Gospel Story Finder

Miguel Arrellano looked out the window of the tar-paper shack. Thunderclouds had opened up, pouring forth torrents of rain. Such storms were not unusual in his small village set in the mountains of Colombia.
Normally Miguel did not mind the rain. It watered the crops that the family depended upon for a living. Today, though, he prayed for the rain to stop.
It was a special day—the day he and his parents would be baptized members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
He remembered when the two missionaries had found them. Elder Berger and Elder Santos, dressed in dark pants and white shirts, had appeared at their door. They wore small, black, name badges proclaiming that they represented the Church.
Elder Berger was tall, almost two meters. He came from Utah in the United States of America. In Colombia, men are rarely so tall. Papá was only a few centimeters taller than Miguel. Elder Santos was a native missionary and even shorter than Papá.
Miguel had practiced saying Elder Berger’s name. The syllables sounded strange upon his tongue. They laughed together as the American missionary tried to say Arrellano.
The elders told the family the story of Joseph Smith and the Restoration. When Elder Berger bore his testimony of the truthfulness of the gospel, tears streamed down his face. He and Elder Santos both testified that Joseph Smith had been a prophet and that Gordon B. Hinckley was now the prophet. Though Miguel was only eleven, he knew that he was hearing the truth.
Mamá had cried when the elders had spoken of families being together forever. “Always, we search for something,” she had said. “Now I know we have found it.” She’d placed her hand on her heart. “I feel it. Here.”
The rain continued to fall in sheets and showed no signs of letting up.
Miguel looked from Mamá to Papá. “We must go. We told Elder Berger and Elder Santos that we would be there.”
Papá pointed to the flooded road. “There will be no bus today.”
The family had no car and had to rely on the bus. They had to change buses twice to reach the church. Each week, they carefully counted out the coins necessary to buy the bus tokens for Sunday. This week, they had taken money from their small food budget to pay for the extra trip to the church.
Papá worked very hard, but there was never enough money. Mamá had saved a little and made them new clothes. She had sewn Miguel and Papá shirts and herself a blouse. Miguel thought that she looked pretty in the bright yellow color.
He remembered the picture of President Hinckley the two young elders had shown the family. The prophet would not give up. He would find a way to get to the church, Miguel decided, and so will we.
“Señor Tomás,” Miguel said, glancing out the window and seeing their neighbor. “He goes to the city every day. Maybe he will give us a ride.”
Miguel ran across the muddy yard to their neighbor’s humble home. Señor Tomás nodded agreeably as the boy explained the situation. Miguel and Papá climbed into the back of the truck; Mamá rode in the cab with their neighbor.
They held on tightly as the old truck bounced over the rough roads. When they arrived at the small meetinghouse, they were wet and very tired, but happy.
The elders greeted them. Their clothes were wet and wrinkled, too, but the smiles on their faces were the brightest Miguel had ever seen.
“We weren’t sure you could make it,” Elder Berger said. “We’ve had problems here, too.”
They shared stories. Elder Santos explained that the pipes that carried water to the chapel had burst so that the baptismal font could not be filled. After praying, the elders had filled buckets with rain water and carried them inside the church to fill the font.
Miguel and his parents explained how they had found a ride with their neighbor.
“It’s a miracle you made it,” Elder Santos said.
Papá looked at the baptismal font and said, “We have many miracles today.”
“And much to be thankful for,” Mamá added.
Miguel and Papá changed clothes in a small dressing room while Mamá changed clothes in another one. Miguel touched the crisp white shirt and pants the elders had given him. They felt strange against his skin.
The water was so shallow that the elders had to kneel to perform the baptisms.
Miguel waited while his parents were baptized. When the time came for his own baptism, he felt a warmth come over him, even though the water was cold.
After everyone had changed into dry clothes, Elder Berger and Elder Santos confirmed Miguel and his parents members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
Miguel hugged his parents, then Elder Berger and Elder Santos. He would never forget this day or the baptism miracles.

This cookie made of phyllo dough and pistachio nuts is a thank-you. It was made by the Kadado family who, for decades, owned three bakeries in Damascus, Syria. When war came, a blockade stopped food and supplies from reaching their part of the city. The Kadados began to starve. At the height of this desperate situation, Latter-day Saint Charities and some very courageous staff at Rahma Worldwide began serving a daily hot meal, along with milk for the little children. After a difficult time, the family began their life—as well as their bakery—once again in a new country.

Recently, a box of cookies arrived at the Church offices with the following message: “For more than two months, we managed to get food from the Rahma–Latter-day Saint [Charities] kitchen. Without it we would [have] starve[d] to death. Please accept this … sample from my shop as a small token of thanks. I ask God the Almighty to bless you … in everything you do.”

