Gospel Story Finder

I recall the story of a very voracious reader, a woman who had a study filled with books. Each night she would come home and read from books in her library. She always finished every book she read.
One night she decided to read a book that she had been especially avoiding. She picked the book up and began to read. It was very dull and uninteresting, but she had made a promise she would never read a book without finishing it. She continued, night after night, until finally she read the last page, replaced the book on the shelf, and made this mental note to herself: “That was the dullest book I have ever read!”
Sometime later she was out with a gentleman friend, and he asked if she had ever read a certain book, It was that dull book; she remembered it; and she said, “Yes, why?”
He said, “I wrote it.” Then they talked about the book.
Later that evening, when he left her at home, she went into her study, pulled the book off the shelf, and read through the long hours of the night. When the first streaks of sunlight shafted across the sky, she closed the book, replaced it on the bookshelf, and made another mental note to herself: “That was the most beautiful book I have ever read.” The difference was that she now knew the author.

A few years ago, the missionaries held an activity and gave all the youth a challenge to go without their phones and social media for a few days so that they could be more centered on the gospel and be able to share it with others. I accepted the challenge and shared the gospel with a friend and told them about the missionaries’ challenge. That friend became interested and started meeting with the missionaries. He was baptized a few months later.

My usual spot in ninth-grade seminary was in the back row, where I could talk and joke around with my friend. I had only signed up for seminary because there was an open space in my schedule. Seminary was offered during the school day where I lived, and a school counselor suggested I take it since I’m a Latter-day Saint. I knew the teacher’s name, but that was about all I had learned from class.
Then my friend was gone one day, so I ran into a problem: I had no one to joke with. How would I pass the time? In a panic, I went with the only other option—I listened. It was the first time I paid any attention to the teacher.
As I look back, I don’t remember a word he said that day, but I do remember being captivated. My friend was back the next day, but instead of joking around, I listened and was again pulled in.
I eventually moved from the back of the room and sat on the front row, where I could pay better attention. Not a class went by in which I didn’t feel a strong interest in the lesson or in the students who were sharing their testimonies.
I enjoyed seminary so much that I signed up for it again the next year. I had been baptized at eight years old but had never really gone to church. But something changed one day in December right before the Christmas break. The teacher invited us to come to the front of the room and say what gift we would give Christ that year.
“No one will do this,” I thought. But, to my surprise, one by one the students walked to the front of the class. Some shed tears, others shared goals they had set, and some told stories. I couldn’t believe it.
Time was ticking. I was the only one who hadn’t gone. Before I knew it, I was on my feet. I had no idea what I was going to say. Then, with a shaky voice, I said, “This year for Christ’s birthday, I’m going to start going to church.”
From that day forward, I started going to church as my gift to the Savior. The ironic part was that I was the one who received the gift. Going back to church changed my life, and it all started the day I stopped talking long enough to listen and allow the Spirit to touch my heart.
The Spirit still speaks to me. All I have to do is stop to listen—and then follow.

