Gospel Story Finder

David loved to sit on the front porch and think, and that was exactly what he was doing one warm summer day.
“I want to be very, very smart like my dad,” David said to the postman who delivered the mail. “I’m going to read and learn everything!”
The postman smiled. “That’s a very good ambition,” he said, “but that will take a lot of time and study.”
“Ambition,” David repeated to himself after the mailman left. “That’s a big word. The mailman is smart and uses big words.”
This gave David an idea. “That’s what I’ll do to become smart. I’ll learn smart-sounding words.”
Just then David’s little brother, Bobby, came around the corner of the house carrying a baseball and mitt. “Hi, David. What are you doing?” he called.
“Thinking,” David answered.
“What about?” Bobby asked.
David sat up tall and answered, “Ambition.”
“Ambition?” Bobby looked puzzled.
“Yes, ambition. Everyone has to have it you know,” David said with authority.
“Oh, but how do you think about it?” Bobby wanted to know.
“I’m thinking about how smart I am when I use ambition,” David said proudly.
“I’d rather play ball,” Bobby said as he ran off to do just that.
David went into the house and took the dictionary from the bookshelf. He put it on the table, closed his eyes, opened the book, and then with his finger he pointed to a word.
“There,” he said to himself. “This is where I’ll start.”
He looked at the word his finger had found. “Ex—ex—a exa—I can’t even say it!” David exclaimed. “How can I become smart if I can’t even say smart words?”
“What’s that, David? Is something wrong?” his mother asked as she came into the room.
“It’s this word,” David replied. “What does e-x-a-s-p-e-r-a-t-i-o-n spell?”
“Exasperation,” she answered.
“Exasperation,” David repeated with a smile. “That’s a good, big, smart word.”
“It certainly is,” Mother agreed.
David felt better now. He walked back outside and down the street. Mrs. Smith was sweeping her sidewalk and stopped to say hello to David.
“Hi, Mrs. Smith,” he answered.
He held his head high and tried to look very smart as he said, “Exasperation. Ambition.”
Mrs. Smith looked puzzled. “Oh my, David,” she murmured. “How perplexing!”
“Per-plex-ing. Perplexing,” David repeated after her. “That’s a very smart word to remember.” He went on down the street until he came to the corner grocery store. Mr. Packer, the grocer, was David’s friend.
I’ll show Mr. Packer how smart I have become, he thought.
David walked into the store and stood very tall in front of the counter and said, “Exasperation. Ambition. Perplexing.”
“What?” Mr. Packer asked rubbing his head in a curious way.
“Exasperation. Ambition. Perplexing.” David repeated the words loud and clear.
“My, my,” was all Mr. Packer could say.
David left the store and hurried home. “Oh, Mother,” he said. “I have become so smart. And it didn’t take much time at all!”
“Smart?” Mother wondered.
David stood very proud and tall, and said, “Yes, just listen to me. Exasperation. Ambition. Perplexing.”
“What?” Mother asked.
“Exasperation. Ambition. Perplexing.”
“But it doesn’t mean anything,” Mother said.
“It has to mean something?” David questioned.
“Yes, or no one will understand you. Do you know what those words mean?”
David hadn’t thought about that. He slumped down in a chair feeling quite silly while his mother explained.
“Ambition is a strong desire to achieve. Exasperation is a feeling you get when you are irritated or annoyed. And perplexing is when you are confused or puzzled.”
“Those words mean all that? I guess I’ll never be smart,” David sighed.
“Yes, you will. But you have to learn the meaning of words before you can use them,” she replied.
“That’s a lot of work!” David said.
“It certainly is,” Mother agreed.
David thought very hard. “If that’s what it takes, I’ll just have to do it. I’ll study and work until I learn the meanings too.”
Mother smiled and said, “Now that’s the smart thing to do!”

Take 60 young men and women from the Emerson Second Ward, Paul Idaho Stake, get them singing, and what do you have? Not only lovely music, but a unified ward, too. In an activity that 100 percent of the ward’s young people participated in, they presented a sacrament meeting of music and talks. Most of them had never sung in four-part harmony before, and the ward’s 35-mile boundaries made it difficult for some to attend rehearsals, but it was well worth the effort. “I think Heavenly Father really helped us to sing our best,” said Paula Gibbons, one of the singers. “I’m glad I could be a part of it.”

While I was serving years ago as president of the Southern States Mission, in one of our public meetings one of our missionaries, a young man who stood 6? 3? and had played on a championship basketball team, said that when his team won the championship game, their companions literally carried them around on their shoulders. Then he said: “That was the greatest experience of my life until I came into the mission field. I wouldn’t exchange a night like this, bearing testimony of the restoration of the gospel, for all the basketball games I have ever played.”