A cookie of gratitude and remembrance. It is meant for you. To all who prayed after watching a story on the news, to all who volunteered when it was not convenient or who kindly donated money to the humanitarian fund trusting it would do some good, thank you.

The year we were baptized a friend bought a building lot for his family and ours by loaning us part of the money. We began to dream of having our own house. Eventually the Spirit prompted us, and we started calculating the cost of labor and materials. We felt that we would somehow manage to build a house where we could raise our children in the gospel, do missionary work, and receive visits from members.
After some time I got better acquainted with Brother Joel, a recently baptized member of our ward. His faith was amazing. Once when we were doing a service project, Brother Joel said to me, “José Luis, we can build your house.” I was on the verge of tears, but I contained myself until I told my wife. It was the answer to our prayers.
A few days later the friend who had purchased the land for his family and ours told me I could have the entire plot and pay for it later. Still I did not have the kind of job that would allow me to buy building materials, but I knew the Lord would provide a way. Several weeks later I was invited to work for a large company. Thus, our goal to begin building a house soon became a reality.
What a labor of love was Brother Joel’s. He did more than build a house for my family. He was ready to help us in any way. We worked only on Saturdays. It took 10 months, and it did not interfere with our Church work. Other Church members also helped us. My father came to help several times, which allowed him to get to know members of the Church better. He especially got to know Brother Joel, who had become our home teacher.
One Saturday my father praised Brother Joel for the way he worked.
I said, “Dad, do you know how much I have paid for his services?”
He said, “No.”
“I haven’t paid him a cent,” I said. “He has done this service because he loves my family. He is a good man.”
I realized my father was choked up, and he didn’t say anything. I felt he was probably remembering how he had treated the bishop and the missionaries and was embarrassed. He saw that the members of the Church had always treated us well.
On the day we finished the house, 16 men, most of them members of the Church, were there. My relatives and friends who were not members certainly learned a lot that day.

I have seen that same heart in the Saints of the Pacific. In a small village on one of these islands, an older man and his wife accepted the invitation of the missionaries to sincerely ask the Lord if the lessons they were being taught were true. In this process, they also considered the consequences of the commitments that they would need to make if the answer that they received led to their accepting the restored gospel. They fasted and prayed to know the truthfulness of the Church and the veracity of the Book of Mormon. The answer to their prayers came in the form of a sweet but ringing affirmation: “Yes! It is true!”

Having received this witness, they chose to be baptized. This was not a choice without personal cost. Their decision and baptism carried with them a high price. They lost employment, they sacrificed social standing, important friendships dissolved, and the support, love, and respect of family were withdrawn. They now walked to church each Sunday, exchanging awkward glances with friends and neighbors who were walking in the opposite direction.

In these difficult circumstances, this good brother was asked how he felt about their decision to join the Church. His simple and unwavering reply was “It is true, isn’t it? Our choice was clear.”

These two newly converted Saints truly had the heart of the widow. They, like the widow, “cast in all” that they could give, knowingly giving of their “want.” As a product of their believing hearts and enduring faith during those hard times, their burdens were lightened. They were aided and surrounded by supportive and ministering Church members, and they were personally strengthened by their service in Church callings.

After they cast in their “all,” the greatest day came when they were sealed in the temple as an eternal family. Like He did the converts under Alma’s leadership, “the Lord did strengthen them that they could bear up their burdens with ease, and they did submit cheerfully and with patience to all the will of the Lord.”2 Such is the heart of the widow exemplified in this wonderful couple.

This truth was powerfully illustrated by President Jeffrey R. Holland when he met with our missionaries in Curitiba, Brazil, in May 2018. President Holland spoke with his trademark passion, moving from the pulpit to the chapel floor and approaching the sisters in the front row. As you can see in this picture, for Sister McKenzie Baker, this was a moment of pure panic! For everyone else, they were just thinking, “Better you than me!” [A picture was shown.]

President Holland looked directly at Sister Baker and declared with all the love and fire of his soul, “You can’t have a million-dollar experience with 50 cents’ worth of effort!”

That phrase has stayed with me—because it reminds me that what we most desire always requires our best effort. And we remember that God’s blessings are meant to draw us closer to Him, not to simply impress us from a distance. The Lord promised, “Draw near unto me and I will draw near unto you.”39 Every small act of faith—every time we pray, study, serve, or choose to align our will with His—invites heaven’s help. As Elder Maxwell taught, “What we insistently desire, over time, is what we will eventually become and what we will receive in eternity.”40

I read of a similar contrast after the devastating hurricane that destroyed thousands of homes in Florida a few years ago. A news account quoted two different persons who had suffered the same tragedy and received the same blessing: each of their homes had been totally destroyed, but each of their family members had been spared death or injury. One said that this tragedy had destroyed his faith: “How could God allow this to happen?” The other said that the experience had strengthened his faith: “God has been good to me. Though my home and possessions were lost, our lives were spared, and we can rebuild our home.” For one, the glass was half empty. For the other, the glass was half full. The gift of moral agency empowers each of us to choose how we will act when we suffer adversity.

