Gospel Story Finder

Observing the clock, I fold the notes that I have prepared and place them in my inside pocket. But let me take just a moment to mention a little incident that made an impression upon me when I was a boy. This came to my mind when it was mentioned that there are with us this afternoon a large group of dedicated people who teach our youth.
It was on a summer day early in the morning. I was standing near the window. The curtains obstructed me from two little creatures out on the lawn. One was a large bird and the other a little bird, obviously just out of the nest. I saw the larger bird hop out on the lawn, then thump his feet and cock his head. He drew a big fat worm out of the lawn and came hopping back. The little bird opened its bill wide, but the big bird swallowed the worm.
Then I saw the big bird fly up into a tree. He pecked at the bark for a little while and came back with a big bug in his mouth. The little bird opened its beak wide, but the big bird swallowed the bug. There was squawking in protest.
The big bird flew away, and I didn’t see it again, but I watched the little bird. After a while, the little bird hopped out on the lawn, thumped its feet, cocked its head, and pulled a big worm out of the lawn.
God bless the good people who teach our children and our youth, I humbly pray, in Jesus’ name. Amen.

Several years ago, when I lived in North Logan, Utah, I had the wonderful opportunity of serving as a home teacher to a John and Ruth Jenkins, who at the time were well into their retirement years. I learned far more from this wonderful couple than they ever did from me.

Sister Jenkins served faithfully for years after Brother Jenkins passed away. Because of her self-reliance, an attentive family, and caring neighbors, she lived humbly and happily. The time came when she was released from a Church calling and not given a new calling. She was somewhat distraught over “not having a way to serve.” She sought counsel from her son. He wisely advised her that she could still provide important and much-needed service to others by seeking the promptings of the Lord as to who, on any particular day, could benefit from her visit.

Sister Jenkins followed her son’s counsel. Each morning after rising, she studied her scriptures and then knelt in prayer to seek the inspiration of the Lord as to who might benefit from her help that day. Promptings always came, and acts of kindness followed. Both at her funeral and during months that followed, person after person bore witness of how Sister Jenkins appeared unexpectedly—in storms of winter or in heat of summer—and provided kind service. Brothers and sisters, I testify that if we learn to be sensitive to the needs of others and if we pray for a discerning spirit, the Lord will lead us to those who need our help, our love, and our acts of kindness. When the promptings come, will we hear? Will we respond? Will additional yellow marks—signifying kind acts—continue to appear on our touchstones?

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

I recently went with priesthood leaders to visit the homes of four women in Honduras. These sisters and their families were in need of priesthood keys and authority, priesthood ordinances and covenants, and priesthood power and blessings.
Our next visit was at the home of two single sisters, women of great faith. One sister has a son preparing for a mission. The other sister is receiving treatment for cancer. In times of discouragement and despair, they remember the Savior’s Atonement and are filled with faith and hope. They both need the additional blessings and power available through temple ordinances. We encouraged them to join the future missionary in their home in preparing to receive those ordinances.
In each of the three homes we visited, a wise priesthood leader asked each sister if she had received a priesthood blessing. Each time the answer was no. Each sister asked for and received a priesthood blessing that day. Each wept as she expressed gratitude for the comfort, direction, encouragement, and inspiration that came from her Heavenly Father through a worthy priesthood holder.
These sisters inspired me. They showed reverence for God and His power and authority. I was also grateful for the priesthood leaders who visited these homes with me. When we left each home, we counseled together about how to help these families receive the ordinances they needed to progress on the covenant path and strengthen their homes.

