Gospel Story Finder

Elder James E. Talmage, a man who is remembered for his doctrinal teachings, showed great kindness to a neighbor family in distress. They were complete strangers to him. Before he was an Apostle, as a young father, he became aware of great suffering at a neighbor’s home whose large family was stricken with the dreaded diphtheria. He did not care that they were not members of the Church; his kindness and charity moved him to act. The Relief Society was desperately trying to find people to help, but no one would because of the contagious nature of the disease.
When he arrived, James found one toddler already dead and two others who were in agony from the disease. He immediately went to work, cleaning the untidy house, preparing the young body for burial, cleaning and providing for the other sick children, spending the entire day doing so. He came back the next morning to find that one more of the children had died during the night. A third child was still suffering terribly. He wrote in his journal: “She clung to my neck, ofttimes coughing [germs] on my face and clothing, … yet I could not put her from me. During the half hour immediately preceding her death, I walked the floor with the little creature in my arms. She died in agony at 10 A.M.” The three children had all departed within the space of 24 hours. He then assisted the family with the burial arrangements and spoke at their graveside services. This he did all for a family of strangers. What a great example of Christlike kindness!

Church membership has brought some sacrifices. “When I was baptized, my father—a military officer—said, `You’re not my son anymore.’ I spoke to him with love and bore my testimony of the Church. But he rejected me and treated me as if I had betrayed my family. And my brothers and sisters distanced themselves from me.”

Carlos’s mother had studied the gospel privately, long before Carlos was baptized. She was converted and had set a baptismal date. “But my father wouldn’t permit it. He told her, ‘If you get baptized, you will never come back.’ So she wasn’t baptized before she died.”

Years later, his father became seriously ill, and Carlos spent many days and nights with him. “Before my father died, a Catholic priest came to do the last rites. But my father said, `I don’t want it. I’m with my son.’ The priest objected, ‘We need to do the prayer.’ But my father said, ‘No, I’m going to do it with Carlos.’ His last words before dying were, ‘Carlos, if I live, my life will change.’ When he said that, I realized that we should do the temple work for him and my mother. And we have done so.”

I was asked a lot of questions by friends and family when I decided to receive my temple endowment:
Are things getting serious in your relationship?
Is this a wedding announcement?
Are you even allowed to receive your endowment if you’re not getting married or serving a mission?
Although I did have a boyfriend at the time and I’d seriously considered a mission, my decision to go to the temple had nothing to do with those things and everything to do with the fact that I felt inspired to more fully accept the Lord’s invitation to “take hold of my covenant” (Isaiah 56:4). It was a sacred, personal decision, and one that I truly felt was right.
Soon after receiving my endowment, the COVID-19 pandemic hit, and temples shut down. I was so grateful for the covenants I’d made and the greater understanding I’d gained in the temple, and I knew that my desire to go was inspired. Although your prompting might not have anything to do with a worldwide disaster, the Lord knows when you will need the sustaining power of covenants. He knows when He will need you in His “holy mountain,” so that He can “make [you] joyful in [His] house of prayer” (Isaiah 56:7).

