Gospel Story Finder

Let me close by briefly relating an experience that occurred a few years ago, again in the islands. It will demonstrate the universality of the basic premise with which we began: That all people do have a mission and can perform it, no matter where they are or under what circumstances they may live, be it here in the United States or on a small island in the Pacific. As I conclude with that story and testimony, let us reevaluate our lives and make sure that we are doing with them what the Lord would have us do.
Years ago, as a young missionary, I was impressed by an older island couple who always seemed to be helping the missionaries and others. Every time I went to their home I would find them reading the scriptures, fixing a meal for a missionary, tending a neighbor’s child, preparing a Relief Society lesson, or rendering some sort of service. They were not blessed with children of their own, but they were always helping so-called “outcast” children.
I was soon moved to another area and left for home without ever returning to that area. I often wondered about that couple who had so impressed me. I was sure that the Lord would bless them.
Years later I was again in the area and a messenger came and asked if I would visit a certain widow named Luisa. Upon inquiring, I realized that it was the family I had wondered about all these years. Her husband had obviously passed away; and as the messenger gave me the address I realized that she still lived in the same old house where she had lived those many years before. Of course we made arrangements to visit her.
It was late afternoon when we drove up to the home. I was surprised to realize that hardly anything had changed; it was a neat and clean home, but a very humble one. As I walked up to the house I noticed her waiting by the open door. She held her hand out in a slightly waving fashion, and I realized she had gone blind. As I took her in my arms, I realized also that she had not long to stay in this life, for I felt nothing but the frailest body of skin and bones.
As we sat and visited, she talked about her desire to help the “poor” people. I suggested that she might need some help herself rather than giving help. She kindly informed me that she was rich and had nothing to worry about. I was a little confused and began to inquire. I found that they had often saved money to pay their airfare to the temple, only to end up lending it to someone else who needed it more. When all the facts came out I asked, “Luisa, how can you say you don’t have anything to worry about? You have no husband, you have no children, you’re blind, you are in poor health, you live in a poor home, you haven’t been to the temple. How can you say that you are rich?”
She stopped all of my questions by quietly informing me that she was rich because she knew that the Lord was pleased with her life. She said, “I know that I will be with my husband soon. I know that the Lord will bless us with a family. I know that I have not done all that I should, but I know that the Lord is pleased with what I have done.”
I cannot express fully what happened at that time. However, I would like you to listen to the seventh verse of the sixth section of the Doctrine and Covenants, wherein the Lord says, “Seek not for riches but for wisdom, and behold, the mysteries of God shall be unfolded unto you [even the discovering of your mission and calling], and then shall you be made rich. Behold, he that hath eternal life is rich.” You see, Luisa had taken the time to discover her mission and calling in life and had done whatever was necessary to fulfill it.

I would be remiss if I did not speak of a branch president and a bishop of my youth. I became a deacon at the age of 12 in a little branch in the eastern part of the United States. The branch was so tiny that my older brother and I were its only Aaronic Priesthood holders until my father, who was the branch president, invited a middle-aged man to join the Church.

The new convert received the Aaronic Priesthood and, with it, a call to watch over the Aaronic Priesthood. I still remember as if it were yesterday. I can recall the beautiful fall leaves as that new convert accompanied my brother and me to do something for a widow. I don’t remember what the project was, but I do remember feeling that the priesthood power joined in doing what I later learned the Lord had said we must all do to have our sins forgiven and so be prepared to see Him.

As I look back now, I feel gratitude for a branch president who called a new convert to help the Lord prepare two boys who would in turn someday be bishops, charged to care for the poor and the needy and also to preside over the preparatory priesthood.

When Elder Backman was twelve years old, his father was called to be president of the South African Mission. “That mission was one of the highlights of my boyhood!” Elder Backman recalled. “We were so excited when Mother told us that we were going to Cape Town, South Africa, that my brother, two sisters, and I danced around the front room. Africa seemed like such an exotic place with all its wild animals.
“It was a very spiritual experience,” Elder Backman continued. “My father was permitted to have only twenty-five missionaries, and they became very close to us. We lived in the same home with them, and they ate every meal with us. I was absolutely immersed in the mission. All those missionaries were my big brothers. They still are. We still get together once a month. I have always tried to follow in their footsteps.
“Our church meetings were held in a room that had been added to the mission home for that purpose. Upstairs was the dormitory for the missionaries. The building also had a baptismal font. I was the only deacon in the branch, and I felt pretty important. As old as I am now, I think that those experiences in South Africa at that tender age are the most vivid that I have had in my entire life.
“When I was young, our family took a number of trips. The most memorable one was when we left South Africa and traveled by ship for two months and stopped at twenty-four ports. We sailed up the east coast of Africa, through the Mediterranean Sea, and ended our trip in Hamburg, Germany. Tangiers, Algiers, Zanzibar, Dar es Salaam, Cairo, and Port Said, were only a few of the exotic cities that we visited.
“When President Gordon B. Hinckley invited me to attend the dedication of the temple in South Africa a few years ago, I had the choice experience of greeting many of the Saints there whom I had known as a boy. I love those people, and I love that country.”
Even before going to South Africa, Elder Backman had great admiration for missionaries. “When I was a boy, a lot of missionaries went out from our ward,” he recollected. “They were permitted then to print missionary farewell programs with their pictures on them, and I would save those programs, fold them, and stand them up on my dresser. Those missionaries were my heroes. I never wavered in my desire to go on a mission because of the example that those men had set for me. As a boy, I was shy and didn’t do anything to call attention to myself. But serving a mission helped me to overcome my shyness.
“My message to young people is that they should prepare to serve a mission. Preparing to serve a mission means that you must keep the commandments, be active in the Church, take part in Primary classes and Sunday School, gain the Aaronic Priesthood if you are a boy, and if you are a girl, be active in the Young Women organization. Serving a mission is the greatest preparation for life that I know.”

