Gospel Story Finder

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

Due to financial difficulties from my parents, I had to drop out of primary school at the age of eight in a rural area in the east of the country. At the age of 18, I married a young man from my village whom I loved very much and with whom I had four children.
As a young couple, life was difficult, but I had small gainful side jobs to support my husband. Subsequently, he was recruited into the national army with the corollary of a better and more stable life for my children and me.
Once, a young man came to our house and wanted to be a tutor at home for my children. Oddly enough, I had sympathy for him, but my husband didn’t want it. I had to undertake to pay the young man myself with my meagre means. I later learned that he was a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. This would prove to be precious for later.
After several years of marriage, my husband ended up leaving our home, leaving me alone with six young children. My whole world turned upside down. I had no sufficient source of income to take care of my children and me.
Depressed and seeing no prospect in front of me, I decided one morning to end my life. My last-born son was five years old at the time came to me unexpectedly (probably sent by God) and said, “No mom, don’t do that. What do you want us to become without you?” I hugged my son Martin and we cried together. I felt a sense of guilt and shame. But I had decided to live.
Life was still difficult, so much so that I left home for a brief time to give myself moments of reflection. I went to a friend’s house outside of Abidjan. One day around 6 am, a voice said to me: “Get up quickly and join your children in Abidjan”.
When I arrived, my children taught me that they should be baptized at The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, whose missionaries had previously taught my children, but to whom I paid little attention because I was not attracted to religions. I was therefore invited to attend the baptism of my children at the Quatre Etages Ward.
Bishop Etian’s speech had a positive impact on me. It was the story of the “King with the Severed Finger” told by Muslim folk wisdom. A king had a finger cut off during the hunt and imprisoned his advisor who told him to let Allah (God) prevail in all things. Sometime later the king and his retinue were captured in the bush by cannibals who did not want him because of his disability. He was therefore the only one released and his life spared. He ran to deliver his servant, apologizing profusely. The latter replied that God is never wrong and that everything works together for our good. He said, “If you hadn’t put me in jail, I would be with you, captured, devoured by the cannibals, and probably dead today.”
From that moment on, I made a firm resolution to take my life and that of my children totally into my own hands by being baptized. From then on, I decided to forgive my husband for the wrongs I had suffered. My husband is still not in our home, but I have a more brotherly and kinder relationship with him through the power of forgiveness. I undertook income-generating activities that have allowed me to provide for my family and especially to ensure the schooling of my children for more than 15 years. Today, two of my daughters are starting careers as teachers in public schools. My last son has just been admitted to the university for which I am looking for ways to finance the courses. They make me proud. I have been able to go to the Accra Ghana Temple where I was endowed and sealed to my deceased parents.
I hope one day to be able to remarry in the temple to have an eternal marriage. The lessons I draw from my life is that everything works together for the good of one who believes in God.
As told to Sadia Zouzou, Côte d’Ivoire communication director