In 1982, the second Christmas after we were married, Cleto and I decided to establish family traditions. Because we were the first members of the Church in our families, our former Christmas celebrations—though they brought us happy memories—lacked genuine compassion and service. Moreover, our first baby, eight-month-old Diego, was reason enough to improve ourselves in this way.
We were quite busy with university studies, household chores, Church callings, and our crash course in first-time parenthood, but we still devoted ourselves to preparing for a special occasion. We used each family home evening in December to make decorations and to come to a better understanding of the symbols and colors we saw everywhere. We also planned on preparing a simple dinner, and we thought up useful and inexpensive gifts. As we undertook a scripture study program, we realized that the true change in our manner of celebrating Christ’s birth would involve choosing a gift for the Savior.
We wondered, “What do you give someone who has heaven and earth at His disposal?” The scriptures provide the answer, declaring that anything we do “unto one of the least of these” (Matthew 25:40) we do unto Him. Because Christmas is a season of friendship and a time of love, we wanted to invite a member of the Church to experience the warmth and sweet spirit we felt in our home. We looked hard to find someone who needed some cheering up and whom helping could be our Christmas present to the Savior.
Each time we invited a ward or stake brother or sister to our home, we were happy to discover that the person was already involved in other activities. But Christmas Eve soon arrived, and we still had not found someone with whom to share our Christmas.
Resigned to our failure, we were getting ready for dinner when the doorbell rang. When I opened the door, I was elated to find a friend we had not seen for some time. Avelar had recently gone through the disappointment of an upsetting separation. He was sad and alone and had felt a strong desire to be with us.
We received Avelar with love, and he told us that he had found the environment he needed to be consoled in the midst of his trials. We told him of our preparations to serve and help someone in need so that he could recognize the Lord knew him and loved him.
For all of us, it was wonderful to realize that the Savior had sent us someone we could not find: our friend Avelar. We realized the overriding importance of relationships among Heavenly Father’s sons and daughters. For that reason, on subsequent Christmases we and our three children always remember that the purpose of the season is to strengthen bonds of unity, love, and friendship.

Many faithful Latter-day Saints have been warned by the Spirit to prevent injury or death. Among these was President Wilford Woodruff, who said:
“When I got back to Winter Quarters from the pioneer journey [1847], President Young said to me, ‘Brother Woodruff, I want you to take your wife and children and go to Boston and stay there until you can gather every Saint of God in New England and Canada and send them up to Zion.’
“I did as he told me. It took me two years to gather up everybody, and I brought up the rear with a company (there were about one hundred of them). We arrived at Pittsburgh one day at sundown. We did not want to stay there, so I went to the first steamboat that was going to leave. I saw the captain and engaged passage for us on that steamer. I had only just done so when the spirit said to me, and that, too, very strongly, ‘Don’t go aboard that steamer, nor your company.’ Of course, I went and spoke to the captain, and told him I had made up my mind to wait.
“Well, that ship started, and had only got five miles down the river when it took fire, and three hundred persons were burned to death or drowned. If I had not obeyed that spirit, and had gone on that steamer with the rest of the company, you can see what the result would have been (Discourses of Wilford Woodruff, sel. G. Homer Durham, Salt Lake City: Bookcraft, 1946, pp. 294–95).

