Gospel Story Finder

When I was in my late teens, I received a telephone call that would change my life—my eternal life.
A good sister from my ward called to invite me to perform a dance floor show number at a Mutual activity evening that was being held in a couple of weeks. Dancing was a hobby of mine, and I was studying ballroom dancing at a studio in Salt Lake City. I had never been to a youth MIA (Mutual Improvement Association) dance before, and I was excited to accept the invitation to perform.
My partner and I arrived on the appointed evening and were greeted enthusiastically. I was surprised to find that we were the only ones on the program. It was an exciting experience, and I thoroughly enjoyed the evening.
The following Sunday morning, I decided to go to church in our ward for the first time since I was ordained a deacon. At that time, none of my family was active. I found people who welcomed me warmly, and they demonstrated a genuine friendship and caring. These experiences started me on the road to activity and service in the Church that has been a joy to me throughout the years.
A group of brethren took me under their wings, and we became good friends. A wonderful returned missionary taught me the basics of the gospel and helped prepare me to serve a mission. During this same time I was asked to help teach dancing in the ward, which gave me a feeling of being needed, and it also gave me a responsibility.
The next 15 months flew by, filled with growth and happiness as I progressed. I soon received a call to serve a mission in Mexico. I quickly grew to love the language, the country, and its people. Sharing the message of the restored gospel of Jesus Christ gave me a foundation upon which to build the rest of my life.
That evening so long ago when I was invited to share my talent, the door opened to a wonderful new world of friends and activity in the Church. I am grateful for those who reached out with a warm hand of fellowship, invited me in, nurtured me, and blessed my life.

Every quorum activity should have a designated purpose, and that purpose should be gospel oriented. For example, may I relate a story of an Aaronic Priesthood youth in Korea who happened to come from a rather affluent family. One day one of his father’s business associates called the father and inquired if he were having financial difficulties, offering help if it were needed.
The father responded that things were going well.
The man asked, “Are you sure?”
The father replied, “Things are fine. Why do you ask?”
The friend then indicated he had seen the young man on a street corner selling newspapers. The father couldn’t believe it. He told his friend that his son received an adequate allowance and asked if there might have been a mistake of identity. The friend responded there was no mistake; he had personally visited with the boy.
That evening when his son came home from school, the father asked him if he had been selling newspapers on the street corner. The reply was yes. The father asked, “Why? Isn’t your allowance sufficient?”
His son responded that it was adequate, but he had a friend at school who was very poor and who was going to have to drop out of school if he didn’t get some financial assistance. As it turned out, this young Aaronic Priesthood holder was using his allowance money to buy newspapers. Then he and some of his classmates were selling the newspapers to raise money to help keep his friend in school.
A short time before this, he had asked his mother to pack larger lunches for him. She did so, thinking that as a growing teenager he was just extra hungry. He confessed to his father he had been sharing his lunch with this same friend, who otherwise would have gone hungry.
The father was obviously touched by his son’s thoughtfulness but asked the reason for such action. The boy replied, “We studied the lesson of the Good Samaritan a few weeks ago. I wanted to know the real meaning of this lesson by being a good Samaritan, not just learning about one.” (See “Profiting for Others,” New Era, June 1979, p. 50.)

Elisa (4) and LaRece (5) spend a lot of time with their father, who flies supplies into the native villages. They take turns going with him and helping him load and unload the plane. Planes are the only way to get to many parts of Alaska, and the people who live in the remote areas are happy to see the supply planes come in. LaRece and Elisa get to meet lots of people in many places, and they share their sunny smiles and their love of the gospel wherever they go. They are starting their missionary work early!

I remember another time, while living in California, I was in my office at work and the office manager, very attractive at 30, came into my office, shut the door, sat in front of me, and with tears began to complain to me about her husband. As she cried and complained, I grabbed the phone book and searched for the phone number to the mission office in L.A. I then shared my testimony and put her in touch with the missionaries.