I hadn’t been reading the scriptures until my Young Women president suggested that I work on Personal Progress. It asked me to read the scriptures every day for some weeks. After doing this, I never stopped reading them. My best advice is that you ought to work on your Personal Progress or Duty to God. Challenge yourself to read the scriptures more and more, and you will see a change within yourself. I tell you this without a doubt—you will see that you have a stronger testimony.
Paola S., 16, Cortés, Honduras

It was the afternoon of Christmas Eve. I sat at the window in the living room and looked out. The snow had piled up almost every day for a week, but now the skies were clear and the air was icy. I could hear Mom, Tara, and Laurie in the kitchen, making treats for the neighbors. Next to me the Christmas tree twinkled, and there were piles of presents stacked beneath it. Usually on Christmas Eve I would feel each package and shake and smell it. I didn’t care about the packages this year.
Christmas had always been fun before. As soon as all the presents were exchanged, I would call Bryan, and we would spend the rest of the morning together until it was time to visit our cousins.
I couldn’t ever remember a time when Bryan and I hadn’t been best friends. We did everything together. We studied together, weeded our gardens together, had a paper route together, joined Cub Scouts together.
Bryan and I were both planning to play football in the pros. He was going to be the quarterback, and I was going to be the end. What a team we’d make! But now I wasn’t sure if we would ever play football together again.
Ever since Bryan had told me about the cancer in his left leg, I had prayed for him. I had even fasted two different Sundays. But the doctors still took his leg off, just above his knee. They said that they thought that they had caught the cancer in time and that it hadn’t spread, but his leg was still gone, and right now he lay in a hospital bed with nothing but a TV and a stack of books and magazines to keep him company.
“Randy,” Mom said, coming into the living room, “you sure look glum for a Christmas Eve.”
“I keep thinking about Bryan,” I mumbled.
“He’ll be fine,” Mom declared. “His mother told me that his whole family is going to celebrate Christmas Eve in his hospital room tonight.”
“But it’s not the same thing. Besides, I wanted to give him something … something super.”
“You already sent a present over.”
I nodded sadly. “A book. But that’s nothing, even if he does have to stay in bed and reading is all that he can do. I wanted to give him something extra special, something that he’d never forget.” I stopped for a moment, then blurted out, “What he really wanted was a football, an official leather football so that we could practice to play in the pros.”
Mother smiled understandingly. “That’s what you’ve both wanted for years, I know.”
“Bryan really did want a football, Mom. But you know how much they cost.”
Mom smiled again and just said, “Yes, I know how much they cost.”
I glanced in toward the tree and stared at the package wrapped in gold foil paper that was nestled under the far side of the tree. Yes, I thought, Mom knows how much footballs cost.
Then she asked gently, “Are you forgetting Bryan’s leg?”
“Bryan won’t always have a stump for a leg,” I told her. “They make legs. Good ones. There was a guy that had his leg cut off because of cancer, and he walked clear across Canada. If he could do something like that, Bryan will be able to play football. And if he had a football now, he’d have something to look forward to, something to work for. We’re still going to play in the pros!”
Mom went back to the kitchen, and I looked out the window again. Christmas would soon be here. If I was going to do anything for Bryan, I would have to do it soon. Then an idea came so quickly that for a moment I could hardly breathe.
Hurrying to my room, I pulled on my sweatshirt, wiggled into my heavy coat, pulled the hood over my head, stomped my feet into my snow boots, grabbed my gloves, and raced back to the living room. I reached for the gold-wrapped package under the tree, called to Mom that I’d be back in a while, then slipped out of the house.
The snow squeaked and crunched under my boots, and my breath puffed out of my mouth and nose in steamy clouds as I sped down the street. Finally I reached the hospital. I pulled open the huge glass doors, walked rapidly down the long hall, and got on the elevator and pushed the third floor button.
Bryan didn’t see me slip into his room, so I whispered, “Hi, Bryan.”
