Gospel Story Finder

Such discipleship was beautifully demonstrated in recent events in Mexico.
It had been a beautiful spring for the fruit-growing communities in northern Mexico. The fruit trees were in full bloom, and expectations were high for a bounteous harvest. Plans were already being made to pay off loans, replace needed equipment and aging orchards, and meet personal commitments such as school tuition for family members. Plans were even being made for family vacations. There was a general air of optimism. Then, on a Monday afternoon in late March, a winter storm moved in, and it began to snow. It snowed until about three o’clock in the morning. Then, as the clouds moved out, the temperature plummeted. Throughout the night and early morning, every effort was made to save at least a part of the fruit crop. It was all to no avail. It simply got too cold, and the crop was totally frozen. There would be no fruit to be harvested and sold this year. Tuesday dawned with the sickening and disheartening loss of all those wonderful plans, expectations, and dreams of just the day before.
I received an email regarding that terrible Tuesday morning from Sandra Hatch, the wife of John Hatch, then-first counselor in the presidency of the Colonia Juárez Chihuahua Temple. I quote portions of that email: “John got up early—about 6:30—to run up to the temple to see if we should cancel the session this morning. He came back saying that the parking lot and road were clear, so we decided to go ahead. We figured that maybe some of the workers who didn’t have orchards would come, and we could put all the workers into the session. … It was so inspiring to see the men come in, one after another. There they were, after no sleep at all, and figuring their crops were lost. … I was watching them during our preparation meeting, and they were having a hard time staying awake. But instead of figuring they had a good excuse to not come, they were there. And there were 38 people in the session (a full session)! It was an uplifting morning for us, and we thanked Heavenly Father for good people who do their duty, no matter what happens. I felt a special spirit there this morning. I am sure He was pleased to know that we love His house and felt that it was a good place to be on such a difficult morning.”

My love for teaching young children prompted me to search for information about Sunbeams and the beloved children’s hymn “Jesus Wants Me for a Sunbeam” (Songbook, 60–61). I learned that the song was written by Nellie Talbot in 1899:
Racking her brain for material for her Sunday School class in rural Missouri, she thought to herself, “How can you say there’s nothing to teach about when you have the sun and the sky and the trees and the flowers!” [www.cyberhymnal.org/htm/i/l/l/illbeasb.htm]
Edwin Othello Excell, composer of “Count Your Blessings” (Hymns, 1985, no. 241) and the predominant arranger of “Amazing Grace,” wrote the music to the Sunbeam song, which was originally entitled “I’ll Be a Sunbeam.”
As I continued my search for the history of the Sunbeam song, I discovered that it had a connection to the first Sunbeam Band, an organization for the Christian training of young children (see Encyclopedia of Southern Baptists [Nashville, Tennessee: Broadman Press, 1958], s.v. “Sunbeam Band,” 2:1314). The Sunbeam Band was formed in 1886, when Anna Louise Elsom, a young mother who taught children ages four to 13 at Fairmont Baptist Church in Nelson County, Virginia, “prayed that God would send someone to help her teach the boys and girls about missions” (www.vaiden.net/baptist.html). Soon George Braxton Taylor, a young pastor “with a ‘heart all aglow with a fire for missions,’ came right from Southern Baptist Theological Seminary in Louisville to become the new pastor for the Fairmont Baptist Church” (ibid.). It was this young pastor who organized the first Sunbeam Band.
His name, George Braxton Taylor, jumped out at me. I thought to myself, “That name sounds familiar. I wonder if we are related.” So I went to the Taylor family tree that my father had compiled and found several George Taylors listed—which obviously meant it is a common name in my family. Upon viewing this chart more closely, I found that indeed there was a George Braxton Taylor who was born and lived in Virginia at about the same time as the pastor I had been reading about.
After going back and forth over a lot of historical and genealogical information, I found that the George Braxton Taylor who organized the first Sunbeam group was the same George on my family tree. It’s funny that I found him online when, meanwhile, gathering dust on my bookshelf was a 1908 copy of a book he wrote about his father, who was also a Baptist minister. Looking around my home for more material connected to George Braxton Taylor, I realized that I had two books written in the early 1800s by his grandfather—James Barnett Taylor, a prominent leader in the Baptist church—and I also had James’ personal spectacles and handcrafted desk.
Feeling a familial and even tangible connection to George Braxton Taylor, I became more interested in his service as pastor of Fairmont Baptist Church. It was there that Anna Louise Elsom called her class Sunbeams, “because the sunshine illuminated and warmed the corner of the church where she taught the children” (ibid.).

As the presiding elder, Fujiya Nara (behind the man in the dark suit) took responsibility for keeping in contact with members after the Japan Mission closed in 1924.
When the Japan Mission was closed in 1924, many members felt lost and abandoned. Leadership for the approximately 160 members in Japan fell to Fujiya Nara, the presiding elder in the country, whose employment with the railroad allowed him to visit scattered members. When he was unable to visit, Fujiya maintained contact by publishing a magazine titled Shuro (Palm Leaf) in which he shared gospel messages and encouraged the remaining Saints through the turbulent years that followed.
After Fujiya’s employment transferred him to Manchuria and his replacement as presiding elder died suddenly in 1937, contact with members in Japan was soon lost. “Even though we had no correspondence with Salt Lake City,” Fujiya said, “… we had conviction the Church would reopen [here].”3
During World War II, Fujiya returned to Tokyo, where he preached to his neighbors and organized weekly Sunday School meetings. After the war, Fujiya found a notice placed by Edward L. Clissold—a Latter-day Saint serving in the American military—inviting Church members in the country to contact him. Fujiya immediately visited Edward in his hotel room. When Edward attended the Latter-day Saint meetings in Tokyo, he was surprised to find nearly 100 people attending.
“Through it all,” Fujiya said later, “the greatest gift, and a constant gift, has been to know and embrace the true faith—that means to know Heavenly Father, Jesus Christ and the Holy Ghost.”4