Mention Lake Powell to anyone in the western United States, and chances are he’ll think of fishing, water skiing, broiling in the sun, or diving from rock formations into the refreshing cool of green aqua depths. Mention the reservoir to Scouts from Troop 756 in Mesa, Arizona, however, and the reaction will be completely different. They’ll talk about merit badges!
Sure, the boating, swimming, and hiking were part of their activity at Lake Powell, too. But these Scouts used their week-long summer camp for more than just goofing around. By carefully planning and preparing in advance, they were able to meet some, if not all, of the requirements for Reptile Study, Fishing, Swimming, Camping, Cooking, Emergency Preparedness, Wilderness Survival, Nature, and Water Skiing merit badges, and have fun at the same time. In addition, four young men won their mile swim award. All told, the 12 Scouts on the trip earned 60 merit badges.
The troop met several times before the camp to review requirements for each badge and to encourage each Scout to do as much as possible before the trip. The stake president and other adults accompanied the group to act as counselors who could approve the work completed for the badges and offer advice about proper camping methods.
The bugle announced morning each day at 5:00 A.M. Flag-raising ceremonies, group prayer, and breakfast quickly followed, then cleanup, and if there was time, perhaps a few minutes of early morning fishing. But classes started at 7:00.
The Scoutmaster, Brother Bruce Bosley, had prepared a booklet for each troop member and leader, listing a schedule of classes in merit badge skills along with a schedule of camp chores. The troop was divided into three class groups, allowing students to work closely with instructors. Of course, some activities included the entire troop, like the nature hike, which showed that even in barren country, it’s possible to find the 12 different plants required for a leaf collection in the Nature merit badge.
The troop also tied knots, learned canoe rescue techniques, cooked and ate edible wild plants, and built improvised shelters from Russian thistles.
The Scouts felt a sense of accomplishment that night. They had had a great time, it’s true. That’s easy at Lake Powell. But they’d also learned to organize themselves and work hard together, and they had memories and merit badges to prove it.

Nearly 20 years ago, our fifth son, Benjamin, was born. My wife sensed that something wasn’t right with Benjamin’s eyes. We consulted a close friend and retinal specialist in our ward, who confirmed our concerns and diagnosed Benjamin’s condition as retinal blastoma, a rare form of cancer of the eye. The news was devastating.

A few weeks later, Benjamin was to have the first of many surgical treatments. Prior to the operation we met with the surgeon and told him that we believed that he would find that Benjamin’s eye would be healed and not need to be removed. Our entire family and many ward members were fasting and praying for our son, and we had great faith that Benjamin would be healed.

An hour later, the surgeon returned and confirmed that Benjamin’s eye had been destroyed by the tumor cells and that his other eye also had several serious tumors that needed immediate treatment. I was speechless. Completely overcome with grief and disbelief, I walked out of the hospital into the damp San Francisco morning and began to walk, weeping bitterly.

I had done everything I had been taught to do. We had prayed and received a strong impression to select this doctor. We had fasted and prayed and felt certain that our infant son would be healed through faith and through the power of the priesthood. Yet the Lord had not intervened. Our faith it seems had been no more than vain hope. I began to question everything I had ever believed. As I walked, I felt betrayed and angry. I was overcome with pain.

I am not proud of the conversation I had with Heavenly Father as I walked and wept that morning. After a time, I got hold of myself emotionally. I remember the words of a children’s Primary song coming into my mind. “Heavenly Father, are you really there? And do you hear and answer every child’s prayer?” Because you clearly haven’t been listening to mine or maybe you just don’t really care about me and my son. (“A Child’s Prayer,” Children’s Songbook, 12.)

In that moment, a tender mercy came. In my mind and heart, I felt these words: “Kevin, he is my son too.” The clarity of the prompting was unmistakable. I realized in that moment that I had not understood the purpose of prayer at all. I had assumed that, just because I had a righteous cause, I could use the priesthood and fasting and prayer to change the will of God.

For the first time in my life, I fully realized that I was not in charge. I knew that I needed to submit to Heavenly Father’s will. I couldn’t have what I wanted when and how I wanted it just because I was keeping the commandments. The purpose of prayer was not to tell Heavenly Father what to do, rather to find out what He would have me do and learn. I needed to align my will with His.

We would face another six years of serious challenges as we battled our little son’s condition to save his other eye and his life. But I now knew that Heavenly Father was aware and in charge. And no matter how things ultimately worked out, He had heard and answered my prayer. Today our miracle son is serving a full-time mission in Spain.