Later, when I was offered work at a television station, I worried about temptations associated with the entertainment industry. But the answer to my prayers was, “Accept the job and show you can be an artist without compromising your standards.”
I have worked as a television artistic production assistant, as an assistant choral director for the Symphonic Choir of Guayaquil, and on the board of the Ecuadoran House of Culture for the province of Guayas.
I testify that it is possible to fulfill our dreams without sacrificing our principles. Today my name is recognized in my country and in my profession—thanks to my commitment to live the gospel and develop the gifts Heavenly Father has given me.

My faith in a living prophet began in Primary and continued with me into my growing-up years. I had a testimony that we have prophets, but I hadn’t thought about what it meant to sustain the prophets.
In general conference in October 1994, Elder David B. Haight said: “When we sustain the President of the Church by our uplifted hand, it not only signifies that we acknowledge before God that he is the rightful possessor of all the priesthood keys; it means that we covenant with God that we will abide by the direction and the counsel that comes through His prophet. It is a solemn covenant” (Ensign, Nov. 1994, 14–15).
I pondered the words of Elder Haight. I considered the commitment I was making when I raised my hand and made a solemn covenant with God that I would sustain the prophet.
The following April, the members of the Church sustained President Gordon B. Hinckley as prophet, seer, and revelator and President of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, with President Thomas S. Monson and President James E. Faust as his counselors. I watched the young women when, for the first time in history, you were asked to stand as a separate group; and I asked myself, “Do the young women know what it means to sustain?”
President Hinckley said at that conference: “The procedure of sustaining is much more than a ritualistic raising of the hand. It is a commitment to uphold, to support, to assist those who have been selected” (Ensign, May 1995, 51). When we sustain, it affects our behavior. President Hinckley also quoted the Doctrine and Covenants, section 107, verse 22, where we are told that the First Presidency, or “three Presiding High Priests,” are “appointed and ordained to that office, and upheld by the confidence, faith, and prayer of the church.”
I often discuss our theme with young women and ask what it means to them to “stand as witnesses of God at all times and in all things, and in all places” (Mosiah 18:9; quoted in Personal Progress [booklet, 1990], 6). I believe it means that we show by our behavior what we believe. Surely we are standing as witnesses of God when we sustain his living prophets, especially when we know what it means to sustain. We will abide by the direction and counsel of the prophets. We indeed become witnesses when we make this solemn covenant.
As a young child, I believed we had a prophet and that he spoke the truth; but I’m not sure I understood that the prophet was speaking to me personally. When I was a young wife and mother, my husband spent two years in the air force. We lived in military housing on Long Island, New York. While tending our young children, I often visited with neighbors who had come from all over the country. One day as a neighbor and I were talking about our beliefs, she became curious about what was different about The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
I told her briefly about the Restoration, and I explained that the restored Church of Jesus Christ has a living prophet today. This really seemed to pique her interest, and she wanted to know what the prophet had said. As I started to tell her about the Doctrine and Covenants and modern revelation, she said, “But what has he said lately?” I told her about general conference and that the Church had a monthly publication with a message from the prophet. Then she got really interested. I was so embarrassed to admit that I hadn’t read the current message. She concluded our conversation by saying, “You mean you have a living prophet and you don’t know what he said?” In that situation I hadn’t shown what it meant to sustain.
I’ll suggest another way to think of the word sustain. When you play a violin, if it is in tune you can move the bow across one string and the other strings vibrate. The harmonious strings not only help sustain the sound, but they enlarge and carry the sound.
As each of us listens to the prophet and responds to his message, if we are in tune we can carry his message with us. Others will feel the prophet’s message because of the way we act. In this way the message doesn’t end tonight—it just begins. Isn’t that exciting to think about? We can make his message be a force for good in our own lives, but also in our homes, in our neighborhoods, and at school.
When the prophets speak to us, it is as if our Heavenly Father is speaking to us. In the first section of the Doctrine and Covenants, verse 38, it states, “Whether by mine own voice or by the voice of my servants, it is the same.”
Fortunately, in this day of satellites and modern technology we can see and hear the prophet. We can read and reread his messages. This blessing is not yet available to many young women in distant lands. This is a sacred night for those of us who have gathered to hear President Hinckley’s message for young women.
Tonight, as President Gordon B. Hinckley has a message for each one of us, we as young women, mothers, and leaders want him to know that we have a message for him and his counselors, President Monson and President Faust. We sustain you. We know what it means to sustain: we will abide by the direction and counsel you give us. We will uphold you by our confidence, faith, and prayers. In general conference next week, as we young women and leaders raise our hands to sustain the living prophets, we understand that we are making a solemn covenant. We know as we follow the counsel and direction of the living prophets, we will be better prepared to “make and keep sacred covenants, receive the ordinances of the temple, and enjoy the blessings of exaltation” (Personal Progress, 6).
It is my prayer that we will show by our behavior that we are a covenant people, that we sustain the living prophets. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

