Gospel Story Finder

I was almost 13 when my family moved to Pendleton, Oregon, which was a big town to me with about 6,000 people in it. My dad ran the agricultural experimental station for Oregon State University. It was 168 acres in size, and it was fenced all the way around. I had a job hoeing the weeds from under the fence, and initially I hated that job.
One afternoon I was hoeing weeds with a friend named Arlen Jenkins. I was complaining and moaning and groaning about the hard work, but he looked at me and said, “You know, you really need to consider that if we weren’t doing this, we might be doing something worse.” That was his attitude. He was always happy doing any type of work because he knew he could be doing something worse. I have tried to reflect that attitude in every job I have had since that time.

The closer Christmas got, the heavier my heart became. In November, neither my husband nor I had regular work. I paid for rent, electricity, and the telephone out of my decreased earnings, and my husband paid the car payment from his diminished wages. The remaining money was barely enough to get us by. December brought more work and a return to normal, but we wouldn’t be paid until January. Under these circumstances, even a holiday dinner was out of the question.
“Everything will be all right,” I told myself. That summer my husband had picked a lot of raspberries, and we had made jam. We would have pancakes and jam and would make our own gifts. But when our three daughters (ages 6, 8, and 14) began happily decorating with garlands they had made, all the while talking about what their parents might give them for Christmas, I was sick at heart.
One evening my visiting teachers came by for an unexpected visit. I have no brothers and sisters of my own, so the Relief Society sisters in my branch—particularly my visiting teachers—have truly become my sisters. That night they shared an interesting lesson, then began to visit about the upcoming holiday. I assured them that everything was fine but said that it would be a rather “poor” Christmas for us. They assured me that they would be praying for our family.
One day when my husband came to pick me up from work, he said that everyone at home was impatiently awaiting my arrival. A sister from our branch had dropped off some boxes. When we opened them, they contained all the delicacies of the season: fruit, cookies, candy, other groceries, decorations, and lovingly wrapped gifts. My eyes filled with tears of gratitude. And that wasn’t the end. The family of one of my visiting teachers surprised us on Christmas morning with a box of gifts.
In the end our “poor” Christmas was a particularly joyful one. Our home was filled with not only the spirit of Christmas but also the warmth and love of my visiting teachers and other members of our branch. I came to understand that the Lord truly does meet our needs most often through other people—particularly those He has assigned and inspired to watch over and care for us.

In the state of Utah it is not unusual to have towns named after people in the Book of Mormon. I heard of a tourist couple who were driving through Utah and commenting on the unusual names of the towns. As they saw Nephi on the map, the wife said, “Do you suppose that is Nep-hi?” Her husband responded, “Perhaps Nephy.” They decided to stop for lunch, and when the waitress brought their check, she asked if she could do anything else to help them. The gentleman said, “Tell us how to pronounce the name of this place.” The waitress responded, “Burger King.”

Many years ago, the Church established a very special type of employment opportunity that is still in operation today. I remember as a boy coming to Salt Lake City on occasion from our home in Phoenix, Arizona, to visit my grandparents. My grandfather, who was well into his eighties, was proud to invite us down to his place of employment. It was the old Deseret Industries in Sugarhouse. I was thrilled as I visited him and saw this patriarch of the Peterson family remain useful, productive, and happy until the time of his death because of one of the employment programs of the Church. It was from this good man that my father learned the nobility of work, which became one of his greatest gifts to his own posterity.

Twelve-year-old Saajan has never seen a temple in person.
“My mom has always had a goal to go to the temple,” Saajan said. “Her love for the temple is contagious. Now my goal in life is to visit the temple.”
Saajan was born in India, but when his parents got divorced, he moved with his mom to the United Arab Emirates. “My mom works really hard. She’s like a superhero to me. Even during the hard times, she never gives up.”
Saajan’s mom and grandma joined the Church in India a few years before he was born. They read the Book of Mormon and knew it was an answer to their prayers. Saajan grew up going to church with his mom, and he was recently baptized after waiting for his father’s permission.
“Getting baptized was one of the best choices I have ever made,” he said. “And when I received the gift of the Holy Ghost, I felt so warm and joyful inside.”
Now Saajan is passing the sacrament for his ward and preparing to enter the temple. He received his temple recommend, and he can’t wait to enter the Dubai United Arab Emirates Temple when it is finished.
“When I heard that they announced the temple, I personally felt it was for me,” Saajan said. “It was an answer to our prayers. I was shocked because they’re building it right where we live! I will be able to take a train directly to the temple and go as often as I want. I’m also excited for the Bengaluru India Temple that my grandparents will be able to visit.”
Saajan is excited for his grandparents to have the Bengaluru India Temple near them.
Saajan wants to do temple work for his other ancestors as well.
“I’m preparing myself so that I will be worthy to enter the temple. I want to do what I can to help all of my ancestors. I have such an exciting opportunity to serve the Lord and do the things pertaining to the kingdom of God.”