I am from a tiny town in Georgia. As you might guess, there are very few members of the Church here. In my school, there are five.
I was in seventh grade when my trouble began. All my friends were starting to experiment with alcohol and cigarettes. I was popular back then, so I felt it was my “obligation” to try them. Luckily, I only did it once. I have, however, regretted those spontaneous, thoughtless mistakes every day since. I have also had trials with morality.
This was long ago and my rebellious days are over, but I cannot express the regret I have for those mistakes.
The Atonement has taken on a new meaning in my life. I am now the brunt of many Mormon jokes, but as John 15:19 says, “Ye are not of the world, but I have chosen you out of the world, therefore the world hateth you.”
I have learned to not settle for instant gratification. Many times these mistakes can scar you forever. If only I had thought about that back then.
I will be eternally indebted to my Savior for His endless mercy and love toward me. I am so grateful to be a member of the Church. It has brought me eternal happiness and joy. I look around the halls at my school at all the nonmembers who don’t know what I know, and I feel my testimony grow when I realize who I am—a daughter of God—and where I am going.

Richard is a good example of another approach. Born in the Church, Richard was not active until he was well into his teens. At that time a series of challenging events provided him with the opposition necessary to turn him toward the gospel. After a few weeks of reading and prayer, Richard had developed a testimony of Christ and the truth of the Book of Mormon. People remembered Richard because of his testimony and commitment to it.

One gracious mother joyously recounted in a stake conference the marvelous experience of being in one of the temples with her husband and with all of her children but one and being sealed together as husband and wife and family for time and all eternity. Her husband, newly involved in the priesthood, sat in the conference audience a few rows back. For a moment she seemed to forget all of the rest of us and spoke only to him. Over the pulpit and through the loudspeaker, with more than a thousand people in tears watching and listening, she said: “John, the children and I don’t know how to tell you what you mean to us. Until you honored the priesthood, the greatest blessings of eternity would not open up for us. Now they have. We all love you very much, and we thank you with all our hearts for what you have made possible for us.”