Q. There was another time you altered your career plans for other goals—when you took two years off to serve a mission. How did you make that decision?
A. It was difficult. To be honest, I met this girl (whom I ended up marrying. Her name is Melodie. It’s perfect). And when she started talking about the kind of guy she wanted to marry, she said he had to be an “R.M.”
I misunderstood her and thought, “Why is it so important for her to marry a nurse?” But then she explained. I thought, because I’d joined the Church later, I’d be off the hook with the mission thing. She didn’t buy that theory, and I knew it wasn’t right either. But I was worried that I would come back and I wouldn’t have my music anymore. I think athletes go through the same thing. They’re afraid they won’t be able to play when they get back.
Q. And what happened?
A. I went to Yugoslavia. I was able to use my music a little. I played piano for church and for city things, but I really didn’t do a lot of music on my mission. So when I got home, I was pleasantly surprised to find that not only had I remembered how to write music, but the maturity, perspective, and depth that I’d gained really helped. Plus I realized the power of music.

On Saturday, Ari’s family went to help at the food bank.
“What’s a food bank?” Ari asked on the way there.
“It’s a big building with shelves full of food,” Mom said. “People who don’t have enough money for groceries can go there to get food.”
“Lots of people in our ward are helping,” said Ari’s big brother, Ben.
“But how can I help?” Ari asked.
“There will be a lot you can help with,” Mom said.
When they got to the food bank, a woman named Kathy showed them around.
“Today we need to paint walls,” Kathy said. “But we need to wash them first.”
Ari’s family got two buckets of warm, soapy water. Ari liked the bubbles. Mom and Dad washed up high. Ben washed in the middle. Ari washed down low.
Soon the hallway looked bright and shiny.
“What else can we do?” Ari asked.
“I need a bag holder,” Kathy said. “Follow me.”
Ari held bags while Ben filled them with uncooked macaroni. They stacked the bags in a big box. Ari counted the bags. He and Ben filled 27 macaroni bags!
When all the work was done, Kathy called everyone over to a big scale. “Just for fun, we want to see how much you all weigh,” she said.
Everyone crowded onto the scale. They weighed more than 2,000 pounds!
“We weigh more than a walrus!” Ben said. Ari laughed.
“Thank you for helping,” Kathy said as Ari left. “I can tell you care a lot about others.”
Ari smiled big. There really was work he could do! He felt awesome.

My great-grandparents are two of my heroes. They settled in Kaysville, Utah, where they built a home for their growing family. They had just finished their home, when John Taylor, the President of the Church then, needed a place to stay. My great-grandparents offered their new seven-room, two-story home to the prophet.
President Taylor and his office staff moved in, and my great-grandparents and their children moved to an old log cabin behind the home. While President Taylor lived in the house, my great-grandmother cooked and washed for him and his office staff, along with the cooking and washing she did for her own family. She and her husband worked very hard to serve the prophet of the Lord. When I read about what they did, I am impressed with the examples they set. I want to live the same kind of life they did.