It was one of those warm summer afternoons, the kind of soft and lazy day that seems to envelop the mind in daydreams and push out thoughts of work or study. While I’d been on my mission, this had been the hardest kind of day to keep my mind on the work. Now it was the same way with school. Since before noon I’d been up in the foothills east of campus collecting root samples. My lab partner and I had been collecting them for a botany project. It had taken us about twice as long as it should have, because we spent as much time chasing butterflies as we did collecting plants. After we had finally completed our collection, my lab partner had given me a lift back to civilization, and I’d caught a bus for home. It was Friday afternoon, and with the quiet spell of the early summer day still tugging at my brain, I decided as I rode along to dedicate Saturday to sunny beaches and cool water.
I was beginning to envision the day in a little finer detail when the air brakes gave a familiar hiss and I noticed a small Chicano boy getting on at the front of the bus. The bus was only about half full. There were several empty seats between the front and myself, so I paid little attention. Gazing back out the window, I let my mind drift again to my imaginary weekend.
But just as I was getting back to my daydream, I caught sight of that boy again out of the corner of my eye. He had passed two empty seats and seemed headed straight for the one next to me. He was about nine or ten, dressed in well-faded but clean jeans and a red-checkered shirt. The shirt seemed a little too big, probably a hand-me-down. As he approached, I stared determinedly out the window, hoping he’d pass by my seat in favor of one of the empty ones behind. No such luck.
“Hi, mister,” he said, plopping down next to me. He had a smile so big it seemed about a size and a half too wide for his face. I didn’t want to smile back, but his grin was too contagious; I couldn’t help myself.
“Hello,” I answered, trying to regain my stern composure.
“Nice day, huh?” he said.
“Yes,” I answered, “nice day.” This time I managed not to smile, and I looked back out the window hoping that would end the conversation. It was a day too well suited for daydreaming to waste talking to some little kid about the weather. There was silence for a moment, and I began to relax again, conjuring up visions of playing volleyball on the beach.
“Hey, mister, you married?”
“What?” I asked, turning back to the boy. His smile, if possible, seemed even a little wider than before.
“You married?”
“No.” I answered coldly, hoping he’d take the hint.
“Oh,” he said, looking down disappointed, his smile fading. I seemed to have momentarily caught him off-guard. He was thinking. Then in an instant he looked up again, his eyes brighter than ever. “But you’re going to get married, right?”
I tried not to smile, but his eyes and that row of teeth made it impossible. “Yes,” I said smiling back, “I guess I will.”
“And when you get married, mister, are you going to love your wife?”
Now he had caught me off-guard. The question seemed out of place coming from someone so young. I felt like he was leading up to something, but I wasn’t sure what. “Of course,” I answered cautiously, “of course I will.”
“And when you love somebody, you always want to be with them, don’t you, mister, even after you die?”
Suddenly it hit me! He was asking me a Golden Question. He was a Mormon. I sat there looking at him. I didn’t answer; I didn’t know what to say. How many times had I asked almost that same question? How many times on the buses and streets of Brazil while I was on my mission? But that was my mission; that was then, not now. It seemed inconceivable that those same words were being repeated to me here, at home, by a ten-year-old boy. The bus was slowing rapidly and the boy stood up, taking something from his back pocket and handing it to me.
“Hey, mister, I got to get off here. Take this. It’s got the name of two of my friends on it. If you want to know more, give them a call. Good-bye, mister.” And he was gone.
I sat staring at the pamphlet he had given me. It was folded in half and a little tattered at the corners. I unfolded it and read the title, “The Plan of Salvation.”
I’d come home from my mission almost two years ago. I’d brought home my missionary journal, color slides, souvenirs, and a lot of memories. But I’d left my mission behind. How many people had I told about the Church in the time I’d been home? How many Golden Questions had I asked? How many nonmembers did I know who might be interested if only I’d bring up the subject? I’d just been taught a lesson about missionaries that I hadn’t learned in the whole time I’d been on a mission, and it had been taught to me by a young boy with nothing but a testimony and a smile.
The bus was filling up with people now. We were near the center of town and it was almost 5:00. A young man in a business suit sat down next to me. Self-consciously I stuffed the pamphlet in my shirt pocket and looked down at my feet. I was still thinking about that boy; as young as he was, he was still more of a missionary than I’d ever been. I glanced up again. The man next to me was looking out the window, probably daydreaming.
“Nice day, isn’t it?” I said without thinking.
“Yes,” he smiled back, “a very pretty day.”
I sat for a moment, fingering the pamphlet in my pocket. Then, mustering my biggest smile, I asked, “Say, are you married?”

From a young age, Elder Richard G. Scott had a desire to do what was right, even when faced with peer pressure. One summer during high school, he worked on an oyster boat off Long Island, New York, USA. His coworkers tried to get him to do things he knew were wrong. Because he consistently said no, he gained their respect. One night when one of them fell overboard, Richard was the only one who could save his crewmate—because he hadn’t gone partying like the others. He said, “Finally, when they understood I would not abandon my principles, we became friends. Then privately, one by one, they asked for help.”1

For Filipinos, 1972 was a year of economic and political crisis. Political corruption was rampant; the economy was in chaos. Remus Villarete was out of college and had a good job, but he was concerned about growing economic disparities among his people. Hoping to help the poor, Remus began organizing antigovernment rallies. One of his close friends, Yvonne L. Cawit, a nurse, also helped by treating people injured in street demonstrations.
In September 1972 President Ferdinand Marcos declared martial law. His government considered protesters like Remus and Yvonne enemies of the state. When the government published its list of most-wanted agitators, Remus’s name was second on the list in his area; Yvonne’s name also appeared on the list.
Remus and Yvonne began to discuss their future. Remus believed Yvonne would be better off surrendering to the military. Yvonne’s father also asked her to give herself up to the authorities. Three days after the declaration of martial law, she surrendered. Remus considered going into the mountains to become a guerilla fighter, but at the urging of his father and some relatives who had influence on government officials, he also surrendered. After spending more than three months in a stockade, he was released.
Family members had arranged his release on condition that he marry Yvonne; his family and the military believed marriage would keep Remus from going to the mountains and continuing his fight against the government. They were right. Ten days after his release, on 21 January 1973, Remus and Yvonne married. Remus stayed out of the mountains, but he and Yvonne continued to fight injustice peacefully.
Life was difficult at first, especially because they had trouble finding jobs. Eventually both found work in their respective hometowns—Yvonne in Cadiz and Remus in Bacolod, 65 kilometers away. While staying with Yvonne’s parents in Cadiz, they met the full-time missionaries. The gospel changed the lives of everyone in the household.
Carmelino Cawit, Yvonne’s father, was a religious man who enjoyed listening to the elders. Only a few months passed before he, his wife, and two daughters entered the waters of baptism. Brother Cawit became the president of the Cadiz Branch and later a bishop, stake president, and patriarch.
Remus and Yvonne also appreciated the message of the restored gospel, but Remus was distracted by his friends, who did not live the Word of Wisdom. Because he had not been reading the Book of Mormon, Remus was not ready for baptism when the time came for his baptismal interview.
He also wanted to practice what the elders were teaching him before he committed to baptism. “Once I join a certain organization, I am committed to the work,” Remus said years later. So he began attending Church, paying tithing, fasting, contributing to the missionary fund, and reading the Book of Mormon carefully and prayerfully. By doing the will of his Heavenly Father, Remus soon came to “know of the doctrine” for himself (John 7:17). He and Yvonne were baptized in May 1975.
Three months later the first Philippines area conference was held in Araneta Coliseum in Quezon City. President Spencer W. Kimball was scheduled to speak, and Remus was determined to see him.
“Immediately after the conference, I returned to Bacolod. I went straight home and told my wife, ‘We have to follow the prophet.’ She said, ‘Why, what did the prophet say?’ The prophet said, ‘Families are forever, and it is important that families should be together.’ We should be together.”
Remus had been staying in Bacolod during the week, returning to Cadiz on the weekends. Following President Kimball’s admonition, Yvonne quit her job in Cadiz, and the family moved to Bacolod to be with Remus. Opportunities for gospel growth soon came to the family as the Villaretes were called to many leadership positions. When the Bacolod stake was created in 1981 by Elder Marion D. Hanks of the Seventy, Brother Villarete was sustained as its first president. He served in that position until 1987, when he moved to Cebu to become a regional real estate manager for the Church.
President Villarete then served as a regional representative from 1988 until 1991, when he was called as president of the Philippines Cagayan de Oro Mission on the island of Mindanao. He and Sister Villarete remained on Mindanao until he was released in June 1995. A few days later, Brother Villarete was called as an Area Authority Seventy in the Philippines/Micronesia Area.
Once Remus and Yvonne found the right cause, they gave themselves to it with all their hearts, keeping the commandments and following the President of the Church. Their dedication to the gospel has never faltered.