For Vaea Tangitau Ta‘ufo‘ou, being a faithful member of the Church has involved significant physical sacrifices. When he joined the Church at age 19, he lived on Foa, one of the outer islands in the Ha‘apai group. One of his first callings was as a leader working with the youth. Like other leaders he often had to attend meetings in Pangai, a town on the next island. To get there he had to walk seven miles (11 km) to the end of the island. Then he would have to wait for low tide so he could walk to the next island through the shallow water—assuming the current wasn’t too strong at the time—and then continue on until he arrived. The trip would take most of the day, and sometimes he would have to wait overnight to return home.
“It was a challenge to make our meetings,” Vaea says. “But it did not discourage us. It strengthened our testimonies.”
Early in his life Vaea hated the Church because of untrue stories spread about it by others in the village. Then his family was befriended by members of the Church. Their good example softened the hearts of Vaea’s family, and his sister was baptized. A year later he joined the Church and was soon serving diligently.
Some years later their district had grown significantly and had the potential to become a stake. Following meetings at Pangai, Vaea and others had to return home. But the district president wanted them to be back for meetings the next morning and asked them to be on time. To make the round trip successfully, Vaea had to run most of the way.
“I was so exhausted I almost felt like dying because the district president had also asked us to fast so we could organize the stake. But I made it. I learned the importance of making it to our meetings and being on time despite the challenges. I believe my calling as bishop shortly after this was because I was willing to make the sacrifice to serve and be obedient. I also believe our fasting made a difference. Not long after, President Howard W. Hunter [1907–95] came and organized the stake.”

This point was underscored to me in late June when I was on tour with the Mormon Tabernacle Choir. On tour we regularly have singers from local groups join us for our sound check the afternoon before a concert. In Mountainview, California, the local singers were members of the San Francisco Gay Men’s Chorus, who came in their purple T-shirts and were received kindly and without judgment into the choir stands. Their director, Dr. Tim Seelig, was warmly welcomed by Elder Donald L. Hallstrom, a General Authority Seventy, and by our choir leadership, and that evening he conducted the encore at the end of our concert. Our guests included people who may never become members of the Church—and a few who used to be members—but together we enjoyed our common humanity and a shared love of music.

As positive as that experience was, for one of my friends it was difficult. With his permission, I share part of his story. Alex is a member of the Church, a singer in the choir, someone committed to keeping his covenants, and gay. But as we were building bridges, he felt, in his terms, “like he was still under a rock.” His continued choice to stay in the Church comes at the cost of constant struggle, frequent pain, and considerable loneliness. We sat together for the better part of an hour, during which time he, like Martha, expressed testimony but, like Mary, mourned.20

President George Albert Smith, the eighth president of the Church, was named after his grandfather. Once, when he was very ill, President Smith had a dream in which his deceased grandfather spoke to him. “I would like to know what you have done with my name,” his grandfather said.
President Smith said, at that moment, everything he had ever done in his life up until that time passed before his eyes. He looked at his grandfather, smiled, and replied, “I have never done anything with your name of which you need be ashamed.”
As the vision closed, President Smith found himself in bed with tears of gratitude soaking his pillow. “I have thought of this many times,” he said, “and I want to tell you that I have been trying, more than ever since that time, to take care of that name. … Honor the names that you bear, because some day you will have the privilege and the obligation of reporting to them (as well as to your Father in Heaven) what you have done with their name.” (See George Albert Smith, Sharing the Gospel with Others, 112.)

The second most recent devastating experience for our family is the loss of my dear eternal companion Simi in early March. While I was working, my retired husband oversaw the renovation of our downstairs. It was to be our “space” with a deck that he loved to sit outside of and called out to passersby especially the neighborhood children who were attracted to their ‘Uncle Simi’ not only because he loved them but would often load them up in our van and off to McDonalds or “Sam’s Store” down the road they would go to pick their treats. We were excited to move downstairs. But at the end of January, Simi suffered a massive aorta aneurysm. He was not supposed to survive this! But through the tender mercies of the Lord, he did survive; his surgeon explained to us after the long surgery that, in his own words, “It was short of a miracle because when the main large artery burst, survival from it does not happen often, but somehow, the aorta sealed itself and allowed him time to get the much-needed surgery to do repair.” It was a major surgery and we were uncertain about the outcome. After my son Jimmy gave him a blessing, he went to surgery. I prayed ever so fervently to the Lord to bless those overseeing Brother Mapu’s care. This time, I especially prayed to Heavenly Father to please allow Daniel to come and be with his dad to comfort him and help him through the surgery. The surgery was successful; Brother Mapu survived. When he awoke, we were talking in his ICU room when I cautiously asked him, “Hey Dad, did you happen to see Daniel?” Without hesitation, he said with confidence, “Yes, he was with me on the table holding my hand.”