His head turned toward me, and his face and eyes brightened. “Randy!” he cried. “I knew you’d come.”
“How do you feel?” I asked, setting the package on the floor by the bed.
“Oh, OK I guess.”
“You’ll be out of here before you know it,” I said, patting him on the shoulder.
“I’m glad you came, Randy.”
“I knew you couldn’t have much of a Christmas here,” I told him. “A hospital is no place for Christmas. And I knew I could never have Christmas without seeing you. I just had to come—and I brought you something.” I bent over, picked up the package, and handed it to Bryan.
“But you already gave me a present. It’s over there, under the tree.”
I glanced at the small silver tree in the corner. My book, wrapped in Santa Claus paper, lay with several other packages. I shook my head. “That’s not my real present,” I told him. “This one is. Open it now, while I’m here.” I pushed the package across the covers to where Bryan could reach it.
He tugged at the gold wrapping paper, pulled the lid off the box, and caught his breath. Then he reached in and lifted out the football. “But, Randy, this was supposed to be yours, wasn’t it?”
“But I want you to have it,” I faltered. “It’s the only thing I could think of that was super special enough for you. It’s one just like we’ve always talked about. Now we’ll play in the pros for sure!”
For a long time Bryan stared at the ball. Then tears came to his eyes.
“Don’t you like it?” I asked hoarsely. “It’s a real one, just like they use in the pros. I just knew you’d have to have one because—” The words caught in my throat. I looked down at the flat place on the bed where Bryan’s left leg should have been.
Bryan was staring at the flat place too. “I can’t take your ball, Randy,” he whispered. “I don’t know if I can even play any more.”
“Yes you can—we’ll still play together!” I burst out. “It’s just like I was telling Mom. They make artificial legs, Bryan. Good ones. And the quarterback doesn’t have to run much. You can still play. We’ll still be a team.”
Bryan smiled weakly. “Maybe I ought to be the coach,” he said. “The coach doesn’t have to run at all. All he has to do is yell and blow his whistle, and I can at least do that.”
Bryan stared again at the flat place. I caught my breath, starting to feel sick.
Suddenly Bryan grinned up at me and declared, “It’s a super ball, just what I’ve always wanted. I’m glad that you brought it. Real glad.” Then his smile faded. “But I don’t have anything for you.”
I shook my head. “I don’t need anything. There’s only one thing I really want, and that’s for you to get well and leave here.” There was a terrible, hurting lump in my throat. I tried to swallow it away, but it was stuck. I bit down on my lip. “Every night I pray for you. And every Sunday in Primary we pray for you too. We never forget you, Bryan.”
“I know, and it means a lot to me. But I still want to give you something. I want to give you a super gift too.” He held his new ball tightly. “You know I’ve always wanted a football just like this, and to play in the pros,” he said, rubbing his cheek against the ball. He looked up at me. “You’ll have to play for both of us.” He stopped, then holding the ball out, added, “You’ll need a good ball. The very best. Take this one and play for both of us. It won’t hurt so much if I know I’m helping you out, that you’re playing with my ball.”
“But if I take your ball, that will mean I didn’t give you anything good.”
“Oh, but you did, Randy. You gave me the best gift of all, just by coming.” Bryan smiled. “I waited all day. I didn’t even sleep. I just lay here and looked out the window. I knew you’d come because you’re my friend, the best friend in the world, and having a friend like you is the very best Christmas present of all.”
I could feel a tear trickle down my cheek. I reached out, took the ball from Bryan, and tucked it under my arm. “I’ll come and see you tomorrow too.”
Bryan nodded.
As I trudged back home through the snow, I knew that now I could enjoy Christmas.

Similar responses have come from Church members all over the world. Brother Aldemir Guanacoma Ave, a member of the Abundancia Ward, Santa Cruz Bolivia Piray Stake, said that when he read President Hinckley’s counsel to read the Book of Mormon again, he felt something deep in his heart.
“At that very moment I asked my Heavenly Father to give me the courage to do it,” he said. “And that is what happened. I have achieved that goal, and now I can’t believe what happened to me during the time I was reading it. I came to understand what it means to live the gospel of Jesus Christ. Now I am sure that the Book of Mormon is true.”

