Gospel Story Finder

Years ago my expectant wife, April, and I eagerly attended an ultrasound appointment to discover whether we were having a boy or a girl. We were overjoyed to learn we were having our third son. We also learned there were severe physical complications afflicting his body. Our son was missing sizable portions of his brain, his skull was not properly shaped, and the doctors were unsure if he would survive until delivery.
During the ensuing weeks, every time we received more information, it was distressing news. I distinctly remember when my wife called to tell me the latest update: our son did not have a right eye.
To pray more specifically for our unborn son, we decided on his name early. We chose to call him Caleb, after the Old Testament Israelite who was known for his fearlessness in the face of overwhelming odds.
Miraculously, Caleb survived his birth, though it was clear he would remain like a newborn throughout his life. He would never walk, talk, or be able to feed himself.
When we asked how long he might live, the doctor candidly replied, “Take him home and love him, but don’t bring him back to the hospital. There’s nothing more we can do for him. He has a few weeks to a few months left—at most a year or possibly two.”
I was anxious as we left the hospital with our little boy to take him home. The amount of medical equipment needed to sustain his life was daunting. I would regularly sit in his room watching the little green light on his heart monitor. I was nervous about leaving, worried the light would stop blinking and Caleb would die alone.
Simply feeding him took extraordinary effort because he needed to eat every three hours. The process to eat through a feeding pump took one hour to complete. This involved waking up throughout the night: start the pump, sleep for an hour, stop the pump, sleep for two hours, start the pump again, sleep for an hour, and so on. We constantly feared losing him and doubted how we could keep ourselves alive, let alone our fragile son.
Thankfully, the Lord blessed us with many miracles in our seemingly hopeless situation. Earthly angels rallied around us. We had a competent and compassionate nurse and a doctor who made house calls. Ward members, family, and friends provided meals and offered fervent prayers in our behalf. We felt heaven’s sustaining hand upon us and that angels walked our hallways and sat in Caleb’s room. Our three-year-old son said he sometimes saw the Savior watching over us.
The Lord blessed us with many miracles as we loved and cared for our son.
In Caleb’s baby blessing, I assured him he had completed his mortal task by being born and that he would have a brief time to rest as part of our family before returning to his heavenly home.
Yet Caleb and his mother had different plans. They wanted to spend more time together and do a greater work. God had perfectly matched Caleb’s courage with April’s love and daring optimism. April purposefully chose hope and trust in the Lord. With God’s help, she turned what was a sorrowful circumstance into a sacred setting.
April celebrated everything about Caleb. She made him a birthday cake after his first week, cupcakes for his second week, and cookies for his third week. Every day was a once-in-a-lifetime event for our boy sent home from the hospital without hope. Caring for Caleb became a privilege for us.
Though Caleb’s body was misshapen and broken, his spirit was whole, noble, and great (see Abraham 3:22). Even his missing eye became a blessing, making it seem as if he was continually winking. His wink became his distinctive feature. People were drawn to him, especially children. They would often ask, “Where is his eye? What happened to him?” I would jokingly say he was a pirate. But April would explain that in our family, a wink meant “I love you.”
Caleb never spoke the words, but his wink communicated love. His perpetual wink felt like a heavenly message, bringing God’s love and Christ’s light into our lives.
In our family, a wink means “I love you.”
One night our family read in the scriptures about the “man which was blind from his birth.” The disciples asked Jesus, “Master, who did sin, this man, or his parents, that he was born blind?”
Our sons saw the similarity and asked why Caleb was born blind. The Savior’s response provided our answer: “Neither hath this man sinned, nor his parents: but that the works of God should be made manifest in him.” Then Jesus healed the man so he could see. (See John 9:1–7.)
Our boys asked if I could heal Caleb. I replied I did not feel it was the Lord’s will for Caleb to be healed. I added that God often orchestrated the healings recorded in the scriptures to bless the lives of those involved and to increase the faith of future readers.
However, not every miracle leads to immediate healing or deliverance. Sometimes miracles appear to be withheld for God’s greater designs to develop. Yet this delay does not suggest God’s indifference or lack of involvement. Heavenly Father cares deeply for His children and relentlessly performs His exalting work. In God’s eyes, Caleb did not need physical healing to fulfill his purpose.
There were times when I thought Caleb would live a long time. He had so often successfully battled sicknesses and surgeries with resilience. He went to the hospital many times but always came back to us. We loved having him in our home. Being in his presence was healing and heavenly.
At age seven, Caleb slipped peacefully away in April’s arms, surrounded by his family. He had spent a courageous day fighting a vicious infection brought on by pneumonia. His body was simply worn out.
My wife whispered in his ear, “I love you, Caleb. I am so proud of you. If your body is too tired, it’s OK. You can go back. You can return to Heavenly Father.”
In the very moment when it was needed, April’s heart changed so she could let him go. April trusted Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ because she knew They personally understood her suffering and would provide comfort and strength (see Alma 7:11–12). And through the Atonement of His Son, God can do miracles. He saves souls. He heals heartache. He inspires hope.
For those seven years, April’s love and God’s will allowed Caleb to be a significant part of our earthly experience. Having Caleb in our family blessed us immensely. He had flooded our home with a regal presence that seemed irreplaceable.
Even when life is hard, God provides the plan, and we contribute faith and courage. We trust in His timing and in His ways to achieve His purposes, especially when such purposes may be unclear from our point of view.
At a stake conference before Caleb’s passing, I spoke with a General Authority about our experience with Caleb. After he acknowledged the exhausting effort needed to care for Caleb, I thought he would encourage me to faithfully persevere in the service and sacrifice I was providing. Instead, his next four words transformed my relationship with Caleb forever.
He simply said, “You are being exalted.”
The Lord taught a similar principle when Joseph Smith, while incarcerated in Liberty Jail, prayed for relief from the great suffering he and the Saints were experiencing. The Lord responded with a comforting promise:
“My son, peace be unto thy soul; thine adversity and thine afflictions shall be but a small moment;
“And then, if thou endure it well, God shall exalt thee on high” (Doctrine and Covenants 121:7–8).
Similarly, Elder Quentin L. Cook of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles testified: “Adversity is not evidence of the Lord’s disfavor, nor a withdrawal of His blessings. Opposition is part of God’s plan to refine us and prepare us for an eternal, celestial destiny (see 2 Nephi 2:11).”
All this time I thought we were taking care of Caleb. In reality, God, through Caleb, had been taking care of us. The Lord was performing a miracle on me, on my wife and children, and on all those who met Caleb.
Caleb could have quickly returned to heaven, but instead he brought heaven to us for seven remarkable years. In our toughest times, God never abandoned us. With faith, courage, and hope, we learned that His blessings often shine brightest during our trials. Caleb’s constant wink was a tender reminder of God’s profound love for us all.
The author lives in Utah.