Seth is running a dairy farm for his grandfather, who is in the hospital. When Grandpa’s best cow has trouble calving, Seth doesn’t know where to turn. His father is busy with the roundup, and Seth is too small to deliver the calf himself. Mrs. Bowers, the telephone switchboard operator, tells him to pray, but he doesn’t even know how to do that. Then two LDS missionaries come calling. One of them, a rancher, delivers the calf and teaches Seth how to pray.
The next two weeks seemed to fly by with the help of Elder Wood, the tall young man from the city, and Elder James, the rancher. Elder Wood kept the house spic and span, and Elder James helped Seth in the barn. As the missionary and the boy worked side by side, Elder James taught him more about the gospel of Jesus Christ.
“Elder James,” Seth said one morning as they milked, “I like to pray, and it makes me feel good. But how do I know if I get an answer?”
Elder James continued to milk Sweetie with strong but gentle hands. “Well,” he said thoughtfully, “there are several ways. Mostly you start with faith that you’re really talking to your Heavenly Father. Then you learn to know when you get an answer. Some people just feel good, some feel peaceful, and some get ideas. Every person is different, and different problems sometimes require different kinds of answers.”
Seth thought about it. He did feel peaceful when he prayed, and sometimes new thoughts did seem to come into his mind.
Elder James continued. “When I was young, I liked to listen to the testimonies of prophets. I felt that if they could get direct answers to prayer, then I could too.” He carried his bucket of milk to the barn door, covered the bucket, and picked up a clean one. Then he leaned over the stall and looked at the boy for a minute. “Just keep praying and listening for answers,” he said. “It’s kind of like milking. At first it’s hard. You just have to keep trying and gaining strength. Soon, real soon, you get good at it.”
Seth finished milking his cow and stood up. He stretched and turned to the man. “Who were those prophets you were talking about—the ones who got answers to prayer?”
Elder James moved his milking stool next to Seth’s. “Sit down, boy,” he said, “and I’ll tell you about Joseph Smith.”
Seth listened intently. The story he heard filled him with amazement. A boy not much older than he was had actually talked to God and had seen His face! “Do you really believe that?” Seth asked.
“I really believe it.”
“This is important! Why doesn’t everyone know?”
Elder James shook his head sadly. “Not everyone believes that God would talk to a young boy. But He did, and great things have happened as a result.”
“Like what?”
“Well, for one thing, Joseph Smith received a record of people who lived on this continent hundreds of years ago. He translated the record and had it published in a book.”
“I’d like to see that book,” Seth said eagerly. “Do you have a copy?”
“Yes I do, and I’ll give it to you.”
Seth couldn’t even speak for a moment. Books were very expensive in Wyoming in the 1920s. “Th-Thank you,” he stammered. “Will you tell me more about it, please?”
They moved over to the last two cows, and as they milked, Elder James told him story after story from the Book of Mormon. Seth couldn’t seem to hear enough. “What happened to all those people?” Seth asked as they strained the milk.
“Well, the Nephites were all killed in battle. Some of the Indians in North and South America are what’s left of the Lamanites.”
Seth stared at him. “Really? Do they know that they’re the Lamanites?”
Elder James laughed. “Some—those who have read the book—do. It touches something inside of them. It’s very close to the traditions of their fathers.”
After the Elders left, Seth had so much to think about that he forgot to call his family. When the telephone rang, he jumped.
“Are you all right, Seth?” his mother’s worried voice asked.
“I’m fine,” he said. “I just forgot to call.”
“Is everything ready for Grandpa?”
“Everything’s ready.”
Grandpa was coming home from the hospital the next day. Seth and the Elders had made sure that everything was clean and shiny. Elder Wood had even baked a cake, and it sat on the pantry shelf, covered with a clean cloth.
“We’ll be over after supper tomorrow,” Mom promised. “It’ll be good to see you, son. I miss you.”
“I miss you, too, Mom,” he said, and his voice got husky. Up till now, he’d been too busy to be homesick.
“I love you, Seth,” she said. “See you tomorrow.”
When Grandma’s Model T came up the dusty road, Seth was waiting on the porch. It was wonderful to see them! Grandma bustled around and helped Grandpa out of the car. Seth got hugs from both of them before he carried in their bags and parcels.
“My, it’s good to be home!” Grandma said. “I haven’t had a decent night’s sleep or a good meal since we left.”
“Me either!” Grandpa whispered weakly and chuckled.
Seth saw the twinkle in Grandpa’s eye and felt comforted. Grandpa was still Grandpa, even if his body seemed different. Seth helped get Grandpa settled in bed, then pulled a chair up to the bed and began his report on the farm.
“Sweetie’s giving more milk than ever!” he announced proudly. “And her calf is going to be as good as she is.” Then he told Grandpa about the missionaries helping with the farm.
“Who are these missionaries?” Grandpa asked with a scowl. “I don’t like strangers messing around with my animals.”
“They’ll be here this afternoon, and you can meet them. You’ll like them,” Seth promised. He ran out of the room and returned with his Book of Mormon. “While you’re waiting, you can read this book they left me. It’s about Jesus Christ.”
Grandpa continued to scowl. “It’s not the Bible! I don’t want to read it!”
“It’s really interesting,” Seth said, ignoring the scowl. “There’s a story about a good king named Benjamin. He worked as a farmer so the people wouldn’t have to support him.”
Grandpa’s gray brows came together, and Seth could tell that he was thinking. “Well, that does sound interesting. It just might be a good book—but it’s not the Bible!”
“They believe and use the Bible, too,” Seth explained. Then he left the bedroom so that Grandpa could rest. As he shut the door, he saw Grandpa opening the cover of the book.
(To be concluded)