I yanked the middle drawer right out of my dresser and rifled through it, hurling all the rejected clothing to the floor. It was “Bulldogs Wear Blue” day at school, I was late, and I still couldn’t find my Bulldogs sweatshirt. Finally recognizing a blue sleeve poking up out of the bottom drawer, I grabbed the wadded sweatshirt. Giving it a good stretch to try to pull out the wrinkles, I threw it over my head and rushed to the front door.
“‘Bye, Mom,” I said, smearing a kiss on her cheek and racing down the driveway toward the bus stop. From the sidewalk, I could see the last child boarding the bus.
“Here comes Michelle,” someone called to the driver. Then everyone on the bus turned to watch as I ran to it. Red-faced from running and from embarrassment, I slunk into the first available seat without ever looking up.
At school, I was halfway through the Pledge of Allegiance when I glanced at the chalkboard and realized that I had forgotten my homework. Last night I had struggled through a math story problem four times before I figured it out, and now I had left it home, where it would do me no good at all! When a day starts like this, it’s guaranteed to be rough. By the time the bell rang at three o’clock, I was miserable.
I trudged home from the bus stop, rehearsing my troubles of the day. Maybe Mom made some of her delicious peanut-butter cookies, I thought. The chewy ones with the crisscross marks on the top. Warm. With milk. I couldn’t wait!
My happy thoughts quickly disappeared when I walked into the kitchen. My little brother—not my mother—had been busy in the kitchen! There was a white powder trail from the flour bin to the middle of the floor, where he sat with a big mixing bowl full of slimy goo. “What are you doing?” I asked.
“I’m making bread just like Mom,” he answered, throwing a handful onto the floor and “kneading” it into the linoleum.
On another day, I might have thought it was funny. But not today—I was angry! I wanted to be greeted by warm cookies, not a little brother making a big mess!
Just then Mom walked in and saw the disaster. “What’s going on?” she asked. “Michelle, why are you just watching him make such a mess?” Her voice rose a notch. “And your room is a disaster! Go to your room and don’t come out until it’s clean.”
I slammed the door to my room and flopped onto the bed. It isn’t fair! I didn’t make a mess in the kitchen. Why am I in trouble? I’m the one having a bad day. Nobody cares. I sat up and wiped the angry tears from my eyes. I could hear the twins crying. My slammed door must have woken them from their naps.
I looked around my room. It really was a disaster! There was a drawer on the floor, and I had scattered clothes everywhere that morning while looking for my Bulldogs sweatshirt. And during the day, my would-be-baker brother must have invaded my toys, because they were scattered around the room, too. It was a mess. And it wasn’t fair! That brother of mine was a problem. Why can’t he stay out of my stuff? I wondered. I decided to rearrange my room so that he couldn’t reach my toys anymore.
I pulled everything off all the shelves and out of my desk drawers—toys, papers, crayons, everything! Everything of any interest to a little brother was going to be moved out of reach. As I rummaged through my closet, looking for toys that would need to be protected, I found my Tyrannosaurus Terror Drawing Kit.
Meanwhile, Mom had gone to the twins’ room to settle them down again. Then she had returned to the kitchen and found my brother trying to clean up his mess. Dragging a wet towel in the dough, he had smeared paste from the middle of the room to the sink and all around!
After Mom finally got the kitchen under control, she came to my room, where she found me sitting on an even bigger pile of stuff, playing with my dinosaur drawing kit. I knew right away that I was in big trouble. Her eyes widened and she opened her mouth to say something (or maybe yell something). Instead, she just turned around and left crying, looking totally defeated.
I felt awful. Everything had gone wrong—my sweatshirt, the bus, my homework, my little brother—and Mom was upset with me. I felt all alone. Not knowing what else to do, I knelt and prayed. “Heavenly Father, please help me. Help me so everything is OK. Help my mom be happy. Help her to love me even though I have a messy room. Please, Heavenly Father, please help me.” Still kneeling beside my bed, I buried my face in my pillow and sobbed.
Shortly, I heard Mom in the hall. I jerked up and grabbed a shirt to act like I was putting it away. I didn’t want to get in trouble again for not working.
When Mom came into my room, her eyes were red and swollen worse than mine. She quietly asked if I had been praying. I hesitated because I knew I was supposed to be cleaning, but I nodded yes.
Mom cleared a spot beside me, sat down, and put her arms around me. “I love you,” she said. “I’m sorry I was upset with you. I’m sorry you’re not having a very good day. I’ve had a hard day myself, and I was praying for help when the Spirit whispered that you were praying for me, too.”
“Really?” I asked. “Heavenly Father heard my prayer, and the Holy Ghost told you?”
“That’s right,” Mom said, smiling.
I started to cry again, but this time it was because I knew that somebody cared. Heavenly Father had watched my awful day, and He understood that I needed love more than I needed a clean room. And even though I didn’t get warm peanut-butter cookies, I felt a real warmth inside, a comforting knowledge that I am never alone.

When Janice found herself feeling guilty and frustrated at her inability to meet the expectations she had placed on herself and those she felt others placed on her, she sought Heavenly Father’s help. “Gradually as I drew closer to him,” she said, “I realized how superficial many of my expectations had been, and that I simply did not need to be perfect in every talent and every area that others excelled in. Drawing closer to him led me to an uncluttered perception of what was expected of me and an awareness of my intrinsic worth and potential as his daughter. My frustrations dissipated into a feeling of peace and harmony.”