Amy shuffled along the sidewalk. Her hand measured the spaces between the slats of the picket fence that outlined Sister Pedersen’s yard. It’s not fair, she thought. Why do I have to be cooped up inside reading the news to an old blind lady while everyone else is going to the movie with Emily. And how can I ever be Emily’s friend if I can’t go to the movie with her?
Grudgingly Amy unlatched the gate, trudged up the sidewalk to Sister Pedersen’s porch, kicked the newspaper off the steps, then relented and picked it up before rapping on the door.
The door swung open, and there stood eighty-year-old Sister Pedersen.
“It’s me, Amy, Sister Pedersen.”
“Bring the Chronicle, and come in, Amy. Sit down here in this armchair. I believe in business first, pleasure afterward. Shall I pay you a dollar each day?” Sister Pedersen asked, reaching for her purse.
“No, ma’am. Mother said that I shouldn’t take money. In family home evening we agreed to work on serving others, and you’re my assignment.”
Sister Pedersen snapped her purse shut, nodded her head, and said, “You may read now.”
Amy struggled through the newspaper’s front-page articles. She wondered how anyone could consider this a pleasure.
After about forty-five minutes, Sister Pedersen interrupted, “Let’s stop now, Amy. Do you like treasures?”
“I guess so. What kind of treasures?”
“Follow me upstairs, and you’ll see,” Sister Pedersen told her.
“My treasure room,” Sister Pedersen announced, ushering Amy into a small room with several curio cabinets. A pedestal table loaded with beautiful small figurines stood in front of the window.
Amy gasped with delight. Her eyes danced from one lovely object to another. Each cabinet was crammed with collectibles: red goblets, silk flowers in painted vases, tiny dolls in native costumes, crystal paperweights, and bright blue plates. “It’s like an antique shop!” she exclaimed, rushing from one cabinet to another to peer at the treasures.
“You probably wonder why a blind lady keeps so many knickknacks,” Sister Pedersen said. “You see, when I touch the smooth glass objects or the soft silk fabrics, my fingers experience beauty.”
Amy watched the old lady gently rub a delicate bird fashioned of blown glass. She traced the china roses on a pink vase. Then she picked up a crystal ball etched with an intricate geometric pattern.
“Go ahead. Touch them, Amy,” Sister Pedersen coaxed.
Fascinated by the beauty of the bird, Amy timidly picked it up from the table. It was a swan with its neck arched proudly and its wings spread wide, anticipating flight.
“This swan is wonderful!” Amy whispered.
“A glassblower made it for me when I was very young. He fashioned liquid glass into that lovely bird by blowing through a long metal tube. He let me feel all the glass figures in his booth, and he even helped me blow a glass bubble. Since that day, whenever I touch my swan, I know that I, too, have seen beauty. Now, you look around, and don’t be afraid to handle everything. I’ll go fix us some refreshments. I remember how hungry young people are after school.”
Amy held the swan and imagined herself a young blind girl. Hearing peals of laughter outside, she set the swan down and leaned over the table to look out the window. Emily and all her friends were returning from the movie. Amy didn’t feel as bad about missing it as she thought she would. As she turned away from the window, Amy’s hand accidentally bumped the swan, knocking it to the floor. She scooped up the pieces and frantically shoved them into her pocket.
Sister Pedersen called, “Come downstairs, Amy, and have some biscuits and milk. Then you’d better hurry home, or your mother might not let you come again.”
Amy gulped down her snack nervously. She was too afraid to say anything about the precious bird. She said good-bye and raced down the sidewalk.
What should I do? she wondered. I can’t go back, no matter what Mother says. As Amy shut the gate, she looked up and saw Sister Pedersen waving to her. It made her feel worse, somehow.
Walking home from school the next day, Amy passed Sister Pedersen’s house and sighed with relief. At least she wasn’t supposed to read to Sister Pedersen until next week. But she still felt awful, and when she got home, she dumped all the money out of her old tin-can bank onto her bed and counted it carefully. “I hope it’s enough,” she muttered as she went to find her mother.
After school Monday, Amy slowly approached Sister Pedersen’s porch, clutching a white box. When the door opened, she said, “It’s Amy, Sister Pedersen.”
“Come in, Amy. I didn’t think this was the day for your visit, but you’re welcome anytime.”
After they sat down, Amy carefully opened the box and placed the new swan in Sister Pedersen’s hands. Swallowing nervously, Amy said, “This is a replacement for the one that I broke. I’m awfully sorry. It was an accident.”
“It’s all right, Amy. I heard it break. I’m glad that you told me, though,” Sister Pedersen said, adding, “I’m sure that this bird cost you dearly, and I want you to keep it. Keep it and its beauty—you have given me something more beautiful. You have been an honest and good friend.”
When she left to go home, Amy happily walked down the sidewalk and turned at the gate to wave good-bye to Sister Pedersen, her new friend, who stood in the doorway, waving back.

“My transition from Young Women to Relief Society was a wonderful experience because of service,” says Tagen Spencer of the Princeton Ward, Pocatello Idaho East Stake. “Even though I started my Relief Society experience in my home ward, where most of the women were elderly, they were all very welcoming to me. When I served with them on a humanitarian project, many of the widows in the ward were there. We were assigned to sort used clothing. One sister called and offered to pick me up. She even took me to lunch after the service project. Every time someone came across a used wedding dress, she would pull it out, give it to me, and start laughing. We had such a good time. It strengthened my testimony of service as well as helped me bond with the sisters.”