I had often asked myself whether my life had a purpose, but now this question was very serious to me. Although I was only 22, my legs had suddenly become extremely weak. “Perhaps they have just grown tired from dancing in the local discos,” I thought. “Maybe they have gone on strike.”
I went to a doctor, who thought I had a muscle disease and immediately sent me to a clinic. Thus began a period of going from clinic to clinic throughout my native Germany. I underwent many tests, but none of them showed any problem. Still I was in severe pain and had no strength. It was almost unbearable. Because the tests were all negative, everyone thought I must be pretending. I felt alone and could find no purpose in life, although I longed for one.
About this time I was sent to a clinic in Koblenz, Germany. When I arrived I met a young woman about my age who seemed different from the other patients. She seemed to have a positive attitude about her life, even though she was seriously ill. I saw her in the hall one Sunday. She was wearing a Sunday dress, and I asked her why she was so dressed up. She answered, “I was at church.”
I had not had any interest in religion for a long time. Although I had been raised in a Protestant faith, I felt religion was a lot of empty talk. I knew there was a God, but I didn’t think much of organized religion here on earth.
“Church?” I said, swallowing hard. Then I asked her which church she belonged to.
“The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints,” she answered. I blanched. “What was that? A strange sect?” I wondered. I asked her many questions about her church. Even though she had been through a great deal, she did not doubt. She prayed to and trusted in her Heavenly Father. That fascinated and frightened me at the same time.
My new friend gave me a Book of Mormon, and I began reading it. The missionaries in Koblenz soon taught me the first discussion. Then because of an illness I contracted, I was transferred to a different clinic. My friend visited me often. I had the Book of Mormon with me, and I continued to read. I had learned a great deal about life, and for the first time I had found a true friend.
On a leave from the clinic, I visited my friend and her family in Solingen. They were the dearest people I had ever met, and on Sunday I attended church with them. When I returned to the clinic, I could not stop thinking about the Church. I had known there was something true about the Book of Mormon, but now everything became much clearer. One thought was on my mind: “Should I join the Church?”
When I was finally released from the clinic, I returned to my home in Fulda. Then I received another invitation to visit my new friends in Solingen and was welcomed even more heartily than before. I learned more about the gospel and decided to be baptized. When I returned home I found the missionaries in my area, and they taught me the remaining discussions in Fulda. I had finally found my purpose in life, and I was baptized.
I thank my Heavenly Father with all my heart for helping me find His gospel and Church. My legs are back to normal now. The doctors never found out what caused the pain, but if I had not become sick, I would still be searching for purpose in my life. What a loving Father! He doesn’t give up on anyone.
I used to wonder what I was supposed to learn from my illness. Now I know.