Zulma sat on one of the church benches and smoothed the skirt of her school uniform. Colored light shone through the stained-glass windows, and a cross stood at the front of the chapel. Zulma went to a church school, so she went to worship services twice a day with the other students. Zulma liked her church. She loved Jesus and loved to learn about Him.
She sat quietly as the priest began to talk. But today something felt different. Suddenly a new thought came into her mind and heart: There is more truth out there.
Zulma scrunched her eyebrows. More truth? What did that mean?
The thought came again. There is more truth.
Zulma closed her eyes and focused on what she was feeling. She had learned lots of good things at church. But now she wondered if something was missing. Maybe there was more that God wanted her to know. But how could she find it?
Later she talked to her older brother, Alberto, about her thoughts.
“You think there’s more truth out there?” Alberto asked.
Zulma nodded. “I want to learn about other churches,” she said.
“OK,” Alberto replied. “I’ll go with you!”
For several years, Zulma and Alberto visited different churches. After one church service, Alberto said, “That church taught good things.”
Zulma agreed, but they still felt like something was missing, so they kept searching.
One day Alberto raced up the steps to their house. “I found the church we’re looking for!” Alberto said. He gave Zulma a big hug.
Zulma’s eyes got wide. “Where? How?”
“My friend met some missionaries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints,” Alberto said. “I listened to them, and I believe what they taught!”
Zulma and Alberto were so happy that they danced all around the house. But then Zulma got some bad news. Mamá didn’t want her to meet with the missionaries. “You’re only 12,” Mamá said. “You’re too young.”
Since Alberto was older, he was allowed to keep meeting with the missionaries. A few weeks later, he was baptized.
Zulma kept asking Mamá again and again if she could learn from the missionaries. Finally, Mamá said yes.
When the missionaries taught Zulma, she felt warm in her heart. One of the missionaries had a hard time speaking Spanish, but it didn’t matter. What mattered was how good Zulma felt. When she learned about Joseph Smith and the Book of Mormon, she knew she had found the truth she was looking for!
Zulma wanted to be baptized. But what would Mamá say? Zulma was so happy when Mamá said yes!
On the day of her baptism, Zulma dressed all in white. She knew God loved her. She knew He knew her. And she knew that He had helped her find His restored Church!
Here is Zulma as a young girl in Uruguay. On the right is a photo of her today with her husband, Elder Walter F. González of the Seventy.

Four-year-old Christopher sat by the window and watched the wet January snow pelt the glass. “Jingle bells, Jingle bells,” he whispered to himself as he stood up, stretched out his arms, and twirled. He opened and shut his eyes. Blink-blink, blink-blink.
“What are you doing, Christopher?” asked Mom.
“I’m not Christopher. I’m a Christmas tree.”
Mom smiled. “Oh, I’m sorry, Mr. Christmas tree. Are you thirsty? I can put your feet in water if you’d like.”
Christopher giggled. “Oh, Mom!”
Mom laughed too and put her arms around him. “Why do you want to be a Christmas tree?”
“I want to have Christmas every day!” he explained.
“How about if we make Christmas cookies one more time? Would you like that?”
Christopher grinned and ran to the kitchen.
After supper, Christopher sat on his bed and ate a pink-frosted angel. He savored each sugary bite. Finally he licked the last crumb from his mouth and lay back on his pillow.
“‘Away in a manger, no crib for his bed, The little Lord Jesus lay down his sweet head.’” Christopher paused and listened to the stillness. His words sounded kind of empty. He wished it was Christmas Eve again so that he could sing it with his family around the tree.
He left his room and meandered to the kitchen. He got some paper and crayons from the cupboard and sat at the table. “Mom, will you draw a star for me?”
Mom put down her dish towel and drew a big yellow star at the top of the paper. “How is that?”
“Great! Thanks, Mom.”
Mom went back to her dishes, and Christopher covered the rest of the page with tiny golden dots. When it was finished, he smiled. It was just like the star that shined over Jesus when He was born.
He got some tape from the drawer and hung the picture above his bed. “‘Away in a manger,’” he sang. But it still didn’t feel like Christmas.
That night, when the house was dark and silent, Christopher thought long and hard about Christmas. He thought about Baby Jesus and Christmas trees. He thought about candy canes and Wise Men. He thought about presents. Presents! That was it! He could give someone a present. Christopher smiled and sank sleepily into his pillow. He could give someone a present.
The next morning, just before sunrise, Christopher jumped from his bed and ran to his parents’ room. “Mom?” he whispered.
Mom rolled over and opened one eye. “Hmm?”
“How can I earn some money?”
“What? Can’t we talk about it later?”
“Oh, Mom, please? I can’t go back to sleep until I know.”
“Know what?”
“How I can earn some money.”
“Why do you need money?”
“To buy a present.”
“For whom?”
“I don’t know yet, but it will be for someone special. Please, Mom?”
His mother thought for a moment, “I guess you could do extra chores around the house.”
“Thanks, Mom!”
“Now please go back to bed.”
Christopher ran to his room and climbed into bed, but he couldn’t go back to sleep. All he could do was think about his Christmas present.
Every day for a week, Christopher washed walls, made beds, vacuumed, and dusted furniture; and each day he added nickels, dimes, and quarters to his money jar.
Before church on Sunday, his mother helped him count his money and take out enough to pay his tithing. Then she counted it again for him. He had two whole dollars left. “Wow!” she said. “You sure earned a lot of money this week.”
Christopher grinned and slipped the money into his pocket.
“Have you decided whom you’re going to buy a present for?”
“Not yet,” said Christopher, “but I’ll think about it on the way to church.”
In Primary, Christopher’s teacher talked about her mission in Korea. She let the children taste some Korean cookies, and she even let Christopher hold a doll that a Korean child had given to her. Near the end of her lesson, she asked, “Do you know what I liked best about my mission?”
Christopher and his classmates shook their heads.
“Giving the Book of Mormon to people and seeing how it changed their lives.”
Christopher felt her words settle in his heart and grow. He knew about the Book of Mormon, and he loved it too. He wished he could share it with someone, just as his teacher had.
And then he knew what he would do! Excitement tingled through him. He could hardly wait to tell his mother.
“Does a Book of Mormon cost very much?” he asked her after Primary.
“No, why?”
“Do I have enough money to buy one?”
“Yes,” she said with a smile. “But why? You already have a Book of Mormon.”
“I want to give it to someone—it’s my present.” He stuffed his hand deep inside his pocket and pulled out the money. “Now what?”
His mother led him to the bishop’s office and filled out a donation slip for him. He put the money into the envelope and handed it to the bishop. “Make sure this goes to someone special, please,” he said.
The bishop smiled and nodded.
As they walked out of the office, Christopher whisper-sang the words to “Away in a Manger.” He thought about the star that led the Wise Men to Christ. He even thought about the Christmas lights that looked just like candles blinking on a hillside. But the thought he liked most of all was how he would feel next week, when he had another after-Christmas Christmas.