Lots of things fall in autumn. Leaves fall. Apples fall. And sometimes teeth fall.
Andrea wanted her tooth to fall out. Her friend Jason had a tooth fall out at school. And her sister Janine had one fall out that morning at breakfast. It fell right into her grapefruit.
“My tooth is loose, too,” Andrea said. She opened her mouth wide. “See?”
Janine pushed it with her finger. “It’s not loose. You’re fibbing.”
No one at school believed Andrea either.
There was one person who would understand about an almost-loose tooth. Andrea stopped by the baker-lady’s apartment after school.
“My tooth is loose,” she said when the door opened.
The baker-lady had silver glasses that sat on the end of her nose. She looked at Andrea’s mouth carefully. “It’s going to come out one of these days for sure,” she said with a nod.
“But I want it to come out now,” Andrea said.
The baker-lady nodded again. “Waiting is hard. I hate waiting too.”
Andrea looked at the baker-lady’s mouth. “Your baby teeth already came out. What are you waiting for?”
The baker-lady leaned over. “I’ll tell you a secret. I’m waiting for a snowflake.”
Andrea giggled. That was a funny thing to wait for. You couldn’t put a snowflake under your pillow. It would melt. “Why are you waiting for a snowflake?”
“Because snowflakes mean it’s wintertime—time to visit my family in Michigan for Christmas. I have six grandchildren there.”
“Do they have loose teeth?” asked Andrea.
“Well, now,” the baker-lady said, “I don’t really know for sure. I haven’t seen them since last Christmas.” She brought out some crayons and a sewing box. “When I get tired of waiting for snowflakes, I make things. Right now I’m making gingerbread boys.”
“Like you made at the bakery before you retired?” asked Andrea.
“No. These are made out of cloth.” She showed Andrea a little brown corduroy gingerbread boy with white rickrack, button eyes, and a loop on his head.
“He’s a Christmas tree ornament!” Andrea cried, delighted.
“Yes. I’m making one for each of my grandchildren. Doing things for other people makes the waiting go faster.”
Andrea started coloring. She made a picture of the tooth fairy with a long white dress. The white crayon didn’t show on the paper unless she pushed down hard, and that made the tip break. She started to throw it away. Then she looked at it more closely. It looked like a tooth, small and round and hard.
Andrea stood up. “I’d better go home now,” she told the baker-lady. “I think my tooth is so loose that it will come out tonight.” She said it extra loud, in case the tooth fairy was nearby.
That night Andrea’s sister put her tooth under her pillow. “I guess I’ll have some money in the morning,” Janine said.
Andrea put her crayon tip under her pillow. “I guess I’ll have some money in the morning, too,” she said just loud enough for the tooth fairy to hear.
In the morning Janine found a new quarter under her pillow.
In the morning Andrea’s crayon tip was still under her pillow. She hadn’t fooled the tooth fairy at all. She put the crayon tip into her pocket and tried to wiggle her tooth on the way to school.
The baker-lady was outside planting tulip bulbs when Andrea passed her apartment. “Did that tooth come out last night?” she asked.
Andrea looked down at the sidewalk. “I guess it wasn’t ready after all.”
“Waiting is hard,” said the baker-lady. She got up with a little grunt. “Wait a minute,” she said. “I have something for you.”
She came back holding a brown corduroy gingerbread boy. He had a tiny pocket in front. “The pocket is for a tooth,” said the baker-lady. “He’s a tooth pillow. He’s for you while you wait for your tooth to fall out.”
Andrea held him tightly all the way to school. She loved his brown corduroy body. She loved his white rickrack. But most of all, she loved his tiny pocket in front. A tooth pocket.
At school she started to put the crayon tooth into his little pocket, just to see if it really was tooth-size. Then she decided that the gingerbread boy was for a real tooth. He would help her to wait for it.
Andrea looked at her crayon tip again. She had an idea. Maybe she could help the baker-lady to wait …
She rubbed the little white tip onto a piece of blue paper until there was no more crayon. Then she folded the paper into a tiny square. With her scissors she made little cuts in the folds. When she opened it up, there was a snowflake! It was the most beautiful snowflake she’d ever made.
After school she ran all the way to the baker-lady’s apartment, shoved the snowflake under her door, and ran. The baker-lady would know right away that it was a waiting snowflake and that Andrea had given it to her to help her wait to see her family in Michigan.
Andrea was happy and excited as she ran home. Doing things for other people did make the waiting go faster.

As a young man having just finished my first year of college and needing to earn money for a desired mission, I spent the summer working at the new Jackson Lake Lodge in Jackson Hole, Wyoming. Many college-age youths came to work in that pristine, beautiful area.
One such person was Jill, a young woman from San Francisco, California. Feeling that a young woman from a big city might be a little bit naive about her new environment, I and a few friends felt it our obligation to teach her about the ways of the real West. We decided to take her on a “snipe hunt.” For those of you who may not be familiar with a snipe hunt, it is a practical joke, as there is no such thing as a snipe, at least not in the western United States. The tools necessary for a snipe hunt are a stick and a cloth bag. The “hunter” is told to go through the brush, beating the bushes with a stick while calling the snipe in a high-pitched, ridiculous voice. The nonexistent snipes are thus to be driven into the cloth bag.
We gave Jill her cloth bag and a stick and an area to hunt across the hill. The plan was to return to our starting point in about 15 minutes, at which time we would supposedly count our snipes.
When she did not return at the appointed time, we gloated and took delight in the seriousness with which she took her hunt. After about 30 minutes, we felt it was time to rescue her, explain the joke, have a good laugh, and all go to dinner. However, it became apparent that she had taken her snipe hunt more seriously than we had expected—she was not to be found in her assigned area. After searching rather extensively and still finding no evidence of her, we began moving into the woods, calling for her at the top of our voices, but to no avail.
Hoping she might have gone back to her dormitory, we returned and asked some young women to search for her there, but this also was to no avail. It was now turning dark, and our concern heightened. We enlisted all the young men we could from the boys’ dormitory, and with flashlights continued the search deep into the woods. Well into the darkness of night—frightened, concerned, and hoarse from calling—we decided it was now time to report our ridiculous deed to the park rangers. While we were standing in front of the dorms, trying to determine which brave soul would have the privilege of reporting her disappearance, Jill suddenly appeared—not from her dormitory, but rather from that of a friend, with whom she had enjoyed dinner (which we incidentally missed) and a comfortable evening with her friends. Her first words to us as she approached said it all: “How do you fellows like hunting snipe hunters?” Well, so much for big city naïveté, and so much for the ways of the real West. The joke was on us, and I have never had a desire for any more snipe hunting.