In 1950—a few days before Christmas, when I was six years old and living in Palma de Mallorca, Spain—I stood on our living room balcony and watched a ship leave the harbor. On board were my father and my brother. With me on the balcony were my mother and my sister. My father, a chemist of perfumes, was leaving to pursue opportunities in Uruguay, South America. He never returned to his children or his wife. Several years later, he and my mother were divorced.
In the years that followed, I rarely heard from him. In the meantime, my mother took us to her native country, France, where, in 1964, I was baptized a member of the Church. One year later I left France for Brigham Young University in Provo, Utah. In time, I served a mission, pursued graduate studies, and married.
Although my father had been almost completely out of my thoughts up to this point in my life, soon after my marriage a desire to do genealogical work for my ancestors made me think of him more and more. My patriarchal blessing told me that the time would come for me to do the work for my ancestors through genealogy and temple ordinances and that “means and opportunities” would be provided for me to accomplish that work.
After I had joined the Church, my brother, who had moved by then to France, had informed me that my father had accumulated facts, names, and dates on the Ainsa family. I resolved to write to my father, hoping to gain the necessary information to tie my genealogy from my grandparents to my paternal great-grandparents. I sent him a letter asking for details.
His reply consisted of a letter with only general information—and a request that I not bother him again. I felt resentful and angry, but I continued to pray that the “means and opportunities” necessary to do my family history work would be provided.
Sometime in March 1986, while we were living in Arizona, my father wrote again during a family crisis in which my mother was losing her sight. I was comforted by the care and concern that my mother’s second husband showed her and was again offended at my father’s critical letter. I sent it back to him and indicated that if I couldn’t receive pleasant letters instead of criticism, I would rather not communicate at all. Within three weeks, my father answered the letter, telling me, “Your brother will inform you of my death when it occurs. I don’t intend to write to you again.”
Nine months passed after I received the letter. Again I prayed about the admonition in my patriarchal blessing. The answer came unmistakably from the Spirit—I felt I should apologize to my father. I consequently composed a five-page letter to him that detailed the events of the year and that included an apology for my erratic behavior in my previous letter. When I mailed the letter, I prayed that the Lord would soften my father’s heart.
More than two months went by with no answer. Then one day a registered letter arrived. In it, my father asked, “Would you spare ten to twelve days during your upcoming summer vacation to visit me? If you accept, I will send you the money to help meet the cost of your expenses.”
I called my brother in Paris, France, who suggested that I wait a year, since my father had waited thirty-five years to try to see me. But as I prayed with my wife, Angie, we both thought of my patriarchal blessing and knew that my ancestors had waited long enough. I would go this year. My mother’s husband offered to pay for Angie’s trip, as we couldn’t afford it ourselves. My mother-in-law offered to care for our four children in her home in California.
Everything went according to schedule—everything, that is, except for feelings of apprehension. I started worrying that my father might criticize my mother, my wife, or me. He had done it before. How would I handle it this time?
Only when two dedicated home teachers—to whom I will be eternally grateful—came to our home a few days before our departure and gave us a priesthood blessing, did I feel at peace. They blessed my wife that she would be a source of inspiration to me, and they blessed me that I would be receptive to the promptings of the Spirit and would know what to say. I then knew that everything would be all right.
When we arrived in Montevideo, Uruguay, I nervously looked for my father and saw him standing with his wife. He waved his cane at me in recognition. I waved back. Finally, the customs officer told me to proceed. As I walked through the customs door, my father eagerly came toward me. We embraced and kissed each other. As we left the airport terminal, the Spirit told me that the man walking beside me was a different person than I had imagined.
We spent the next few days getting acquainted with one another, laughing together, discovering what we had in common, and becoming friends. Angie and I asked him to record on tape his experiences in his youth and in courting my mother, and we discovered many things about his past. Then, one morning, Angie and I prayed that we would be blessed that day with the right words in asking my father to share with us the Ainsa genealogy and history.
It was my father’s eighty-first birthday. After opening presents at breakfast, he excused himself and came back with an object hidden underneath a towel. He handed me a box and said, “This is the least I can do after all these years. Somehow I feel that I have to make it up to you.” Inside the box was a beautiful watch.
Thirty minutes later, as we were upstairs sitting around my father’s oak desk, I inserted a blank tape into the cassette recorder and asked him to tell me about my ancestors. He talked for a few minutes, then stopped. “It’s a waste,” he said.
I panicked. “Lord, please help me,” I prayed. “I’ve been waiting for this moment for years.” Then I asked my father, “Why do you say it is a waste?”
“Because I have it in print,” he replied. My heart began to beat faster as he reached for a drawer in his desk, opened it, pulled out a folder, and handed me a sheet of paper with a list of names on it. “These are your ancestors on my father’s side,” he said, “and you’re welcome to this list.” I glanced quickly through it; it contained the names of his parents, grandparents, and great-grandparents, as well as those of distant relatives.
“What about your mother? Have you compiled a list on her side of the family?” I asked, my voice trembling.
“Your grandmother’s lineage is not important,” he muttered, brushing aside my inquiry. I replied that were it not for my grandmother, he wouldn’t be here, to which my father said, “Well, if it is that important to you, you can have it.” With that, he gave me an envelope containing names scribbled on several sheets of paper and said, “As a matter of fact, you might as well have everything.” He placed the folder in my hand.
I opened it and, as tears began to blur my vision, I read through several lists of names of distant relatives. Inside were pictures of my grandmother, my grandfather, and others. I wept openly. During the past twenty-one years, I had prayed on many occasions for this day. The Lord had heard my requests and had answered them at the appropriate time.
“Why are you crying?” my father asked.
“Because I am happy to be here,” I said.
At that moment, he, too, began to cry. He leaned his head on my shoulder and took my hand between his. “I am sorry,” he said. “I am sorry for what I did. I was wrong. I was never a father to you. During all those years, I never bothered to find out who you were. Will you ever forgive me?”
“Of course I forgive you—it is forgiven and forgotten,” I uttered between sobs. As I embraced him, the Spirit whispered softly, “I, the Lord, will forgive whom I will forgive, but of you it is required to forgive all men” (D&C 64:10). We were at peace. All the years of separation, loneliness, and turmoil melted away. He knew who I was. He had found a son. And I had finally found my father.