A young man who knew the Prophet Joseph Smith later recalled an occasion when
Joseph and some of the young men were playing various out-door games, among which was a game of ball. By and by they began to get weary. He saw it, and calling them together he said: “Let us build a log cabin.” So off they went, Joseph and the young men, to build a log cabin for a widow woman. [Edwin Holden, in “Recollections of the Prophet Joseph Smith,” Juvenile Instructor 27, no. 5 (1 March 1892): 153]
On other occasions after playing ball with the boys, the Prophet gathered up the players and sent them out to chop and deliver wood to the needy (see Mosiah Lyman Hancock, page 22 of Autobiography, typescript, LDS Church Archives, Salt Lake City; also in They Knew the Prophet, comp. Hyrum L. Andrus and Helen Mae Andrus [Salt Lake City: Bookcraft, 1974], 103).

The lights were turned low, and the soft strains of Christmas carols filled the room as Grandma Joy fashioned fancy bows for the packages she had just wrapped with gaily colored paper. She smiled just thinking about her children and grandchildren, who would be visiting her tomorrow on Christmas Day. She was looking forward to the sparkling eyes and clapping hands of her grandchildren as they opened their gifts.
Grandma Joy had made each grandchild a pair of soft flannel pajamas with colorful trains, toy soldiers, rag dolls, or kittens on them. Each child would have his own favorite color, and, as a special treat, she had crocheted matching slippers with big, bouncy pom-poms on them.
Finished now with the bows, Grandma Joy relaxed in her recliner rocking chair to enjoy the music and to let her mind wander back over the day to see if she had forgotten anything. The sugar cookies were baked and decorated. The fruitcakes, taken from the oven only an hour ago, were sending their spicy aroma throughout the house as they cooled on racks on the kitchen counter. The family’s traditional salad mold was in the refrigerator, and the homemade fudge and divinity were heaped in fancy dishes about the living room.
The dining room table was covered with her best tablecloth, and in the center rested a bowl of shining red apples, ripe yellow bananas, thick-skinned navel oranges, and clusters of purple and red grapes. And on top of the television was Grandma Joy’s special gift for Tanya.
Tanya was the oldest grandchild. She had a keen, active mind overflowing with questions that Grandma Joy had run out of instant answers to—questions like:
“Grandma Joy, why wasn’t Jesus born in a beautiful home instead of a stable? I’ve been in a barn with cattle, and it’s not a very pleasant place for a human baby to be born.
“Once when I was building a birdhouse, the hammer slipped and hit my finger. It hurt really bad, and my fingernail turned black, and I finally lost it. So how could Jesus let the people crucify Him? How could He stand it when the soldiers drove nails through His hands and feet?
“How could Jesus go forty days and nights without food, when I get so hungry that I eat after school and then can hardly wait until Dad gets home for dinner?
“How could Jesus love all the little children and hold them in His arms? When Jimmy gets dirty and his hands are sticky, I don’t want him near me!
“Why did Jesus just wander around—why didn’t He work at a job like Dad does? I see on TV that when people don’t work, the police sometimes chase them out of parks, and charity groups have to feed them. …”
Tanya must have a good Primary teacher, Grandma Joy mused, one who gets children to think for themselves. Since Tanya left here last Sunday, I’ve needed every minute to prepare the Answer Tree for her.
The little Christmas tree had tiny packages hanging from its green branches. Grandma Joy had spent hours that week studying and reading the Bible and other good books, writing down the answers to Tanya’s questions, and wrapping the little pieces of paper as ornaments for the two-foot tree.
After a lovely Christmas dinner the next day, and after all the other gifts had been exchanged, Grandma Joy and Tanya sat together in the big chair near the little tree. The younger children were napping, and the other adults were visiting quietly together. It was a perfect time for Tanya to open the ornament-packages on the Answer Tree. She picked a blue ball-shaped one first and read:
“‘Jesus loved little children because He knew that they are innocent and trusting and eager to learn. He compared the kingdom of God to a child. Sticky hands or straggly hair or dirty knees aren’t as important as a pure heart. Jesus sees our souls.’
“Oh, Grandma Joy,” Tanya exclaimed, “these are answers to my questions! Thank you!”
Choosing a red package made up to look like a Wise Man, Tanya read the message inside:
“‘Only because He sacrificed Himself for us—and rose again—can we be resurrected after we die. He suffered for our sins so that we can live with Him again if we live righteously here on earth. Jesus let the soldiers nail Him to the cross and endured the pain because He loved us and wants us to be with Him always.’”
Unwrapping a white ornament that looked like an open Bible, Tanya read:
“‘Not much is said directly about why Heavenly Father didn’t arrange for Jesus to be born in a better place than a stable, but maybe one reason was that His humble birth helped to show that He came to save everyone. The Jews were expecting the Savior to be more like a warrior-king who would conquer their enemies, so His birth in a stable might have been a way to indicate His true ministry right from the start of His mortal life. Another reason that He was born in a stable may have been to show that it is one of God’s commandments to obey the laws of the land. Mary and Joseph were doing that when they went to Bethlehem to pay their taxes.’”
Inside a tiny gift box with an orange bow was this message:
“‘Jesus wandered from place to place because He needed to teach as many people as He could before He died. There were no radios or televisions or even loudspeakers for Him to use, so He had to travel from place to place to heal people and to teach them. Until He went to Gethsemane and Calvary, that was His job.’”
Tanya opened a green bell package next and read:
“‘Like Jesus, Moses fasted for forty days. Both of them were with Heavenly Father during that time and were sustained by Him as they received His counsel. Heavenly Father helped them so that they could help us.’”
Finally Tanya took the gold star from the top of the tree. Carefully she opened it, then read this verse from “O Little Town of Bethlehem”:
“‘How silently, how silently,
The wondrous gift is given!
So God imparts to human hearts
The blessings of his heaven.
No ear may hear his coming;
But in this world of sin,
Where meek souls will receive him, still
The dear Christ enters in.’
“Oh, Grandma Joy, I’m so glad that I can come to you with my questions,” Tanya said as she snuggled in the big chair with her grandmother once again. “Your Christmas Answer Tree explained things so that I can understand them.”
“Thank you, dear,” Grandma Joy told her. “That’s the best praise anyone can get.”