“Mom, what are we doing for family night?” Benjamin asked as he and his younger brother, Sammy, walked into the kitchen for a drink.
“Do you mean Pioneer Night?” Mom said with a smile.
“What?” Benjamin asked. “I thought today was Monday. You know, family night.”
Mom nodded. “It’s Monday all right. But tonight we’re having a special Pioneer Night.”
Benjamin frowned a little. He liked family night. He wasn’t sure he wanted to do anything different.
“What’s Pioneer Night?” Sammy asked.
“Well,” Mom said, pulling out a kitchen chair and sitting down at the table with them, “one hundred and seventy years ago, Mormon pioneers crossed the plains in wagons and handcarts to get to Utah. On July 24, 1847, the first pioneers arrived in the Salt Lake Valley.”
“Wait. Isn’t today July 24th?” Benjamin asked.
“Exactly! It’s Pioneer Day. In Utah it’s even a state holiday,” Mom said. “There are parades and fireworks to honor the pioneers.”
“But we don’t live in Utah,” said Benjamin.
“Well, that just means we have to think of creative ways to celebrate,” said Mom. “So we’re having Pioneer Night. Will you help me get ready?”
Benjamin and Sammy nodded. As they helped Mom, Benjamin felt more and more excited. Soon Dad got home from work.
“What’s this?” he said when he saw the kitchen table set with checkered napkins, glass jars, and pie tins.
“It’s Pioneer Night!” Benjamin said, handing Dad a red bandana to tie around his neck. He and Sammy were both wearing cowboy hats from their costume box.
“This looks fun!” said Dad. Then he sniffed the air. “And something smells really good.” Mom was stirring a pot of stew at the stove.
“Before we eat, we have to make butter for the cornbread,” said Sammy.
Mom poured cream into a jar and screwed the lid on tight. After shaking for a few minutes, she handed the jar to Sammy. They all took turns shaking until there was a lump of butter inside!
After dinner they had a special family night. Dad showed them a black-and-white picture.
“This is Joseph Francis, your great-great-great grandpa,” Dad said. “He came to the United States with his family when he was 13 years old.”
Dad talked about how Joseph sailed from England and then worked in a factory to earn money to cross the plains. Benjamin couldn’t believe a boy who was just older than he was had done so many hard things.
Then Mom shared a story from her family history. “My mother, your grandma Hunsaker, met the missionaries when she was 13 years old. When she prayed to know if their message was true, she felt the Holy Ghost tell her to be baptized. Because of her decision, I grew up knowing about the gospel. My mother is a pioneer because she set a righteous example for others to follow.”
Benjamin liked that. Maybe there were ways he could be a pioneer! He was still thinking about it when Dad said it was time for the closing song and prayer.
“Now we can have the treat!” Sammy said. Mom handed everyone a cookie, some candies, and a few other yummy things. She showed them how to make wagons with marshmallows like white canvases on top.
“These wagons sure taste good,” Sammy said as he took a big bite. “I’m glad the pioneers went to Utah.”
Go to “Family Night Fun” to see how to make your own wagons!
“And I’m glad we don’t always have to make our own butter!” Benjamin said with a laugh. His life was different from the early pioneers, but he knew they all had one thing in common: they all believed in the gospel of Jesus Christ!

Now, I would like to tell you that after Tyson's death, our family has had a reprieve from the trials of life. But that is not the purpose of our life on earth. Two months after Tyson died our son, Jake had a major surgery at Primary Children's with an intense recovery. Three months after that, we were on another life flight with our son Cody to Primary Children's. Again, we were met by family and a competent medical team. Cody was given a priesthood blessing and we witnessed a miracle. Challenges and trials continued to come.

I was beginning to feel like I had a bull's eye on my back and wondered what I was doing wrong, what message was I not getting? I was beginning to lose hope. I thought I was trying my best, I was going to church, paying my tithing, praying.... As I was lamenting all these things, I thought of the Prophet Joseph Smith and the promise the Lord gave, "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"[6]

Nine months after Tyson died we had the privilege to perform his sacred temple work. Words cannot describe the joy we felt in completing this final earthly ordinance for him that transcends this life.

It has been nearly eight years since Tyson died. Our family continues to have challenges, trials, and adversity. We still have ER visits, surgeries, and hospitalizations. We seem to fall in that tricky less than 1% category. This last fall our son Kade had a routine ACL reconstruction and a meniscus repaired. As a result of that surgery he developed a joint infection. In order to eradicate the infection two additional surgeries were required to wash and clean the joint in addition, to 30 days of IV medication. Prior to the surgery my husband administered to Kade and in that blessing was a warning and a promise. Because of that blessing I was more vigilant in looking for any sign outside of the "routine". We strive to embrace these trials and on occasion have seen humor and irony in the journey. During the daily trips for IV's, physical therapy, infectious disease appointments, and orthopedic appointments for Kade, He and I developed a relationship that may not have happened otherwise.

Tyson remains a major part of our family. I testify that our trials are given to us because our Heavenly Father loves us and not because we have a bull's eye on our backs. Our purpose here on earth IS to be tested. Our trials can help us draw nearer to God if we choose to turn to Him.

God will not test us beyond the limits He knows we can bear, not the limits we are comfortable with. However, He helps prepare us for those trials and provides others to help us bear our burdens. I also testify that as painful as they may be, stretching our limits through trials helps us grow - helps me to know that God has not forsaken us nor will he. For He has said, "people must be tried in all things, that they may be prepared to receive the glory that I have for them."