When I got back from my mission, I met a beautiful lady named Sandra Joelene Lyon at stake conference. We both attended Idaho State University in Pocatello but lived in Blackfoot. The best part about commuting was that Sandra and I carpooled in the same group. I could tell she was one of God’s precious daughters, and I knew she was the right one for me to marry. One day I sat next to her in the car and said, “You know, you really ought to write your missionary a ‘Dear John’ letter because you know you’re going to marry me anyway.” It wasn’t quite that simple, but after a couple of years we were married.
We got engaged in December, which makes Christmas especially meaningful. Being married for eternity is the greatest gift we could have given each other. My wife is a wonderful blessing as she provides gifts of love to me, our children, their spouses, and our grandchildren. Her love does much to keep our family united.

“Sammy, it’s time to leave!” Mom called.
Sammy closed his book about spiders, put it in his backpack, and raced to the car. He had been waiting all week for his family’s camping trip. As they drove along, he could hear his parents talking in the front seat.
“The weather report said we might have a thunderstorm in the next day or two,” Dad said to Mom.
“Does that mean lightning?” Sammy asked. Suddenly he wasn’t so excited about camping.
“There might be a little rain,” Dad explained. “But we’ll be careful. We can always get in our car if there’s any lightning.”
Sammy didn’t feel much better. He loved reading about bugs, volcanoes, and even lightning, but all those things were much less scary on the pages of a book than in real life.
At the campsite, Sammy quickly forgot his fears. He played with his brothers, helped Dad set up the tent, and watched the campfire crackle to life. He went hiking, played games, and roasted lots of marshmallows.
On the last night of the camping trip, Sammy looked up at thousands of stars spread across the sky. A cold wind made him shiver, so he ran inside the tent, snuggled into his sleeping bag, and quickly fell asleep. A few hours later, a loud boom made him jump. Thunder! He ran to the tent door and tried to unzip it.
“Sammy, stay here!” Mom said.
“But, Mom, shouldn’t we go get in our car?” Sammy asked. His knees felt wobbly, and he let Mom pull him onto her lap.
“There are a lot of trees and a big open meadow between us and the car,” Mom said. “I think we’re safer here in the tent for now.”
Sammy started to cry. A bright flash lit up the tent, and then came the crashing thunder. Mom held Sammy close. “The storm will be over soon,” she said. “Let’s ask Heavenly Father to help you not be afraid.”
Sammy slid onto his knees on the hard, bumpy ground. The lightning flashed again, followed by more thunder. “Please help me feel better and not be afraid. Please bless the wind to blow the clouds away so the lightning will stop,” Sammy prayed.
He ended his prayer and got back into Mom’s arms. She held him while they listened to the wind and the rain. Slowly, his shivering and crying stopped.
He jumped when the lightning flared again, but the thunder was much quieter this time. “It’s farther away, Mom!” he whispered.
The raindrops were slowing down too. It was several minutes before lightning lit up the tent again, and it was already so far away that they couldn’t hear the thunder.
“Heavenly Father answered your prayer,” Mom said.
Sammy smiled in the dark. He still felt a little nervous about the lightning, but he was warm throughout his whole body. His prayer had been answered. The storm was blowing away, and he was safe. Best of all, he knew Heavenly Father loved him and was listening to his prayers, even in the middle of the night when he was far away from home.

Richard Rancie, 14, Melbourne. Richard runs. Right now it’s competitive running (track) and his own neighborhood car wash business. Later, it may be in a political race. He wants to be Australia’s prime minister.
Richard doesn’t train or compete on Sunday. He gave up a place in the national cross-country championships because they were held on the Sabbath. He also took himself out of competition in the Victoria state championships in his best event, the 1,500 meter. Instead, he settled for competing in the 800 meter. “I didn’t expect to make the final,” he says, “but I won a bronze medal.” The great thing is, he doesn’t sound disappointed about missing out on the 1,500. He just feels blessed and compensated.

The morning is quiet. On his way out of the house to feed the horses, Brother Gines glances at the shelves of trophies and stops. He stands there, silent, silhouetted against the early morning light, looking at Neal’s basketball trophy and remembering the long hours Neal practiced to prove that he wasn’t clumsy. As he stands there, he recollects the times he and Neal have spent together.

“Back when Neal was younger, we milked the neighbor’s cows. It was Neal’s job, but I went anyway, figuring that it was important to be with him. We talked about horses and football and bulldogging and the Church. We grew closer together, understanding each other, becoming best friends.

“When Neal started bulldogging, I became the hazer (the one who guides the steer in a straight line). It’s kind of symbolic, both of us coming out together, with me hazing to keep the steer from running wild so Neal can grab him and throw him to the ground. We work well together, we’ve done it for so long. I can tell if Neal is hurt, how bad it is, whether it is just another scrape to add to his scars, or whether the horns have dug deeper this time. I never say much, but I’m right there.

“As Neal grew older, we didn’t stop doing things together. My wife teases us about being inseparable, but a father likes to know that his son wants to spend time with his old dad,” Brother Gines adds with a smile.