When the South Weber First Ward, Ogden Weber Utah Stake, had an unused field next to the chapel, they put it to good use. The youth of the ward grew tomatoes. They planted 13,000 tomato plants on the 2 1/2 acres of ground. The tomato plot was the result of a challenge given the young people of the ward by the bishop to raise money to support their own activities.
For many, raising the tomatoes was their first experience in gardening. The project, spearheaded by Annette Gardner, had the ward’s teens making arrangements with a local greenhouse for the plants, organizing the plot into rows, and preparing the soil. After the plot was planted, each teen was assigned a row to care for. They were in charge of weeding, nurturing, and harvesting their row. They often spent the time before youth activities each week in the tomato patch, with additional time throughout the week required to properly care for the tomato patch.
“The calloused hands and blisters from the hoes were eye-openers to many,” says Sister Gardner. “The youth are proud of their rows. Some have made signs to identify their rows.”
After the harvest, a party was held to present awards for the best row sign and for the biggest and funniest tomatoes.
The tomato plot had some unexpected side benefits. Often whole families showed up to help their son or daughter with his or her row. Younger brothers and sisters got involved. It turned out to be a good family project and ward members became closer.

I was born in Utah, but most of my memories begin in Boston, Massachusetts. I do have a faint recollection at age two and a half of a white-topped buggy with my grandfather in the driver’s seat. My parents, myself, and my six-month-old brother were being taken to the nearest railway station forty miles away. My next recollection is looking out of a rain-streaked window from a hotel room in Boston. I see in memory the round drops of rain rolling down the window as I pressed my nose against the cold glass.
During my life I have found that it is very important for children to listen carefully to their parents. They can learn much from them. My father was a music student in Boston. He sat at a rented piano and played the music of Edvard Grieg, Frederic Chopin, Ludwig van Beethoven, and Robert Schumann. I can still hear that music and over the years I have learned to play most of it myself. It has added greatly to my appreciation of the world into which I was born. Those beautiful sounds have made a great contribution to my life, crowding out many of the uglier sounds we occasionally hear.
Best of all, I remember sitting on my mother’s lap, hearing her tell me the story of the boy prophet Joseph Smith, who went into the woods to pray. Near our apartment were many churches. I heard their bells and saw their domes and steeples when we took walks together. So when Mother told me of Joseph’s concern over which church he should join, I was able to understand his confusion before the First Vision.
I distinctly remember my mother telling me in those early years that everything I said or thought or did was in some almost magical way recorded—that someday I would have to be judged according to what I had said, thought, and done. This did not frighten me, but it gave me a growing sense of responsibility for my actions. Today with cassettes, video tapes, and other inventions, I have gained a fuller understanding of what she was telling me about the record of my life.
I hope that you will have the experience of being taught to read by your parents. Since my father was busy at the New England Conservatory of Music all day, my mother taught me to read when I was about four years old. One day we walked down Huntington Avenue to the shops in the center of Boston. We went to the publishing house of Little, Brown and Company. There we were shown a lot of children’s books. Mother bought several that were suitable for my ability. One was an attractive little primer that inspired my imagination. It was called The Brownie Book, a story about imaginary little creatures who did good deeds and went on a trip to the moon! I could see the moon out of our window at night. It seemed such an important object in the sky. The idea of anybody going to the moon brought many stimulating thoughts to my eager, young imagination.
Another book was a primer describing the coming of the Pilgrim fathers, the establishment of the American colonies, and the development of the nation into which I had been born. I was deeply impressed by it.
About this time, President Joseph F. Smith and his counselors in the First Presidency suggested to members of the Church that they hold a family home evening once each week. Accordingly, my father would gather us around a little table after supper to read the Book of Mormon. We read it from cover to cover that year. Because Mother had taught me to read, I was privileged to take my turn in reading aloud. What excitement I experienced as we approached the Third book of Nephi and the coming of the Savior! With feelings of sadness we continued through the books of Mormon, Ether, and Moroni. These feelings were strongly reinforced by my father.
Father told me the story of Grandfather Durham, who had been inspired to compose a melody called “The Nephite Lamentation.” Thomas Durham had been promised in a patriarchal blessing that he would hear music as it was sung in the heavens. My father related how one night my grandfather had a dream. In it he saw twenty-four men by a stream. They looked very sad. Their leader arose and addressed them. Then he heard a melody played on what sounded like a trumpet. The impression came to him that it was a dream concerning Moroni and the last twenty-four Nephites. He awoke. In the late hours of the night he went to his little organ and played the tune he had heard and wrote it down. Later, a choir in the Parowan Ward in southern Utah sang the tune to the words of “O My Father.” It was published in modified form in the old Primary songbook as arranged by Henry E. Giles.
Hearing this music and reading the Book of Mormon in these early years with my parents made a forceful impression upon my mind as to the reality and truth of the Book of Mormon.
I hope that each of you will watch and listen carefully to what your parents say and do. I pray they will teach you well. I also hope that the music you hear in your home will be uplifting and inspiring, because we believe that “if there is anything virtuous, lovely, or of good report or praiseworthy, we seek after these things.” (A of F 1:13.) The place to begin with good things is at home with your family.
Finally, let us all remember the commandment: “Honour thy father and thy mother: that thy days may be long upon the land which the Lord thy God giveth thee.” (Ex. 20:12.)