In more mature reflection on that event, I realize that this letter was largely the result of a faithful, conscientious ward bishopric whose second counselor, assigned to the deacons quorum, frequently sat in council with us in our weekly quorum presidency planning meeting. He was always present for at least a portion of our weekly quorum meeting. Our quorum adviser was the kind of humble leader I envision the Savior trying to help Peter become as He admonished the soon-to-be prophet-leader of the Church, “Peter, when thou art converted, strengthen thy brethren” (see Luke 22:32).
As we sat each Sunday morning in the dimly lit basement room of a nineteenth-century-built chapel, this great deacons quorum adviser poured out his heart to his young flock of eager youth. With pure love and plain words he told us of the folly of using harmful substances revealed by the Lord in the Word of Wisdom. He emphasized the need for us to be clean in body and mind in our personal lives and to be worthy to serve the Lord in the mission field. I remember that at appropriate times, with tears in his eyes, he would bear his humble testimony to the members of the deacons quorum of the divinity of the Savior and the prophetic mission of Joseph Smith.
He taught us faithfully that we were our brothers’ keepers and that the purpose of the quorum was to bless each member’s life. He emphasized that when we passed the sacrament or collected fast offerings or cut wood for widows living in the ward, we were doing just what the Lord would have us do. When one member of our quorum from a less-active family suffered a prolonged illness and could not attend priesthood meetings, we would go to his home, and he would there receive the weekly priesthood lesson and the fellowship of quorum members. When another less-active member, whose single parent was not a member of the Church, failed to attend, priesthood sessions were held in his home as well. Both of these young men in more recent years have blessed countless Church members as they have been called to positions of major responsibility.

I recently attended a week-long program in my state capital learning about government. I was far away from home and knew no one. I didn’t bring my scriptures along, but I did pack my June 2001 New Era. I didn’t know why at the time, but the magazine became a blessing to me. I read it each night. As I did, the comfort of the Spirit would wash over me. I also was prompted to pray for missionary experiences and had the opportunity to share the gospel with a few people I met. Thank you for publishing such a wonderful magazine. It truly is a blessing in my life.
Clare PleshekGresham, Wisconsin (via e-mail)

Why can’t I tell?” Ryan asked as he tiptoed behind Samantha to the big willow tree by the creek.
“‘Cause it’s a secret,” his friend Samantha whispered. “Nobody’s supposed to know about it except you and me and Grandpa.” Very carefully she lifted the leafy branch so that Ryan could see. “Don’t touch—just look.”
“Wow!” Ryan exclaimed as he looked at the four tiny white eggs in the nest. “How did you find it?”
“Grandpa showed it to me,” Samantha said proudly. “He says that if we don’t disturb it, pretty soon we’ll see the baby birds when they’re hatched. It’s a secret ’cause if lots of kids start coming around, the mother will abandon the nest.”
“Wow!” Ryan said again as he put the branch back in place to hide the nest. “I never saw a bird’s nest with real eggs in it before. I won’t tell anyone else.”
“We’ll come back on Saturday,” Samantha said as they started home. “Grandpa says that the eggs should be hatched by then.”
Ryan remembered the nature study lesson their second grade class had just had. “I have an idea,” he said. “If we’re careful not to disturb the mother, maybe we can watch her feed the babies and see them learn to fly.”
“Great idea!” Samantha agreed.
Ryan felt proud that Samantha trusted him with the secret. He wished he felt the same way about the secret Joey had told him last week. That secret made Ryan feel scared because Joey had said that Ryan would be in big trouble if he told anyone, and Joey was a big bully.
When Mom called him for lunch, Ryan was still thinking about Joey’s secret.
“Aren’t you hungry today?” Mom asked when she saw him pushing his macaroni around the plate with his fork.
“Not very.” Macaroni was his favorite, but today it didn’t taste so good. “Mom, is it OK for a kid to tell a secret if someone told him not to?”
“That depends,” Mom said. “If it’s a secret that makes you feel unhappy or upset, you should always tell a grown-up you can trust. But if the secret makes you feel happy, then it’s a good secret and you should keep it.”
Ryan liked what Mom said, and she was a grown-up he could trust. “Mom, Joey told me a secret about how easy it is to snitch stuff from Mr. Sonny’s store.”
“Did you feel happy when he told you?” Mom asked.
“No, but he said I’d be in big trouble if I told, and I’m scared of him.”
Mom smiled. “You won’t be in any big trouble. I’m pleased that you didn’t like Joey’s secret. I’ll speak to Mr. Sonny, and he can deal with Joey.”
Suddenly the macaroni tasted wonderful. Ryan knew that the secret he shared with Samantha was one he would keep. It was a good one. Soon he would see four fluffy baby birds in the nest, and that made him happy.