It was one of those special times when a daughter comes to her father with an honest question that deserves a careful answer. The question of this attractive teenage daughter was, “With all the influences for evil around me, how can I be ‘in the world’ yet still maintain standards that are acceptable to you and to my Father in Heaven?”
“There are two important forces in the world,” the father replied. “Centrifugal forces and centripetal forces. The term centrifugal force comes from Latin roots meaning ‘fleeing from the center.’ Centripetal force is ‘a force directed toward the center.’”
“I ask a simple question and you give me a complicated answer!” cried the dismayed girl. “Can’t you just give me a simple answer?”
“Well, my dear, let me try to show you what I mean. Let’s take a little ball of cotton and put it on the turntable of the record player.” He placed the ball on the very edge of the turntable and said, “Now turn it on.”
She did so, and after three or four revolutions the little cotton ball went flying out into the room.
“Turn the record player off,” he directed, “and put the cotton at the center of the turntable. Now turn on the record player again.”
She did as she was told, and round and round the turntable went. But this time the ball of cotton did not move.
“That is what I mean by centrifugal and centripetal forces,” the father continued. “One force causes an object to flee from the center, and the other directs an object toward the center.”

Nine-year-old Amber Donohue didn’t want to get out of bed. I have four good reasons not to, she reasoned, and only one reason why I should: It’s Sunday and church starts in an hour.
She thought hard about why she shouldn’t: In the first place, I’m too tired. It isn’t fair that bears can sleep all winter but people can sleep only at night. In the second place, it’s too cold to get up. Judging from the way the snow was piled on the limbs of the maple tree outside her bedroom window, Amber was sure that it had snowed all night. In the third place, she thought, if I get up now, I’ll be cross with everybody for having to get up. It wouldn’t be fair to others. And in the fourth place, … Amber couldn’t think of a fourth reason yet, but she was sure that if she stayed in bed long enough, she’d think of something!
Amber knew, though, that her one reason for getting up was more important than all the ones for staying in bed put together. It was Heavenly Father’s day, and she knew that He wanted her to be in Primary. She also knew deep down in her heart that she wanted to be there too. She glumly crawled out from under her covers and sat on the edge of her bed. “What are you staring at?” she snapped at her pet white rat, Cuddles, that sat looking at her from its cage in the corner. “You don’t have to get up!”
Amber’s five-year-old brother, Arnie, knocked, then skipped into her room, his shoes untied.
“What do you want?” she snarled at him.
“I want to get out of here,” Arnie said, deciding not to ask her for a favor, after all. He hurried down the hall back to his own room.
As Amber slowly got her Sunday shoes from her closet, she heard her mother’s voice calling from the kitchen. “Breakfast is ready, everyone. We have to hurry, or we’ll be late for church.” Then she added, “Don’t forget to wear your warmest coats and put on your best singing voices.”
“I’ll wear my warmest coat, that’s for sure,” Amber grumbled, “but nobody can make me sing! I don’t feel like singing any more than I feel like getting out of bed!”
Suddenly Amber heard singing outside her window. It was a bird on the tree limb. Amber stared at it with surprise. “It’s gray and windy and cold out there,” she muttered. “Why is that bird singing such a happy song?”
“Maybe it’s counting its blessings,” came a small voice from behind her. Amber turned and saw Arnie standing a safe distance from her, his shoes still untied. “Mommy says that whenever she’s sad or just wants to feel better, she either counts her blessings or sings a song. Especially about Jesus. Like we do in Primary. And sacrament meeting. She says that she sings when she’s happy too.” Then Arnie added, “Heavenly Father likes singing. A lot. Otherwise why would He put so many birds in the world?” As Arnie turned and started to leave the room, he said, “Maybe you should sing a song, Amber. Maybe you should sing lots of them.”
Alone again in her room, Amber looked at herself in her dresser mirror. The first song that came to her mind was the one about no one liking a frowny face. She looked at the bird in the tree outside her window again. It was still singing. It’s happy, Amber thought. Maybe it’s counting its blessings and praising Heavenly Father too. If birds can sing on gloomy days, she thought as she started toward the kitchen, why can’t I?
Amber was ready for church on time. Well, almost on time. She stopped halfway through brushing her hair just long enough to help Arnie tie his shoelaces. And she sang every Primary song that she could think of all the way to church.