Not long ago I was in South Africa visiting a home with Thabiso, the first assistant in the priests quorum in the Kagiso Ward. Thabiso and his bishop, who presides and holds the keys for the quorum, had been praying for quorum members who were less active, seeking inspiration about whom to visit and how to help them. They felt prompted to visit the home of Tebello, and they invited me to go with them.
Once we made it past the ferocious guard dog, we found ourselves in the living room with Tebello, a calm-spirited young man who had stopped attending church because he had become busy doing other things on Sundays. He was nervous but happy to receive us and even invited his family to join him. The bishop expressed his love for the family and his desire to help them become an eternal family by being sealed in the temple. Their hearts were moved, and we could all feel the strong presence of the Holy Ghost guiding every word and every sentiment.
But it was the words of Thabiso that made the difference in the visit. It seemed to me that this young priest was speaking in the language of angels—loving words that we all could fully understand but that especially touched his friend. “I enjoyed so much talking to you all the time at church,” he said. “You always have kind words for me. And you know, our soccer team has basically disappeared now that we don’t have you. You are so good at it.”
“I am sorry,” Tebello answered. “I will come back with you guys.”
“That will be awesome,” said Thabiso. “And do you remember how we used to prepare to serve as missionaries? Can we start doing that again?”
“Yes,” repeated Tebello, “I want to come back.”
Perhaps the greatest joy I experience as a counselor in the Young Men general presidency is seeing the Aaronic Priesthood holders around the world exercising the power of the Aaronic Priesthood. But sometimes I also witness, with a sad heart, how many young men do not understand how much good they can do with the power they hold.
The priesthood is the power and authority of God Himself to act in the service of His children. Oh, if only every young man, every Aaronic Priesthood holder, could fully comprehend that his priesthood possesses the keys of the ministering of angels. If only they could understand that they have the sacred duty to help their friends find the pathway that leads to the Savior. If only they knew that Heavenly Father will give them the power to explain the truths of the restored gospel with such clarity and sincerity that others will feel the undeniable truthfulness of the words of Christ.
Dear young men of the Church, let me ask you a question that I hope you will carry in your heart for the rest of your life. What greater power can you acquire on earth than the priesthood of God? What power could possibly be greater than the capacity to assist our Heavenly Father in changing the lives of your fellowmen, to help them along the pathway of eternal happiness by being cleansed of sin and wrongdoing?
Like any other power, the priesthood needs to be exercised to accomplish any good. You are called to “arise and shine forth” (D&C 115:5), not to hide your light in darkness. Only those who are brave will be counted among the chosen. As you exercise the power of your sacred priesthood, your courage and confidence will increase. Young men, you know that you are at your best when you are in the service of God. You know that you are happiest when you are anxiously engaged in a good work. Magnify the power of your priesthood by being clean and being worthy.
I add my voice to the call Elder Jeffrey R. Holland made to you six months ago from this pulpit. “I am looking,” he said, “for men young and old who care enough about this battle between good and evil to sign on and speak up. We are at war.” He continued, “I ask for a stronger and more devoted voice, a voice not only against evil … , but a voice for good, a voice for the gospel, a voice for God” (“We Are All Enlisted,” Liahona and Ensign, Nov. 2011, 44, 47).
Yes, Aaronic Priesthood holders, we are at war. And in this war, the best way to defend against evil is to actively promote righteousness. You cannot listen to foul words and pretend you don’t hear. You cannot watch, alone or with others, images you know are filthy and pretend you don’t see. You cannot touch any unclean thing and pretend it’s no big deal. You cannot be passive when Satan seeks to destroy that which is wholesome and pure. Instead, stand up boldly for what you know is true! When you hear or see anything that violates the Lord’s standards, remember who you are—a soldier in the army of God Himself, empowered with His holy priesthood. There is no better weapon against the enemy, the father of lies, than the truth that will come out of your mouth as you exercise the power of the priesthood. Most of your peers will respect you for your courage and your integrity. Some will not. But that doesn’t matter. You will gain the respect and trust of Heavenly Father because you used His power to accomplish His purposes.
I call on every Aaronic Priesthood quorum presidency to once again raise the title of liberty and organize and lead your battalions. Utilize your priesthood power by inviting those around you to come unto Christ through repentance and baptism. You have the mandate and power of Heavenly Father to do it.
Two years ago, while visiting Santiago, Chile, I was very much impressed by Daniel Olate, a young man who often accompanied the missionaries. I asked him to write to me, and with his permission I will read to you part of his recent e-mail: “I just turned 16, and Sunday I was ordained to the office of a priest. That same day I baptized a friend; her name is Carolina. I taught her the gospel, and she regularly attended church and even received her Personal Progress award, but her parents would not allow her to be baptized until they got to know and trust me. She wanted me to baptize her, so we had to wait for a month until Sunday, when I turned 16. I feel so good to have helped such a good person to be baptized, and I feel happy that I was the one who baptized her.”
Daniel is just one of many young men around the world who are living up to the power God has entrusted to them. Another is Luis Fernando, from Honduras, who noticed that his friend was walking a dangerous path and shared his testimony with him, literally saving his life (see “A Change of Heart,” lds.org/youth/video). Olavo, from Brazil, is another example. A true standing minister in his home (see D&C 84:111), Olavo inspired his mother to return to full activity in the Church (see “Reunited by Faith,” lds.org/youth/video). You can find some of these stories and many others like them on the Church’s youth website, youth.lds.org. By the way, the Internet, social media, and other technologies are tools the Lord has placed in your hands to help you exercise your priesthood duties and extend the influence of truth and virtue.
Dear young men, when you exercise the Aaronic Priesthood in the way I have described, you are preparing yourselves for responsibilities in your future. But you are doing much more than that. Like John the Baptist, that exemplary Aaronic Priesthood holder, you are also preparing the way of the Lord and making His paths straight. When you boldly declare the gospel of repentance and baptism, as John did, you are preparing the people for the coming of the Lord (see Matthew 3:3; D&C 65:1–3; 84:26–28). You are often told about your great potential. Well, now is the time to put that potential into action, to make use of the abilities God has given you to bless others, bring them out from obscurity and into light, and prepare the way of the Lord.
The Church has given you the Duty to God booklet as a resource to help you learn and fulfill your duties. Study it often. Get on your knees, away from technology, and seek the Lord’s guidance. And then arise and use the power of God. I promise that you will receive answers from Heavenly Father on how to conduct your own life and how to help others.
I quote the words of President Thomas S. Monson: “Never underestimate the far-reaching influence of your testimony. … You have the capacity to notice the unnoticed. When you have eyes to see, ears to hear, and hearts to feel, you can reach out and rescue others” (“Be Thou an Example,” Liahona and Ensign, May 2005, 115).
I testify to you that the power of the priesthood is real. I gained my witness exercising the priesthood myself. I have seen miracle after miracle performed by those who have the power of the Aaronic Priesthood. I have witnessed the power of the ministering of angels as faithful Aaronic Priesthood holders speak Spirit-filled words of hope, opening the heart of someone in need of light and love. In the name of Jesus Christ, our Lord, our leader, and our Savior, amen.