Mary Bommeli was my great-grandmother. Mary was born in 1830. The missionaries taught her family in Switzerland when she was 24. She was still living at home, weaving and selling cloth to help support her family on their small farm. When the family heard the restored gospel of Jesus Christ, they knew it was true. They were baptized. Mary’s brothers were called on missions. The rest of the family sold their possessions to go to America to gather with the Saints.
There was not enough money for all to go. Mary volunteered to stay behind because she felt she could earn enough from her weaving to support herself and save for her passage. She found her way to Berlin and to the home of a woman who hired her to weave cloth for the family’s clothing. She lived in a servant’s room and set up her loom in the living area of the home.
It was against the law then to teach the doctrine of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in Berlin. But Mary could not keep the good news to herself. The woman of the house and her friends would gather around the loom to hear the Swiss girl teach. She talked about the appearance of Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ to Joseph Smith, of the visitation of angels, and of the Book of Mormon. When she came to the accounts of Alma, she taught the doctrine of the Resurrection.
In those days, many children died very young. The women around the loom had lost children in death, some of them several children. When Mary taught the truth that little children were heirs of the celestial kingdom and that those women might again be with them and with the Savior and our Heavenly Father, tears rolled down the faces of the women. Mary cried too. All those tears got the cloth wet that Mary had woven.
One night there was a knock at the door. It was the police. They took Mary to jail. At the jail, Mary asked for a pencil and some paper. She wrote a letter to the judge. She wrote about the Resurrection of Jesus Christ as described in the Book of Mormon, about the spirit world, and about the final judgment. In the morning she asked the policeman to take her letter to the judge.
It wasn’t long until the policeman came back to Mary’s cell. He told her that all charges were dismissed and that she was free to go. Her teaching the doctrine of the restored gospel of Jesus Christ [got] her cast into jail. And her declaring the doctrine of repentance to the judge got her cast out of jail.