I would like to express my sincere gratitude to the author of the article “Onward and Upward,” which was published in the July 1987 issue of the New Era.
I recently turned 18, graduated from high school and seminary, and was eagerly contemplating my future plans for college. But I overlooked the fact that I would no longer be a Laurel in the Young Women organization, and would now be advanced into the Relief Society program. My first realization of this advancement came to me the Sunday afternoon that my mother pulled me aside and whispered in my ear, “Next week you get to come to Relief Society with me.” The big grin on her face and warm hug she gave me persuaded me to try to hide the fear and anxiety I then felt.
During the following week, I continuously thought of the upcoming Sunday. One fear I had was the thought of all the old mothers and grandmothers sitting around discussing the various ways they each knit. And I figured each lesson would be about disciplining children.
With this anxious feeling I walked into the Relief Society room that Sunday. I was surprised to hear them talking about education. This spurred my interests, and I eagerly listened. But then one of the sisters mentioned something to the point that youth didn’t care about their educations and never did until college.
That got me upset, and I became convinced that there was some kind of a rivalry going on between the older sisters and the youth.
I tried my hardest to miss Relief Society from then on, and I was graciously assisted when my sister had to work and I got to substitute in her Primary class.
One evening I picked up the New Era and was skimming through the pages when I came across the above-mentioned article. My eyes were immediately drawn to the words “Is there life after Young Women?” At that moment I was overcome with the Spirit, and tears began welling up in my eyes. It made me feel comforted to know that I wasn’t the only person going through this problem and that other young people actually seemed to enjoy Relief Society. It gave me new courage to face up to the Relief Society sisters and to join in with them.
Ever since that experience, I’ve realized that I can really enjoy Relief Society. I’m excited to learn new skills that will help me and enhance my future. I’m especially looking forward to the Relief Society program at BYU, since that is where I will be attending college this year. Again I would like to thank the author for her inspiring message.
Terri HensleyAlamogordo, New Mexico

One night when we were arriving at a store, our van suddenly broke down. My mom tried and tried to get it started again. When the van didn’t start, I thought we would be stuck there forever.
Then I thought of saying a prayer. So my sister and I each said a prayer, and when my mom tried again to start the van, it started!
We turned around and went home. The next day, we had the van checked. They couldn’t find anything wrong with it. It has been almost four years since then, and we still have the same van and it still runs.
I learned that God is always there, waiting to help all of us in our trials.
Tierca Harrison, age 9East Peoria, Illinois

A month or so after we were married, my wife and I were taking a long road trip in the car. She was driving, and I was trying to relax. I say trying because the highway we were traveling had a reputation for speed traps, and my wife might have had a slight tendency toward a lead foot in those days. I said, “You’re going too fast. Slow down.”
My new bride thought to herself, “Well, I’ve been driving for nearly 10 years, and other than my driver’s education teacher, no one ever told me how to drive before.” So she replied, “What gives you the right to tell me how to drive?”
Frankly, her question caught me off guard. So, doing my best to step up to my new responsibilities as a married man, I said, “I don’t know—because I’m your husband and I hold the priesthood.”
Brethren, just a quick tip: if you are ever in a similar situation, that is not the right response. And I’m happy to report, it was the one and only time I ever made that mistake.