Recently I received a new assignment. I had been serving in the Africa Southeast Area. It was thrilling to serve where the Church is relatively young and being established, and we loved the Saints. Then I was called to return to Church headquarters, and to be honest, I was less than enthusiastic. A change in assignment brought some unknowns.
One night after contemplating the upcoming change, I dreamed about my great-great-grandfather Joseph Skeen. I knew from his journal that when he and his wife, Maria, moved to Nauvoo, he desired to serve, so he sought out the Prophet Joseph Smith and asked how he could help. The Prophet sent him to work on the prairie and told him to do the best he could, so he did. He worked on the Smiths’ farm.8
I pondered the privilege that Joseph Skeen had in receiving his assignment that way. Suddenly I realized that I have the same privilege, as we all do. All Church callings come from God—through His appointed servants.9
I felt a distinct spiritual confirmation that my new assignment was inspired. It is important that we make that connection—that our callings literally come to us from God through our priesthood leaders. After this experience, my attitude changed, and I was filled with a deep desire to serve. I am grateful for the blessing of repentance and for my changed heart. I love my new assignment.

Emmeline also embraced this command. She understood that what the Lord said to one, He said to all (see Doctrine and Covenants 25:1, 16; 82:5). Even before her baptism at age 14 in March 1842, Emmeline had shown a love of learning and a talent for writing. Shortly after her baptism she finished her last term of formal education in Massachusetts and began teaching. After emigrating to Nauvoo, she taught in the common school system there. As Emmeline’s faith led her to join the Saints in other locales, including Winter Quarters and Utah Territory, she continued her educational and literary pursuits, in large part through her involvement in the Relief Society.

Jodi Carlson (10) and Shaun Orr (7) hurried to Jodi’s grandparents’ grocery store in downtown Rexburg to warn them of the coming flood. Jodi’s grandparents decided the store would be the safest place for them during the flood. They went upstairs to the office and watched the flood enter and submerge the ground floor of the store. Within four hours the water was as high as the fifth step below the office door.
“The back wall had holes in it,” Shaun explained later, “and started to break. The water hit the door, broke the lock, and pushed the door over to the wall. A tractor and a cow washed in and lodged under the office where we were. The cow’s body prevented the office floor from collapsing.”
Four hours later their many prayers were answered when they were rescued by the National Guard.