Robert Blatchford, in his book God and My Neighbor, attacked with vigor accepted Christian beliefs, such as God, Christ, prayer, and immortality. He boldly asserted, “I claim to have proved everything I set out to prove so fully and decisively that no Christian, however great or able he may be, can answer my arguments or shake my case.” He surrounded himself with a wall of skepticism. Then a surprising thing happened. His wall suddenly crumbled to dust. He was left exposed and undefended. Slowly he began to feel his way back to the faith he had scorned and ridiculed. What had caused this profound change in his outlook? His wife died. With a broken heart, he went into the room where lay all that was mortal of her. He looked again at the face he loved so well. Coming out, he said to a friend: “It is she, and yet it is not she. Everything is changed. Something that was there before is taken away. She is not the same. What can be gone if it be not the soul?”

Later he wrote: “Death is not what some people imagine. It is only like going into another room. In that other room we shall find … the dear women and men and the sweet children we have loved and lost.”

“My husband’s family was very poor. His mother made rugs to sell at a trading post, and his father tended sheep, cut firewood, and hauled water for the family,” explained the lovely young wife of this General Authority, while rocking a baby on her lap. “There were ten in his family and they lived fifteen miles from the nearest town in a remote desert area. There were no cars or running water. And the drinking water was often so bad that the people there would drink fruit juices and soda pop instead.
“When my husband was four years old, he became very ill and went into a coma. Everyone thought he had died. In fact, his body had been placed in a casket for burial. In a little while they heard a faint knocking on the side of the casket. The child was alive! The casket was quickly reopened and the boy sat up. ‘I want a soda pop,’ he said.
Thereafter, he was known as the ‘soda pop kid.’ His parents have often said that after this experience he was a changed child. He was more responsible and would help tend the others in the family. He was concerned about others and seemed to be blessed with a special spirit.
“The main diet for his family was fry bread made from biscuit dough, mutton stew, and often soda pop. Today, his favorite foods are anything hot and spicy that he can put pepper on.
“He herded sheep until the age of nine; then he was placed in boarding school. Since the people there could not pronounce his real name, they gave him an English one. The only problem was that they also gave three other children the same name. So there was a number one, two, three, and four with the same name.
“A Latter-day Saint missionary couple at the trading post baptized my husband when he was ten years old, and he attended Church services from that time on. He was selected to be part of the Church’s placement program and was to be sent to Utah to live with a foster family and go to school. An hour before the bus was to leave, a friend, Brother Bloomfield, put a bowl on his head and gave him a quick haircut. All of his belongings were put into a shoe box—he had no shoes. There were more holes in the Levis he was wearing than there was denim material. He was put on a bus at night, given two dollars by Brother Bloomfield, and told that he would arrive there by morning.”
At this point, I was thinking how difficult it must have been for that little boy to leave his family to go all alone on a bus to a place with a different culture where he knew no one. The only tie that he had with them was that he was a member of the Latter-day Saint Church.
The General Authority’s wife continued: “On the first day at his new school in Utah the children all gathered round my husband. They had never seen an Indian before. ‘Where’s your war paint?’ they asked. ‘Where are your moccasins?’
“The new foster parents were concerned because their Indian son was so shy. In fact, the only words he spoke to them during the first three months were yes and no. At Christmastime they gave him some new clothes—two pairs of pants, four shirts, two pairs of stockings, etc. The mother asked him to go upstairs and try them on. After quite a while he came downstairs with all of the shirts, pants, and socks on at the same time. It was difficult to get used to a new language and customs.
“Even though my husband’s now very busy, he enjoys football and basketball. When he’s hot, he has a great corner shot and can’t miss! When he has spare time, which isn’t often, he loves to play the harmonica. Last Christmas he played for the General Authorities at their Christmas party.
“My husband believes that family home evening is a great time to train children to be leaders. He always has one of our children conduct. One of them will assign the prayers and choose the hymns. At the conclusion, the one conducting thanks all those who participated. Usually the person who gave the lesson is sincerely complimented. Then the closing song is announced and the name of the one to give the closing prayer.
“One morning the children’s father had to leave at 5 A.M. for an early meeting at the Church offices. Later he called when the children were just getting up and we all had family prayer with him on the telephone.”
His small children had these comments: “When Daddy comes home, he tells me that if I eat my dinner he’ll give me a horsey ride. Sometimes he’ll give my friend a ride too!”
“Dad is helping me to save money for my mission.”
“My daddy shows us how to clean. He always tells us to clean the counter when we wash the dishes.”
“He’s kind.”
“When he plays football with us, we all have to speak nicely.”
When asked about her husband’s favorite topic to speak on, she said, “He always says that we’re all God’s children, no matter what color we are, and that our church has no room for prejudice. When he speaks, he represents the whole Church, not just the Lamanite people.”