Hour after hour he rocks there, this beautiful little three-year-old stranger who is our son. Through the window the afternoon sun highlights his well-formed body and flawless features. Brothers and sisters run by, calling his name. He stares, riveted in his rhythmic rocking. Repeated attempts to hold him or share his world are stiffly rejected. … At night we lay him in bed, and our good night kisses are pushed away. … Half sleeping in the bedroom above, we hear the light switch being flicked on and off, on an off, by his tiny hand. Morning comes all too quickly, but he does not call or reach out for us. … We dress him and the cycle begins again. The English poet Alfred Tennyson unknowingly described our son Brian when he wrote, “He is so near and yet so far.”
As we watched our baby Brian develop, we grew uneasy with his unusual behavior. We were confused because he seemed so bright in some ways, and yet we could not reach him. His physical, social, and intellectual development were very irregular. Brian could hum the melody perfectly to “Softly Now the Light of Day” after hearing it only once, and yet he could not ask for a glass of milk. Even though he could undo latches and locks very rapidly, he had difficulty using a fork.
We also observed abnormalities in Brian’s responses to sensations. At one time he paid no attention to smells, and yet another time he would not taste any food without smelling it first. Sometimes oblivious to sudden loud noises such as the dropping of a cooking pot, at other times he could hear his father unwrapping a piece of candy in the next room. Similarly, Brian might exhibit no reaction to a hard bump on the head, but might arch his back as though burned when I touched him with my hand. I felt terribly frustrated when he would not allow me to comfort him at such times. I seemed only to add to his pain.
Our concern deepened with the passing months when Brian’s speech did not develop normally. When he talked, and he rarely did, he sounded very much like a robot, echoing back what other people had said but seldom expressing an original thought. Words were only meaningless collections of sounds to him.
Perhaps most frustrating to the family was Brian’s seemingly non-caring attitude toward others. He did not want to join in family activities, he did not respond to outreaches of brothers or sister, and he did not develop a respect for others’ property. Brian kept the family in a constant turmoil destroying mechanical equipment, tearing up books, and dropping things in our small fish aquarium. When he could find a screwdriver we had hidden for safety, he would use it on heating vents, door hinges, and electrical outlets. One day he managed to leave the house with a repairman’s screwdriver and had the taillights and rear view mirror removed from the repairman’s truck before the startled man could begin fixing the dishwasher!
It became necessary to have a lock on every door in the house to prevent him from destroying everything. Additional locks were installed on the outside doors to prevent him from running toward cars in the street. Unable to comprehend danger, he showed no change in expression as cars were suddenly brought to a halt to prevent hitting him. Heights also captivated him at one time, and we often found him standing on a second-story window ledge. Dealing with such frightening experiences daily left us exhausted and emotionally drained.
Looking back, we should have sought medical assistance much earlier; but it is difficult to see problems clearly when they develop slowly in a beautiful, seemingly “normal” little baby. He seemed like such a “happy” baby, never crying to be picked up. Later behavior problems were interpreted as an acute case of the “terrible twos,” the normal behavior of a developing two-year-old child. The slow speech was blamed on a premature birth and four older brothers and sisters who did all of Brian’s talking for him, while his inability to react socially with others was labeled an “independent streak” not uncommon in our family. We assumed that if we continued to love and care for him, he would somehow “grow out” of his problems.
Finally, when Brian turned three years old and the situation was still worsening, we sought medical help.
We went from expert to expert searching for a diagnosis. We heard Brain labeled “emotionally disturbed,” “abused,” and simply “a very unhappy little boy”—labels that were devastating to us because we loved and so desperately wanted to help our son. Other diagnoses of “mentally retarded,” “minimally brain damaged,” and “improperly developed nervous system,” were less shocking but no more helpful to us. Nothing seemed to fit, and no one had any specific suggestions for altering his behavior.
We had heard the term “autistic qualities” mentioned, so in desperation we attended a day-long autism workshop which we had read about in the newspaper. To our mingled relief and dismay, we agreed that Brian truly fit the characteristics and the symptoms of autism. We learned that autism is a lifelong developmental disability with 95 percent of its victims having to be placed in special care facilities. Our dreams of a mission and marriage for Brian suddenly disappeared as we realized the extremely limiting nature of this problem.
Even though this news was terribly discouraging, we were relieved to know at last the nature of his struggle. Feeling bewildered and alone in our situation, we took great comfort in meeting other parents of autistic children and sharing experiences with them. Their empathy and humor in examples of events similar to our own calmed our hurt spirits and made us realize we would not have to face this problem alone. Equally important, these parents offered us home care techniques, sources for written information, the names of doctors familiar with autism, and referrals to programs in the community designed to educate children like Brian.
Most significant, these parents made us feel better about ourselves. Once we met other parents of autistic children, we rapidly concluded that they were about as normal a group of individuals as we would find anywhere. These new friends, expressing their frustrations, fears and hopes, had feelings very similar to our own. Moreover, they seemed intelligent, compassionate, and levelheaded. This helped to remove any feelings of guilt that we had that we were somehow to blame for Brian’s condition.
We learned that there was no effective medical treatment for autism, but we were encouraged when we read of a certain kind of behavior therapy that had helped improve behavior in autistic children. However, we soon discovered that to enroll Brian in the only such program in the area would mean a wait of several years before he could start school.
In the meantime, my husband and I developed our own plan. We decided to provide a program at home until a placement in a school was possible. An understanding bishop gave me a prayerfully requested release as Relief Society president so my full energies could be focused on this challenge.
While persevering grandmothers babysat, I volunteered to work at the school for autistic children in order to gain some training as a therapist. Remodeling plans for our house halted, and money for new furniture was used to hire two therapists to work with Brian at home. The three of us worked in shifts, involving father and the other children where possible.
As Brian was taught the steps in paying attention, we were amazed at his progress and celebrated each little, hard-won success. This home approach was excellent for the immediate future because we were finally having positive interactions with Brian. However, in giving so much time and energy to Brian, we also realized that we must not neglect the other children.
Brian has now entered a school for autistic children, but our work with him at home is far from finished. Enthusiastic hopes have been replaced with more realistic thoughts of the future, and “flexibility” has become a motto. The class or techniques that work for him today may not be appropriate next month or next year. Undoubtedly, Brian will have extremely difficult teenage years, and he will never be “normal” like his brothers and sister. Nevertheless, he is developing his potential, and we all share the rewards of his progress.