Much of my life as a university student revolved around the library. Each time I entered, I was greeted by a sign over the entry that read, “And with all thy getting get understanding” (Proverbs 4:7).
We all know that recall follows repetition. I therefore have this scripture from the book of Proverbs engraved indelibly in my mind, having read it each time I entered the library during my four years of undergraduate work.
I offer the same exhortation to each of you: “And with all thy getting get understanding.” I also invite you to think about the meaning of this scripture and how it might benefit you. I have done so. I have turned it over in my mind time and time again, and my interpretation of its meaning has evolved considerably. Perhaps you can benefit from my observations.
As a young missionary in Japan struggling to learn a difficult language, I heard some vocabulary words early and often. Greetings such as ohayo gozaimasu (good morning) or konnichiwa (good afternoon) were two of these. Another was wakarimasen, which means, “I don’t understand.” This word, along with a side-to-side hand expression, seems to be a favorite response from Japanese contacts directed to young missionaries as they attempt to strike up conversations.
Initially, as I reflected on the meaning of “and with all thy getting get understanding,” I thought of understanding more in terms of this type of comprehension: what I might hear with my ears and understand in my mind. I thought of the Japanese saying wakarimasen. Do I understand or not understand?
As I have studied and observed the use of the word understanding in the scriptures and from the words of living prophets, however, I have come to realize a deeper meaning. Consider these words from Elder Robert D. Hales of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles when he was the Presiding Bishop of the Church:
“First, we start with the intelligence with which we were born. To our intelligence we add knowledge as we search for answers, study, and educate ourselves. To our knowledge we add experience, which should lead us to a level of wisdom. In addition to our wisdom, we add the help of the Holy Ghost through our prayers of faith, asking for spiritual guidance and strength. Then, and only then, do we reach an understanding in our hearts—which motivates us to ‘do what is right; let the consequence follow.’ (Hymns, 1985, no. 237.) The feelings of an understanding heart give us the sweet spirit of assurance of not only knowing but doing what is right no matter what the circumstances. The understanding in our hearts comes from a close interdependence of study and prayer.”1
Now consider again: “And with all thy getting get understanding.” Understanding in this context follows intelligence, knowledge, experience, wisdom, and promptings from the Holy Ghost—all of which lead us to knowing and doing what is right.
Most of you are approaching or have entered a critical intersection or crossroads in your life. You are becoming more independent with each passing year, and you are moving deeper into the “and with all thy getting” phase of your life. What is it that you are going to be getting? You may be getting a husband or a wife, your own family, a job, to name a few things.
To manage these very important things that we “get,” we must also obtain “understanding,” as the scripture teaches. This understanding comes through an interdependence of study and prayer. Said another way, we must trust in and rely on the Lord Jesus Christ. Alma described this when he likened the word unto a seed. As he stated, “It beginneth to enlighten my understanding, yea, it beginneth to be delicious to me” (Alma 32:28; emphasis added).
President Thomas S. Monson often quotes a scripture from Proverbs that adds another dimension to this understanding: “Trust in the Lord with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding” (Proverbs 3:5).2
As we trust in and rely on the Lord, a greater measure of understanding comes from Him into our heart.
Let me offer an example of a powerful woman who played a key role in the Restoration, who trusted in the Lord, and who leaned not unto her own understanding.
Shortly after the Church was organized in Palmyra, New York, Joseph Smith’s mother, Lucy Mack Smith, remained in Waterloo, New York, with a large group of Saints while her husband, Joseph Sr., and some of their sons, including Joseph Jr., departed before her for Kirtland, Ohio. Her responsibility was to bring this group to Ohio when she received word from her son, the Prophet.
Word came in early spring 1831. Lucy, with the help of some of the brethren, began to move the group to Buffalo, New York, with the intention of making passage to Ohio by ship on Lake Erie. She said: “When the brethren considered the spring sufficiently open for traveling on the water, we all began to prepare for our removal to Kirtland. We hired a boat … ; and … we numbered eighty souls.”
Then, as they pushed off into the Erie Canal and headed to Buffalo, she said: “I then called the brethren and sisters together, and reminded them that we were traveling by the commandment of the Lord, as much as Father Lehi was, when he left Jerusalem; and, if faithful, we had the same reasons to expect the blessings of God. I then desired them to be solemn, and to lift their hearts to God continually in prayer, that we might be prospered.”
About halfway to Buffalo from Waterloo, passage along the canal became impossible. Conditions for the 80 Saints were uncomfortable, and murmuring began almost immediately. Lucy, relying on the Lord, had to unite their faith. She told them: “No, no, … you will not starve, brethren, nor anything of that sort; only do be patient and stop your murmuring. I have no doubt but the hand of the Lord is over us.”
When they arrived in Buffalo on the fifth day after leaving Waterloo, the harbor leading to Lake Erie was frozen. They took passage on a ship with Captain Blake, a man acquainted with Lucy Smith and her family.
After a couple of days, although conditions on the ship were not conducive for all of them to stay while awaiting notice of departure, Lucy reported, “Captain Blake requested the passengers to remain on board, as he wished, from that time, to be ready to start at a moment’s warning; at the same time he sent out a man to measure the depth of the ice, who, when he returned, reported that it was piled up to the height of twenty feet [6 m], and that it was his opinion that we would remain in the harbor at least two weeks longer.”
This was devastating news to the group. Supplies were low and conditions were difficult. Lucy Mack Smith further recorded her admonition to the Saints: “You profess to put your trust in God, then how can you feel to murmur and complain as you do! You are even more unreasonable than the children of Israel were; for here are my sisters pining for their rocking chairs, and brethren from whom I expected firmness and energy, declare that they positively believe they shall starve to death before they get to the end of their journey. And why is it so? Have any of you lacked? … Where is your faith? Where is your confidence in God? Can you not realize that all things were made by him, and that he rules over the works of his own hands? And suppose that all the Saints here should lift their hearts in prayer to God, that the way might be opened before us, how easy it would be for him to cause the ice to break away, so that in a moment we could be on our journey!”
Now, please observe here the great faith of Mother Smith—how she chose to trust in the Lord and how she asked that the Saints with her not lean unto their own understanding:
“‘Now, brethren and sisters, if you will all of you raise your desires to heaven, that the ice may be broken up, and we be set at liberty, as sure as the Lord lives, it will be done.’ At that instant a noise was heard, like bursting thunder. The captain cried, ‘Every man to his post.’ The ice parted, leaving barely a passage for the boat, and so narrow that as the boat passed through[,] the buckets of the waterwheel were torn off with a crash, which, joined to the word of command from the captain, the hoarse answering of the sailors, the noise of the ice, and the cries and confusion of the spectators, presented a scene truly terrible. We had barely passed through the avenue when the ice closed together again, and the Colesville brethren were left in Buffalo, unable to follow us.
“As we were leaving the harbor, one of the bystanders exclaimed, ‘There goes the “Mormon” company! That boat is sunk in the water nine inches deeper than ever it was before, and, mark it, she will sink—there is nothing surer.’ In fact, they were so sure of it that they went straight to the [news] office and had it published that we were sunk, so that when we arrived at Fairport we read in the papers the news of our own death.”3
“And with all thy getting get understanding,” or, said another way, “Trust in the Lord with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding” (Proverbs 3:5).
I have personally observed the heartbreak and personal havoc wrought upon those whose focus is on worldly “getting” and not on the Lord’s “understanding.” It seems that those who lean unto their own understanding or rely on the arm of the flesh are more likely to develop a disproportionate focus or obsession for material gain, prestige, power, and position. But keeping the “getting” in accordance with this scriptural guidance of “understanding” will temper your temporal appetite. It will allow the proper context for your activities as a productive member of society and of the Lord’s kingdom.
As a young student full of aspiration, I remember listening to a respected and successful mentor suggest that we appropriately manage ambitions by following an order of “learn, earn, serve.” President Gordon B. Hinckley (1910–2008) taught a pattern that leads to trusting the Lord and relying on Him rather than on ourselves. He said: “Each of us has a fourfold responsibility. First, we have a responsibility to our families. Second, we have a responsibility to our employers. Third, we have a responsibility to the Lord’s work. Fourth, we have a responsibility to ourselves.”
We must have a balance. President Hinckley suggested that we fulfill this fourfold responsibility through family prayer, family home evening, family scripture study, honesty and loyalty to our employer, fulfillment of our Church responsibilities, personal scripture study, rest, recreation, and exercise.4
American philosopher and poet Ralph Waldo Emerson said, “This time, like all times, is a very good one, if we but know what to do with it.”5
Fortunately, Latter-day Saints never have to look very far to know what to do. With your knowledge of a loving Heavenly Father and the great plan of happiness, you have rudders deep in the water. Now, put your oars in deeply as well and pull hard and even.
In a general conference talk, President Monson quoted from Proverbs, as he had done before: “Trust in the Lord with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding. In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy paths.” Then he said, “That has been the story of my life.”6 What a great life to emulate.
I have great expectations for each of you, as do the Father and the Son. I finish where I began—with the exhortation found in Proverbs: “And with all thy getting get understanding.”
Get real understanding. This will come to you as you realize the interdependence of study and prayer, as you maintain a commitment to serve while learning and earning, and as you lean not unto yourself but trust in and rely on the Lord.