Suddenly Jody’s muscles tightened. From out of the sky darted Sir Lancelot, his satiny black plumage glinting in the sun like a feathery jewel.
Sir Lancelot was the name Jody had given the big raven the first time he had seen it, nearly six months before. Any bird that could appear so regal had to have an important name, he’d decided.
He stood and hurried to the rock where he’d laid the brass button, picked it up, and sat on the rock with it in his open hand. This time the bird would have to come to him for his prize.
Jody had come up to Raven’s Roost nearly every week since he had moved with his family to Tucker Springs, and he’d gotten to know Sir Lancelot quite well, at least from a distance. “If you want this button to add to your collection of shiny things, you’ll have to take it from my hand!” he told the bird.
The huge bird alighted on a limb of the scrub oak. He cocked his glossy black head and eyed the lustrous object. “Come on,” Jody encouraged.
The raven cawed noisily, his high, harsh cry echoing off the red rocks. At length, he hopped to the ground, advanced a step or two, and came to a stop.
“That’s the best you can do?” Jody questioned. “All right, but next time it’s all the way or nothing, understand?” He tossed the button a few feet in front of him. The raven, cawing at Jody and eyeing the treasure, stretched forward and plucked the button up in his long bill. Then he flew back to the limb.
He regarded the boy a moment, as if saying thanks. Then, just as Sir Lancelot was about to fly off with the precious gift, Jody heard a whizzing sound, followed by a soft thud. The raven toppled lifeless to the ground, the brass button rolling from his slack bill and disappearing into a crevice in the rocks.
For an instant Jody just stared, disbelieving. “Sir Lancelot!” he choked out. Then his attention turned to the direction of the sound.
Hollis Fletcher stepped out of the brushwood about a hundred yards away, a rock flipper in his hands. “I told you I’d get even, Farnsworth,” he sneered. “You should have dropped out of that spelling contest, like I told you. Outside of the Fourth of July and the county fair, it’s the biggest thing that happens around here. And I would have won.
“I’ve lived in Tucker Springs all my life,” Hollis went on. “Every time I earned a hundred on spelling at school, I rewarded myself with getting a new marble for my collection. I probably have the best marble collection in the whole state, but there aren’t any trophies for that, like there is for the spelling contest. I worked hard to win it—it wasn’t right for some nobody from nowhere to come into town and take the trophy that should have been mine. Especially some kid two years younger than I am.”
“I won fair and square,” Jody retorted through his tears, dropping to his knees beside the dead bird and touching its blood-spattered plumage. “Besides, you won the trophy in last year’s contest.”
“I could have had two, Farnsworth!” Hollis growled. “Around here, two is better than one, especially at my house. With one, it can be just luck. Nobody questions or forgets a two-time winner—especially my father! He would have given me a horse, Farnsworth, just like he did my brother for his two-year win at the county fair for his Jersey cows!”
Hollis turned and started down the path, then paused and burned a look over his shoulder at Jody. “Maybe now you’ll know how it feels to lose something.”
Jody scooped up a rock, jumped to his feet, and hurled it at Hollis’s retreating shape. “I hate you!” he screamed, his face twisting with grief and rage. “I hate you!”
Hollis turned back toward the screaming youth and smiled. “That’s good, Farnsworth. I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
At home, Jody poured out the story to his father. “He killed Sir Lancelot to get back at me!” he sobbed. “Sir Lancelot was just a good old bird who didn’t do anything except make music.” Jody wiped at the tears that burned his eyes. “It wasn’t the prettiest sound I’ve ever heard, but it was music to me. I hate Hollis for what he did.”
His father sighed. “It was wrong what he did, Son, no doubt about it. But you can’t go around with all that hate in your heart. For one thing, it isn’t healthy; for another, it’s—”
Jody pulled away from his father. “I hate Hollis Fletcher, Dad. I wish he’d move away!”
In the weeks that followed, the resentment and bitterness in Jody Farnsworth’s heart grew.
“You can’t tell me that you’re happy, Jody,” his father commented one day as they walked down the dirt road toward Hennesey Lake, their fishing poles over their shoulders.
Jody didn’t look at his father. “Is it wrong for a kid not to be happy all the time?” he blurted, kicking at a pebble in the road. “Even Jesus got mad at the moneychangers in the temple. And when Lazarus died, He wept. Is it wrong to be like Him?”
“No,” his father returned, “but this is the first time we’ve gone fishing that you haven’t been happy.” After a long silence, his father continued. “You know, Jody, if harboring all that spite for Hollis was right and proper, you’d be feeling pretty good inside. But I’ve never seen you look so poorly.”
Jody’s eyes fired up like smoldering coals rekindled. “I’m just supposed to forget about what he did, is that it?”
“It would be hard to forget what happened,” his father admitted. “But you can forgive him for what he did.”
Jody’s eyes widened. “What? Forgive Hollis Fletcher for shooting Sir Lancelot? How am I supposed to do that?”
His father stopped and eyed the boy. “You have to want to. That makes it a whole lot easier.”
“Well, I don’t want to.”
Jody’s father set his fishing pole aside and squatted down to the boy’s level. “There are a lot of things in this life we don’t like doing that need doing. Your mother dreads wash day, especially in the middle of July. It’s a hot, exhausting, all-day job. But what do you think would happen if our clothes didn’t get cleaned on a regular basis? We’d go around looking and smelling like Amos Twigg’s cow barn. And last fall I dreaded having to shoot Jack. That old horse was in constant great pain, and nothing more could be done except put him out of his misery. It was the hardest thing I had to do in my life. But it needed doing. And that brings me to you, Jody.”
“Me?”
“For the past month you’ve been carrying around such poisonous thoughts that I worry about your soul.”
“I just can’t forgive him, Dad,” Jody said angrily.
Later that morning, as they sat fishing, Jody accidently snagged his finger on his hook while baiting his line. “Shall we leave that hook in your finger?” Jody’s father questioned.
“Of course not!” Jody winced, at the smart.
“Why not?”
“I want to get the hurt out so it will heal, of course.”
“It might be a good idea to let that other, bigger, hurt out, too, Jody.” His father helped dislodge the small hook from the boy’s finger, then dug in his fishing box for some ointment and applied it to Jody’s finger. “The best medicine for resentment is forgiveness. It lets out the poison so that the wound can heal.
“You know,” he added, “I was thinking about what you said earlier today about being like the Savior. There’s a lot to that. He loved everybody, didn’t He? Even His enemies. Don’t you suppose He was the best example of forgiveness, too, Jody?”
Jody’s eyes fell, then lifted. “You mean, while He hung suffering on the cross He forgave the soldiers who crucified Him?”
“Yes. And in Gethsemane He suffered for all our sins.”
Jody was silent a long spell. Then he stood up. “Can we go home now, Dad? There’s something I need to do. Something I want to do.”
Jody was halfway up the little rutted lane that led to the Fletcher farmhouse, when Hollis spotted him. Jody’s heart was pounding. He never imagined that something he wanted to do could be so hard.
Hollis met Jody a short distance from the house, his countenance as dark as a storm over the tablelands. “You came to tell my father what I did, didn’t you, Farnsworth?”
“No,” Jody answered. “I just came to tell you that I forgive you for what you did. I’m not saying it was right; I’m just saying that I don’t hate you.”
“What?”
“Staying mad isn’t going to change anything,” Jody said. “It just makes things worse.”
After an awkward silence, Hollis wondered aloud, “Why are you doing this?”
“It was just something that needed doing. Well,” Jody concluded after another uncomfortable silence, “I still have a few chores to finish up at home, so I guess I’d better be going. See you later.”
A few days later he returned to the mesa and searched the skies for another raven. “I know there are more of you up there somewhere,” he said out loud. “I don’t have any shiny stuff to give you—I’m all out—but—”
“I do,” a voice behind Jody said. Hollis stepped out of the brushwood. He pulled out a leather pouch he’d brought with him and displayed its contents to Jody. “Now we have a lot of shiny things to give those ravens!”
Jody stared at the multitude of shiny aggies, taws, glassies, cat’s eyes, and other bright-colored marbles. “Why are you doing this, Hollis?”
The older boy’s smile grew as big as Jody’s wonder. “It was just something that needed doing.”
Hollis set a bright yellow glassie on a rock, then sat next to Jody beneath the scrub oak, where the two boys waited and watched.