The flight from Brisbane, Australia, to San Francisco is a long one. There is time to read, time to sleep, and time to ponder and think. As a passenger on this flight, I was awakened by the calm, resonant sound of the pilot’s voice as he announced: “Ladies and gentlemen, we’re now passing over the Coral Sea, scene of the great sea battle of World War II.”
Through the cabin window I could see billowy, white clouds and far below the azure blue of the vast Pacific. My thoughts turned to the events of that fateful eighth day of May in 1942 when the mammoth aircraft carrier Lexington slipped to its final resting place on the ocean floor. Twenty-seven hundred thirty-five sailors scrambled to safety. Others were not so fortunate. One who went down with his ship was my boyhood friend Arthur Patton.
May I tell you about Arthur? He had blond, curly hair and a smile as big as all outdoors. Arthur stood taller than any boy in the class. I suppose this is how he was able to fool the recruiting officers and enlist in the navy at the tender age of 15. To Arthur and most of the boys, the war was a great adventure. I remember how striking he appeared in his navy uniform. How we wished we were older, or at least taller, so we too could enlist.
Arthur’s mother was so proud of the blue star which graced her living room window. It represented to every passerby that her son wore the uniform of his country. When I would pass the house she often opened the door and invited me in to read the latest letter from Arthur. Her eyes would fill with tears, and I would then be asked to read aloud. Arthur meant everything to his widowed mother. I can still picture Mrs. Patton’s coarse hands as she would carefully replace the letter in its envelope. These were honest hands which bore the worker’s seal. Mrs. Patton was a cleaning woman—a janitress for a downtown office building. Each day of her life except Sundays, she could be seen walking up the sidewalk, pail and brush in hand, her gray hair combed in a tight bob, her shoulders weary from work and stooped with age.
Then came the Battle of the Coral Sea, the sinking of the Lexington, and the death of Arthur Patton. The blue star was taken from its hallowed spot in the front window. It was replaced by one of gold. A light went out in the life of Mrs. Patton. She groped in utter darkness and deep despair.
With a prayer in my heart, I approached the familiar walkway to the Patton home, wondering what words of comfort could come from the lips of a mere boy. The door opened and Mrs. Patton embraced me as she would her own son. Home became a chapel as a grief-stricken mother and a less-than-adequate boy knelt in prayer.
Arising from our knees, Mrs. Patton gazed into my eyes and spoke: “Tom, I belong to no church, but you do. Tell me, will Arthur live again?” Time dims the memory of that conversation. The present whereabouts of Mrs. Patton is not known to me; but, Mrs. Patton, wherever you are, from the backdrop of my personal experience, I should like to once more answer your question, “Will Arthur live again?”
I suppose we could say that this is a universal question, for who has not at a time of bereavement pondered the same thought?
Death leaves in its cruel wake shattered dreams, unfulfilled ambitions, crushed hopes. In our helplessness, we turn to others for assurance. Men of letters and leaders of renown can express their beliefs, but they cannot provide definitive answers.
The dim light of belief must yield to the noonday sun of revelation. We turn backward in time, that we might go forward with hope. Back to Him who walked the dusty paths of villages we now reverently call the Holy Land, to Him who caused the blind to see, the deaf to hear, the lame to walk and the dead to live. To Him who tenderly and lovingly assured us, “I am the way, the truth, and the life” (John 14:6).
The plan of life and an explanation of its eternal course come to us from the Master of Heaven and Earth, Jesus Christ the Lord. To understand the meaning of death, we must appreciate the purpose of life.
In this dispensation, the Lord declared: “And now, verily I say unto you, I was in the beginning with the Father, and am the Firstborn” (D&C 93:21). “Man was also in the beginning with God” (D&C 93:29). Jeremiah the prophet recorded, “The word of the Lord came unto me, saying, Before I formed thee … I knew thee; and before thou camest forth … I sanctified thee, and I ordained thee a prophet unto the nations” (Jer. 1:4–5).
From that majestic world of spirits we enter the grand stage of life to prove ourselves obedient to all things commanded of God. During mortality we grow from helpless infancy to inquiring childhood and then to reflective maturity. We experience joy and sorrow, fulfillment and disappointment, success and failure; taste the sweet, yet sample the bitter. This is mortality.
Then to each life comes the experience known as death. None is exempt. All must pass its portals. Death claims the aged, the weary and worn. It visits the youth in the bloom of hope and glory of expectation. Nor are the little children kept beyond its grasp. In the words of the Apostle Paul: “It is appointed unto men once to die” (Heb. 9:27).
To most, there is something sinister and mysterious about this unwelcome visitor called death. Perhaps it is a fear of the unknown which causes many to dread its coming.
Arthur Patton died quickly. Others linger. Not long ago I held the thin hand of a youth as he approached the brink of eternity. “I know I am dying,” he said touchingly. “What follows death?” I turned to the scriptures and read to him: “Then shall the dust return to the earth as it was: and the spirit shall return unto God who gave it” (Eccl. 12:7). “There is a time appointed unto men that they shall rise from the dead; and there is a space between the time of death and the resurrection. … Now, concerning the state of the soul between death and the resurrection—Behold … the spirits of all men, as soon as they are departed from this mortal body, … are taken home to that God who gave them life” (Alma 40:9, 11).
To me, the lad said, “Thank you.” To my Heavenly Father I said silently, “Thank thee, O God, for truth.”
Mrs. Patton, do not grieve as you think of your boy in the depths of the Pacific or question how God’s purposes can be fulfilled. Remember the words of the Psalmist: “If I take the wings of the morning, and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea; Even there shall thy hand lead me, and thy right hand shall hold me” (Ps. 139:9–10).
God has not forsaken you, Mrs. Patton. He sent his Only Begotten Son into the world to teach us by example the life we should live. His Son died upon the cross to redeem all mankind. His words to the grieving Martha and to His disciples today bring comfort to you: “I am the resurrection, and the life: he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live: And whosoever liveth and believeth in me shall never die” (John 11:25–26). “In my Father’s house are many mansions: if it were not so, I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you. … I will come again, and receive you unto myself; that where I am, there ye may be also” (John 14:2–3).
Mrs. Patton, the testimonies of John the Revelator and Paul the Apostle are also significant to you. John recorded: “I saw the dead, small and great, stand before God; … And the sea gave up the dead which were in it” (Rev. 20:12–13). Paul declared: “As in Adam all die, even so in Christ shall all be made alive” (1 Cor. 15:22).
Until the glorious resurrection morning, we walk by faith. “For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face” (1 Cor. 13:12).
Jesus invites you, Mrs. Patton, “Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn of me; for I am meek and lowly in heart: and ye shall find rest unto your souls” (Matt. 11:28–29).
Such knowledge will sustain you in your heartache. You will never be in the tragic situation of the disbeliever who, having lost a son, was heard to say as she watched the casket lowered into mother earth: “Good-bye, my boy. Good-bye forever.” Rather, with head erect, courage undaunted, and faith unwavering, you can lift your eyes as you look beyond the gently breaking waves of the blue Pacific and whisper, “Good-bye, Arthur, my precious son. Good-bye—until we meet again.”
And the words of Alfred Lord Tennyson may come to you as though spoken by your boy:
Sunset and evening star,
And one clear call for me!
And may there be no moaning of the bar,
When I put out to sea,
· · · · · · · · · · · · ·
Twilight and evening bell,
And after that the dark!
And may there be no sadness of farewell,
When I embark;
For tho’ from out our bourne of Time and Place
The flood may bear me far,
I hope to see my Pilot face to face
When I have crossed the bar.
(“Crossing the Bar,” lines 1–4, 9–16)
To the words of the poet I add the testimony of a witness. Mrs. Patton, God our Father is mindful of you. Through sincere prayer you can communicate with Him. He, too, had a Son who died, even Jesus Christ the Lord. He is our advocate with the Father, the Prince of Peace, our Savior and Divine Redeemer. One day we shall see Him face to face.
In His blessed name I declare to you the solemn and sacred truth: Oh, Mrs. Patton, Arthur lives.
Note: Following the original broadcast of this message, President Monson received a touching letter from Mrs. Terese Patton, Arthur’s mother, who was living in Pomona, California. Among other things, she wrote, “I don’t know how to thank you for your wonderful and comforting words. God bless you always.”