One night in early 1908, passersby in Colchester, Essex, England, must have rubbed their eyes and looked again. Among the dim splashes of lamplight, a short, broad-shouldered man with three heads and six legs came striding up North Hill through a heavy rain. He walked boldly up on High Street, down Culver, and stepped into a doorway. Inside he shed his dripping raincoat and, without so much as a flourish, turned into three boys. From the right arm of the coat stepped Arthur Sadler, from the left arm his brother Stanley, and from between them their brother Herbert.
Standing unconsciously at attention, Arthur spoke to the man at the desk. “We’ve come to join the troop, sir.”
The man was friendly but non-commital. “You’re soaked,” he said. “How far have you come?”
“We live on Baker’s Lane.”
The man shook his head. “I’m sorry, but that’s two miles from here, and we’re looking for boys who can guarantee 100 percent attendance. With this Colchester weather I’m afraid we couldn’t count on you.”
Arthur wiped the rain from his forehead. “Try us a month, sir. If you find you can’t trust us, drop us.”
So, with only one raincoat among them, the three already-Scouts set off to become a part of it all.
The man at the desk was dubious, but something about the three boys impressed him. Maybe it was just that they had walked two miles in the rain to join, or perhaps it was the understanding of the Scouting program that they had gained in their own patrol. Whatever it was, Arthur and his brothers got their month’s trial period, and for as long as they belonged to the troop none of the three ever missed a meeting, although it often meant two miles of rain or snow coming and going. They believed in the simple advice their father had once given them: “If you give your word, keep it!”