I know for a surety when we are faced with these hard situations, if we ask our Father in Heaven, he allows our loved ones beyond the veil to come to our aid. I know that to be true!

Brother Mapu survived for another month. We had often joked with him that he was rejected from heaven! In fact, he was making such great progress and working hard at Kahuku Hospital to rehabilitate himself to transition home. While at Kahuku, my children, bless their hearts, and I took turns throughout the day in shifts to spend time to help with his care around the clock. He loved visits from our extended family, ward family, our police ohana, and community. We are grateful for those weeks we each had to spend with him individually during our shifts. He was always so apologetic and grateful for the service and sacrifice we provided to be with him around the clock despite our work schedules and demands. We deem this a very special time that we were allowed to spend with him individually and collectively as a family. My children and I are grateful for the Lord’s tender mercies by allowing us that time to care for him and to be counseled by him. We miss him terribly but find comfort from the scriptures and words of modern prophets to help us know where Daniel and his dad are at, and that they are very happy and busy indeed! We are so happy that they have each other - free from the pains of this mortal life and await our joining them some day.

Knock, knock, knock. Bleary-eyed, I looked at the alarm clock next to the bed. 5:55 a.m. Pound, pound, pound. It sounded like a mallet was being used to beat down the front door of our condo in downtown Nashville. My husband stirred next to me but was too tired from our late night assembling toys and stuffing stockings to get up. It was early Christmas morning, and the warm lights on the tree in the corner greeted me as I stumbled, still half asleep, to the door.
I opened it to see two young police officers with alarm on their faces. They quickly informed me that there was a public safety threat in the area, and we needed to evacuate immediately. Shocked and a bit exasperated, I said, “It’s 20 degrees outside, it’s Christmas, and we have kids—is this really necessary?”
At the mention of my children, one of the officers froze. “You have kids? Please, get them and leave as quickly as you can.” I could see the fear in her eyes.
Right then the Holy Ghost delivered a very clear, stern warning to my heart, and I knew we needed to get out immediately. I hurried to inform my sleeping husband that we had to leave. I was met with the same questions and groggy reluctance I had just expressed myself, when the Holy Ghost’s warning returned to my heart more urgently than before. I began to panic. I had no idea what threat my family was facing, but I knew we were in real danger.
I pulled my four-year-old from his bed while my husband went to get the baby from the crib. Carrying my confused, sleepy son down the hall in my arms, I covered his eyes to preserve the surprise of what Santa had left for him—the scene I thought we would be running toward as soon as we opened our eyes, not running from. As we hurried to the front door, I glanced back with longing at that scene adorning our condominium: Christmas presents glittering under the tree, backed by hanging stockings; gingerbread houses proudly decorated and on display; the kitchen full of our favorite holiday foods, ready for a Christmas feast. All the makings of a joyful celebration for our family.
Still in our pajamas, we bundled our children in whatever coats and shoes were in the entryway; then I grabbed the scantily prepared diaper bag and walked out. I closed the door, expecting to be gone only a short time and eager to return to the magical morning we had planned with our boys.
Moments later, we were in the car pulling away from our building. As we drove down the street, we noticed the flashing lights on emergency vehicles illuminating downtown and looking almost festive against the unusual Christmas snow that had fallen overnight.
Suddenly … boom! In stunned terror, we turned to watch as a blazing fireball engulfed our street and filled the sky. A bomb had detonated in front of our building.
I took this photo of our street moments after the explosion. The bomb detonated 30 feet from the front door of our building.
There were flames, smoke, and hundreds of broken windows, alarms blaring, cars exploding, water pouring out of unknown places, and our beautiful row of historic brick buildings crumbling to the ground.
In an instant, we were left homeless.
Our only physical possessions were now reduced to the clothes on our backs, the diaper bag, and the car we were driving.
The hours that followed were a blur—their phones constantly ringing with calls or pinging with texts from concerned friends and family, most of which we were unable to answer.