In 1975, while waiting for approval of the Book of Mormon translation, she began translating the Doctrine and Covenants. The other members of the translating committee discontinued translating for various reasons, so Sri was the mainstay of the scripture translation effort. Though she went to her job during the day, she felt driven to translate when she returned home. Often she worked late into the night, completing a rough translation of as many verses as she could in order to have them ready for the daily meeting of the translation committee. Once she went with other Church members to help with a cleaning project. After several hours of hard work, others suggested she go home to rest. Sri said that she was already resting because if she went home she would feel compelled to translate and could not sleep. The translation of the Doctrine and Covenants was completed in 1979.

From South America we received word of a woman who, when approached by missionaries to accept baptism, said, “You don’t want me. I am nothing.” But the missionaries persisted. She accepted the gospel, and it brought hope and love to her life; it brought learning and growth and progress. In time she became a Relief Society president, and through her devoted concern she could give that same hope and love to others.

To illustrate, I’d like to share one of the most significant dots of my life: attending Ricks College.

I began attending school in Rexburg during a summer term in 2000. I intended to earn an associate’s degree before serving a mission and then transfer to a four-year college. Those plans changed on June 21 of that year, when President Gordon B. Hinckley, the 15th president of the Church, announced that Ricks College would become Brigham Young University-Idaho. I remember the impression I had that I would attend BYU-Idaho following missionary service.

Countless dots of paint have since been applied to the canvas of my life via lessons that I’ve learned from roommates, friends, faculty mentors, supervisors, and ecclesiastical leaders. They would not, however, exist in the same ways or forms had I not followed the prompting to attend BYU-Idaho.

Just as a simple picture allowed Christ to enter into one family’s Christmas traditions, a few notes of music have strengthened another family’s feelings about Christmas.
The Pikes, of Holladay, Utah, have made music an integral part of their lives, and of their Christmases, by producing an annual concert for friends and families in the East Millcreek (Utah) Eleventh Ward.
“Music has a very strong part in my life,” says 18-year-old Emily Pike, who has been helping her family put on the concert for two years. “We think of the Christmas program as a gift that shows the people in the ward how much we love them.”
Emily has found that singing and listening to the words of a hymn or choral music invite the Spirit to dwell inside her. She says that her family tries to bring this feeling into everyone’s heart as they prepare their Christmas program.
“I have always felt the Spirit more strongly when I sing,” Emily says. “I’m able to get into the music more when I’m thinking of the words and what they mean to me. It brings out the life of Christ and helps me to remember what Christmas is really about.”
“You learn to love the music, and you just feel so much happiness, and you feel Christ’s love with you [when you sing].”
As Emily joins her family this season to sing hymns about our Savior, she knows she will be blessed. She also knows that her Christmas will be more meaningful. Most of all, she knows that a short verse in the Doctrine and Covenants is true in her own life. “The song of the righteous is a prayer unto me, and it shall be answered with a blessing upon their heads” (D&C 25:12).

Before this calling I was a financial consultant in Houston, Texas. Most of my work was with multimillionaires who owned their own businesses. Almost all of them had created their successful businesses from nothing through lots of hard work. The saddest thing for me was to hear some of them say that they wanted to make it easier for their children. They did not want their children to suffer as they had. In other words, they would deprive their children of the very thing that had made them successful.
By contrast, we know a family who took a different approach. The parents were inspired by J. C. Penney’s experience where his father told him when he turned eight years old that he was on his own financially. They came up with their own version: as their children graduated from high school, they were on their own financially—for further education (college, graduate school) and for their financial maintenance (truly self-reliant) (see D&C 83:4). Happily, the children reacted wisely. All of them are college graduates, and several also completed graduate school—all on their own. It wasn’t easy, but they did it. They did it with hard work and faith.