Growing up, Elder Choi dreamed of becoming a general in the Korean army. So when his bishop asked him to speak about preparing for a mission, Elder Choi said no. Another young man spoke instead, which made Elder Choi feel guilty.
“The Holy Ghost told me I needed to serve a mission,” he says. He prepared for and served two years as a missionary, interrupted halfway through by three years of mandatory military service. To this day, Elder Choi says he and his wife, Koo Bon Kyung, “never deny anything that comes from the Lord.”

Tyler’s family had signed up to help feed the missionaries, and tonight they were coming to dinner. Tyler loved having visitors, and Mom had promised he could sit next to them.
At the table, Tyler felt shy and didn’t know what to say. He wanted to be a missionary someday, so he listened and watched carefully. He wanted to remember how missionaries act. He looked at their shiny shoes, white shirts, and straight ties. Then he noticed something on their shirt pockets. “What’s that?” he asked, pointing to Elder Snow’s pocket.
“My name tag,” Elder Snow replied, holding it up a little.
“‘Elder Snow,’”Tyler read. “‘The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.’ Do all missionaries have name tags?”
“I think so,” Elder Millburn replied. “We want everyone to know that we are missionaries for the Church.”
“I always make sure to put my name tag on,” Elder Snow added. “I want everybody to know I believe in Jesus Christ.”
After the missionaries left, Tyler told Mom, “I’m going to make a name tag. I want to wear one so people will know I believe in Jesus Christ.”
Tyler cut a rectangle out of paper and carefully printed his name on it. Below his name, he wrote, “The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.” He taped a folded paper to the back to insert in his pocket and keep the name tag on. He went to the mirror to see how it looked.
First thing in the morning he thought about his name tag. Hurriedly he got dressed and put it on.
When Mom went grocery shopping, Tyler went, too. He walked around, hoping everyone saw his name tag. While they were going back to the car, it started to rain. He pushed the cart quickly and helped Mom load the car before they both got very wet. “Such a good helper!” she said, giving him a kiss on the cheek.
At home he helped carry in the groceries. When he leaned over, he noticed that his name tag was torn and sagging. And rain had smeared the words. I need a better name tag, he told himself.
That afternoon, he cut a rectangle out of a plastic lid. He wrote his and the Church’s name on it with a marker so the words wouldn’t wash away. He taped another piece of plastic to the back and stuck it in his pocket. He had a name tag again. Showing it to Dad, he said, “Just like the missionaries, I like to wear my name tag.”
Tyler went to show his big sister. She was studying at her desk and didn’t seem very happy.
“What’s the matter?” he asked, forgetting about the name tag.
“I have too much homework,” she moaned, “and it’s my turn to do the dishes.” She started writing again.
Tyler watched for a minute. “I’ll do the dishes.”
His sister looked surprised.
“My homework is all done,” he said. “I have time to do them.”
She gave him a hug and exclaimed, “You’re a great brother!”
Tyler did the dishes, but his shirt got wet and dirty. Pulling it off, he threw it in the laundry.
Getting dressed the next morning, he remembered his name tag and ran to the laundry room. His mother had already washed the shirt. She was putting it in the dryer. “Wait!” he yelled, pulling the shirt out of the pile. The name tag fell to the floor, twisted and warped. Tyler couldn’t make it lie flat. He threw it away. I’ll have to make something better, he told himself.
In the garage, Tyler searched for a thin wood scrap. Finding one just the right size, he went in the house to paint it. With a pointed brush he printed the letters. He made two holes in the wood with a hammer and nail and put a piece of twine through them so he could wear the name tag around his neck. When he took his shirt off, this name tag would stay put and wouldn’t get ruined. Tyler showed it to Mom and Dad. “Clever,” they told him.
Tyler wanted to show it to his best friend, Jason. He went outside and looked to see if Jason was in his yard next door. From the other direction, a boy on a tricycle whizzed by, laughing. His dog ran along beside him, barking in fun. It was little Jimmy from down the block.
Jimmy’s mother ran after him, calling frantically, “Stop! You’ve gone too far!” But Jimmy didn’t hear her, so Tyler raced to catch up with him. Grabbing the tricycle, Tyler gently pulled it to a stop and turned it around. He led Jimmy and his dog back to Jimmy’s mother.
“Thank you for stopping him,” she said. “He might have ridden into the street and been hurt. You’re a good neighbor!”
Tyler waved good-bye and headed back to find Jason. He reached for his name tag and stopped suddenly. It was gone! It must have fallen off while I was running, he realized. He finally found it, but the twine was broken and the name tag lay in pieces. It had been run over by the tricycle. Tyler walked home and laid the pieces on the table. “Jimmy ran over my name tag,” he told his mother, angrily. Then, with a big sigh, he said, “But I guess he didn’t mean to.”
A few minutes later, Tyler heard his father come home and ran out to tell him about the name tag.
“You know,” his father said, “not all missionaries wear name tags. When I was a missionary, we didn’t have name tags.”
Tyler was surprised. “How did people know you believed in Jesus Christ?”
“We told them,” Dad said. “And we tried to show them by the way we acted.”
That evening Tyler and his parents went to the stake center because one of his friends was being baptized. During the meeting, a speaker talked about Jesus Christ. “If we try to live as he did,” the man said, “people will know we believe in him.”
Tyler thought about that as they went home. Remembering what Dad had said, he suddenly knew what he could do.
“Mom! Dad!” he said excitedly. “There is a name tag I can wear that won’t get ruined or lost—an invisible one! If I try my hardest to live like Jesus Christ did, it’s like telling people I believe in him. It’s like wearing an invisible name tag!”
Dad smiled. “You’re right, son.”
Mom hugged Tyler. “I’ve already seen your invisible name tag.”
“You have?” Tyler asked, looking down at his shirt.
“Yes, it’s been there,” replied his mother. “Each time you’ve been helpful and kind—like when you washed the dishes for your sister and when you helped little Jimmy—your name tag was there.”
Tyler looked down again. He didn’t see the invisible name tag, but his mother had seen it. He hoped other people would see it, too, because he wanted everyone to know that he believed in Jesus Christ.