While traveling to a youth conference in Stuttgart, Germany, I had the opportunity to speak with an elderly woman about the temple and about my faith in the restored gospel. She was acquainted with the Church and had a fairly good idea of some gospel doctrines.
During our conversation, however, the woman said something that made me sad. When she was introduced to the Church approximately 40 years before by a Latter-day Saint friend, something her friend had said still stood out to her. “I’m not allowed to drink,” her friend had said. The woman then added that she knew of a few Latter-day Saints who did drink “now and then.”
From this simple encounter, I was reminded that as members of the Lord’s Church, we are always examples to others. We choose, however, what that example will be.

Of my parents’ three daughters, I am the middle one. It wasn’t until the dawn of a January morning that a fourth child, a son, was born. David seemed just like any other newborn to me—tiny, chubby, and fun. By virtue of my being merely a first-grader when he was born, my parents found no reason for telling me then that my baby brother was “different.” Hindsight tells me that it would only have compounded their already-numbed feelings to explain to me what they could hardly believe themselves. Besides, I was too young, and the word mongoloid would not have meant a thing to me. All I knew, or cared about then, was that my little brother was beautiful!

We grew to love him. He was a kind, loving, and cheerful child. It was not until I was in the sixth grade that David’s difference caused any concern to me at all. It was at the end of that school year that my class was visited by the principal. She asked those of us who had brothers or sisters who were or would be five years old next fall to raise our hands. I raised mine, and just as she counted it, I was prompted to ask something. I hesitated a split second, thinking that I should not even bother her with such a question. But, as she counted my hand, I asked, “Does this school allow mongoloids?” When I heard the words, “No, I’m sorry,” I took my hand down, wondering numbly why they would not let my brother come to their school. My naiveté about David had been shattered.

As the years passed, David was continually shunned by the majority of the neighborhood children. They had been warned by fearful parents. More than once our front door was darkened by an irate mother who told my mother to keep David away from her young ones.

It often seemed that if I would look into his eyes, I could see him peering over his inner wall of quietness with the tender, smiling eyes of someone who really knows a great deal more than will ever be credited to him. I wished that I could step inside that wall and talk with him for just one hour.

These past years have seen my family pass through many sorrows because of David’s difference. But to say that his presence with us has been destructive would be false. Rather, his presence has been like a powerful steel cable strongly binding our family together. As a family we are close, and because David is a part of it, we have learned real love, sweet patience, a pure and undefiled faith, and a tender, guileless approach to life. Still a child, even though he has passed into the age of adulthood, he continues in his innocent state. He is my brother. He is my friend. Heaven itself was granted to my family in this one single gift.

I know that in the bright hereafter I will finally be allowed to pass through David’s wall. I hope he will take me by the hand and sit with me, and I will ask him to share his world with me—his bit of heaven.

Last May, Sister Davis and I were incredibly touched and inspired by a short video segment we saw at the BYU President's dinner that told the story of a young married student in Provo named Brian Ricks who was challenged to give back to BYU. I must admit that Sister Davis and I both related a lot to his circumstances. We also were poor students, and probably similarly would have wondered if it were even possible to start giving back to BYU while we were still students. However, Brian accepted the challenge, and he and his family made it a matter of prayer. He entered an essay contest and won $675--then promptly gave it back to BYU. He said something very insightful about his experience:
Maybe the reason they asked us as students, even as freshmen, to give to BYU was not because they needed the money, but because they wanted to give us this blessing of giving. They wanted us to have this optimism that comes from giving away.[21]
We are inspired by his faith.

Recall that cairns are placed close enough together that an observer standing near one can view the next. Due to a visual impairment I’ve had since birth, it isn’t possible for me to stand next to a cairn and see the next. Fortunately, I hike with my wife, who helps me along the way by giving me audible directions and warnings of potential pitfalls. This assistance is similar to the words of a prophet, which help individuals find and stay on the straight and narrow way.

...

While in positions of leadership, we should be guiding, accompanying, and helping others. We should be teaching them what to do to remain on the path that leads back to their eternal goal. On our hiking trip I was unable to see the cairns that were intended to keep me on the path. Fortunately my wife understands what it means to be a leader; she guided me, walked beside me, and helped me find the way. With her help I was able to traverse the obscure path and reach our destination. By leading others in this fashion we become cairns on the path through mortality.

First, allow me to share the parable of the green chalkboard.
We might come home one day to a child who says something like “I hate school.” (None of you here would ever say that!) President Eyring explained that after some digging, we might come to realize it’s not school itself the child hates but rather the fear of failure. President Eyring admitted that he had experienced similar feelings after concluding he couldn’t do math.

Luckily, in the Eyring household there was a single decoration in the family room: a green chalkboard.

If that seems strange, let me read a brief passage from an article published on the Nobel Prize’s website about President Eyring’s father, Henry Eyring, a world-class chemist.
The article reads:
[Henry Eyring’s] brilliant theory for the rates of chemical reactions, published in 1935, was apparently not understood by members of the Nobel Committee until much later. As a compensation the Royal Swedish Academy of Sciences gave him, in 1977, its highest honor, other than the Nobel Prize, the Berzelius Medal in gold.
In other words, the Nobel Prize’s own website acknowledges that the only reason President Eyring’s father didn’t win a Nobel prize was because his theory was simply not grasped by even the Nobel Committee itself! Not too shabby.
In short, maybe we would all do well to incorporate a green chalkboard into our family room decor.

Well, there at the family chalkboard, father and son toiled together on math problems.
President Eyring reflected:
I didn’t wonder if I could work the math problems; I’d proved to my satisfaction that I couldn’t. . . .
But Dad wasn’t satisfied. He thought I could do it. So we took turns at that chalkboard. I can’t remember the gifts my dad wrapped and helped put under a tree. But I remember the chalkboard and his quiet voice.