A friend of mine told me this experience: A financially successful man came home from work one day and said, “Dear, there has got to be more to life than just getting up, going to work, making money, watching TV, eating and sleeping, and then doing it all over again! We have all the money we need. Why doesn’t this satisfy us? Somehow we are missing the purpose of life. What is our dilemma? Could it be possible that it is religion we are missing?” In the conversation that followed, his wife mentioned the Mormons. After serious investigation they soon found satisfying answers to their questions and joined the Church.

My conversion to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints started with the word no. It doesn’t sound like a very good place to start anything, but those two letters changed my life. I never dreamed that such a negative word could bring me such joy. I especially didn’t know it at the time.
There was going to be a dance at school, so I asked a friend of mine if he would accompany me. He turned me down. He explained that he was a Mormon and that he had a personal standard to only date young women who were LDS. I was very upset, and I thought he saw me as being beneath him since I wasn’t a member of the same religion. I had been raised to believe that we’re all children of God, and I didn’t understand his view.
He’s not a bad person and he knew I had been hurt by his response, so he called me on the phone so he could explain. We talked for 45 minutes that night. It was strange because I opened up to him completely. We chatted like old friends. He asked me if I would read the Book of Mormon if he gave me a copy. Reluctantly, I said I might (not really believing that I would). He gave it to me the next day, and I got through Second Nephi the first night. I finished it two weeks later. Shortly after that, I wrote this in my journal:
I went to sacramentmeeting today and it was one of those meetings where the members bear their testimonies. It was really moving. I wanted to go up and say something, but I couldn’t. Then my heart started pounding and the Spirit moved me and I knew I had to go up there and speak. I did and I was crying, but I felt good.
I met the missionaries for the first time that night, and a few weeks later I decided to be baptized. After some trials I was baptized. When the day finally arrived, this is what I wrote:
Tonight was my baptism. The water was really warm. Then the bishop confirmed me and then there were lots of people hugging and congratulating me. It finally happened! It really was such a brief wait and I know it was worth it. This has been an amazing day. I have been so blessed.

As a young boy, I was deeply touched by the story of the boy Samuel, who heard the Lord calling and was taught to answer, “Speak, Lord; for thy servant heareth.” [2] I remember thinking, “If God knows a boy like Samuel, then He must know me, too.”

But then questions began to grow in my heart: If God called prophets back then, where are His prophets today? Does God still speak? These questions led me to search earnestly for a God who speaks to His children.

In that search, I spent hours and hours with different religious leaders. I spent many days arguing and trying to prove them wrong. At the time, I thought faith was something you won with words. I was driven by a desire to win, to outsmart people with my Bible-bashing. Even though I won a number of those arguments, I always walked away feeling empty inside.

So when someone warned me not to meet with the missionaries from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, it sounded like an invitation to seek them out. And I did. When I found them, I was prepared to debate. They were young and not very experienced in the Bible, and I thought, “This is going to be easy!”

I asked them the same question I had asked many in the past: “Do you believe in a God who speaks—like He spoke to Adam, to Moses, to Isaiah, to Elijah—and to my favorite prophet, Samuel?”

They began to share the story of a young boy who went into a grove of trees to pray. And as they described what happened in answer to his prayer, my heart burned within me. They shared Joseph Smith’s words:

“I saw a pillar of light exactly over my head, above the brightness of the sun, which descended gradually until it fell upon me. … When the light rested upon me I saw two Personages, whose brightness and glory defy all description, standing above me in the air. One of them spake unto me, calling me by name and said, pointing to the other—This is My Beloved Son. Hear Him!” [3]

As they shared that story, something happened inside of me. My heart was touched in a way I could not argue or reason away. I had no desire to debate. All that was left was simple and sincere to know: Does God still speak?

I knew then—and I know now—that God the Father and His Son, Jesus Christ, appeared to the boy Joseph Smith and called him to be a prophet.

It was a settled, confident, and personal witness. Joseph describes that kind of witness from God this way: “I knew it, and I knew that God knew it, and I could not deny it.” [4]

Moroni’s promise became real to me:

“[God] will manifest the truth … unto you, by the power of the Holy Ghost. … And by the power of the Holy Ghost ye may know the truth of all things.” [5]

I learned that God is not silent. Revelation is real.

That is how my testimony of the Restoration began.

The most unique answer you have to give is your testimony about an issue. When you know a thing, say, “I know,” not necessarily, “I bear you my testimony,” though that has its place. And never say, “I know,” unless you do. When you speak the truth, the Holy Ghost will confirm your words to those who are pure in heart. Then they will feel the truth as well as hear it. This is such a sweet, lifting, convincing experience. Once, on our mission, we were teaching a wonderful, young family. We were giving the lesson that explains the mission of the Savior. I always loved to give that lesson because the Spirit was usually strong in verifying our testimonies.