If you walked into Stan Chidester’s living room, you would notice that the walls are covered with paintings—impressionistic watercolors, dramatic abstracts, and intricately executed montages. You would probably guess that Stan is a great fan of all this beautiful artwork. But you might not guess that Stan’s brother Brad—the very thin young man in the wheelchair moving about the room—is the artist!
Brad Chidester of Sandy, Utah, has been confined to a wheelchair most of his life with muscular dystrophy. As a child, he was the Utah state muscular dystrophy poster child. His artistic abilities were apparent from an early age. Like many little boys, he loved trucks. He was always doodling, and vehicles with wheels were his favorite subjects.
His love of drawing has given him a chance to cheer others and has helped him gain some interesting friends as well. When Brad was eleven years old, he was watching a car race on television. He was stunned to see a car crash and burn in the pits. One of the men severely injured was Derrick Walker, the manager of a racing team.
“I drew a race car and sent it to him in the hospital as a get-well card. After that, he sent me a thank-you letter. We’ve been friends ever since,” says Brad. That simple correspondence has blossomed into a special relationship. Since then, Walker and Roger Penske, another racing friend, have flown Brad and a guest to major races each year.
When Brad was in high school, one of his art teachers introduced him to watercolors. That turned out to be Brad’s favorite medium. “I loved it and just stayed with it,” said Brad. “Then one of the secretaries bought one of my landscapes. That got me really excited. I saw I could do something that could earn a little money.”
Brad went on to be named Utah’s Sterling Scholar in visual arts (an award for outstanding scholastic achievement in high school). He took some classes in graphic arts at a community college and began to have his work accepted for showing in galleries. Although he is still a struggling artist, the demand for his work is growing.
To keep track of ideas and things that interest him, Brad and his family take a camera wherever they go. He has someone take a picture of whatever catches his artistic eye. He has also expanded his style. For a long time, he drew realistically. Over the years, he has branched out. “I always thought anybody could do abstract art,” says Brad. “When you get into it, you realize how hard it is. Now it’s one of my favorite things to do.”
Brad is cared for and supported by his three older brothers and his father. His mother died a few years ago. Although he appreciates all his family does for him, when asked what one thing he would change about his life, Brad says, “I’d like to be more independent.” In that spirit, Brad is preparing himself to go to the temple.
Although Brad is a talented artist, he suffers his share of rejection. “I’ve had a lot of rejection letters from galleries,” says Brad. “But you can’t let that bother you. You have to keep going.”
Not only does he keep going, he also shares his success with others. Each year he donates paintings to the Muscular Dystrophy Association to be auctioned, with the money used in the fight against muscular dystrophy.
It’s obvious that Brad has discovered the secret to developing one’s God-given talents. He says, “If you’re really into something, pursue it to the fullest extent.” For a young man whose physical limitations would give him plenty of excuses not to try, he has taken his own advice. He is a true artist.
Brad remembers his high school days and the things people did that helped and the things that hurt. His suggestions might be useful the next time you meet someone with a disability.
“Some kids seemed afraid they would hurt my feelings, so they would just avoid me. I liked it when someone tried to get to know me.”
“Some people feel sorry for me and try too hard to be nice. I prefer it when they treat me like a regular person. Don’t be afraid; yet don’t go overboard.”
“It bothers me when kids are asking me questions and their parents shush them. Little kids are great.”
“I like it when people talk with me. That’s the best way to learn how to act around someone with a disability. Ask them.”

For some, the suffering is extraordinary. In the early days of the Church Stillman Pond was a member of the second quorum of the seventy in Nauvoo. He was an early convert to the Church, having come from Hubbardston, Massachusetts. Like others, he and his wife, Maria, and their children were harassed and driven out of Nauvoo. In September 1846 they became part of the great western migration. The early winter that year brought extreme hardships, including malaria, cholera, and consumption. The family was visited by all three of these diseases.
Maria contracted consumption, and all of the children were stricken with malaria. Three of the children died while moving through the early snows. Stillman buried them on the plains. Maria’s condition worsened because of the grief, pain, and the fever of malaria. She could no longer walk. Weakened and sickly, she gave birth to twins. They were named Joseph and Hyrum, and both died within a few days.
The Stillman Pond family arrived at Winter Quarters, and like many other families, they suffered bitterly while living in a tent. The death of the five children coming across the plains to Winter Quarters was but a beginning.
The journal of Horace K. and Helen Mar Whitney verifies the following regarding four more of the children of Stillman Pond who perished:
“On Wednesday, the 2nd of December 1846, Laura Jane Pond, age 14 years, … died of chills and fever.” Two days later on “Friday, the 4th of December 1846, Harriet M. Pond, age 11 years, … died with chills.” Three days later, “Monday, the 7th of December, 1846, Abigail A. Pond, age 18 years, … died with chills.” Just five weeks later, “Friday, the 15th of January, 1847, Lyman Pond, age 6 years, … died with chills and fever.”
Four months later, on May 17, 1847, his wife, Maria Davis Pond, also died. Crossing the plains, Stillman Pond lost nine children and a wife. He became an outstanding colonizer in Utah and later became a leader in the quorums of the seventy. Having lost these nine children and his wife in crossing the plains, Stillman Pond did not lose his faith. He did not quit. He went forward. He paid a price, as have many others before and since, to become acquainted with God.