Oh, no! That word jumped off the page at me, and the awareness of everything else in the classroom setting faded away. Our excellent, but no-nonsense, speech teacher had just assigned reading parts to the class and handed out the script. Quickly scanning the first page, I screeched to a stop when I hit that word!
You see, I knew that Connie had been assigned to read that line. With few exceptions, almost any one in the class could have read that profane word without any personal concern. But I knew Connie. I knew of her high standards in every area of her life and of her integrity in maintaining those standards with no compromise. She just exemplified purity and freshness and happiness. Clean thoughts and language were carefully guarded. Now suddenly she was expected to violate that standard by a teacher who saw nothing wrong at all with such language. The script was already being read aloud, and I wondered what she would do. Then it was time for Connie’s part.
“Oh, PUMPKIN!” she thundered! The startled class suddenly broke out in good-natured laughter. Our teacher looked up quickly from her paper with a surprised expression and momentarily studied Connie. Slowly a smile was born and then grew into full bloom as she realized that Connie wasn’t after attention or just trying to be funny. But Connie simply continued reading her part as though nothing unusual had happened.

One not so blessed with the gift of sight was the blind man who, in an effort to sustain himself, sat day in and day out at his usual place on the edge of a busy sidewalk in one of our large cities. In one hand he held an old felt hat filled with pencils. With his other hand he held out a tin cup. His simple appeal to the passerby was brief and to the point. It had a certain finality to it, almost a tone of despair. The message was contained on the small placard held about his neck by a string. It read, “I am blind.”
Most did not stop to buy his pencils or to place a coin in the tin cup. They were too busy, too occupied by their own problems. That tin cup had never been filled or even half-filled. Then one beautiful spring day a man paused and, with a marking pen, added several new words to the shabby sign. No longer did it read, “I am blind.” Now the message read, “It is springtime and I am blind.” The cup was soon filled to overflowing. Perhaps the busy people were touched by Charles L. O’Donnell’s exclamation, “I have never been able to school my eyes against young April’s blue surprise.” To each, however, the coins were a poor substitute for the desired ability to actually restore sight.