On cool fall nights they work outside together, joking, trying to hurry and get the wood stacked so they can go in and eat. They spend long hours hauling hay; taking trips to the saw mill to gather shavings so the animals can have the “softest beds”; walking quietly through the just-fallen snow, tracking down pheasants; going downtown to get a malt. They are still inseparable, still best friends.

“Need some help feeding the horses, dad?” Neal asks as he walks into the room.
Brother Gines turns to see Neal all dressed, ready to help. “Sure,” he replies.
Together they walk out into the bright morning.

“Can Amy come over and tend we?” pleaded my four-year-old daughter.
“Us, tend us,” I responded automatically.
“We’re being real good,” added her twin sister. “Pull-lease.”
“Okay. Tonight after Daddy comes home, Amy can come over.” And with shouts of glee and clapping they returned to their play.
Amy is our babysitter, but she’s so much more. She is my daughters’ best friend. At 15 she stands less than five-feet high, has long dark hair and an infectious smile.
Why do my daughters and I agree that Amy must qualify as one of the world’s number one babysitters? I’ve pondered that question quite frequently lately as I’ve discussed babysitters with many of my young mother friends. And the answer: Amy is more than just a babysitter who comes to watch my three highly energetic daughters while I’m at a meeting or on a date with my husband. She is a wise young woman who is learning the art and joy of being a mother.
While she is at our house, her attention is centered on my children, not a television program, her homework, or a telephone call to her friends. The children are her first concern, and since there are three of them under five, it takes practice to meet their demands, pacify their squabbles, and divide her time fairly among them.
Part of her charm is a surprise grab bag filled with something different each time she comes. The bag is opened after Mom leaves, and its treasures are many: different dolls with blankets and accessories to mix and match, materials for a special craft project, a treat she’s baked for them.
Her grab bag provides countless teaching moments for my children as well as some very fun playtime. Probably without even realizing it, she is reinforcing the gospel principles they learn in Primary and family home evening.
If dolls are part of the grab bag treasures, the girls dress and undress them, matching colors and coordinating outfits. When it’s time for bed, the dolls say their prayers and are placed under the blankets. “Then the ‘mommies’ munch on the special treats Amy brought, and she invents bedtime stories.
Crafts are a favorite with my girls. Gluing, cutting, coloring, and pasting can create some exciting treasures and lasting memories. And Amy’s imagination is loaded with lots of fun stories they draw pictures about. Naturally artistic, Amy has spent hours drawing pictures for my children. The children she creates in her stories usually have the same names as my children, and they are involved in the same activities my children love—from helping Mom to going to Primary. We finally got a large book of used computer paper for our children to draw on. The blank sides of the pages contain many of Amy’s drawings. Now whenever they thumb through to find new pages to draw on, they are delighted again and again by pictures Amy has drawn. Pages and pages are filled with letters of the alphabet where Amy has helped the girls practice writing their names.
She knows dozens of Primary songs and lots of finger plays. I often hear snatches of new songs coming from their bedroom as they play. Many times when the girls quarrel, I say, “Can’t you sing me a pretty song instead?” And they can.
My girls see Amy in other situations, too. Always their eyes light up and their faces beam as they point to their Amy in church, where she helps her mother tend her younger brother and sisters, or at a ward party where she is playing the piano. At night she waves as she rides by delivering newspapers, and the girls come running into the house shouting, “Mommy, Amy waved to me.” “Me, too,” echoes another. “Amy wave me,” and my two-year-old beams. Such a little thing, and yet it means so much.
Amy’s influence is felt in our home long after she is gone. How grateful I am for the Amys of this world who influence the lives of my children so positively and for the mothers of all the Amys, mothers who are preparing their daughters for motherhood. My daughters dream of growing up so they can be like Amy. And I hope they do.
When the neighborhood children get together you often hear, “My Amy is going to tend me tonight.”
“She’s not your Amy; she’s my Amy.”
“She’s my Amy,” whines another quivering voice.
“She’s all our Amy,” answers another who is older and wiser. Happily they all agree and go back to playing.
Yes, she is everybody’s Amy. She’s a mother’s pride and joy, a little girl’s best friend, a frustrated mother’s chance for retreat, a Young Women president’s dependable worker, a father’s little girl, and a future mother who is learning now countless ways to bless the lives of other young children—her own.

When Bonnie and I arrived at the University of Southern California to pursue a doctoral degree, we had four children, little money, a fellowship, and lots of hope. We knew there were difficult and demanding years ahead.

My adviser was a fine faculty member who was also a member of the Church. He was well respected on the campus by both faculty and students. I sought his counsel regarding my program and how best to secure the desired degree.

He encouraged me with assurance that we would be able to meet the academic, time, and financial demands. He also reminded me that such a course would require careful attention to priorities. Pursuit of the degree would have to be the number one objective for both Bonnie and me. Of course, we would have to take time with our children and with each other. He advised me to inform our bishop that I would not be available for Church service except on a limited basis on Sunday.

