green velvet bag that he’d found on top of Mr. Ison’s garbage can. The bag was actually the first “good for something” thing he’d found. After Mr. Ison had given him permission to keep it, Willie had set out to find just the right things to put into it—you just never knew when something would be needed!
Now he was searching for more things to put into his “good-for-something” green velvet bag with the gold drawstring. He was quite pleased when he found some wire tangled around a bush by the pond at the park. After untangling the wire, he took the stick from his bag and wrapped the wire around it. Then he put the stick back into his green velvet bag. It was later that afternoon, on the way to the store, that he found a use for the wire.
“Willie?” his mother had called to him from the kitchen. “Will you please go to the store and get some light blue thread for me? I’m right in the middle of mending Daddy’s shirt, and I’ve run out.”
“Sure, Mom.” Willie whistled as he skipped to the store, the green velvet bag in his hand.
“Oh, Willie, can you help me for a minute?” Mrs. Jones called from her yard. “My clothesline broke, and my clean clothes are all over the grass!”
Willie hurried over. “I have just the thing to fix your clothesline, Mrs. Jones!” He reached into his bag and pulled out the wire he’d found that morning.
“This ought to hold it up.” Willie carefully unwound the wire from the stick and tied it to the broken clothesline, then to the post. “There!”
“Willie, that’s wonderful! You’re such a clever boy!”
“It’s my ‘good for something’ bag that did the trick,” Willie explained.
“Well, thank you, Willie. And thanks to your ‘good for something’ bag.”
After he put the stick back in the bag, Willie started on down the sidewalk.
Two blocks later, Willie saw little Joey sitting on the curb in front of his house. As Willie got closer, he could see that Joey looked very unhappy. “What’s wrong?” Willie asked as he went up the walk.
“I’m trying to tie my shoes. I’ve practiced and practiced, and I just can’t get it right. And then my shoelace broke. Now I can’t even tie it at all—see.” Joey showed Willie the broken shoelace. “It’s too short.”
“Well, Joey,” Willie said as he put his bag down on the sidewalk, “I have just the thing for you in my ‘good for something’ bag.”
Joey watched Willie search in the green velvet bag and pull out the blue shoelace with only one end missing. Joey’s eyes brightened as Willie put the blue lace on Joey’s shoe.
“Watch, Joey. I’ll show you how to tie it.”
Joey watched intently as Willie demonstrated how to tie the lace.
“Now you try it,” Willie said.
Joey carefully held the blue shoelace just as Willie had showed him, and tied it according to Willie’s instructions. When he finished, he had a perfect bow.
“I did it! Wow! Thanks, Willie!”
Willie patted his bag. “You never know when you’ll need one of my special things from the ‘good for something’ bag,” he said as he waved good-bye.
Willie turned the corner and hurried on to the store. Just as he opened the door, Mrs. Johnson and her four-year-old twins, Mary and Kerry, came out.
“Now, Kerry, please stop that!” Mrs. Johnson was saying. “And, Mary, you can hold your treat in a minute.” Mrs. Johnson was trying to balance two full bags of groceries and keep track of her squabbling children.
“But I want to hold the treat!” Kerry wailed.
“No! I want to!” Mary wailed back.
“Hi, Mrs. Johnson,” Willie said brightly. “Need some help?”
“Oh, yes, Willie, please,” Mrs. Johnson said desperately. Willie took a hand of each girl and followed Mrs. Johnson to her car. A relieved Mrs. Johnson set down the groceries.
“I want to hold it now!” Mary yelled again.
“It’s still my turn!” Kerry yelled back. A small sack containing cookies from the bakery was in danger of being torn apart by the quarreling girls. Suddenly Willie had an idea.
“Wait a minute! Just hold the sack still,” he told them.
The girls stopped their tug-of-war and watched Willie reach in his “good for something” bag.
“What’s in there?” Kerry asked.
“You’ll see.” Willie smiled at her. Pulling his hand out of the green velvet bag, he showed the girls the brown lunch sack. “This will make things easier.” He took the treat bag from Kerry, put one of the cookies from it into the brown lunch sack, then handed a sack to each girl. Both smiled happily.
“Thank you, Willie,” Mrs. Johnson said gratefully. “That was a good idea!”
“Well, you never know when something will come in handy from my ‘good for something’ bag.”
Hurrying into the store, Willie quickly found the thread and paid for it. When he was almost home, he heard a familiar sound.
“Here, Sam!” Willie called to his barking dog. “Here, boy!” Sam bounded across the lawn and jumped up on Willie, his tail wagging furiously.
“Hold on, boy. I have a surprise for you.” Willie set his nearly empty green velvet bag down, reached in, and grasped the lopsided tennis ball and the stick.
“Here, boy!” Willie said, showing Sam the ball. “Go get it!” Willie threw the ball across the lawn. Sam immediately bounded away and trotted back with it.
“Good boy!” Willie patted his pet’s head. “Now try this!” He threw the stick across the lawn. Sam ran after it, picked it up, and ran with it back to Willie.
“Good ol’ Sam!” Willie said, petting the dog before he went into the house. He found his mother and gave her the thread.
“Thank you, Willie. I’m glad you could help me. Did you find any more treasures on the way to the store?”
“Nope—but I got rid of a few!” He told his mother what he’d done with the wire, the blue shoelace with only one plastic tip missing, the brown lunch sack, the lopsided tennis ball, and the stick.
“That really is a ‘good for something’ bag!” Willie’s mother exclaimed.
“I’m going to look for more ‘good for something’ things to put in my ‘good for something’ bag,” Willie told her.
“Well”—she handed Willie an empty thread spool, then winked at him—“will you drop this into the garbage on your way out?”
“I have a better idea, Mom,” Willie said happily as he put the spool into his green velvet bag with the gold drawstring. “You just never know when it might be good for something!”