Some years ago I served on the Priesthood Home Teaching Committee and was assigned to attend stake conferences with the General Authorities to teach leadership principles relating to home teaching. During a Saturday night priesthood leadership meeting in the Raft River Stake in Idaho, Elder A. Theodore Tuttle of the First Quorum of the Seventy called on me to make my presentation. For about 15 minutes I talked about the subject of home teaching and presented what I thought was a very comprehensive outline of methods that might be used to improve the performance of the brethren of the stake. The audience was courteously attentive except for a few yawns on the back row. These I attempted to cure with some interesting stories and all the enthusiasm I could generate. When I ended the talk, I sat down feeling much like a football coach who had just given a rousing talk to his team before a big game.
Elder Tuttle had a very thoughtful look on his face as he arose to talk to the group. He began his presentation by saying something like this: “I tried to listen attentively to Brother Anderson’s presentation, but my mind kept wandering. I couldn’t help thinking about the home teaching families to which I am assigned at home. I have some real challenges in trying to reach and influence them, and they are a constant concern to me. Maybe I could just tell you a little about them, and you could help me with some suggestions.”
Elder Tuttle did not reveal any personal information that would betray a confidence, but he did proceed to illustrate some problems. Before long, hands were in the air; the priesthood members were offering suggestions and solutions, and everyone in the audience was involved in helping. Who were they helping? They were helping themselves learn how to solve home teaching problems.
And me? I was observing with awe the work of a great teacher who could really motivate people. He was busy leading, delegating, creating enthusiasm, and the receivers of the learning were hardly aware of their change in attitude. They were busily involved, they thought, in solving someone else’s problems.

The author lives in Wisconsin, USA.
Our Young Women group decided to focus on general conference and listening to the words of our prophets. We had a special lesson before conference discussing the importance of listening to our leaders. We talked about why we have it and how to prepare so that we can hear the messages Heavenly Father has for us. Everyone was encouraged to listen so that we could share with each other the things that “stuck to us.”
We went home with sticky notes and wrote down the things that “stuck” during conference. Afterwards, we took turns sharing all the wonderful messages and quotes that “stuck to us.”
We have done this activity for the past three general conferences. At first, some of the young women were hesitant to share and only brought one or two notes. But after doing it three times, the girls found they had so many spiritual insights we hardly had time to let everyone share. After showing their notes, many wanted them back so they could put them back in their journals or hang them up in their rooms.
We have found this to be a great way to really get into conference. And we are a stronger and more unified group because we know that we are all seeking strength and inspiration so that we can come closer to Jesus Christ and keep His commandments.
“I really like to hear what ‘stuck’ to the other girls. It helped me remember and think about things I may have missed or forgotten about during the different conference talks.”
Mikelle F., 17
“I really like our ‘What Sticks to You’ lessons from general conference. It is cool to listen to how the different talks impact and stick out to each of us. I like hearing the unique takeaways that everyone gets.”
Emily F., 17
“I’m grateful for the words of the prophets to help remind me of my importance and to remember the Savior.”
Chanelle D. 18
“It was fun to hear everyone’s thoughts and favorite moments. I liked hearing the different perspectives and sharing the love with my fellow Laurels.”
Olivia A., 16
“Doing ‘What Sticks to You’ helps me remember the Spirit I felt when I watched general conference.”
Hannah Q., 18
“The ‘What Sticks to You’ lesson helps me prepare for general conference. It allows me to take better notes and really reflect on the talks given.”
Julia C., 18

Winnie flung her fifth-grade math book across the buckling boards of the front porch and hunkered down, peering into the deep recesses of the crawl space beneath the weathered frame house.
“Here, Barney. Come here, boy,” she called.
From the dusty darkness a black and tan hound lazily emerged. Winnie sat down on the bottom step as Barney stretched out at her feet. She stroked his long silky ears.
“Barney, do you know what happened to me in school today? Miss Benson asked the class which South American country is long and skinny and famous for its farm products, and Arthur Mosely yelled out, ‘Winnie Wainwright,’ and the class burst out laughing. Barney, I could have crawled right under my desk and died! Well, Arthur Mosely won’t get the best of me anymore! I’m going to see that he gets what he deserves!”
Later, when Winnie’s dad came in from the barn, she had steaming potato soup ready for supper.
“Hey, Punkin, how’s my girl?” asked Mr. Wainwright.
“Oh, I’m OK, I guess,” she muttered.
Dad hugged the tall thin girl and said, “Let me wash up for supper, and we’ll talk about it.”
Ever since Mother had died of cancer two years ago, Dad had tried to be a special friend as well as a father to Winnie.
They sat at the table and bowed their heads as Dad said a prayer and blessed the food: “Dear Heavenly Father, we give Thee thanks for our home, this food, and Thy love. Help us to live in such a way that we’ll bring honor to Thy name. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”
When they raised their heads, Dad asked, “Now, Punkin, what’s troubling you?”
“I’m tired of Arthur Mosely making fun of me, that’s what. And I’m fixing to teach him a thing or two!”
“Now, hold on, Winnie,” Dad admonished. “You know it’s not right to be revengeful. Arthur will get what’s coming to him one of these days, and you won’t have to lift a finger.”
“Well, I already have a plan, Dad. The day after tomorrow Miss Benson is having her annual geography contest. The person with the best score will win a globe that revolves on a stand. Oh, Dad, wouldn’t it be nice to have a globe of my own?”
“Yes, Winnie, that would be nice,” replied Dad. “How stiff is the competition?”
“Well,” said Winnie, “that’s where Arthur comes in. He’s the best geography student because his dad is in the service. Arthur’s lived in Germany and Japan, and he knows a lot about geography. But I’m going to beat him!” she declared.
“Well, just do your best, dear, and do it for the right reasons,” cautioned Dad.
At school the next day Winnie took advantage of every available minute to study. When she got home, she looked at the map of the world in her geography book. It looked like a big jigsaw puzzle.
“If all those pieces were jumbled up in a box, I couldn’t put them together in a million years,” Winnie grumbled. Then she thought of Arthur. “Well, I’ll do it—one way or another!”
Winnie grabbed her geography workbook, tore out the world map, taped it to a sheet of notebook paper, and placed it in her book bag. She’d beat Arthur even if she had to cheat!
As Winnie read her Bible that night, she came to Luke 18:14: “For every one that exalteth himself shall be abased; and he that humbleth himself shall be exalted.”
With her Bible still open, Winnie closed her eyes and prayed, “Dear Heavenly Father, does abased mean that Arthur Mosely is going to be brought down a notch or two, and does exalted mean that I’m going to finally get a little honor? Well, Heavenly Father, I’m going to help You do just that! In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.” Winnie shut the Bible, turned out the light, and went to sleep.
In class the next day Miss Benson finally said, “All right, students, clear your desks and get ready for the geography test.”
Winnie’s heart pounded, and her hands were moist.
The first question was to list the states on the eastern seaboard of the United States. That was easy. Number two asked for the countries that bordered Vietnam. Winnie thought and thought, but she just couldn’t picture Vietnam in her mind. I’ll have to use my map, Winnie thought. She stared at the test. As she reached for her notebook paper with the map on the back, she remembered the words of Dad’s prayer, “Help us to … bring honor to Thy name.”
Winnie stared blankly at the test for a minute. Then she lifted her head, straightened her shoulders, and breathed a sigh of relief. She left number two blank and proceeded to answer all the questions she could without the use of the map. Her hands became dry and steady, and her breathing slowed to normal.
When Winnie went to bed that evening, she said her nightly prayers. “Thank you, Heavenly Father, for helping me not to cheat on the test. If I had cheated, we’d both have been disappointed in me, and Dad would have been disappointed too. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”
The next day Winnie watched Miss Benson award the prizes to the winners. Even when Arthur Mosely was presented with the globe, Winnie knew that in the things that really mattered she was a winner.