“Being adopted means having a family that loves you,” says nine-year-old Kimberly who was adopted and sealed to our family five years ago. Often adoptive parents think they will teach and guide the adopted child, but in our family Kimberly is the one who often does the teaching.
Kim recently entered two events in a track-and-field competition. She had never raced before but wanted to give it a try. She positioned herself on the track to compete with the 20 or so other girls her age in the 100-meter race. A shot rang out to begin the race and, with hundreds of spectators looking on, Kim started running. I was waiting near the finish line with camera poised to capture her coming down the lane, when I realized that she was in last place. I expected to see a disappointed little girl, but Kim had a huge smile on her face! When I retrieved her from the group of girls, she blurted out, “Mom, that was so much fun! When’s my next race?” She then rushed off to sit with her new friends.
Feeling shocked, but extremely proud of my daughter’s positive attitude, I took my place once again at the finish line to see her race in the 50-meter dash. The starter’s gun fired again, and I caught sight of Kim’s beaming smile as she ran with all her might toward me. As I watched my beautiful daughter cross the finish line, parents around me were jumping up and down, congratulating their own daughters. I stood calmly as a warm, peaceful feeling of gratitude filled my heart. Only I knew how far Kim had come in the years since she came to our home. She was once a frail, malnourished, and withdrawn child, and now her strength and confidence couldn’t be contained. She cried out, “I came in third, Mom!”
I gently replied, “No, Kimmie, you didn’t come in third. The winners are over there receiving their awards.”
“I meant I came in third to last, and I want to race again!” I hugged her tightly, and we both giggled out loud as we walked off the dusty track. I knew that Kim was the real winner and had been blessed with gifts and talents far greater than speed and agility. How blessed I felt at that moment to be her mother. I can only hope that I will face my challenges and trials in life with a smile on my face and the same positive outlook that Kim showed me that day. I thank Heavenly Father for bringing us together and pray that I can continue to learn from her example.

This has proven good counsel for our family. As my wife and I have made our children’s activities outside the home a matter of pondering and prayer, some of the things we had thought to be important turned out to be unnecessary. I was especially surprised when I asked our children if they wanted to participate on a basketball team with me as their coach. Their reply was, “I don’t think so,” along with, “Dad, we have a basket in the front yard, and we like when you play with us and we have games with the neighbors. We get the ball a lot more!”

Thanks for coming shopping with me. Now how about getting ice cream?
YES!
Hmm. It looks like the cashier didn’t charge us for all the boards we bought.
You’re right. Didn’t we get six boards, not five?
We need to head back to the store.
Why do we have to go back? It’s just a few dollars. Besides, we didn’t make the mistake.
Well, it’s important to make things right when we can. It might matter a lot to someone else.
Plus, being honest matters to Heavenly Father.
Thanks for coming back! I would have had to pay that money myself.
Huh. I guess being honest did matter.
We’re glad we could make things right!
See Primary manual, page 142.