Illustration by Laura Proietti
On Christmas Eve when I was 14, my extended family gathered at my grandma’s house to have a Christmas program and do a small gift exchange, just like we did every year. It was fun to be with my cousins and the rest of the family, but I couldn’t help but think about all the gifts that were waiting for me back at home. During all the festivities, I was anxious for Christmas Day to come—Christmas, after all, was about opening presents.
But before we could leave, we had one more tradition to take care of: “adopting” a family for Christmas. In the weeks leading up to Christmas, the adults found a family in the area that was in need of help, got gifts for the kids, and then someone in our family would go out and deliver everything to the family on Christmas Eve. I never participated much in this activity—sure, it seemed like a nice idea, but I never even knew the people we were delivering to.
After the festivities ended, we gathered the gifts and put them in my dad’s pickup. My dad even put on a Santa suit before leaving. There were a lot of gifts to take, so I got nominated to go with him. I was given an elf hat and became Santa’s not-so-eager helper.
But my attitude started to change on the drive over as my dad told me about the family. Their situation was heart-wrenching. Just a few weeks before, the dad had left them, so now the mom had to take care of the four kids on her own. As we drove up to the house, it was all dark. It was almost like I could feel the family’s hopelessness coming from the house.
We knocked on the door. That sad feeling went away as soon as the door opened and the kids saw who had come to visit. They shouted, “Santa’s here!”
I stepped into the house with the gifts and felt the Spirit so strongly that I almost started to cry. When I looked over at Dad, I could see he was holding back tears too. The kids were all running around saying things like, “This one has my name on it!” or “This one is for you, Mom!” As we passed out the gifts, I saw that the mom was crying tears of relieved joy. I got the sense she had told her kids that Santa wouldn’t be coming that year.
The kids and mom all hugged us and thanked us as we left. My dad and I rode back to my grandma’s house in complete silence, neither of us able to express with words what we had just felt and seen. It had been such a rare and beautiful experience, and we were both trying to savor the feeling.
On the drive home, I wasn’t worried about my own gifts anymore. I realized that what I had felt was just a small portion of the love Jesus Christ feels for us and that as we serve others, we can help them feel this love too.

Four years passed. I was dating a woman with whom I had been friends for many years, and our relationship progressed to engagement. As I thought about our future together, my heart turned to things of a spiritual nature, and I told my fiancée that I wanted to know God. We decided that I would attend church with her to learn about Him. In the meantime I prayed privately to God for opportunities to come to know Him.
During this period of searching, missionaries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saint again knocked on my door. Frustrated that they had returned, I told them to go away, and then I shut the door. But at that very moment, a thought struck me: “You’ve been praying to know God. What if these men have some answers for you?”
I opened the door again and called after the elders. I invited them to come in and teach me.
I quickly discovered the power of the truths they taught, and I embraced the restored gospel. Three weeks later, on March 12, 1995, I was baptized into The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

Earl was sitting with Mom in the front room. From the corner of his eye, he saw something move outside the window. Earl peeked through the curtains and couldn’t believe what he saw. A woman was picking vegetables out of their garden!
Earl and Mom loved their garden. Two years ago, Earl’s dad had died. One thing that helped Earl and Mom feel better was working in their vegetable garden together. It reminded them of how much Dad liked working in the garden, and how much he loved them. And now someone was taking the vegetables they’d worked so hard to grow!
“Mom! A lady is stealing our vegetables!” Earl shouted. “I’m going to stop her!”
He jumped up and ran for the door. He was going to chase that woman right out of the garden!
“Earl, wait!” Mom said. “I’ll go talk to her.”
Earl looked out the window as Mom and the woman talked. The woman had a sad look on her face. She put her head in her hands, and it looked like she was crying. Mom gave the woman a hug.
What’s going on? Earl wondered.
A few minutes later, Mom walked back into the house.
“What happened?” Earl asked.
“That woman needs our help,” Mom said. “Please go get a box and fill it up with the prettiest vegetables from our garden. Then load it in her car.”
“What?” Earl said. “But she’s stealing!”
“She needs our help, and we have enough vegetables to share. Do you remember what charity is?” Mom asked.
Earl remembered learning about charity in church. “It’s the pure love of Christ,” he said.
“That’s right. Do you think Jesus would share from His garden?”
Earl knew the answer, but he still felt upset as he got a box and walked outside. The woman looked surprised and then a little embarrassed to see Earl. He didn’t say anything. He just looked for the best vegetables he could find. He filled the box full of cucumbers, carrots, and tomatoes, then carried it to the woman’s car. When he turned to walk back inside, Earl saw that the woman’s eyes were filled with tears.
“Thank you,” she said. “I know I shouldn’t have gone into your garden without asking, but my family is hungry, and we don’t have food. Thank you for helping us.”
“You’re welcome,” Earl said. A small smile crossed his face.
Earl didn’t feel angry anymore. He was sad the lady’s family was hungry. And he was glad he could share his vegetables. He could feel the Holy Ghost tell him that Heavenly Father was happy Earl had been kind.

Two years later my mother passed away. I did not know how I would have the strength to speak at her funeral. As the processional proceeded to the chapel for the service, someone on the sidelines draped me with a most exquisite lei. Instantly I felt enveloped in aloha from my Hawaiian ohana. I also felt the love of my ancestors represented by this lei. Again you brought me peace and shared your love.