Around this time of loneliness, one of my friends participated in a 100-day gratitude challenge where she posted something she was grateful for on social media every day. At first it seemed ridiculous to me.
But as President Russell M. Nelson recently taught: “Counting our blessings is far better than recounting our problems. No matter our situation, showing gratitude for our privileges is a fast-acting and long-lasting spiritual prescription.”1
I have always been taught that gratitude can bring happiness, but I didn’t really believe it. But if there was a chance that it could help me feel joy, then I was going to try practicing gratitude too.
At first I focused a lot on the extravagant things in my life I was grateful for. But soon I noticed everyday blessings, like my cat, good relationships, the inspirational quotes on my social media feed, and my talents.
I’m always grateful for the moments of peace I feel, and I silently thank God when I notice His mercies that often carry me through the day, reminding me that He has great things in store for me.
I remember when President Nelson invited the sisters and youth of the Church to do social media fasts. Since accepting that first invitation, I’ve fasted from social media multiple times when I’ve felt that it’s creating the “impression that everyone except [me] is leading a fun, adventurous, and exciting life.”2
Through taking much-needed breaks from social media, I’ve learned about the importance of real-life relationships and gained a greater appreciation for finding joy through hobbies and spiritual habits.
I’ve also been able to see others from a more Christlike view instead of judging them by the life highlights they post. As President Nelson added, “Social media … creates a false reality,”3 and if we take a break from it, we can better remember the things that matter most, overcome the world,4 and focus on the Spirit.
When I felt lonely during college, I always had this thought: “If I’m feeling lonely, someone else is too.” That would motivate me to reach out to a friend or acquaintance. Our conversations would always lift both of our spirits.
I’ve realized that when I focus on helping others, I’m happy. This happens every time I listen to my friends’ struggles and offer them love and support. Just as President Thomas S. Monson (1927–2018) said, “To find real happiness, we must seek for it in a focus outside ourselves.”5
As I continue to apply these practices to my life, I keep realizing that I do have a “best” life and I don’t have to wait on specific blessings to feel joy. Sometimes I let my unmet expectations overwhelm me, but I reorient myself to notice my blessings and remember that through trusting Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ and keeping my covenants, I can find a lasting joy I can’t get any other way.
I still may not have all the blessings in life I desire right now, but I like to remember these words from Elder Dieter F. Uchtdorf of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles: “The day will come when you turn the final pages of your own glorious story ... and experience the fulfillment of those blessed and wonderful words: ‘And they lived happily ever after.’”6
Until then, I will keep focusing on enjoying the best life I have with God’s help.

In New Zealand, it isn’t just the girls who get a summer camp. The young men of Tokoroa recently received invites to a “missionary training camp” to promote both Scouting and missionary service.
The camp was divided into four “missions,” and the boys were taught first aid, problem solving alone, and problem solving with a quorum. They listened to guest speakers talk about missionary skills and preparation. They had a number of experiences that helped them grow physically, mentally, and spiritually.
“I enjoyed it soooooo much,” said Lucky Manu. “It has built my confidence to serve the Lord, wear the badge, and be proud to be a missionary.”

Spring has returned to the community of Franklin, Idaho. One can hear the ever-welcome chirp of the robin and see the beauty of the first daffodil. Seemingly overnight, the drab brown grass of winter turns to a bright green. Soon plows will turn the earth, seeds will be planted, and a new cycle of life will commence. Some distance away from the bustle of activity and next to the foothills is the town cemetery.
It was there one spring that a new grave was dug—not a large one—and a tiny casket was lowered into mother earth. Three lines appear on the attractive headstone:
MICHAEL PAUL SHUMWAY
Born: October 24, 1965
Died: March 14, 1966
May I introduce you to the Shumway family. They are my neighbors here in Salt Lake City, Utah. Mark and Wilma Shumway and each of the children always greet you with a friendly smile or a wave of the hand. They make the people of the neighborhood happy. They are good people.
Can you imagine the happiness in the family home on that 24th day of October when little Michael was born? Father was proud, brothers and sisters were excited, mother was humble, as they welcomed this sweet new blossom of humanity, fresh fallen from God’s own home, to grow on earth. Happy months followed.
Then came that fateful night in March when little Michael was called to his heavenly home and the breath of life was gone. Mark and Wilma were overcome with grief from the loss of their precious son. But while their grief was intensely personal, their experience in losing a loved one in death is common to all mankind, for who hasn’t lost a mother, a father, a sister, a brother, a son, or a daughter?
To you, Wilma and Mark Shumway, and to all who have lost a dear one, he provides the courage to say, “… the Lord gave and the Lord hath taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord.” (Job 1:21.) May your hearts burn with the knowledge that the bands of death have been broken and that members of your family, though now separated by death, will one day be reunited to share the blessings of eternal life.