A weary Indian family stepped out of the cool green forest and stood for a moment, savoring the incredible beauty of the place they had discovered. There before them sparkled a placid blue lake, cupped by gently sloping hills. A dense cover of stately evergreen trees protected the water from high winds and scented the clean air with their spicy fragrance. A medley of joyful birdsongs echoed about them. Ferns and delicate wild flowers carpeted a forest that was splashed with blooming trees.
The family watched a large silvery fish leap out of the water; then it shimmied down, sending circular ripples over the calm surface. Across the lake a doe and her spotted fawn quenched their thirst. The doe stared curiously for a few moments and then ignored the human intruders.
The man and woman smiled at each other and unstrapped their heavy backpacks. They helped remove smaller ones carried by the boy and girl.
“It’s the perfect place for our summer home,” Yellow Wolf said with satisfaction. “Game is plentiful and this bountiful land will supply all our needs if we treat it kindly.”
“Yes,” Brown Deer agreed, smiling. “I saw a bee tree for honey and stands of berry thickets. There are also herbs for medicine and cooking. After surviving such a hard winter, the children will grow sleek and well fed in this peaceful, happy place.”
Yellow Wolf and his son Long Pine set snares for small game, then fished for their supper while Brown Deer and Red Squirrel unpacked their belongings. The speckled fish were hungry and could have provided a mighty catch, but the fishermen stopped after catching four large ones for their evening meal.
After their tepee was erected, Brown Deer scooped out a pit for her cooking fire. The pit was safe from breezes that might blow embers into the forest and start a fire that could devastate the area and wildlife.
Red Squirrel was drawn to clumps of brilliant orange flowers growing near the trees. The watchful mother stopped her work momentarily. “Choose only one flower to pick,” she cautioned, “but you may gather many dried seedpods. We will sow them in other spots around the lake, to spread their beauty for those who may come here after we are gone.”
All summer the family lived in the beautiful place they would always remember. Careful to take only what they needed, they nurtured the land. Then the leaves began to change color and the air turned crisp and cold. A heavy frost wilted the orange flowers. “The creatures have reared their young. Bears are fat for their winter sleep, and the birds are winging south. We must leave, too, before the deep snows come and trap us here,” Yellow Wolf said sadly.
Brown Deer nodded and sighed with regret. The family had been very happy here. She and Red Squirrel began to pack for the long journey south where winters were not so harsh. It was sad to think that they would probably never see this place or ever camp here again.
Brown Deer filled in and smoothed her cooking pit last, but the fresh soil looked like an ugly scar in the earth. Yellow Wolf and Long Pine waited patiently as mother and daughter planted sod and ferns to cover it. When the Indian family vanished into the forest, there was no sign to show they had lived here for a whole summer.

The Smith family and others in their area were given opportunities to heft the ancient record and feel its individual plates at the Smith family home in Manchester Township, New York. Joseph’s younger brother William, age 16 in 1827, had a vivid memory of witnessing the plates, which he later shared in a sermon: “When the plates were brought in they were wrapped up in a tow frock. My father then put them into a pillow case. Father said, ‘What, Joseph, can we not see them?’ [Joseph responded,] ‘No. … I was forbidden to show them until they are translated, but you can feel them.’ We handled them and could tell what they were. … Could tell whether they were round or square. Could raise the leaves this way (raising a few leaves of the Bible before him). One could easily tell that they were not a stone, hewn out to deceive, or even a block of wood.”1

On another occasion, William provided further information: “I could tell they were plates of some kind and that they were fastened together by rings running through the back.”2 He also wrote that in addition to feeling the individual plates and rings, he had hefted the entire artifact: “I was permitted to lift them. … They weighed about 60 pounds according to the best of my judgment.”3 Joseph’s younger sister Katherine, age 14, also got to hold the plates the day Joseph brought them home. She “rippled her fingers up the edge of the plates and felt that they were separate metal plates and heard the tinkle of sound that they made.”4

I can tell you from experience something about how to help if you are the one sent. Shortly after I was called to the Quorum of the Twelve, I got a phone call from President Faust, counselor in the First Presidency. He asked me to come to his office. I went with some concern as to why he would take the time to visit with me.
After some pleasantries, he looked at me and said, “Has it happened yet?” When I looked puzzled he went on to say, “I’ve been watching you in meetings. It seems to me that you have been feeling that your calling is beyond you and that you are not qualified.”
I said that doubt had come to me, as if I had hit a wall. I expected that he was going to reassure me. I told him that I appreciated his being aware of my doubts and asked for his help. But I was surprised by his kind, firm reply. He said, “Don’t ask me. Go to Him.” Then he pointed up to heaven. Now years later I sit in that same office. When I walk into it I look up and remember him and how he taught me by example how to help those who are feeling overwhelmed in the Lord’s service. Find a way to send them with confidence to Him. If they will follow your counsel, they will gain the strength they need and to spare.