I witnessed this truth during a particularly difficult week on my mission. Everything seemed to be going wrong: I wasn’t getting along with my companion, people we had been teaching had suddenly stopped talking with us, and the weather was extremely hot.
I felt like God had forgotten me. As I was walking down the street in the blazing heat, I thought: “How could you forget about me? It’s so unfair. I’m trying so hard!” And in that moment, a drop of water hit me in the eye—right between my eyebrow and glasses. At first, I was so annoyed that I didn’t even consider the cloudless sky. And then, seconds later, another drop of water hit me in the same spot. I stopped and looked up, and the words “Jacob, I haven’t forgotten you” entered my mind and heart.
I began to cry. I knew those words and raindrops were a message from Heavenly Father. I felt His perfect love for me and for all of His children. I was reminded of who I was and that Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ would never abandon me—or any of us.
Now when I am struggling to remember my divine identity, I ponder this experience to remind myself that I, and all of Heavenly Father’s children, have great worth.

During our mission, I once accompanied my husband when he went to interview a man for baptism. While my husband conducted the interview, I waited outside with the sister missionaries who had taught this man. When the interview was finished, my husband informed the missionaries that the man would be able to be baptized. This dear man wept and wept as he explained that he had been certain that the serious sins he had committed in his life would prevent him from being able to be baptized. I have seldom witnessed the joy and happiness of someone coming out of the darkness and into the light equal to what I witnessed that day.

You probably won’t find four more inseparable friends than Ruth (8), Sara (7), Marta (6), and Raquel (5). They don’t even have to separate when playtime is over, because they are sisters as well as best friends. Being so close in age causes some problems, but generally the girls get along well, and their love for one another shows.
All four girls attend the same school, where they take two language classes: Catalan—language spoken in the province of Cataluna, where Mataro is located—and Castellano Spanish—the national language. Both languages are spoken in their home also.
The girls sing together in their school choir, which won second place in a Christmas choir contest in 1986. All the other choirs in the contest consisted of thirteen- and fourteen-year-olds, so the girls were especially proud when their group won second place.
The sisters agree that singing is great, but they disagree about favorite school subjects. Ruth likes story writing best, Sara enjoys math, Marta prefers art, and Raquel says, “Field trips are the best!”
The girls’ favorite game to play is house. They also like to go to the nearby beaches to swim, play with a Frisbee, and build sand castles.
The Casas live on the segundo piso (second floor) of an apartment building. Each girl has assigned chores to do so that things run smoothly at home. Raquel is very active and tries to make sure that the others get their chores done. Marta makes the beds, Sara cleans the bathroom, and Ruth washes the windows. Ruth also cares for the family pet, a wild canary named Jacky. One day the canary just flew in through the girls’ bedroom window and stayed!
Each of the girls takes her turn teaching the lessons, leading the music, or making the treats for family home evening. And when there were disagreements about whose turn it was to say family prayer, Mom came up with a solution: Wednesday is Ruth’s turn; Thursday is Sara’s. Marta’s turn is on Friday, and Raquel’s is Saturday. Dad offers the prayer on Sunday and Monday, and Mom on Tuesday.
The whole family really enjoys Church. Dad (Rafael) is the branch president, and Mom (Rosario) is the Primary president as well as the girls’ Primary teacher. There are six to eight other children who attend the Mataro Branch Primary. The summer of 1987 was especially exciting for Ruth because she was baptized and confirmed by her father.
No matter where one lives, having friends is special. But the four friends from Mataro know that it’s even more special when those friends are sisters.

I became acquainted with The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints through my fiancé and his family. Chase was American. He was raised in the Church and served a mission, but he was not active at the time. His oldest son, however, was preparing to serve a mission, and Chase supported his decision.
During the COVID-19 lockdown, we attended sacrament meeting in the home of Chase’s parents, watching broadcasts originating from their church meetinghouse. When the talks ended, Chase’s two sons blessed and passed the bread and water.
I had many questions. My fiancé answered each one patiently. Who was Jesus? What was this feeling in my heart each time we gathered to have church meetings? It was a feeling I had never felt before. What did the bread and water represent? Why did tears come when I took the sacrament? What was this peace I was feeling?
One night I found a website in my native language that explained who Jesus is and that told about His life. The next day, I told my fiancé’s mother that I understood who Jesus is and that I believed in Him.
One Sunday the bishop came to the house because Chase’s oldest son was going to ordain his younger brother to be a priest. When the older son put his hands on his brother’s head, I could not stop crying. I felt such a big emotion in my heart, I could not stop the tears. Later, my fiancé explained that I felt the Holy Ghost and that he felt it too.
I could see that my fiancé’s love for his church was returning to him. Somehow, I knew that everything I was feeling was connected to God and to something true. I felt love like I had never felt before.