The young father asked at the beginning, “How can we know that what you’re telling us is true? It all sounds so good, but how can we be sure?” We explained, as best we could, how the witness of the Holy Ghost feels—a burning in the bosom, a peaceful, right feeling; an ‘aha’ experience, like “I-seem-to-have-known-that-all-along.” Then we proceeded to teach of the Savior’s mission and its application in our lives.

When it came my turn to tell them how I felt about Jesus, the Spirit was strong and unmistakable. I could see that they felt it, too. I realized then, and have known ever since, that such a witness is essential to bring complete understanding. No amount of logical argument can equal that beautiful moment of recognition that the Spirit alone can bring.

“We can show love for others by doing kind things. Do something nice for somebody you love, and leave a heart where they will find it,” Cassi’s teacher told them as she handed three red hearts to each class member.
Cassi took her hearts home. Mommy hadn’t had time to make her bed before church. Cassi made Mommy’s bed and put a heart on the pillow.
“Thank you!” Mommy hugged Cassi. “When you make my bed, I feel happy.” Cassi felt happy too.
Cassi’s dog, Floppy, was whining. He was thirsty. Cassi filled his dish and put a heart beside it. Floppy’s tail wagged back and forth as he drank. He was happy.
Cassie had one heart left. Who else did she love? Daddy, of course, but he was out of town for two whole weeks, and she wanted to do something else nice for someone sooner than that. She thought hard all week. She loved Heavenly Father, but how could she do something nice for Him?
On Sunday, Cassi knew what to do! She took her last heart to church to remind her of her plan. She listened to her teacher. She was reverent during sacrament meeting. And when she went home, she drew pictures of her favorite story in the Book of Mormon, put the last red heart with them, and gave them to Mommy to send to a missionary.

“Our first location there was in a log stable belonging to a widow White. Some blocks east of what was known as the Temple block. This hovel was made of a small class of crooked poles, between which I often crept instead of raising the quilt hung over the doorway. This part … at that time was thickly covered with blackberry bushes mixed with oak and hazel brush. Our family were all sick with chills and fever (familiarly known as the shakes) except my mother.
“From this Mormon home … Brother George A. [Smith] started as an Apostle on his mission to England, he having to be lifted into the wagon, as he was too weak to walk. This was in September, 1839. Before leaving he placed in my hand his last quarter of a dollar with a request to get mother some tea. The next day the Prophet Joseph and his brother Hyrum visited us and administered to us all, father being delirious from the effects of the fever. Their words comforted us greatly, as they said in the name of the Lord you all shall be well again. Upon leaving the hovel Joseph placed his slippers upon my mother’s feet and sprang upon his horse from the doorway and rode home barefoot. The next day Joseph removed father to his own house and nursed him until he recovered.”3
“A few days after her [Oliver’s mother’s] death, which was the third in Nauvoo [then called Commerce], Brother Joseph seeing that we still grew worse, told William that we would all die if we stayed there, and that he must take the team and bring us down to his own house. So he took us all into his own family, but me, he sent to Hiram Clarks, about twenty rods distant, yes forty rods. Here I spent an awful summer, the most dreadful I ever experienced, or ever expect to, in that way. My ague was attended with the Cortivical Rheumatics the most painful of all afflictions wherewith I was ever afflicted. Every other day I had the ague, and the days between, the rheumatics raged. Thus I passed days and almost weeks. …”4