Now, Bonnie and I had determined early in our lives that we would serve wherever and whenever the Lord should call and had done so from the time we were married. During my freshman year at BYU I had also determined that I would not study my schoolwork on the Sabbath day.

Not long after that the stake president extended a call for me to serve as one of the presidents of the seventies quorum of the stake and as a stake missionary. The call was accepted. The doctoral degree was completed. That experience in service was as important as the educational period that accompanied it.

Did they ever become discouraged? Of course they did. I quote now from James Brown, this remarkable experience and prophecy:
The winter of 1848–49 was quite cold. Many people had their feet badly frozen. . . . As the days grew warmer the gold fever attacked many so that they prepared to go to California. Some said they would go only to have a place for the rest of us; for they thought Brigham Young too smart a man to try to establish a civilized colony in such a “God-forsaken country,” as they called the [Salt Lake] valley. . . .
It was at this time of gloom that President Young stood before the whole people, and said, in substance . . . : “Some have asked me about going. I have told them that God has appointed this place for the gathering of his saints, and you will do better right here than you will by going to the gold mines. Some have thought they would go there and get fitted out and come back, but I told them to stop here and get fitted out. Those who stop here and are faithful to God and his people will make more money and get richer than you that run after the god of this world; and I promise you in the name of the Lord that many of you that go thinking you will get rich and come back, will wish you had never gone away from here, and will long to come back, but will not be able to do so. Some of you will come back, but your friends who remain here will have to help you. . . .
“We have been kicked out of the frying pan into the fire, out of the fire into the middle of the floor, and here we are and here we will stay. God has shown me that this is the spot to locate his people, and here is where they will prosper; he will temper the elements for the good of his Saints; he will rebuke the frost and the sterility of the soil, and the land shall become fruitful. Brethren, go to now, and plant out your fruit seeds. . . .
” . . . We shall build a city and a temple to the Most High God in this place. We will extend our settlements to the east and west, to the north and to the south, and we will build towns and cities by the hundreds, and thousands of the Saints will gather in from the nations of the earth. This will become the great highway of the nations. Kings and emperors and the noble and wise of the earth will visit us here, while the wicked and ungodly will envy us our comfortable homes and possessions. Take courage, brethren. I can stand in my door and can see where there is untold millions of the rich treasures of the earth—gold and silver. But the time has not come for the Saints to dig gold. . . . For if the mines are opened first, we are a thousand miles from any base of supplies and the people would rush in here in such great numbers that they would breed a famine. . . . People would starve to death with barrels of gold. . . . It is our duty to preach the gospel, gather Israel, pay our tithing, and build temples. The worst fear that I have about this people is that they will get rich in this country, forget God and his people, wax fat, and kick themselves out of the Church and go to hell. [That is a quotation!] This people will stand mobbing, robbing, poverty, and all manner of persecution, and be true. But my greater fear for them is that they cannot stand wealth; and yet they have to be tried with riches, for they will become the richest people on this earth.” [See Life of a Pioneer: Being the Autobiography of James S. Brown (Salt Lake City: George Q. Cannon & Sons, 1900; New York: AMS Press, 1971), pp. 119–23, cited by Preston Nibley in Brigham Young: The Man and His Work (Salt Lake City: Deseret News Press, 1936), pp. 126–28]
I would like to say that we are a very rich and blessed people.
Notwithstanding the temptation to go to the California goldfields, where the entire world seemed to be rushing, the people accepted their leader’s words. They stayed here and grubbed the sagebrush and made their way. Brigham Young’s prophecy has been fulfilled. This is now a great and beautiful and fertile area. It has become the Crossroads of the West. Thousands and tens of thousands and hundreds of thousands pass this way constantly. We in the Office of the First Presidency are called upon day after day and week after week to meet the great of the earth.

At age 54, before he was called as a General Authority, President Russell M. Nelson attended a meeting in which President Spencer W. Kimball challenged attendees to “be of service to the Chinese” and “learn their language.”

Although he was a busy heart surgeon at the time, President Nelson took this counsel to heart. He found a tutor to help him learn the Mandarin language.

It wasn’t long before President Nelson found himself sitting next to a distinguished Chinese surgeon, Dr. Wu Yingkai, at a medical convention. Because of his Chinese language studies, President Nelson was able to have a conversation with Dr. Wu. From there, the two doctors formed a lasting friendship and even visited each other’s countries.

President Nelson’s goal to learn Mandarin led to positive exchanges with China, as President Kimball had hoped for. After he was called to the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, President Nelson even performed his last heart surgery on China’s most famous opera singer by special request.

Early last year I had the opportunity to travel with Carol to Jerusalem for the first time on a Presiding Bishopric assignment. After a few days of meetings at the BYU Jerusalem Center, a day was available to visit the city and the sites associated with the life of the Savior. I have a degree in history, and I am fascinated with where significant historical events took place, trying to imagine in my mind what it must have been like in that specific location. We traveled with a wonderful, knowledgeable BYU professor, and I was thrilled as we approached the first site.