Association with other LDS students offers a vital support system. Harvard University sophomore Mary Carol Jones located three other LDS students when she arrived on campus her first year. The four of them came up with a creative way to support each other. Each morning they rolled out of bed early enough to spend an hour jogging through campus before classes. Not only did they exercise physically, but spiritually too. They took with them their scripture mastery cards from seminary and memorized them together, reciting in between breaths.

When I married, I never thought that the word divorce would ever become part of my personal history. But despite my pleas and best efforts to save our relationship, my husband left and our marriage ended. I felt like a failure.
A time of deep pain, humiliation, and shattered dreams followed. I had never experienced greater loss or grief.
In the midst of my sorrow, my ministering brothers came to see me. They consoled me and gave me a blessing. Then, in their deep voices, they sang a hymn for me that I didn’t recognize. For me at that difficult time, it was the most beautiful, comforting hymn I had ever heard. They sang:
Where can I turn for peace?
Where is my solace
When other sources cease to make me whole?
When with a wounded heart, anger, or malice,
I draw myself apart,
Searching my soul? …
Where is the quiet hand to calm my anguish?
Who, who can understand?
He, only One. 1
I could not help but weep at the words and music. They confirmed for me, and strengthened my testimony of, the truth that the Savior understood me, loved me, and would never leave me alone in my sorrow.
As my ministering brothers finished singing, I remembered the words that Isaiah used to describe the Savior: “Surely he hath borne our griefs, and carried our sorrows. … And with his stripes we are healed” (Isaiah 53:4–5).

Steve Hammond, 14, of King Salmon, Alaska, is an Eagle Scout, but he didn’t have a troop to help him reach his goal. Steve was following in the footsteps of his 16-year-old brother, David. Both boys earned their Eagle badges as Lone Scouts.
Their father became a registered Scoutmaster so he could supervise their work. He wanted his sons to do their work the right way. He says, “I was probably tougher on them than another Scoutmaster would have been.”
Steve had a wonderful time earning his fishing merit badge. He hooked a 36-pound king salmon.
Steve and David made something of a competition out of earning merit badges. They received their awards together in a special court of honor. As an Eagle project, Steve and David took on the restoration of a nearby Russian Orthodox church cemetery.
Steve and David are in the King Salmon Branch, Alaska Anchorage Mission.

Another who expressed his gratitude for President Spencer W. Kimball’s area conference visit last year was Wong Kar-syew, who joined the Church four years ago.
“I was surprised, but I was also really happy.” Kar-syew first became acquainted with the Church through a friend who was investigating. At first she didn’t want to listen, but eventually “what had seemed so strange became so special.” She joined the Church and was called as a Sunday School secretary within a month. She spent her first summer in the Church working as a district missionary, but she and her companion met with little success. After that experience Kar-syew realized that she would have to keep all the commandments to be able to teach others. She knew she should begin paying her tithing. When called to do missionary work again the next summer, the work went well: “I knew I was receiving the blessings of tithing in being able to reach investigators.”
As a missionary Kar-syew found about two-thirds of her contacts were from mainland China. They were attracted to the street displays and stopped to inquire. “These people have never heard the gospel, and I had the opportunity to tell them about Jesus Christ. I feel the prophecies of the scriptures are being fulfilled—our message will go to every people, in every land, and they will hear it in their own tongue.”

“Our family home was on the foothill of a solitary mountain that was a moving force all of my young life. I could see it from my bedroom window and felt a certain security in its closeness. I had climbed its bald dome with my family, with Church groups, and with a gang of kids. Then one day—driven by desire to go to the mount, like Moses, to commune with God, to consider who I was and what I was going to do about it—I set out alone to climb that peak. I was 16, and this day my aloneness on that mountain was exhilarating. It was a most spectacular spring morning at sunrise when I made my way to the top.

“With fascination I sat looking down at the houses I knew so well and at their people beginning to stir with the sun. I watched the achingly familiar scenes as an extension of myself. I followed the paths of my life from home to a friend’s house, to the church on the corner and the school down the hill and to the neighborhood store. Finally, I let myself look upon our own house, the scene of my most tender times, my most important learnings. Almost in panic and with a wrench of my heart, I felt childhood slipping from my grasp.