In the midst of it all, I felt an urgent need to call my aunt, whom I’ve probably called five times in my entire life. But every time I see her, she always seems to say something that my soul needs.
When she answered, I was surprised by her upbeat and confident response. “Noelle,” she said, “this is a miracle! You got out!” She continued, “This is only the first of many miracles. Watch and see what the Lord has in store for you. He will lead you to where you need to be.”
Photograph by Alex Kent / Stringer via Getty Images
I wanted to believe my aunt—to believe in Him. But the grief was real, and the tears were many. The problems seemed too complex to solve, and our hearts seemed too broken to mend. There were times when I would crumble beneath the weight of trying to rebuild an entire life from scratch. I wondered quietly, and desperately, “Will He really lead us now? What will we do if He doesn’t come?” But during the weeks and months following the explosion, we watched in amazement as my aunt’s faithful prediction proved true, and our broken hearts were bound up again and again. I did not know that extreme grief and profound gratitude could co-exist.
Although our hands were empty of the gifts we left under the tree that devastating morning, we were comforted by the words of Moroni that the gifts Christ gives us “never will be done away, even as long as the world shall stand” (Moroni 10:19). Our home was no longer standing, but the Spirit of the Lord stood firmly by our side. In exchange for gifts in wrappings and ribbons, we were blessed with the gift of “the beholding of angels and ministering spirits” (Moroni 10:14).
It is my belief that most of the miracles we see in our lives come through the helping hands of others. We are the workers of many of God’s miracles on the earth. We can often recognize these miracles—these tender mercies—by their timing.
The officers who knocked on our door woke us with just enough time to get our family out.
We drove away to safety—just in time.
In the immediate aftermath, we needed to replace the basic necessities to live, but I was in shock, overwhelmed, and unable to respond to the many wonderful inquiries that came to us of “What do you need? How can we help?” Then came the rescuing phone call from a friend. She said, “I’m standing in the middle of Walmart. I am just going to start saying items that you might need; all you have to do is say yes or no. Shampoo, deodorant, diapers, baby food … ” Her call was inspired, and her list was extensive—and we needed every item.
We had to find a temporary place to live while we looked for a new home. Just as we began our search, a complete stranger reached out to us on Facebook and offered their beautiful guesthouse for us to live in for two months, rent free.
In a blistering real estate market, a couple getting ready to list their home offered it to us, off market, entertaining no other bids. It fit the needs of our family perfectly. Our closing date was set for the day that our temporary housing was ending.
Our friends tirelessly showed up when we needed them, over and over again, to carry us through the endless and complex challenges we faced. They came no matter what time of day or how long we needed them.
I began writing down each of these occurrences, and caught myself questioning some of them: “Are these really miracles? Are these just your garden-variety blessings? Are they even just mere coincidences?”
And then I remembered, it’s all about timing—my timing, your timing, and most important, the Lord’s timing.
Elder David A. Bednar of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles said of tender mercies: “I testify that the tender mercies of the Lord are real and that they do not occur randomly or merely by coincidence. Often, the Lord’s timing of His tender mercies helps us to both discern and acknowledge them.”1
Timing was the common thread that connected many of these events. We had been carried through that difficult day and the many that followed by scores of earthly angels—who received specific promptings and promptly acted, performing miracles and tender mercies of every kind.
My aunt promised, “Watch and see what the Lord has in store for you. He will lead you to where you need to be.”
Through a series of miraculous events, He did lead us to where we needed to be, when we needed to be there, and to who we needed to become.
My precious family is alive today because miracles happen.
I hope that as we have witnessed and continue to witness miracles, we will become instruments in the Lord’s hands to deliver His miracles to our brothers and sisters—to be His angels of warning, His arms of comfort, His hands of shelter, His eyes of hope, His voice of love.
The author lives in Tennessee.