While serving in Santiago, Chile, as a mission leader with my husband, who was a mission president from 2012 to 2015, I learned some life-changing lessons about the reality of miracles and how they come about. Accepting this calling put me way out of my comfort zone because of my inability to speak the language of our mission. I initially felt overwhelming inadequacy.
Early in the mission, a call from a family member helped me realize that I was focusing way too much on myself and my struggles. Remembering the advice that President Gordon B. Hinckley (1910–2008) shared from his father to “forget yourself and go to work,”1 I decided to change my focus. Whenever I was feeling discouraged, I would ask myself, “Whom are you thinking about?” The answer was always me. So I would repent and turn my thoughts outward instead. I chose to focus on the missionaries, those they were teaching, or my family.
I also tried to remember what I could do, not focus on what I couldn’t do. I could smile, give hugs, and get to work learning Spanish, even though that meant frequent failure. I went out with the sister missionaries often (rather than hide away in the mission home where it was safe), even when I felt like there wasn’t much I could add.
As long as I was willing to keep taking little steps of faith, I felt the strengthening power of Christ through His atoning sacrifice helping me to overcome my weaknesses (see Jacob 4:7). As I pondered over the experiences I was having, I recognized a similar pattern in the lives of my favorite people in the scriptures. Here is my journal entry from October 2014:
“Examples from scripture of people choosing to step out of their comfort zone are many—such as Mary the mother of Jesus, Ruth, Esther, Paul, Enoch, Lehi and Nephi, Alma, Ammon and his brothers, Samuel, Abinadi, the 2,000 stripling young Lamanites, Joseph Smith, and many others. These all embraced opportunities that made them vulnerable. They could not predict or control the outcome of their circumstances. They were placed in situations far beyond their comfort zones of familiarity, and the risk of danger, pain, suffering, rejection, and failure were all possible, creating a need to be rescued by the Spirit and gifts from God.
“The natural man [see Mosiah 3:19] wants certainty, security, and control, but I have learned that that is not generally the threshold in which God works His miracles. My experience here has taught me that when people choose to limit what they can and will do, based on what they are comfortable with or to avoid failure, they limit what God can do with them. He seems to work His miracles with us more often when we have made ourselves vulnerable [to His will], when we are willing to step out into the unknown … and lean more completely on our faith in Him and not in our own abilities. I have learned that if I am more concerned with the learning, growing, and becoming process than with risking failure, I open myself to the strengthening power that Jesus Christ’s Atonement offers me.”
Divine Discontent
“Of course, all of us will fall short of our divine potential, and there is some truth in the realization that alone we are not enough. But the good news of the gospel is that with the grace of God, we are enough. With Christ’s help, we can do all things. The scriptures promise that we will “find grace to help in time of need” [Hebrews 4:16].
“The surprising truth is that our weaknesses can be a blessing when they humble us and turn us to Christ. Discontent becomes divine when we humbly approach Jesus Christ with our want, rather than hold back in self-pity. …
“Have you ever felt your talents and gifts were too small for the task ahead? I have. But you and I can give what we have to Christ, and He will multiply our efforts. What you have to offer is more than enough—even with your human frailties and weaknesses—if you rely on the grace of God.
“The truth is that each of us is one generation away from Deity—each is a child of God.”
Michelle D. Craig, “Divine Discontent,” Liahona, Nov. 2018, 54.
One experience that helped me learn this lesson took place when Elder Jeffrey R. Holland of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles visited our mission, together with the three other missions in Santiago. There were over 1,000 missionaries gathered in our chapel where my husband had been asked to conduct the meeting. Elder Holland entered the chapel, took the seat next to my husband, leaned over to us, and said, “Okay, here’s what we are going to do. Sister Wright, you will speak first and represent all of the mission presidents’ wives here. Then President Wright will follow.”
I honestly didn’t hear the rest of the agenda. It had never occurred to me that Elder Holland would ask me to speak, so I had made no preparations. I prefer time to prepare to speak, time to gather my thoughts a little at least, but I would be speaking immediately after the opening hymn and prayer.
As my thoughts began to swirl, I felt the sudden desire to share my message in Spanish. However, though we were a year into the mission, and I had worked very hard to learn Spanish, I was still struggling with the language, and I was definitely not fluent in it. The translator was available to me if I spoke in English, but this was a Spanish-speaking mission, and I really wanted to speak in Spanish. Speaking would be a hard thing for me to do in English; speaking in Spanish felt like a giant leap. So amid the sound of 1,000 missionaries singing “Called to Serve” (Hymns, 249), I took a deep breath, confessed my inadequacies to my Father in Heaven, and pled for help to be rescued by the Spirit.
I told Heavenly Father that I had no idea what to say or how to say it in Spanish, but I promised Him that I would open my mouth and do my best, having faith that He would fill it (see Moses 6:32). In that moment, I felt a peaceful assurance come over me. After the prayer I rose to the pulpit and began to speak. Words I had pondered before came back in that needed moment, even in the foreign language I was struggling to communicate in. I sat down after my short three-minute talk, still feeling at peace but unsure about how effectively I had communicated.
After the meeting, the brother who had translated for Elder Holland approached me and said, “Sister Wright, I had no idea you spoke Spanish so well!” I replied, “I don’t.” He assured me that I hadn’t made any mistakes.
I am sure that none of those missionaries remembers anything about my short message that day. But for me it was a life-changing experience. I learned to put my trust in Heavenly Father and the Savior, that They could and would strengthen me despite my weaknesses when I was willing to take a leap of faith. If I had chosen the safe route and used the translator, I might never have learned how They rescue us when we open ourselves to letting God prevail.2
I have always loved this portion of the definition of “Grace” in the Bible Dictionary: “It is … through the grace of the Lord that individuals, through faith in the Atonement of Jesus Christ and repentance of their sins, receive strength and assistance to do good works that they otherwise would not be able to maintain if left to their own means.”
I felt His grace that day. Taking that leap of faith gave me the courage to leap out of my comfort zone again and again in the future. Failure will always be a part of the learning process, and I experienced plenty of that with the language for the rest of my mission. But when it mattered most, I felt Jesus Christ’s support and strength lift me above my natural abilities so that I could be the instrument in His hands that He needed me to be to bless others. My faith and trust in Him have grown exponentially, which is the greatest gift I took home from our mission. By the time we came home, I was able to speak Spanish fluently, and I am now able to use it to serve others as a volunteer in my community and in the Spanish branch where we currently attend church.
I have a testimony that “if men come unto me I will show unto them their weakness. I give unto men weakness that they may be humble; and my grace is sufficient for all men that humble themselves before me; for if they humble themselves before me, and have faith in me, then will I make weak things become strong unto them” (Ether 12:27).