Last week on a flight to New York I had a fascinating conversation with a fellow passenger. For much of the journey we were each pouring over the reading material we had brought with us. I was thinking about my remarks today and when he had finished the article he was reading I informed him that I was thinking about an idea and could use his help.

I asked him how he would define contention. He thought for a moment and then answered: "passionate disagreement." I responded: "Anything else?" He replied: "Heated but under control exchanges." He said that in the business world where he spent his hours, he hoped that contentious exchanges were kept professional.

I inquired if he thought there was more or less contention now than fifteen or twenty years ago. He sighed and responded that his sense was that there was more contention now, in part because of the development of technology. Today, there are more platforms through which people can express disagreement. Multiple media outlets and means of communication mean than our exchanges with others are ubiquitous and often impersonal because they are at a distance. He added that financial pressures in his world often contributed to contention and caused people to become cynical and to withhold trust.

Our conversation ranged widely. He suggested that people today often focus more on the noise surrounding what others are saying than on understanding the point someone is trying to make. We noted some of the many manifestations of contention - arguing, challenging, ascribing unflattering motives, road rage, and more. I suggested that we consider some pairs of contrasting terms:
Contention and harmonyCompetition and collaborationZero-sum exercises and win-win exercises
What is common to contention, competition, and zero-sum exercises is that they involve an effort to prevail, to defeat, and to exert superiority. What is common to harmony, collaboration, and win-win exercises is an effort to share, to work together, and to benefit and bless one another.

During the course of our conversation we each learned much. We were coming from different perspectives and different experiences. The longer we talked, the more we found that we had in common.

When the plane landed, I remarked that I wished we had begun our conversation even earlier and that the flight was all too short. I thanked him for what I had learned from him and noted that though we came from different backgrounds we shared much in common. He had been born in Puerto Rico and had come with his family to New York City as a child. We discussed how relations between the different races and ethnic groups in our nation's largest city had changed for the better during the course of his lifetime.

As we parted, I observed that during our entire conversation there had not been a single moment of contention. We had not argued or challenged, but we had listened carefully and in the process I had learned much. He smiled broadly and said that he felt the same way about our conversation and that he also had learned much. We exchanged addresses and I promised to honor his request to send him a copy of my remarks this morning. In doing so, I will also send him a copy of the Book of Mormon which is full of insights on the subject of contention and peace.

Let me share with you an experience that illustrates this assurance.

Brother Edwin Q. Cannon Jr., we call him Ted, was a missionary to Germany in 1938. He loved the people and served faithfully. At the conclusion of his mission, he returned home to Salt Lake City. He married and commenced his own business.

Forty years passed by. One day Brother Cannon came to my office and said he had been pruning his missionary photographs. (That’s a good word. You go through all of them, throw two away, and keep all rest.) Among those photographs he had kept since his mission were several which he could not specifically identify. Every time he had planned to discard them, he had been impressed to keep them, although he was at a loss as to why. They were photographs taken by Brother Cannon during his mission when he served in Stettin, Germany, and were of a family—a mother, a father, a small girl, and a small boy. He knew their surname was Berndt but could remember nothing more about them. He indicated that he understood there was a Berndt who was a Church leader in Germany, and he thought, although the possibility was remote, that this Berndt might have some connection with the Berndts who had lived in Stettin and who were depicted in the photographs. Before disposing of the photos, he thought he would check with me.

I told Brother Cannon I was leaving shortly for Berlin, where I anticipated that I would see Dieter Berndt, the Church leader, and that I would show the photographs to him to see if there was any relationship and if he wanted them. There was a possibility I would also see Brother Berndt’s sister, who was married to Dietmar Matern, a stake president in Hamburg.