I can’t wait to be a deacon. Ever since I was little, I’ve watched with envy as the older boys passed the sacrament. It’s an important job, and they always seem to know just where to go when they pass the sacrament. Now it’s my turn. My twelfth birthday is this week, and I’ve been learning about the priesthood in Blazer class. I’ve been dreaming about passing the sacrament myself. I wonder if I’ll get to pass it to the bishop.
My Blazer teacher told us that we would be interviewed by the bishop before we could be ordained. This would be my second interview—he had already interviewed me when I was going to get baptized. But I’ve lived half my life again since then!
I like my bishop. I see him every Sunday, and he knows my name. Sometimes he says hello. But I still worried about that interview. Did I know enough to be a deacon? Would he ask me about things I keep secret? Could I share my secrets with him? If I did, would he keep them secret?
Friday after dinner the bishop’s secretary called and said the bishop wanted to see me after my Blazer class on Sunday. I said OK, but I was nervous. In my mind I went over everything I thought that he might ask me. I began to remember all the things that happened this year. Some of them I wished hadn’t happened.
Sunday after class I headed for the bishop’s office. What a busy place! I thought. Everybody wants to see him. I think I’ll go home and come another day.
But he saw me. “Hello there, Bobby,” he called. “Come in and sit down, please. Excuse me just one moment.” He stepped out into the hall to talk to someone about something. I wondered what they were talking about. I looked around his office. He had a big chair and a desk, a picture of the Savior, and a picture of President Benson. I saw the scriptures on his desk. They sure were well worn. I wondered what it would be like to be a bishop.
The door opened, and the bishop came back in and sat next to me. He shook my hand. “Thank you for coming to see me,” he said. “You’re almost twelve, the age when we normally confer the Aaronic Priesthood and ordain boys as deacons. I’ve talked with your father, and he also felt that you and I should have this interview. Tell me what you know and how you feel about the priesthood.”
Oh no, I thought. What shall I tell him? He probably knows everything about the priesthood. I started by telling him some things from Blazer class and some things my mother had taught me. He didn’t interrupt, and once I got started, my nervousness went away.
When I finished, he said, “Very good. I can see that you’ve been paying attention and that you understand some important principles. There are some scriptures about the priesthood that I’d like to share with you. They’re some of my favorites.”
He turned first to section 20 of the Doctrine and Covenants [D&C 20]. We read from it and talked about the duties of a deacon. Then we read from section 84 [D&C 84] and talked about the covenant of the Aaronic Priesthood. After that, he turned to what he said was his favorite scripture—section 121. We read from verse 34 to the end of the section [D&C 121:34–46]. He helped me understand what the promise in verses 45 and 46 meant. [D&C 121:45–46]
Then he looked me right in the eyes and asked if I was paying tithing. I thought about how hard it had been to start. I was sure happy that I could say I was a full-tithe payer. I told him how good I felt when I paid my tithing.
Next he asked me if I ever smoked or drank alcoholic beverages or took drugs. I remembered the time my friends and I had tried a cigarette, and I didn’t want to say anything. I hadn’t even told my parents. I knew it was wrong when I’d done it, and I still felt bad about it. Something inside me said, “Speak up,” but I just couldn’t. My silence must have told the bishop I was wrestling with something, because he talked to me about keeping secrets. He called it “confidentiality.” He said that he would keep anything I told him a secret unless I gave him permission to share it with my parents. Then he waited.
It seemed like a long time while I figured out what words to use. I told him about smoking and how ashamed it made me feel. We talked about how it had happened and what I should do to repent. I didn’t tell him who I’d done it with, and he didn’t ask me to. He said that his knowing their names had nothing to do with my worthiness to receive the priesthood. We discussed the help my parents could give me, and I decided to tell them. A calm feeling came over me. I guess that’s what happens when you do something that you know is right.
When the bishop asked me if I was morally clean, I didn’t know what he meant, so I asked him. He explained about keeping my mind and body clean. We talked about how to do that. He explained that if I lived righteously, the power of the priesthood would always be with me.
He asked me to kneel with him and say a prayer, so I did. It was a short one. Then he prayed. He asked Heavenly Father to bless me, and that made me feel good. I knew that my bishop liked me.
I can hardly wait to tell Mom and Dad about my interview. They’ll be happy for me and will help me be a good, worthy bearer of the priesthood. Just think—next Sunday I’ll be presented in sacrament meeting by the bishop to be sustained to receive the Aaronic Priesthood and to be ordained a deacon. And the week after that, I’ll pass the sacrament. I’m going to be reverent when I do and try to set a good example. Maybe some younger boys will be looking up to me.

Brother Tony Wong was assigned to speak during a stake priesthood meeting. “I think the stake presidency wanted me to talk about whether emigration was right or wrong. But I didn’t know,” he says. He read books, checked references, and prepared for two weeks, but the night before the meeting, he still had no idea what he was going to say.
“I decided I’d better do something, so I knelt down and prayed. Then I opened up the scriptures.”
Again, the answer and comfort were found in Ether: “Wherefore, whoso believeth in God might with surety hope for a better world, yea, even a place at the right hand of God” (Ether 12:4).
“The reason for emigrating is looking for a better world,” Brother Wong explains. “People think it will be safer, nicer, or happier somewhere else. This scripture made me realize something. When I talked at that priesthood meeting, I didn’t talk about emigration—I talked about belief in God and Jesus Christ.
“If you ask me if I am going to emigrate, I’ll tell you no. People are worrying and fearing, but we’re forgetting that we have the gospel, we have the Helper. The gospel offers hope and the assurance that Heavenly Father knows what is going on and that he is in charge.”

Following a Saturday of leadership training, the stake president took me to Sunday services held in a rented house. There were 240 people in attendance. Then the bishop introduced 10 new members baptized that week. The congregation was spread across two small rooms, with some members also sitting outside the building, watching the meeting through windows and doors. There were no complaints—only smiling faces and grateful hearts.