Filipino Latter-day Saints and those of other faiths happily welcomed Elder Patrick Kearon of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles when he returned to the Philippines last May 21–31 for his second apostolic ministry to the island nation. Just like his first visit as an apostle, Elder Kearon was accompanied by his wife, Sister Jennifer Kearon.
“The joy we saw on the faces of those we met was absolutely remarkable,” the apostle said, referring to what he described as his and Sister Kearon’s “wonderful visit with members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and friends of other faiths.”
As he commenced his ten-day long ministry, Elder Kearon was joined by Elder Marcus B. Nash of the Presidency of the Seventy and his wife, Shelley; and Bishop Gérard Caussé, the Church’s Presiding Bishop, and his wife, Valerie.
All three General Authorities were accompanied at different events by members of the Philippines Area presidency and their wives, namely: Elder Carlos G. Revillo Jr. and Sister Marie Revillo; Elder Chi Hong (Sam) Wong and Sister Carol Wong; and Elder Michael B. Strong and Sister Cristin Strong. Area Seventies were also on hand to assist.
Elder Kearon held area priesthood meetings, spoke at member and missionary devotionals, and met with youth, Young Single Adults (YSAs), and Primary children. He also met again with the head of the local Catholic bishops’ conference, visited with school children and marginalized people, interacted with government, community, and interfaith leaders, and was interviewed by local media.
“When I saw in my mission call that I was assigned to Japan, I was completely shocked. But after hearing Elder Kearon’s counsel, I was reminded that the Lord knows us better than we know ourselves. Despite my lack of background, it strengthened my testimony that He indeed qualifies those whom He calls.”
Sister ZafraJapan Tokyo South Mission
On Wednesday, May 21, Elder Kearon met again with Cardinal Pablo Virgilio David of the Diocese of Kalookan at San Roque Cathedral compound in Caloocan City. Together, the two faith leaders ministered to 250 parolees and former detainees participating in the diocese’s Kaagapay Ministry Project, a community-based drug rehabilitation program. Elder Kearon led in the donation of Church-published emotional resilience materials as well as food and hygiene kits to the participants.
“It was wonderful to see Cardinal David again,” Elder Kearon beamed, “he is constantly caring for those who might be forgotten.” In turn, Cardinal David expressed appreciation for Elder Kearon and the Church’s efforts: “The elders of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints have been our partners in our many advocacies since I was still an auxiliary bishop of San Fernando, Pampanga, and serving as parish priest of Holy Rosary Parish.”
The following day, Elder Kearon handed over a donation to Caritas Manila, the Catholic Church’s humanitarian arm, to help support its Youth Servant Leadership and Education Program (YSLEP). The donation was received by Father Anton C. T. Pascual, Executive Director of Caritas Manila.
At BYU-Pathway Worldwide Global Education Center (GEC) in Cebu City, Elder Kearon personally thanked government, education, business, and community leaders for their support of BYU–Pathway Worldwide program, a Church-sponsored initiative that provides affordable, gospel-centered higher education to young people. Elder Kearon was joined by Elder Nash and Bishop Caussé along with their wives at the leadership luncheon and was also interviewed by media representatives.
“We hope and pray that you will find us in union with you, in good causes,” Elder Kearon told the invited guests, “particularly in relation to education and community building.”
At a Focus Group Discussion the Kearons had with selected YSAs, Jhezrael Punzalan had a faith-strengthening experience. She strongly felt the Spirit as Sister Kearon reassured her of the Lord’s guidance after she expressed her fears and doubts about serving a mission. “Heavenly Father answers our questions in different and unique ways,” she affirms, “and mine came in a very special way.”
The next day, May 24, Elder Kearon, Elder Nash, and Bishop Causse conducted an Area Instruction Meeting with priesthood leaders from the Visayas region, providing inspired counsel and instruction to those gathered.
A spiritual highlight of Elder and Sister Kearon’s Cebu sojourn was when the couple climbed up a mountain to visit the Secuya family of Busay 2nd Ward, Cebu Stake. From their highland farm, the Secuyas traverse through rocky paths and streams just to reach public transportation that will take them to Church every Sunday.
“We were so happy to see Elder Kearon, he reminded us of Jesus Christ and His love,” said Mitzi Secuya, who with her family heartily welcomed the apostle and his wife. As the Kearons ministered to the family, son Ryle felt strengthened in his commitment to stay active: “We will continue to go to Church, for we know that the Lord loves us.”
“This is a beautiful memory we will have forever,” Elder Kearon imparted to the family at the conclusion of the visit. “You are beautiful, each of you,” Sister Kearon lovingly reassured the Secuya children, who had faced bullying for their situation.
“Elder Kearon told us that receiving revelation is like music. You feel it and go with it, then everything follows with regards to receiving revelation. If we don’t, then revelation will be hard to come by.”
John Tilman LeeBusay 1st Ward, Cebu City Stake
In Davao City, Elder Kearon, Elder Nash, and Bishop Caussé held another Area Instruction Meeting, this time for priesthood leaders from the Mindanao region, at the Buhangin meetinghouse.
The Kearons later interacted with some 500 YSAs during a Focus Group Discussion and devotional. “Breathe in His love and peace, breathe out all the bad stuff that don’t serve as well,” Sister Kearon felt inspired to share during the devotional. Elder Keron complemented his wife’s remark by counseling the young members not to let “your fear stop you and limit your opportunities to receive the blessings.”
After Julia Faye Lacre of Matina 2nd Ward, Davao Stake heard their messages, “it helped me exhale all the negative thoughts I had because of anxiety and fear,” and “it also reminded me of my worth in the sight of God.”
Elder and Sister Kearon had a special activity with students of Ma-a Central Elementary School, where they led in the turnover of newly installed water and electricity facilities. “This is a very special school,” Elder Kearon beamed, “we love you, and love the spirit and nature of your school.” The school compound is adjacent to the Davao Philippines Temple site.
On May 27, the Kearons were joined by Elder and Sister Strong in hosting an interfaith luncheon. “This is an event that celebrates a friendship, shared values, and a collective desire to promote peace and service,” Elder Strong highlighted as he greeted the different religious leaders gathered for the event. “Please don’t stop inviting us in every gathering you have, especially if you would like to dialogue with us,” Sultan Ubpon, chair of Islamic Studies at Ateneo de Davao University expressed in gratitude during his message.
“Elder and Sister Kearon taught me an important principle: sometimes the Lord directly shows us the answer, and other times He directs us to know the right path.”
Addison Katrin MiraflorBuhangin 2nd Ward, Buhangin Stake
Elder Nash and Elder Kearon both spoke during a devotional at the Philippines Missionary Training Center (MTC) on May 29. “As we invite them to pray and read,” Elder Nash told the missionaries about those they will be teaching, “we allow them to make a connection with Jesus Christ and Heavenly Father.”
For Elder Tungpalan, “Elder Nash’s words hit my mind on how we play an important role to the lives of the people we teach.” As he thought of those he would be reaching out to in the Philippines Angeles Mission, he realized “how we play an important role in the lives of the people we teach, and that with the help of the Holy Ghost, we can make a spark in their journey towards the Savior.”
After Elder Kearon emphasized to the missionaries that “you are the message of joy that you will be bringing,” Sister Cinco was reminded of “the joy that I felt when I received the gospel, that it was a message of hope and comfort.” In her preparation to serve in Japan Tokyo South Mission, she added that the message “gave me the assurance that with the Lord, I can do all things.”
On Friday, May 30, Elder and Sister Kearon assisted Primary children in packing hygiene kits for less-fortunate children at the Las Piñas Stake Center. Elder Kearon shared that he was “very grateful to see such wonderful children showcase values of service,” and expressed hope that “more children of our church around the world are able to help and give that service to more people."
Those words brought back memories to nine-year-old Natalie Sumagpao: “I remembered that one Christmas, my family and I drove around to give food to kids on the streets. I’m grateful to be able to meet Elder and Sister Kearon, guiding us through service and bringing us closer to Jesus Christ.”
Another Primary participant, Kief Markus Tiu, felt blessed to converse with Elder Kearon, relating that “he emphasized the importance of serving others in the same way Jesus Christ did, and reminding me that Christ is the perfect example for all of us to follow.”
Later that day, Elder Kearon led a donation turnover ceremony at Elsie Gaches Village, a residential care facility for children with developmental impairments in Muntinlupa City. The Church’s generous donation included customized wheelchairs for individuals with cerebral palsy, hygiene kits, and essential supplies to support residents and staff.
The next day, Elder Kearon, Elder Nash, and Bishop Caussé, once again provided important leadership training at another Area Instruction Meeting, this time with priesthood leaders from all over the Luzon area.
Before leaving the Philippines, Elder Nash spoke to members of Valenzuela Stake during a special stake conference, touching on the importance of tithing by quoting Malachi 3:10: “Bring ye all the tithes into the storehouse, that there may be meat in mine house, and prove me now herewith, saith the Lord of hosts, if I will not open you the windows of heaven, and pour you out a blessing, that there shall not be room enough to receive it”
The quote reminded Marifi dela Cruz, Relief Society president of Meycauayan 1st Ward, of the time her family struggled financially. “I had a daughter who was in the mission field. We promised that we would pay full support for her mission, and we were faithful in living the law of tithing,” she recounts. “Eventually, we were able to overcome our struggles and receive the promised blessings of the Lord, as He truly opened the windows of heaven.”
“Elder Kearon said that The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is the Church of new beginnings. Heavenly Father knows that we will make mistakes; that is why we have our Savior Jesus Christ, so that we can come back to Him, no matter how many mistakes we’ve done.”
Elisha Kyle Canoy NalanganMatina 2nd Ward, Davao Stake
In addition to the events mentioned here, Elder Kearon also met with the Area Seventies and their wives, visited the Cebu and Davao temple sites, paid a courtesy visit at the Technical Education and Skills Development Authority (TESDA), and was interviewed by news portal Rappler. Elder Nash met with the mission leaders and missionaries of the Quezon City North Mission, held a My Plan conference with returned missionaries, and interacted with youth at an FSY conference in Tanay, Rizal, while Bishop Caussé toured the Alabang temple site and inspected Church facilities and production plants.