The Lord didn’t even let me get to Berlin before His purposes were accomplished. I was in Zurich, Switzerland, boarding the flight to Berlin, when who should also board the plane but Dieter Berndt. He sat next to me, and I told him I had some old photos of people named Berndt from Stettin. I handed them to him and asked if he could identify those shown in the photographs. As he looked at them carefully, he began to weep. He said, “Our family lived in Stettin during the war. My father was killed when an Allied bomb struck the plant where he worked. Not long afterward, the Russians invaded Poland and the area of Stettin. My mother took my sister and me and fled from the approaching enemy. Everything had to be left behind, including any photographs we had. Brother Monson, I am the little boy pictured in these photographs, and my sister is the little girl. The man and woman are our dear parents. Until today, I had no photographs of our childhood in Stettin or of my father.”

Wiping away my own tears, I told Brother Berndt the photographs were his. He placed them carefully and lovingly in his briefcase.

At the next general conference, when Dieter Berndt visited Salt Lake City, he paid a visit to Brother and Sister Edwin Cannon Jr. so that he might express in person his gratitude for the inspiration that came to Brother Cannon to retain these precious photographs and for the fact that he followed that inspiration in keeping them for 40 years.

“I’m so hungry. What can I eat?” Ryan asked. “Have a banana or an apple,” Mom said. “I’m tired of bananas and apples,” Ryan said. “Would you like some grapes or crackers?” Mom asked. “I’m tired of grapes and crackers too,” Ryan said. Mom thought for a minute and asked, “How about Tooty Fruity Salad?” “Cool! What’s that?” Ryan asked. “A special family recipe,” Mom said. Ryan got one table knife, one banana, and one bowl. Then he cut the banana into 10 slices and put them in the bowl. He put 10 grapes in the bowl. While Mom cut up an apple, Ryan sliced four strawberries. He added them to the bowl and stirred with a spoon. He broke a long graham cracker into four pieces and put them in the bowl with the fruit. “Now you have Tooty Fruity Salad,” Mom said. “I like this fruity salad, but why is it tooty?” Ryan asked. “Because it’s too good to be turned down,” Mom said.

On a subsequent trip we had occasion to put the plan into practice. We had ridden the light rail to Greenwich and were returning to London. The kids had run ahead, pushed the “Open Door” button on the train, and gotten on. We followed them and pushed the button for the door to open. It didn’t work on the first push or on any of the increasingly vigorous pushes that followed. Instead the train began to pull away, and we watched as our kids waved goodbye with their faces pressed against the window. Again we were saved by the kindness of other passengers, who notified the conductor; the train was stopped and the doors manually opened.

In our debriefing afterward, we asked the kids what they would have done if the train hadn’t stopped. Fully expecting that they would tell us that they would have followed the family plan, our youngest, Eliza, instead said that she would have ridden the train into the city and switched to the Tube at Bank Station, ridden it to Queensway, walked down Bayswater Road, turned right on Palace Court, and gone to our home at number 27. I was stuck wondering how in the world she had learned to navigate the transportation system of one of the largest cities in the world and how in the world she had gotten our family plan so wrong.

I just had to write and tell you of the most fantastic thing that has happened since Prince Charming kissed Sleeping Beauty and woke up the whole town. I’m a full-time missionary (have been for 21 months now), and I’ve had the usual share of ups and downs, neat experiences, and even baptisms during my mission.
Well, having been out in the mission field so long, I found things becoming sort of routine, and I wanted to “give it my best shot” these last few months. But I didn’t know how. One night right after my companion and I had said our prayers and were about to retire to bed, it happened. I saw the August and September issues of the New Era. I couldn’t help myself—I took them into my room and read and read and read until my eyes were bloodshot. I finished devouring both issues before the sun came up the next morning.
During the night, a miraculous transformation had taken place. I was so different, even my companion didn’t recognize me at the breakfast table. I was smiling! He ate his breakfast warily, keeping an eye on me. Then we went out to work. It must have become contagious, because everywhere we went that day, others caught it too. Now many more people in this small Iowa town are smiling (and they don’t even know why). All because of the New Era!
A MissionaryIowa Des Moines Mission