Last semester a coworker and I met with a cherished friend of ours. During this meeting with this friend we hoped to discuss ways on how we can improve a particular area in BYUHSA. Ways of improvement were discussed but the agenda soon changed when personal concerns of this individual came up. With tears and sadness she began telling us of how she was bullied in High School because she was different. She was excited to come here to BYU-Hawaii to seek refuge. Tears began streaming even quicker as she said that the bullying behaviors followed her but in a lesser extreme. She even went on to say that she might not return. She was comforted and reassured of the importance of her in our lives. That day she became our little sister.

Josh wiggled his fingers and toes in the warm sand. The salty breeze blew in his face and Josh licked his lips.
“I can taste the ocean!” he announced. He dug his plastic shovel into the sand. “Brooke, will you help me make a sandcastle?” Brooke didn’t look up. She quickly turned the page of her book, eagerly seeking the next words in the story.
Dad pushed the beach umbrella into the sand while Mom spread out their towels. She looked at Brooke and laughed gently. “Brooke, do you want to stop reading and look at the beautiful view? This is a perfect start to our vacation!”
Brooke slowly closed her book. She tried to focus on the bright blue sky and the palm trees waving in the breeze, but in her mind she was still in the dark pine forest with Princess Rosalie and Sir Nathanael. It was her favorite kind of story—knights on majestic horses, a beautiful princess, a priceless treasure guarded by terrible monsters. She tried to picture what the treasure would be: gold coins, sparkling jewelry, riches for the grandest kings and queens.
Brooke gazed at the glittering ocean. It stretched as far as she could see. “There could be buried treasure out there,” she said. “I’ve read about ships that got caught in storms and sank with all their treasure.”
Dad winked at her. “Maybe we’ll find some while we’re here. We can have a treasure hunt.”
“No thanks, Dad,” Brooke said. “I’m going to read some more.” She stretched out on her beach towel and opened her book again. Would Princess Rosalie find the secret door in time? Would Sir Nathanael find a way to defeat the monsters?
A while later, Josh came running up to Brooke carrying his plastic beach pail. “Look! Dad and I found treasure!” He reached into the pail and pulled out a delicate sand dollar. It was followed by a collection of smooth stones and shells.
She picked up a piece of a shell. “This isn’t treasure.”
“Why not?” Josh demanded.
“These are just rocks and shells. They’re not worth anything.”
Dad sat down on the sand. “A treasure doesn’t have to be worth a lot of money, Brooke,” he said. “It isn’t always a pile of gold coins like you’re always reading about.” He grinned and tugged playfully on her hair. “A treasure is something that means a lot to you. It’s something that you want to take care of and remember.” He picked a shiny pink shell out of Josh’s pail and handed it to Brooke. She looked at it doubtfully. “Just think about it,” Dad said.
The next morning Dad said they were going to visit Grandma Connors. As Brooke put her book in her bag Mom touched her shoulder. “You can take your book, but please don’t read it while we’re at Grandma’s.”
Brooke frowned. “But there’s nothing else to do at her house. It’s boring there,” she said. “Besides, I’m getting to the really good part! Sir Nathanael is about to fight the monsters!”
“Grandma Connors is lonely and she misses us a lot,” Mom said. “She’s looking forward to visiting with all of us.” She smiled. Brooke didn’t smile back.
When they pulled up to Grandma Connors’s house, she was waiting for them in her front yard. “Hello, dears!” she called and waved to them. She led them inside, talking and laughing. She cut everyone a piece of cake, and they all went outside to sit on the back porch. Josh sat next to Grandma and she kept patting his hand.
Grandma, Mom, and Dad began talking about uncles and friends and cousins whom Brooke didn’t know. She swung her legs restlessly in her chair. “Will Princess Rosalie find the treasure?” she wondered. Her fingers itched to feel the familiar weight of the book, but she didn’t want to disobey Mom.
Brooke went inside, hoping she could find something to do. She found a bookcase filled with large, brown books. She pulled one out. The cover was plain. There weren’t any pictures of princesses or gold or jewels on it. Brooke half-heartedly opened the cover. Inside she found pages of photographs, some of them faded or turning yellow with age. She studied the faces but didn’t see anyone she knew. But then she saw a little girl with a braid who looked like her. She carried the album to the back porch.
“Well, look what you found,” Grandma said, her eyes twinkling.
Brooke pointed to the picture. “Who’s this, Grandma? She looks like me.”
Grandma smiled. “That’s your mother when she was about your age,” she said. She turned a few pages and pointed to another picture. “That’s your grandfather and me at our first dance together.”
Brooke settled next to Grandma and pointed to a black-and-white photograph. “Who are those kids?” she asked.
“That’s me!” Grandma said. “Me and my brothers, Jacob and Steven. And that was our dog, Smarty.”
“Smarty?” Brooke laughed.
Grandma turned to more pictures and told stories about family members Brooke never knew. But seeing their faces as Grandma spoke helped their stories come alive.
Before Brooke knew it, it was time to leave. “Before you go, I want to show you one more,” Grandma said. She turned to a photograph in the very back of the album. It was black and white, and worn from being handled a lot. A young couple stood together. The woman had long, dark ringlets that rested on a high-collared, lacy white dress. The man wore a suit.
“That’s you and Grandpa when you were married,” Brooke said.
“Yes,” Grandma said. Her voice was softer. “Looking at this picture and seeing his smiling face helps me remember all the wonderful times we had together. I’ve treasured this picture since the day it was taken, and it means so much more to me now that your grandpa is gone.”
Brooke studied the picture for a moment. “When we get home, I’m going to send you a picture of my smiling face so you can be happy,” she said.
Grandma hugged Brooke tightly.
A few weeks later, Dad brought home some pictures they took on their vacation. Mom, Brooke, and Josh crowded around him to see.
“There we are at the beach!” Josh said.
“There’s that beautiful garden I saw,” Mom said.
“There’s me and Grandma!” Brooke said, pointing to the photo of their young and old faces close together.
Dad propped up the picture on the mantle. Then he smiled and winked at Brooke. “Do you think we found a treasure?”
“I just need one more piece of gold,” Brooke said. She ran to her room and quickly returned. Next to the photo she placed a shiny pink shell. “Now our treasure is perfect,” she said.