My second example emphasizes the importance of persevering through the trial of our faith. A few years ago a family traveled to Europe from the United States. Shortly after arriving at their destination, a 13-year-old son became quite ill. The mother and father initially thought his upset stomach was caused by fatigue from the long flight, and the family routinely continued on its journey.

As the day continued, the son’s condition became worse. Dehydration was increasing. The father gave his son a priesthood blessing, but no improvement was immediately evident.

Several hours passed by, and the mother knelt by her son’s side, pleading in prayer to Heavenly Father for the boy’s well-being. They were far from home in an unfamiliar country and did not know how to obtain medical assistance.

The mother asked her son if he would like to pray with her. She knew that merely waiting for the anticipated blessing would not be enough; they needed to continue to act. Explaining that the blessing he had received was still in effect, she suggested again petitioning in prayer, as did the ancient Apostles, “Lord, Increase our faith” (Luke 17:5). The prayer included a profession of trust in priesthood power and a commitment to persevere in doing whatever might be required for the blessing to be honored—if that blessing at that time was in accordance with God’s will. Shortly after they offered this simple prayer, the son’s condition improved.

The faithful action of the mother and her son helped to invite the promised priesthood power and in part satisfied the requirement that we “dispute not because [we] see not, for [we] receive no witness until after the trial of [our] faith” (Ether 12:6). Just as the prison holding Alma and Amulek did not tumble to the earth “until after their faith,” and just as Ammon and his missionary brethren did not witness mighty miracles in their ministries “until after their faith” (see Ether 12:12–15), so the healing of this 13-year-old boy did not occur until after their faith and was accomplished “according to their faith in their prayers” (D&C 10:47).

One example of Chea’s diligence and enthusiasm as a young missionary is recorded in Elder Gooch’s journal: “I was home for lunch, trying to prepare a talk for zone conference. Somehow I just couldn’t get my thoughts together. The telephone rang. It was Chea. He told me that he wanted Elder Black and me to visit the Vongs, a Cambodian family that had been in Lowell for a year. They were praying and fasting to find a church they could attend.”
Saveth Vong and her three children, Chetena, Chendra, and Tola, had narrowly escaped execution. Her husband, a pilot in the Cambodian Army, had been captured. Saveth and her children managed to get out of prison three days before they were scheduled to be shot.
Chea smiles as he recalls his and the elder’s first visit to the Vong home. “Everyone seemed so eager to learn. There were many questions. The Spirit was very strong.” Although the Vongs used a Book of Mormon printed in Cambodian, they needed help with gospel principles. Chea played an important role, assisting the elders as he translated discussions and shared his own experiences in the Church. Elder Gooch’s journal entry continues, “Day after day, Chea sat quietly by Saveth helping her understand the things we taught. He never seemed to tire of the message of the gospel.”
Indeed, as Chea taught the gospel his testimony grew. He recalls, “I remember reading 3 Nephi 27:7: ‘Therefore, whatsoever ye shall do, ye shall do it in my name; therefore ye shall call the church in my name; and ye shall call upon the Father in my name that he will bless the church for my sake.’ I thought, how could it be that I’ve never seen this scripture before? It makes so much sense. Heavenly Father’s true church must be named after his Son!”
This scripture also confirmed for Chea what he knew in his heart was true—that if he prayed to Heavenly Father in the name of Jesus and asked for help to share the gospel message, Heavenly Father would bless his efforts.
When the Vongs made the decision to be baptized, Chea was delighted. Elder Gooch recalls that evening, “While we were driving home, Chea asked Elder Black and me to stop by a grove of trees in a nearby park so that we could thank Heavenly Father. We took turns giving thanks and expressing our joy. When we were finished, Chea climbed on my shoulders. After a few quiet moments Chea lovingly looked down, flashed his big smile and said, “The Holy Ghost is with us, Gooch, isn’t it?”
“Yes, Chea, it sure is.”
“I know—I felt it!”
The Vongs were baptized a week later.