“Everywhere I looked was someone who had touched my life. At 16 I was the sum of them—parents, school friends, storekeeper, Church leader. My heart flooded with a new awareness. Suddenly I realized I had some debts to pay. I vowed that I would try to be useful. I knew I needed the help of God, and when I turned to him, my soul filled with an awareness that he lives, that he cares even about a little person sitting on a mountain thinking she can make a difference in the world. When I came down off the mountain the world seemed beautiful, and I was glad to be alive.”

Christmas used to be the best time of the year. Tasha’s grandma would take her shopping for a new dress. And Dad read “The Night before Christmas” to her every Christmas Eve.
But two years ago, Grandma had died. And then the next year, Dad died, and Tasha and Mom moved to a smaller house. Now there was no fireplace to hang stockings, and reading Dad’s Christmas poem was too sad.
One night about two weeks before Christmas, the doorbell rang. When Tasha opened the door, there was a mug full of candy canes with a little note signed, “Secret Santa.” Tasha’s face lit up. She loved candy canes!
“Who do you think it’s from?” she asked, peeling open one of the wrappers.
“I don’t know,” said Mom. She smiled and pulled out a candy cane. “But what a nice surprise!”
The next night, their Secret Santa left hot cocoa mix. The night after that it was a box of cute soaps. Every night, Tasha was excited to see what showed up next. And every night she got more and more curious. Who was dropping off the gifts?
Tonight there was a plate of cookies with reindeer faces. They had chocolate-chip eyes and antlers made from melted caramel. “They’re so cute,” Tasha said. “I wish we knew who was bringing these so we could say thank you.”
Mom got out some milk to go with their cookies. “It seems like whoever’s doing it wants to stay anonymous.”
“What’s a … anonymous?” Tasha asked.
“It means they don’t want other people to know who they are. Maybe the best thing we can do to thank them is to pass their kindness on to other people.”
Tasha was quiet as she ate her cookie. What kind things could she do? She didn’t have money to buy cute little gifts. And even if she did, Mom didn’t have time to take her to the store.
Tasha sighed. “I want to do something nice, but I don’t know what to do. And I don’t have a lot of money.”
“Being kind doesn’t take money,” Mom said. “All it takes is thinking about others. Smiling at a friend who looks sad, sitting at lunch with someone who’s alone, saying ‘thank you’—those are nice and free.”
Tasha nodded slowly. She could do that.
On Monday morning at school, her teacher was wearing a new sweater.
“Mrs. Hennessy,” Tasha said, “that’s a really pretty red sweater.”
Mrs. Hennessy looked happy. “Thank you!”
For the rest of the day, Mrs. Hennessy seemed to be smiling a lot.
That afternoon after school, Tasha volunteered to walk her neighbor’s dog.
“Thank you, Tasha,” Mrs. Oliver said. “My hip was hurting so much that I wondered how I was going to take Penny for her walk. You’re an answer to prayer.”
“You’re welcome,” Tasha said. She was glad she’d come to help.
After dinner she helped Mom fold laundry and clean the kitchen. Tomorrow she was going to surprise Mom and vacuum!
That night their Secret Santa struck again, this time leaving a bag of chocolate candies.
“Mom,” Tasha said, “can I take some of these to school to share? I think that would make my class really happy.”
Mom took a chocolate and handed the bag to Tasha. “Of course!”
Tasha grinned. She would always miss Dad and Grandma, but she was glad she had discovered this Christmas secret: helping others made her happy!

Cristina watched President Thomas S. Monson on the screen in her stake center during general conference. He was talking about being kind to others. Cristina had a warm feeling as she listened. She knew President Monson was a prophet of God. She thought about Leah, a girl at school who was unkind to her. She decided she would be nice to Leah and try to be her friend. Cristina wanted to follow the prophet’s teachings.

“Another thing that happened when I was a girl that gave me a great sense of self-worth was helping in the country store next door to our house. The store owner showed me how to price goods, figure out prices from invoices, stock shelves, weigh meats and candies, make change, and wait on customers. When he and his wife had business away from home, they left me with a key to open the store in the morning, and I was in charge until they returned.”