When I was young, my mother was the only member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in our family. Each Sunday she would go to church alone because my dad wanted his children to go to the Methodist Church. But my dad didn’t go to church at all.
Things changed in 1989. I was baptized, and within two months, my dad was baptized as well. He later became my bishop.
It was an amazing change for my dad, and I remember it very well. I now want to be like him. Here’s why.
Before my dad became a Church member, he was doing all the bad things of the world. He drank all the time. I saw my dad drunk. I saw him smoke. He just stayed home and watched TV. We weren’t very happy.
It’s totally different now. He’s very calm, and he talks to me about incorporating the teachings of the gospel into my life. Every night before we have our evening prayers, he talks to all of us about the gospel and its importance.
Before, we used to try to have evening prayers, but my dad wouldn’t participate. He didn’t seem to care. But now he makes it a priority that we all gather together each night to thank Heavenly Father.
It’s been great to see the changes in my family that the Church has brought. I know if my dad had gone on as he was before—smoking and drinking—I might have followed his example and felt that those were things I should do. And he couldn’t have told me to stop because he was doing them too.
But he’s a member of the Church, and because he lived that other life, he knows that it won’t bring me happiness.
My dad also stresses that since I’m the oldest son, my younger brothers and younger sister are looking up to me. He says they will follow me and I need to be a good example so they will follow me in righteousness. That’s what I’m trying to do.
It’s been a real blessing to me to have a father who honors the priesthood. He always talks to me about the priesthood before I give a talk or bless the sacrament. He reminds me that I’m a priesthood holder and that I should be thankful for the priesthood because not all men have it.
So many teenagers here in Western Samoa drink and smoke and do things they shouldn’t. My dad’s example is like a protection to me.
With my dad leading the way, it’s so much easier to follow the teachings of Jesus Christ. And for that I’m grateful.

Our testimonies are often strengthened by our experiences. A young girl named Jenny had an experience that helped her testimony to grow:
One day, many years ago, a country fair was held. Families from miles around visited the fair. The balloon ride was the fair’s biggest attraction. Jenny and her family were there. Jenny was very excited about riding in the balloon and was the first one to climb into the basket. Before the rest of her family could get into the basket, a gust of wind blew the anchor rope out of the attendant’s hands. Up, up, up went the balloon. The people, river, houses, trees, and animals seemed to grow smaller and smaller and smaller as Jenny watched from the basket.
Jenny was terribly frightened. How high would the balloon go? What was going to happen to her? All she wanted then was to be with her family on the ground again!
Then Jenny knew what she should do. She asked Heavenly Father to help her. After she prayed, she noticed a rope and felt impressed to pull it. As she did, some of the gas in the balloon was released, making the balloon descend just a little. Jenny pulled the rope again, and the balloon went down a little more. She pulled it again and again, each time letting a little more of the gas escape. She felt impressed to pull only a little bit at a time so that the balloon wouldn’t go down too fast. As she went lower and lower, she looked over the edge of the basket and saw the people, river, houses, trees, and animals appearing to grow larger and larger.
The balloon landed safely in a meadow not far from the fairgrounds. How happy everyone was to see Jenny! How happy she was to see them! As she hugged her mother, she learned that her parents, too, had prayed for her safety. They were all grateful to Heavenly Father, and Jenny gained a testimony of prayer because she knew that Heavenly Father had heard and answered their prayers.

The Holy Ghost will also help you to do what is right, even when that seems very difficult. I hope you children will never be afraid to stand up for what is right. I still remember an experience I had in primary school. Primary school includes first through seventh grades. When I was about 12 and in my final year of primary school, the head boy, who was supposed to be the school leader, was actually the school’s biggest bully. He and three or four of his pals would go around teasing other kids.
I was new at the school, so one day he tried to intimidate me. When he discovered I would not respond to his intimidation, he gave up and bullied other kids, especially the weaker ones. One day when I saw this happening, I walked over and told him to stop. I said that if he did not stop I would defend the smaller boy. There stood the bully with his three or four friends, surrounding this small, timid boy and myself. It was very scary. I thought they were going to beat me up. To my surprise, the bully withered under my words. He and his friends made some smart remarks and left.
Throughout the rest of the year I continued to defend other boys from these bullies. Others started to do so too, until the bullies gradually lost all their power and influence. Children, the lesson I learned from this experience was that when we do things for the right reason, even when it is very difficult, the Lord will bless us and help us. He needs courageous people to stand up and defend what is right and reduce the influence of evil. You are never too young to begin doing so. When you stand for what is right, you will discover that good triumphs.