On October 3, 1918, Joseph sat in his room, reflecting on the Atonement of Jesus Christ and the redemption of the world. He opened his New Testament to 1 Peter and read about the Savior preaching to the spirits in the spirit world. “For this cause was the gospel preached also to them that are dead,” he read, “that they might be judged according to men in the flesh, but live according to God in the spirit.”
As he pondered the scriptures, the prophet felt the Spirit descend upon him, opening his eyes of understanding. He saw multitudes of the dead in the spirit world. Righteous women and men who had died before the Savior’s mortal ministry were joyfully waiting for His advent there to declare their liberation from the bands of death.
The Savior appeared to the multitude, and the righteous spirits rejoiced in their redemption. They knelt before Him, acknowledging Him as their Savior and Deliverer from death and the chains of hell. Their countenances shone as light from the presence of the Lord radiated around them. They sang praises to His name.3
As Joseph marveled at the vision, he again reflected on the words of Peter. The host of disobedient spirits was far greater than the host of righteous spirits. How could the Savior, during His brief visit to the spirit world, possibly preach His gospel to all of them?4
Joseph’s eyes were then opened again, and he understood that the Savior did not go in person to the disobedient spirits. Rather, he organized the righteous spirits, appointing messengers and commissioning them to carry the gospel message to the spirits in darkness. In this way, all people who died in transgression or without a knowledge of the truth could learn about faith in God, repentance, vicarious baptism for the remission of sin, the gift of the Holy Ghost, and all other essential principles of the gospel.
Gazing upon the vast congregation of righteous spirits, Joseph saw Adam and his sons Abel and Seth. He beheld Eve standing with her faithful daughters who had worshipped God throughout the ages. Noah, Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, and Moses were also there, along with Isaiah, Ezekiel, Daniel, and other prophets from the Old Testament and Book of Mormon. So too was the prophet Malachi, who prophesied that Elijah would come to plant the promises made to the fathers in the hearts of the children, preparing the way for temple work and the redemption of the dead in the latter days.5
Joseph F. Smith also saw Joseph Smith, Brigham Young, John Taylor, Wilford Woodruff, and others who had laid the foundation of the Restoration. Among them was his martyred father, Hyrum Smith, whose face he had not seen in seventy-four years. They were some of the noble and great spirits who had been chosen before mortality to come forth in the latter days and labor for the salvation of all God’s children.
The prophet then perceived that the faithful elders of this dispensation would continue their labor in the next life by preaching the gospel to the spirits who were in darkness and under the bondage of sin.
“The dead who repent will be redeemed, through obedience to the ordinances of the house of God,” he observed, “and after they have paid the penalty of their transgressions, and are washed clean, shall receive a reward according to their works, for they are heirs of salvation.”6
When the vision closed, Joseph pondered all that he had seen. The next morning, he surprised the Saints by attending the first session of the October general conference despite his poor health. Determined to speak to the congregation, he stood unsteadily at the pulpit, his large frame shaking from the effort. “For more than seventy years I have been a worker in this cause with your fathers and progenitors,” he said, “and my heart is just as firmly set with you today as it ever has been.”7
Lacking the strength to speak of his vision without being overcome by emotion, he merely alluded to it. “I have not lived alone these five months,” he told the congregation. “I have dwelt in the spirit of prayer, of supplication, of faith, and of determination, and I have had my communication with the Spirit of the Lord continuously.”
“It is a happy meeting this morning for me,” he said. “God Almighty bless you.”8

As a father I was blessed to see great futures in God’s kingdom for my daughters as well as my sons. When I prayerfully sought guidance, I was shown a way to help my daughters recognize the trust God had placed in them as servants who could build His kingdom.

When my daughters were young, I saw that we could help others feel the love of those beyond the veil, throughout the generations. I knew that love comes from service and inspires hope of life eternal.

So we carved breadboards on which we placed a loaf of homemade bread and went together to deliver our offering to widows, widowers, and families. The legend I carved on each of those breadboards read, “J’aime et J’espere,” French for “I love and I hope.” The evidence of their unique spiritual gifts appeared not just on the boards I carved but more clearly as we distributed them to those who needed, in the midst of pain or loss, reassurance that the love of the Savior and His Atonement could produce a perfect brightness of hope. This is life eternal for my daughters and for each of us.

Now, you may be thinking, “Brother Eyring, are you saying that I have to learn how to carve?” The answer is no. I learned to carve only with the help of a kind and gifted mentor, then-Elder Boyd K. Packer. What little skill I achieved can be attributed to his great gift as a carver and his patience as a teacher. Only heaven can provide such a mentor as President Packer. But there are many ways you can shape children’s hearts without carving wooden boards or height boards for them.

For example, new communication technologies allow sharing messages of faith and hope across the miles that separate us, instantaneously and at little or no cost. My wife helps me do this. We begin by talking by telephone with grandchildren or children we can reach. We ask them to share stories of their personal successes and their service rendered. We also invite them to send photos of those activities. We use those photos to illustrate a few paragraphs of text. We add one or two verses from the Book of Mormon. Perhaps Nephi and Mormon wouldn’t be very impressed by the spiritual quality of our content or the limited effort required to create what we call “The Family Journal: The Small Plates.” But Sister Eyring and I are blessed by the effort. We feel inspired in selecting the passages of scripture and the brief messages of testimony we write. And we see evidence in their lives of their hearts being turned toward us and to the Savior and upward.

There are other ways to reach out; you are already engaged in many of them. Your habits of family prayer and scripture reading will create more lasting memories and greater changes of heart than you may realize now. Even apparently temporal activities, such as attending an athletic event or watching a movie, can shape a child’s heart. What matters is not the activity but the feelings that come as you do it. I have discovered a good test for identifying activities with the potential to make a great difference in a young person’s life. It is that they suggest the activity out of an interest they feel has come to them as a gift from God. I know that is possible from my own experience.

When I became a deacon at the age of 12, I lived in New Jersey, 50 miles (80 km) from New York City. I dreamed of being a great baseball player. My father agreed to take me to see a game played in the old and storied Yankee Stadium, in the Bronx. I can still see the swing of the bat as Joe DiMaggio hit a home run into the center field stands with my father sitting beside me, the only time we ever went to a major league baseball game together.