Sister Acquah is the president of the Cape Coast Relief Society. We were very busy this spring e-mailing back and forth to plan a health fair for the Relief Society sisters to be held on the first Saturday after we arrived in Ghana. As part of the health fair, this warm, caring person wanted the sisters in her stake to assemble hygiene kits and donate them to the children at a local school for the deaf and blind. She told me that for the last few years the Ghanaian Saints have been on the receiving end of many humanitarian efforts. It was time for the sisters to reach beyond themselves and give to someone else in need. What a moment of growth when people who have little learn to give to others. Selfless caring has a giving and a receiving component. We give that we might receive, and we receive that we might give again.

At the end of the health fair, the plan was that a small group of sisters would take the hygiene kits to the designated school. As the sisters were slowly leaving the health fair, Sister Acquah came over to me with a big smile and gave me a hug. Her statement to me in the blunt style of the Ghanaian people was that the health fair had turned out better than she had thought it would. I was not sure if she lacked confidence in our ability to present classes or if she was surprised that 262 sisters were willing to walk from distant villages, come by car, come by tro-tro, or come any way they could to the health fair that day.

As we sat and rested from the warm summer heat and the busy morning activities, Sister Acquah asked, “Of course you and your students are coming with us to deliver the hygiene kits to the school for the deaf and blind?

“Oh,” I said, “you should really take the sisters who prepared the hygiene kits. They should experience the reward of their service project.”

“Some will come,” Sister Acquah said, “but I really want you and your students to come.”

So we did. What a heart-changing experience followed for us that afternoon.

We all grumbled a little as we got on the bus to ride from the stake center to the school for the deaf and blind on the outskirts of Cape Coast, Ghana. I was thinking, it’s a four-hour ride back to Accra, and it’s late in the afternoon. There were giant rain clouds gathering on the horizon, and dirt roads and rain don’t mix well. We turned off the main road and bounced our way down a dirt road toward the school. As we pulled into the school yard, the school seemed very deserted. I was thinking that somehow we had gotten the day or maybe the time of day wrong. But as the bus stopped and we started getting out, we saw smiling, squealing children appearing in the open windows of the assembly hall.

The Cape Coast sisters and the students helped arrange the hygiene kits on the table in the front of the assembly hall as restless children wiggled on their benches. They would wave and smile. The blind children’s choir sang the opening song—“I Have God in My Heart.” We were asked to respond, and in turn we sang to them “I Am a Child of God,” and then the deaf and partially deaf children responded in sign language and voices singing a song called “Heavenly Father Loves Me.” The Spirit was so tender in that bare room as these songs were exchanged. We knew why we had come. We had been fed by the Spirit in that room. Each one of our students helped to hand out the hygiene kits. These beautiful children greeted our students with hugs and squeals as they received their plastic bag containing soap, a toothbrush, a towel, toothpaste, and two combs. To them it was like Christmas. After hugs and many unexpected tears, we loaded up the bus and started on our trip home.