Early in the 1500s William Tyndale saw the need to make an English translation of the Bible directly from the Hebrew and Greek text rather than from the Latin Vulgate. As a scholar trained in Latin, Hebrew, and Greek, Tyndale was able to identify many errors in the Latin translation and would often turn to the Hebrew and Greek texts in his teaching. But his work of translation was interrupted by church leaders who were opposed to the people having a knowledge of the scriptures. Tyndale was pursued and eventually imprisoned. He suffered mental and physical torment for 18 months, until 6 October 1536, when he was taken from his cell and tied to a stake. There he uttered a loud prayer: “Lord! open the king of England’s eyes.” Tyndale was strangled and burned at the stake for heresy.

Since then Tyndale has become known as the father of our present English Bible. About 92 percent of Tyndale’s translation survived in the English King James Version. It was prepared by a committee of scholars, printed in 1611, and widely used.

Today, I’d like to tell you a story about a missionary. As I do so, I’d like you to consider what this Elder was thinking: “On a rainy summer afternoon, . . . [Elder Cracroft was] tracting along a gravel road on a hillside above Baden, Switzerland.” In his own words, he states,
As I walked from home to home, I was suddenly laid low by a speck of dust in my right eye. I learned, as one who had worn brand-new contact lenses for only five days, that a mote feels like a beam. I quickly extracted the lens, cleaned it, and prepared to reinsert it. As I held my finger at the ready, a gust of wind swept the lens from my fingertip. My lens was gone with the wind, and I was aghast -- and virtually blind, being plunged instantly into 20/600 vision in one eye, which had been miraculously corrected only a week earlier to 20/20.
Elder Neil Reading and I began to search on hands and knees in the wet gravel, sweeping an eight-foot radius about my point of loss; we searched unsuccessfully for twenty minutes. Half-blind and half-despairing, I suggested that while we were already in position, we should pray. I reasoned with the Lord, told him about my need to see; about our need to meet our three investigator families that evening; about my feeling that there was more to be gained by finding the lens than by my learning whatever I was to learn from the loss. As I concluded the prayer and stood up, I received one of those Joseph Smith ‘flashes of intelligence.’ It surprised me, but I reacted at once. Explaining the plan to my startled companion, I stood on my feet in the same place I had stood earlier, squeezed out my left contact lens, and was plunged into the distorted virtual blindness of 20/600 vision. I had begun my step into the dark.
Assured that my companion was on his knees and at the ready, I put my left lens in my mouth, extracted it, and, mounting it on my finger some six inches from my face, I waited - but not for long. A slight breeze caught my left lens, and it was gone: my step into the dark was now complete. I stood stock-still, heart in throat, until Elder Reading said, ‘I see it. It’s still in the air.’
‘Don’t lose it,’ I pled.
‘It’s still up,’ he whispered, now 10 feet away. Then, from even further away, he exclaimed, ‘It’s starting to fall!’
‘Keep your eye on it,’ I pled again.
‘I see it! I see it!’ he said. There was a long pause and then, ‘Oh my! Oh my!’ I braced.
‘You see the other lens?’ I shouted.
‘Yes, it’s right here!’ Unable to see a thing, I crawled over to him. Slowly, he planted in my palm, in order, my left and right lenses - my seer stones. I wet the lenses and, with my back to the wind and sheltered by my companion’s hovering frame, I implanted them: ‘And there was light, and it was good.’ And we knelt, and full of gratitude I thanked our God for tender mercies. We pressed on to the next house, filled with wonder at a God who knows each sparrow’s fall and the exact whereabouts in Switzerland of Elder Cracroft’s right contact lens.[1]

On the other hand, Jill and Kent Sorensen, who are from the same stake, say one of the best ways to strengthen their family has been to serve away from home. Sister Sorensen says, “One of the main excuses couples give for not going is grandkids, married children with struggles, daughters expecting babies, aging parents—you name it. Family is a priority, and you miss them every day. But going on a mission sends a powerful message that missionary work is important too.”
Besides, Elder Sorensen notes, “there are so many ways to keep in touch now that you can check in all the time.”
The Sorensens’ missionary journey began three years ago, when their bishop asked them to host monthly firesides for couples contemplating missionary service. “After talking about it constantly,” Sister Sorensen says, “we had to go ourselves!” They received a call to serve in the Cook Islands, where Jill’s grandparents served 50 years ago.
Today, among other duties, they are asked to teach Bible classes in schools.
“We talk about Christ being the rock,” Elder Sorensen says. “We give the students a small rock and encourage them to remain rock solid in Christ. Now everywhere we go, people say, ‘Rock solid!’ when they see us.”

When I was 17, my grandmother said something that completely changed the way I viewed marriage.
We were chatting and making dinner for a large family gathering while my grandfather was out getting last-minute supplies. At one point, Grandfather called to discuss something errand related. Their exchange was quick and ordinary, and I didn’t think much of it. But after Grandmother ended the call, she turned to me and said in her matter-of-fact way, “He’s a wonderful man. I really like him.” Then she turned back around to keep working on dinner.
Rarely have words struck me that deeply, and I still think of them often.