But another day with my father shaped my life forever. He took me from New Jersey to the home of an ordained patriarch in Salt Lake City. I had never seen the man before. My father left me at the doorstep. The patriarch led me to a chair, placed his hands on my head, and pronounced a blessing as a gift from God that included a declaration of the great desire of my heart.

He said that I was one of those of whom it had been said, “Blessed are the peacemakers.”6 I was so surprised that a perfect stranger could know my heart that I opened my eyes to see the room where such a miracle was happening. That blessing of my possibilities has shaped my life, my marriage, and my priesthood service.

From that experience and what has followed it, I can testify, “For all have not every gift given unto them; for there are many gifts, and to every man is given a gift by the Spirit of God.”7

By the Lord revealing to me a gift, I have been able to recognize and prepare for opportunities to exercise it to the blessing of those I love and serve.

God knows our gifts. My challenge to you and to me is to pray to know the gifts we have been given, to know how to develop them, and to recognize the opportunities to serve others that God provides us. But most of all, I pray that you will be inspired to help others discover their special gifts from God to serve.

I promise you that if you ask, you will be blessed to help and lift others to their full potential in the service of those they lead and love. I testify to you that God lives, Jesus is the Christ, this is the priesthood of God, which we hold, and God has prepared us with special gifts to serve Him beyond our fondest hopes. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

I have many memories of my boyhood days. Anticipating Sunday dinner was one of them. Just as we children hovered at our so-called starvation level and sat anxiously at the table with the aroma of roast beef filling the room, Mother would say to me, “Tommy, before we eat, take this plate of food I’ve prepared down the street to Old Bob, and then hurry back.”

I could never understand why we couldn’t first eat and later deliver his plate of food. I never questioned aloud but would run down to his house and then wait anxiously as Bob’s aged feet brought him eventually to the door. Then I would hand him the plate of food. He would present to me the clean plate from the previous Sunday and offer me a dime as pay for my services. My answer was always the same: “I can’t accept the money. My mother would tan my hide.” He would then run his wrinkled hand through my blond hair and say, “My boy, you have a wonderful mother. Tell her thank you.”

You know, I think I never did tell her. I sort of felt Mother didn’t need to be told. She seemed to sense his gratitude. I remember, too, that Sunday dinner always seemed to taste a bit better after I had returned from my errand.3

Another teacher, a fourteen-year-old Tongan boy, had the same faith the Prophet Joseph Smith did at fourteen. He thought, “If, at my age, Joseph Smith could pray to God and get an answer to his prayers, why can’t I?” He prayed that he might somehow obtain an education to prepare him to help his people. The answer came when he received a full scholarship to the Church College of Hawaii without having applied for it. Since then he has used his education to bless his people.

Let me share a few experiences that have resulted from members and missionaries working together. An elder wrote:
“Because we were able to have lunch with an inactive family, they are now back into full activity in the Church. When we ate with them, they recognized the importance of prayer before each meal. A wonderful spirit prevails in their home now. They are not only active again, but we baptized a member of the family and later baptized their neighbors as well—all because they invited us to share their food.”

When I found the address I had scrawled in my notebook, I thought the place looked creepy. It was a big, old, gray house that had been converted into apartments, but it looked more like a haunted house in a black-and-white movie. Still, I wanted to meet Rachael, so I marched up the rickety steps.
Earlier, when I stared at the housing ads tacked to a board in the institute building, the ads had blurred together like a patchwork quilt made of paper and pushpins. But one ad stood out. It showed a stick figure saying, “This is me, Rachael. I like running, jazz music, and chocolate.” I laughed. It didn’t say much about the apartment, but the roommate seemed fun.
After talking to Rachael for a while, I decided that the feeling inside her apartment seemed welcoming. I dismissed my first impression and moved in a few weeks later.
The next morning Rachael left on a two-week family vacation. An eerie feeling sank in the minute she was gone, but I brushed it off and busied myself unpacking. “I’m nervous because I’m not used to being here,” I reasoned. “I need time to adjust.”
It was almost midnight when I came down with an itchy sore throat. “I must be allergic to something,” I thought. I hunted around until I found Rachael’s scented candles. I decided to put them outside.
I had discovered earlier that the entryway light didn’t work, so I left the front door open a crack, letting a sliver of light spill out. Barefoot, I hurried through the darkness onto the porch.
Suddenly I froze.
The night air was still. I couldn’t hear a thing. But I felt someone approaching.
“Get back into your apartment before someone else does.” The Spirit’s instructions were unmistakable and urgent.
Still grasping the candles, I raced through the darkness into my living room and slammed the door. As soon as I locked it, the doorknob turned. My jaw dropped. I watched the doorknob slowly twist back and forth without a sound.
Someone had been hiding in my entryway! He had tried to follow me inside, only a moment too late. Now nothing but a flimsy wooden door stood between us. Instinctively, I hit the door with my fist as hard as I could.
I don’t know how long I stood there silently praying, waiting for something to happen. Finally a peaceful feeling assured me that the threat had passed and I would be safe for the night.
The next morning my mom called. She and Dad were gone on vacation, or I might have called them sooner. Before I could tell Mom what had happened, she said, “I’ve been worried about you! I keep getting the impression that your entryway is a danger zone. Is it well lit? It would be so easy for someone to hide there.”
I shivered to realize how close I had come to being attacked—so close that my mom had sensed the danger from 200 miles (320 km) away.
Then she told me she had been trying to call me the day before to warn me of her impression. “I couldn’t catch you on the phone, so I prayed. I knew I couldn’t protect you, but Heavenly Father could.”
Mom was right. A stranger had hidden in my entryway, watching me. Higher powers had also been watching and had told me what to do.
I know that the Lord won’t always protect me from tragedy, but as I follow Him, He won’t let His plan for my life be thwarted. It was His will for me to be protected that night, and I am grateful He was watching over me.