Six years into marriage, we found that we were expanding our family. We were so excited to raise our son and teach him the gospel. But 24 weeks into the pregnancy, our little boy was born fighting for life. After just eight weeks he returned to Heavenly Father. As I held him for the last time, I recognized yet another wonderful blessing of the temple: our son had been born in the covenant and could be ours forever.

Third, we must live courageously in accordance with the light and testimony that we have received. We are promised, “He that receiveth light, and continueth in God, receiveth more light; and that light groweth brighter and brighter until the perfect day.” It takes real effort and sacrifice to live the gospel courageously. For some years temple worship for the Saints who live near Manaus, Brazil, has meant traveling two days in a crowded riverboat on the Amazon River, followed by two days’ travel in buses through the hot tropics to the Recife Temple. Arriving worn out and tired, they would shower, dress appropriately, and immediately begin their temple worship. After several days of service to the Lord, they would make the long, difficult journey home. The words “but as for me and my house, we will serve the Lord” were beautifully reflected by their sacrificing actions.

Allow me to share an experience that helped me better understand our call to go to the rescue.
In addition to being a faculty member here at BYU-Idaho, I have the opportunity to practice medicine as a physician assistant at the BYU-Idaho Student Health Center.
Recently, I saw a student who had come to the clinic with severe abdominal pain. Emily reported that she had lived with nearly constant abdominal pain for over six years. She had been seen by several doctors, put through countless medical tests, and started on several different treatment plans. Emily expressed the frustration of living with chronic abdominal pain. She was hoping for an identification of her pain and some resolution. I immediately began to wonder how I could help her where so many others could not. I silently had a prayer in my heart and pleaded for help.
After an initial evaluation, I became concerned about Emily's gallbladder. I ordered appropriate testing to evaluate her gallbladder and it was revealed that Emily had gallstones, and her gallbladder was functioning at five percent of its capacity. Emily was referred to a surgeon, and the gallbladder was removed. She told me that her pain resolved almost immediately after surgery. Emily later wrote me a note that said, "Thank you for finding what was wrong with me...My diet is back to normal, I am able to exercise, and [I can] go on with my life without being set back with this problem anymore.
By now you are wondering, "What does this have to do with going to the rescue?" When one part of the body is afflicted, the whole body feels it, and we are not whole until all members of the body are whole.

Three years ago I attended the funeral of a very dear friend. It was like most funerals—both a time of rejoicing for a life well lived and of sorrow as those in attendance realized how much they would miss this majestic person. We were saying good-bye to one of the truly great women of the Church in Latin America. As a young teenager, Flavia Garcia Erbolato was one of the first six to be baptized in the interior city of Campinas, Brazil. For more than 50 years she had remained faithful to the Church. After marrying her husband, Oscar Erbolato, and spending a couple of years in the early 1950s here at Brigham Young University, they returned to Brazil and worked and served in numerous positions in São Paulo. Flavia’s last job was as the director of translation for the Church in Brazil. Among many other things, she supervised the recent monumental task of retranslating the Book of Mormon into Portuguese. At the viewing, her influence in the Church in Brazil was exemplified by the presence of General Authorities, General Authorities emeritus, past mission presidents, and other leaders of the Church. There were also many others like myself who had benefited from her many quiet and mostly secret Christian acts of kindness.

The quiet hum of whispering normal at a viewing dissipated with the appearance of an elderly gentleman, Norton Nixon. As he stopped at her casket to pay his regards, he struggled both physically and emotionally. His body was showing the long-term effects of the diabetes that had already taken much of his sight and ability to walk. The physical effort to be at the viewing was considerable, and he probably should not have come. But this was something he would not miss. He wanted to pay his respects to one of his dearest friends. Flavia had been his only convert during a two-and-a-half-year mission to Brazil in the early 1940s that included much hard work, some time in jail, and little feeling of success. Yet his joy was great over this one soul who did come into the Church.

“One of many little romances—the night before we left, my true lover, Henry Ridgley, came to bid me farewell, and under our trysting tree (a big tree close by) we each vowed eternal constancy—for four years at least. At the end of that time he would be of age, and then he would come to claim me for his own, even if I was at the end of the earth. Well, he did come to see me, but it was forty years after instead of four years. He had a wife and three children. I had a husband and was the mother of thirteen children. …”