Many years ago when I was practicing law, I was consulted by a woman who wanted a divorce from her husband on grounds that, in my opinion, seemed justified. After the divorce was concluded, I did not see her again for many years. In a chance meeting with her on the street, I noticed that the years of loneliness and discouragement were evident in her once-beautiful face.
After we passed a few pleasantries, she was quick to say that life had not been rich and rewarding for her and that she was tired of facing the struggle alone. Then she startled me by disclosing, “Bad as it was, if I had to do it over again and had known then what I do now, I would not have sought the divorce. This is worse.”

Missionary service has ever called for courage. One who responded to this call was Randall Ellsworth. While serving in Guatemala as a missionary for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, Randall Ellsworth survived a devastating earthquake that hurled a beam down on his back, paralyzing his legs and severely damaging his kidneys. He was the only American injured in the quake, which claimed the lives of some eighteen thousand persons.
After receiving emergency medical treatment, he was flown to a large hospital near his home in Rockville, Maryland. While Randall was confined there, a newscaster conducted with him an interview that I witnessed through the miracle of television. The reporter asked, “Can you walk?”
The answer: “Not yet, but I will.”
“Do you think you will be able to complete your mission?”
Came the reply: “Others think not, but I will. With the president of my church praying for me, and through the prayers of my family, my friends, and my missionary companions, I will walk, and I will return again to Guatemala. The Lord wants me to preach the gospel there for two years, and that’s what I intend to do.”
There followed a lengthy period of therapy, punctuated by heroic yet silent courage. Little by little, feeling began to return to the almost lifeless limbs. More therapy, more courage, more prayer.
At last, Randall Ellsworth walked aboard the plane that carried him back to the mission to which he had been called—back to the people whom he loved. Behind he left a trail of skeptics and a host of doubters, but also hundreds amazed at the power of God, the miracle of faith, and the example of courage.
On his return to Guatemala, Randall Ellsworth supported himself with the help of two canes. His walk was slow and deliberate. Then one day, as he stood before his mission president, Elder Ellsworth heard these almost unbelievable words spoken: “You have been the recipient of a miracle,” said the mission president. “Your faith has been rewarded. If you have the necessary confidence, if you have abiding faith, if you have supreme courage, place those two canes on my desk and walk.”
After a long pause, first one cane and then the other was placed on the desk, and a missionary walked. It was halting, it was painful—but he walked, never again to need the canes.
This spring I thought once more of the courage demonstrated by Randall Ellsworth. Years had passed since his ordeal. He was now a husband and a father. An engraved announcement arrived at my office. It read: “The President and Directors of Georgetown University announce commencement exercises of Georgetown University School of Medicine.” Randall Ellsworth received his Doctor of Medicine degree. More effort, more study, more faith, more sacrifice, more courage had been required. The price was paid, the victory won.

When I met my wife, Pamela, she was the only member of the Church in her family. When we decided to get married, something seemed an obstacle. I had no money to get all the items listed by her father as requirements for her bride price.
I was a graduate with no job. The little I made from odd jobs here and there was barely enough. I lived in my Father’s house at the time. Faced with these challenges, Pamela and I fasted and prayed to Heavenly Father for help. I knew the Lord through His prophets and apostles have counseled that “young people should follow the Lord’s pattern of marriage in the temple without waiting for the payment of a bride price” (Dallin H. Oaks, “The Gospel Culture, Ensign, March 2012, 45). But Pamela’s father was not a member of the Church and saw this practice as proper traditional rites for marriage. After counseling with the Bishop, I decided to make a move. I love Pamela and wanted to obey the Lord’s commandment to marry in the temple. But I did not want to do that without the consent of her parents.
After a difficult and trying period, with the help of other, I began to get offers to paint buildings. After three painting jobs, I gathered the little I had, called on my family and travelled to Pamela’s village. Still, things seemed difficult and the marriage seemed impossible. Despair, melancholy and anger almost took over my faith, but the encouraging words of the leaders and the scriptures kept me focused and continue to trust in the Lord.
We were married traditionally on 13 February, 2016, wedded on 2 April and Sealed in Aba Nigeria Temple on 5 April in the same year. It felt like a dream to us. The Lord raised people who offered to help us with one thing or the other. The Lord literally made it happen. That experience is etched in our memories as one the many of the Lord’s miracles in our lives, a manifestation of His tender mercies towards us.
We have been joyfully married for almost three years now in the mercies of our Lord Jesus Christ.