Just a few weeks ago I received a call from the Area President in the Europe Central Area. He said the members and missionaries in Albania and Moldova were so cold, and he wondered if the Relief Society might have any quilts to send their way. Imagine the joy I felt as I visited with Humanitarian Service and discovered that we could donate 1,000 quilts. Within days they were packaged and sent. The mission president wrote, “Members here were touched that other members would be thinking of them.” Thank you for your selfless service.

A true story from Canada.
Crunch, crunch, crunch.
Katie’s shoes softly crunched through the snow as she walked to the workshop. When she opened the door, the familiar smell of oil and grease came from the tractor her dad had been fixing.
“How’s my Katie?” Dad asked as she stepped inside.
“I’m freezing!” She stomped the snow off her boots. “What are you making?”
He turned to his workbench. Bits of wood were scattered around a doll cradle. Katie sucked in a big breath. Could it be for her? Maybe it was for her younger sister, Jane.
“It’s so cute,” Katie said. “Is it for Jane?”
Dad shook his head no. “Do you remember Mr. Roy, the man who worked with us during harvest time?”
Katie nodded.
“He and his family found a house to rent, but they’re going through a hard time,” Dad said. “He’s worried his three little girls won’t have much of a Christmas this year. But your mom and I have some special gifts for them.”
Katie walked over to the little cradle and rocked it back and forth.
Dad smiled. “If you were a little girl, would you like this cradle?”
She laughed. “I am a little girl!”
Then Katie realized who the cradle was for. It was for Mr. Roy’s daughters!
“Can I help?”
“You can help me paint,” Dad said. His eyes sparkled.
Dad had made three cradles, one for each girl. He opened some paint cans, and Katie got to work. She painted them soft pink, baby blue, and pale yellow. With each stroke of her brush, she felt more excited.
She turned to her dad. “When I saw the first cradle, I hoped it was for me. But helping is so fun. I hope the girls love the cradles as much as I love painting them.”
On Christmas Eve, Katie and her family went to the Roys’ house.
Tap, tap, tap. Katie knocked on the door and waited. When the door opened, she saw a girl about her age with white-blonde hair and a thin yellow dress. Two younger girls peeked around her.
A moment later, Mrs. Roy appeared in the doorway too.
“Merry Christmas,” Mom said.
Katie and her family carried in the cradles, three wrapped dolls, and a big box full of Christmas food. Mrs. Roy watched, tears glittering in her eyes as each of the girls chose a cradle. Slowly the girls overcame their shyness. With faces full of wonder, they wrapped their new baby dolls in the cozy quilts Katie’s mom had made.
Katie sat by the oldest girl. “What’s your name?”
“Flossie,” the girl said.
“I’m Katie. Do you like the cradle?” she asked.
Flossie smiled big. “It’s the prettiest thing I ever had.”
“I’m glad you like it. I helped paint it!”
“Thank you,” she whispered as she wrapped her small arms around Katie.
Dad closed the door as they left the Roys’ house. He squeezed Katie’s shoulder. “What do you think the best part of Christmas is?”
Katie looked up at her dad with a smile. “I used to think it was getting a gift, but now I think maybe it’s giving a gift to someone else.”
“We all can be instruments in the Lord’s hands and act compassionately toward those in need, just as Jesus did.”
Elder Ulisses Soares, “The Savior’s Abiding Compassion,” Liahona, Nov. 2021, 14.
Illustration by Melissa Manwill Kashiwagi