I am a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, in the Diala ward in the Kolwezi Stake. I would like to share my testimony dating back to my years of secondary school when I admired a young couple who apparently lived in happiness. After beginning my university studies, I made the decision to get married before completing them, and today I’m blessed with a happy family.
The motivation behind this decision is based on the belief that the best place to nurture light and truth is in our home. The family is regarded as the Lord’s workshop where we learn and live the gospel. Each family member has a sacred duty to help strengthen others spiritually. Eternal families and homes filled with the Spirit don’t just happen by chance! They require substantial efforts, time, and the participation of each member.
Although each home is unique, it is essential that everyone seeks the truth to help make a difference. Today, my greatest joy is that my family and I have been sealed in the Kinshasa Democratic Republic of the Congo Temple for time and for all eternity. We express our gratitude to God, our Heavenly Father, and His Son, Jesus Christ, for the blessings bestowed upon us. Our marriage is a success, and we strongly believe that anything can happen except separation. The Mutobola family remains grateful and united.

As I read about my ancestors, I learned that they apparently had the typical Kirschbaum trait of a quiet, good-natured disposition—except when aggravated. I read with amusement about a local notary who apparently played a mean trick on one of my ancestors. The man later found himself shut up in his own house by a cartload of “natural fertilizer” that was delivered to his doorstep by Herr Kirschbaum himself—the mayor.

My conversion to the gospel and my baptism into The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints began some thirty-seven years ago. I was in my first year of university studies when Elder Henry Eddington of Shoshone, Idaho, and Elder Eleazer Asay of Orem, Utah, began to teach me of the restored gospel of Jesus Christ.

I was intrigued with the discussions. I found that my intellect was stimulated by the new vistas of knowledge presented by these two mature representatives of the Church who had been called later in life to serve missions.

Elder Eddington was leading the discussion that last evening together before I was to return to the university. He had been reviewing why there was a need for a restoration, and then he paused and bore solemn testimony of the truthfulness of their message. Then he reached over, touching my knee with the only hand that he had, and said, “And now you will know it is true.” The Spirit of God came into my body as a fire. It felt as if it would consume me. It left me physically exhausted but totally assured that the Church was true. Now I knew for myself.

I can still remember a powerful teaching moment from my mother in Brooklyn, New York, USA, 70 years ago. After my father had baptized me and while I was still in my wet baptismal clothes, my mother sat me down on a rusted metal folding chair in front of the baptismal font. She reviewed with me the importance of baptism by priesthood authority, the purpose of my baptismal covenant to take upon myself the name of Jesus Christ, and the law of obedience. Then she asked me how I felt. I remember telling her I had a warm feeling all over and that I would like to feel that way for the rest of my life.

My mother looked into my eyes and taught me that in a few moments my father would lay his hands upon my head and would confirm me a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. He would confer upon me the gift of the Holy Ghost, she said, and if I remained worthy, true, and faithful to the commandments, the Holy Ghost would be with me to provide guidance and direction throughout my life. Although I had this experience with my mother many years ago, I have never forgotten that important teaching moment.

Elder José A. Teixeira recalls a lesson he learned as a young boy in Portugal. During a family reunion, he sneaked away to go fishing. He felt he should tell his parents where he was going, but he decided not to because they were busy talking.
Hours later, his worried parents found him at the riverbank. From that experience, he learned to obey not only his parents but also the whisperings of the Holy Ghost.
Since then, Elder Teixeira has made a habit of heeding the still, small voice. He and his family were introduced to the gospel in 1976, after Portugal was opened to missionary work. He was baptized at age 16 and later served as a missionary in the Lisbon Portugal Mission.