No one complained about how long it took to return to Accra or how scary the thunder and muddy roads were. They were so grateful to have been a part of delivering the hygiene kits to the school for the deaf and blind. In her reflective writing assignment related to her experience that day, one of the students shared the following quote: “She went to minister to them and found then ministering to her. She went to teach and was transformed by what she learned” (author unknown).

Another chapter in the Bensons’ life began a few years later when Elder Benson, with the encouragement of President David O. McKay, accepted an appointment as United States Secretary of Agriculture under President Eisenhower. Sister Benson cheerfully moved her family to the nation’s capital, focusing her time and energies on her family and shunning much of the Washington social scene.
But on one occasion, as a missionary effort, Sister Benson decided to give a luncheon for Mrs. Eisenhower and the other wives of the president’s advisers. As was common practice in the Benson household, no outside help was hired for the affair. She and her four daughters spent weeks carefully planning a menu, cleaning their home, preparing entertainment, and reviewing etiquette and protocol.
If Sister Benson worried that her guests would miss the coffee, cigarettes, and card playing which normally were part of such affairs, she needn’t have. The cocktails made from ginger ale and home-bottled apricot juice were a great success, as was the entertainment—a choir from Brigham Young University that was touring the east coast.
“The most exciting part was the beautiful letters we received afterward from the women, telling us what a thrill it was to experience a touch of ‘Mormonism’ and what wonderful youth the singers were,” Sister Benson remembers.

Andrew faces challenges in life, like a life-threatening peanut allergy. He has to be very careful to not eat any peanuts. “The hard part is that you have to read the labels for everything you eat,” he says. “I can’t eat things like birthday cake at parties, just to be safe. My mom brings another treat for me.” He has to carry medicine with him at all times in case he accidentally eats peanuts. But the challenge has helped to strengthen his faith. “Every year before school starts I receive a priesthood blessing, and we pray that I will be safe. I feel like the priesthood blessings have protected me.”

Whenever I attend a temple dedication, I think of Brother and Sister Gustav and Margarete Wacker of Kingston, Ontario. He was once the branch president of the Kingston Branch. He was from the old country. He spoke English with a thick accent. He never owned or drove a car. He plied the trade of a barber. He made but little money cutting hair near an army base at Kingston. How he loved the missionaries! The highlight of his day would be when he had the privilege to cut the hair of a missionary. Never would there be a charge. When they would make a feeble attempt to pay him, he would say, “Oh, no; it is a joy to cut the hair of a servant of the Lord.” Indeed, he would reach deep into his pockets and give the missionaries all of his tips for the day. If it were raining, as it often does in Kingston, President Wacker would call a taxi and send the missionaries to their apartment by cab, while he, himself, at day’s end would lock the small shop and walk home—alone in the driving rain.

I first met Gustav Wacker when I noticed that his tithing was far in excess of that expected from his potential income. My efforts to explain to him that the Lord required no more than a tenth fell on attentive but unconvinced ears. He simply responded that he loved to pay all he could to the Lord. It amounted to about a third of his income. His dear wife felt exactly as he did. Their unique manner of tithing payment continued.

Gustav and Margarete Wacker established a home that was a heaven. They were not blessed with children but mothered and fathered their many Church visitors. A sophisticated and learned Church leader from Ottawa told me, “I like to visit the Wacker home. I come away refreshed in spirit and determined to ever live close to the Lord.”

Did our Heavenly Father honor such abiding faith? The branch prospered. The membership outgrew the rented Slovakian Hall where they met and moved into a modern and lovely chapel of their own to which the branch members had contributed their share and more, that it might grace the city of Kingston. President and Sister Wacker had their prayers answered by serving a proselyting mission to their native Germany and later a temple mission to that beautiful temple in Washington, D.C. Then, in 1983, his mission in mortality concluded, Gustav Wacker peacefully passed away while being held in the loving arms of his eternal companion, dressed in his white temple suit, there in the Washington Temple.

On one occasion when I spoke to a number of young ladies, questions were handed to me before the meeting. And one of the questions read something like this: “What happens when you’re going on a date with somebody, and you know”—underlined in red—“and you know there’s going to be trouble?”
Let’s think about that for a minute. The first time I received that question, I said, “Young lady, you’re going to wear a very comfortable pair of shoes, because when he goes by the dormitory and up the canyon road, you’re going to tell him to stop, and you’re going to get out and walk home.”
As I was driving home and feeling very good about myself and being very clever, my wife, as every sweetheart does, leaned over and put her head on my shoulder, and I expected her to tell me how well I’d done that night. But she said, speaking as a woman, “You know they expect more of you than that.”
The second time I got the question, I think I answered it better from a mother’s point of view, from a woman’s point of view, when I said, “You aren’t going to go on that date.”