As we arrived at a certain location, the professor described how this was where a specific event in the life of the Savior had occurred, and then he said something like “or somewhere nearby.” It caught me a bit off guard, as I wanted to know exactly where the event had taken place. I wanted to see the plaque in the ground stating that here is where the Savior blessed or healed or taught.

A bit disappointed, we moved on to the next site with continued anticipation. And you know what happened? I again heard the words “or somewhere nearby.” I began to be a bit irritated. When it happened a third time, I started to become annoyed. I didn’t say anything to the professor. But in an instant I received a strong correction from the Spirit. In my mind I clearly heard the words “Chris, stop it. Stop it now.” The Spirit had my attention and then continued: “It is not where it happened that is important. It is that it happened. Understand?”

This was an experience that I have not forgotten and that I have reflected upon numerous times since. It helped me understand that some things may be nice or even good to know or do, but there are other things that are absolutely essential, especially in our preparation to be ready.

When I came home from meeting with the bishop, I told my husband, who is not a Latter-day Saint, that I was going back to church. He said he thought that would be fine. My announcement thrilled my oldest daughter, age 11 at the time, who had always gone to church alone or with grandparents. When I called my mom and dad on the phone to let them know I had talked to the bishop and was going back to church, I heard them crying. I realized they had looked forward to this day for a long time.

My husband’s brother, John*, was being transferred out of state. It was hard to accept the fact that he, his wife, Annie, and their family were leaving. We had spent a lot of time together and had grown quite close.
After John’s family had been gone a few months, my husband, Ron, called to see how they were doing. They had adjusted well and were enjoying their new area. My husband owned a small business and let his brother know the door was always open if he ever wanted to move back and work with him. At that point in the conversation John’s wife, Annie, spoke up and told Ron in no uncertain terms that they were not interested. She apparently said some unkind things about Ron as well as his business.
Ron came home and shared this conversation with me. Although he tried to appear as if it didn’t bother him, I could tell he was deeply hurt. I was enraged and wanted to call Annie immediately and set her straight.
I didn’t call, but once I had allowed myself to be offended, I opened the gates to a flood of foul thoughts. I began finding fault with Annie and gossiped about her with other family members and friends. In essence, I allowed pride to creep into my heart and take root, while charity withered away.
Just as an infection can spread and cause deterioration and pain to the physical body, pride can do the same to the spirit. Although my husband had long forgotten the incident, my heart remained infected. My thoughts were focused on how hurt I was. I was on edge with my family and quick to see the worst in every situation. I had no desire to love and serve others because I was caught up in myself.
After several months we heard that John and Annie were coming to town for a family wedding. I would finally have to face her. I dreaded seeing her, but there was no way around it. As the wedding day approached, my anxiety mounted. I didn’t like the way I had been feeling, and I knew it was wrong. I prayed often for the Savior to help me overcome my negative feelings. Eventually, good thoughts about Annie started to fill my mind.
When I saw her at the wedding, we exchanged shallow greetings. I tried to avoid her the rest of the evening, but I watched her. And as I watched her I realized how much I missed her. My heart began to ache for the peace of forgiveness, and I was overcome with love for Annie.
When the evening reception was nearly over, I found myself sitting alone with Annie. We still hadn’t spoken since our first greeting. I looked at her, and the Spirit filled my heart. I reached out and put my hands on her cheeks. With tears in my eyes, I said, “Annie, I have missed you so much.” We hugged and cried and rejoiced in the peace that comes through forgiveness.
I don’t remember if we ever said we were sorry or if we explained our earlier feelings. All that didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was the love we felt and our desire to forgive. I didn’t realize until afterward what a huge burden I had been carrying. Pride is a heavy load and an unnecessary one. Feeling the Savior’s perfect love, however, was a sweet and humbling joy.

We often don’t know the reach of a simple act of kindness. The Prophet Joseph Smith was a model of compassion and love. One day, a group of eight African Americans arrived at the Prophet’s home in Nauvoo. They had traveled from their home in Buffalo, New York, some 800 miles away, so they could be with the prophet of God and with the Saints. Although they were free, they were forced to hide from those who might mistake them for runaway slaves. They endured cold and hardship, wearing out shoes and then socks until they walked on bare feet all the way to the City of Joseph. When they arrived in Nauvoo, the Prophet welcomed them into his home and helped each of them find a place to stay.
But there was one, a girl named Jane, who did not have a place to go, and she wept, not knowing what to do.
“We won’t have tears here,” Joseph said to her. He turned to Emma and said, “Here’s a girl who says she [doesn’t have a] home. Don’t you think she has a home here?”
Emma agreed. From that day on, Jane lived as a member of the family.
Years after the Prophet’s Martyrdom and after she had joined the pioneers and made the long trek to Utah, Jane said that sometimes she would still “wake up in the middle of the night, and just think about Brother Joseph and Sister Emma and how good they [were] to me. Joseph Smith,” she said, “was the finest man I ever saw on Earth.”