This stone plaque with the photo and narrative of the life of Charles Callis, sits in St Audoen’s park near the centre of Dublin. Elder Callis is the only person born in the Emerald Isle to become a member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles in this dispensation. His service in the apostleship lasted from 1933 until his death in 1947.
The plaque tells of some of the events of his early life. The second child of John Callis and Susannah Charlotte Quilliam. At the death of his Father, and while Charles was still a small boy, his mother moved the family to Liverpool, where they became Latter-day Saints. In 1875, the family emigrated and joined the main body of the Church in Utah.
The plaque goes on to describe Charles Callis’ “distinguished professional life, practising law and serving in several political positions, including… city councilman and county attorney in Coalville, Utah.”
However, his formal working life began in the coal mines at age 16, and his later success was due to the determined course of self-education undertaken in his spare time, focusing particularly on the law.
From 1893 he served for two years in the British Mission, spending most of his time as president of the Irish Conference. In 1902 he married Grace Pack, and four years later she accompanied him when he was called to serve in the southern United States. He would serve as mission president there for twenty-five years. The Church was still very unpopular in the southern states at the time, but through his eloquence and knowledge of the law, Callis was able to win great respect for the Church in that region.
Charles Callis testified: “From my earliest recollections to the present time I have always had an abiding and intense love for my Savior. I cannot read the story of His sufferings and crucifixion without shedding tears.”
The memorial plaque in Dublin was dedicated by Elder Neal A. Maxwell in 1989.

Our experience on earth is sometimes overshadowed by the burdensome realization that we are imperfect mortal beings. Eventually the negative way I viewed myself and my body consumed all parts of my life. When I felt the weight of my imperfections growing, I would turn to destructive behaviors instead of to the Lord. These behaviors created a feeling of imperfection that was so heavy at times that I felt life wasn’t worth living. Ultimately the only place I could turn to was to the Lord. Through humility and repentance, I made an effort to be more consistent in reading the words of prophets with a purpose and praying to understand my surroundings with heavenly eyes.
No trial is too great when we turn to the Lord and accept His will, no matter the outcome. Contrarily, trials tend to feel burdensome when we attempt to force our will over His. By accepting His will, I found a higher level of clarity, and I began to see value in the person I was instead of constantly living in a state of inadequacy.

Some years ago, President Gordon B. Hinckley told “something of a parable” about “a one-room schoolhouse in the mountains of Virginia where the boys were so rough no teacher had been able to handle them.
“Then one day an inexperienced young teacher applied. He was told that every teacher had received an awful beating, but the teacher accepted the risk. The first day of school, the teacher asked the boys to establish their own rules and the penalty for breaking the rules. The class came up with ten rules, which were written on the blackboard. Then the teacher asked, ‘What shall we do with one who breaks the rules?’
“‘Beat him across the back ten times without his coat on,’ came the response.
“A day or so later, the lunch of a big student, named Tom, was stolen. The thief was located—a little hungry fellow, about ten years old.
“As little Jim came up to take his licking, he pleaded to keep his coat on. ‘Take your coat off,’ the teacher said. ‘You helped make the rules!’
“The boy took off the coat. He had no shirt and revealed a bony little crippled body. As the teacher hesitated with the rod, big Tom jumped to his feet and volunteered to take the boy’s licking.
“‘Very well, there is a certain law that one can become a substitute for another. Are you all agreed?’ the teacher asked.
“After five strokes across Tom’s back, the rod broke. The class was sobbing. Little Jim had reached up and caught Tom with both arms around his neck. ‘Tom, I’m sorry that I stole your lunch, but I was awful hungry. Tom, I will love you till I die for taking my licking for me! Yes, I will love you forever!’”
President Hinckley then quoted Isaiah:
“‘Surely he hath borne our griefs, and carried our sorrows. …
“‘He was wounded for our transgressions, he was bruised for our [sins].’” (Isa. 53:4–5.)

Paul was helping Dad plant a garden. He wished his brother Eric was here to help. But Eric was far away on a mission.
“I’ll never be big like Eric,” Paul said. “How can I go on a mission like him?”
“Don’t worry,” Dad said. “You’ll grow.”
Dad handed Paul some pumpkin seeds. He helped Paul plant them.
“These little seeds will grow into big pumpkins?” Paul asked.
“If you take good care of them,” Dad said.
Paul came out to look at the garden every day. He watered it, and soon tiny sprouts came up. The leaves got bigger. Paul carefully pulled up weeds.
By fall his pumpkin plants had grown. And there were big orange pumpkins!
Paul grabbed Dad to show him. “You took great care of your pumpkin plants!” Dad said.
“Yup! And I’ll take good care of me, so I can get big too.” Paul grinned. “And when I’m big, I can go on a mission just like Eric!”