As a mission leader in Brazil, I spent a week near the end of 2023 interviewing 60 of our 160 missionaries. One of them, a zone leader, asked to speak to me privately. When we met, he handed me a shoebox and told me his parents had bought an extra pair of shoes for someone in the mission who might need them.
Touched, I thanked him for his parents’ generosity and thoughtfulness. I silently wished, however, that the small shoes, size 8.5, had been a larger, common size worn by most of our missionaries. I was grateful nonetheless and put the shoes in my car.
Two days later, I was interviewing more missionaries, when I invited a smiling missionary into my office. He had arrived just four weeks earlier from Guatemala. When I asked him how he was doing, his smile turned into sobs.
He tearfully spoke of his embarrassment when another missionary had innocently teased him for not buttoning the top button of his shirt. He was a recent convert and had grown up in a single-parent home. His mother barely made enough money to support him and his two siblings. His donated shirts were too small, so he used the knot of his well-worn tie to hide the unbuttoned top button.
I gave him some money a Church member had donated for missionaries who needed clothing and told him to buy new shirts. Then I noticed that his shoes were falling apart. Suddenly, I remembered the shoes in my car! I asked him what size shoe he wore, realizing he had small feet.
“I wear a size 8.5,” he replied.
Tears filled my eyes as I explained that another missionary’s parents had just donated a pair of shoes in his size. We took a picture together and sent it to the zone leader. His father, who coincidentally was also Guatemalan, felt touched that he had helped a missionary from his native country.

When I was a child, I liked doing things my dad did. He worked as a doctor. I often went with him to the hospital, where I saw him help patients. Watching my dad made me want to be a doctor too.
One day I was walking into the hospital with my dad. Another doctor walked out. He saw me and asked my dad, “Is this your son?” My dad said yes. The doctor knelt to look at me. He asked, “What will you be when you grow up?”
I said, “I want to be a doctor, like my dad.” Then he replied, “Well, I hope you’re as good a doctor as he is.” But my dad said, “No, I want him to be better than me.”
That helped me realize that my dad really loved me. He wanted the best for me.

Late one afternoon we were approaching the mouth of a river at the end of Starvation Lake. As we pulled ashore, the canoe bump a boulder. We noticed a huge mound of fur nearby. I thought it was a dead animal until it move and Bob said, “It’s a grizzly bear. And it isn’t dead, it’s asleep.” We were less than 30 meters from it at that point. Suddenly, it stood up. I thought it would run away, as most bears do. But it was irritated. The hair on its neck raised up, it started swaying its head back and forth, its jaws started moving—you could hear the teeth clacking—and its ears were laid back. I grabbed the camera and Bob grabbed the gun, but we soon decided it wasn’t smart to stay close, and we backed into deeper water. Somehow we had to get by that grizzly.
We pulled into a small draw about 60 meters away and checked on the bear. It had lain back down. So we took the food packs up and came back for the canoe. When we checked on the bear again, it was gone. It couldn’t go to the right, because of the lake. So we knew it was either going parallel uphill or coming straight toward us. It knew where we were, but we didn’t know where it was. Bears will sometimes move up your trail and intercept you, and we were both scared. We knew it might come running over the hill any minute. Bob said, “Dad, can we pray, please?” After a prayer and with great caution, we started up the draw, me with the canoe over my head and Bob with the gun.
We reached the ridge about 30 meters from our packs, and it was waiting there for us. If it tasted the food in the packs, we would have to kill it to keep it from destroying the entire supply, and we didn’t want to do that. As a last desperate effort, and with prayer in my heart, I raised the canoe and shouted at the top of my lungs.
The bear swung its huge head around and saw a pair of legs, a body, and a 5 meter aluminum head growling at it. It was startled so badly it left running as fast as it could. It took us about four hours to get rid of the hollow feeling we had after that close encounter, but we both knew the prayer had helped us through.