My last example of a miraculous indication is a personal one which happened one month after President Nelson gave that talk.
The first week of May 2018 was a turbulent time for our family. Our daughter Jenny was scheduled to deliver our first grandchild. She and her husband, Joe, were living in Orem so my wife, Marie, had gone down to help out a few days before the scheduled delivery. I stayed in Rexburg to teach my classes and planned to drive to Orem early on the morning of the delivery.
Previous to becoming pregnant, Jenny developed a potentially dangerous autoimmune condition that causes excessive bruising and bleeding. The bleeding results from unusually low levels of platelets—the cells that help blood to clot. It is critically important to moniter this condition when delivering a baby; if your platelet count drops before delivering, you have a greater risk of heavy bleeding.
On the morning of May 7 everything looked good and Jenny, Joe, Marie, and Joe’s mother, Amy, were all at the hospital awaiting the big moment. It was around noon when the text messages from Marie notified me of some progress in the delivery room. Jenny was pushing hard. The baby’s head was crowning. I was now in the hospital parking lot, anxiously awaiting each text. Finally, the baby was out! It was a boy! I texted my response and asked if I should come inside. There was no response to my text. After several minutes I resent the text and again, I did not receive a response. I had an uncomfortable feeling in my stomach. I decided to go inside and see what was happening.
When I opened the door to the outer waiting room both my wife and Joe’s mother were in the room and they were crying. It took a minute to get the details from them. I learned that the baby was okay; he had been taken to the NICU. Jenny on the other hand was not doing well. She had hemorrhaged during the delivery and had been taken to intensive care. Only Joe had been allowed to go with her. For the next hour we didn’t know much of what was happening. When we got a report on Jenny’s condition, we learned that it had been a very close call. Jenny had lost so much blood so quickly that her vital organs had begun shutting down. In the ICU she had been put on a respirator, intubated, and given several units of blood. The doctors had slowed her bleeding but had not been able to stop it completely. We were not allowed to see her until just before midnight when her condition stabilized and Joe and I were able to go to her room and give her a priesthood blessing. That night at the hotel as Marie and I said our prayers together, we thanked the Lord for the miracle of Tanner’s healthy birth and that Jenny had been spared and had a good prognosis. Five days after giving birth, Jenny was discharged from the ICU and today everyone is healthy and happy. You probably think that this happy ending is the extent of the miracle, but there is more. We did not realize it at the time, but it just so “happened” that Jenny’s labor coincided with a personnel shift-change in the labor and delivery ward. This allowed there to be double the number of doctors and nurses available as usual and it turned out that all of them were needed to get Jenny stabilized. Additionally, because of her rapid loss of blood, several units were needed on an emergency basis and thanks to the close proximity of other large hospitals, those units of blood arrived in just minutes. Viewing this medical emergency through a clarifying lens of faith I could see that miracles had happened even before we knew they were needed.

The light emanating from you is reminiscent of the experiences Sister Bateman and I had in Japan and Korea during 1993–94. Shortly after our arrival in Japan, we attended a district conference in northern Honshu. Arrangements were made before the trip for a member of the district presidency, a brother we did not know, to meet us at the train station. As the bullet train sped from Tokyo to Morioka, I wondered how we would recognize the Japanese brother. The train station would be a beehive of activity. It would be easier for him to recognize us than the reverse, but there would be hundreds of people exiting the train. Stepping from the train car onto the platform, I looked into a sea of Japanese faces wondering which one was there to greet us. As we gazed along the platform, I could see an individual at the far end whose countenance radiated the light of the gospel. He was checking each car as he passed along the platform. As we moved toward him, he recognized us, and a peaceful feeling entered our souls. That experience was repeated almost weekly as we met unknown Japanese and Korean brothers and sisters in busy airport terminals and train stations from Sapporo to Fukuoka to Seoul to Pusan. The warmth of the gospel light radiating from these brothers and sisters was the identifying characteristic that brought us together.

It must have been the feeling of rhythm and strength in my stride that comforted me as I ran along the beach of Puget Sound. Troy, my big retriever, caught my sense of abandon and bounded first ahead, then back, stopping to investigate a shell or seaweed along his way. Out of breath now, I threw a stick out into the swells past the breaking waves and stopped to watch Troy leap after it. I threw the stick again and again as I continued down the beach. Each time Troy would find it in the waves and bring it to me with an expectant look. Finally the sun made work of the game, and I flopped down on the sand.
“Stay away from me,” I warned as the big dog shook salt water all over me. I grabbed his wet head and held it tightly. “You’re still my friend, old boy, even if I don’t spend much time with you anymore either,” I said half to him and half to myself. I needed to sort things out. My interview with Bishop Jenkins the day before had turned my recent vague uneasiness into a knot in my stomach.
“I feel like being able to dance is a gift from God, a talent I must express. I can’t explain it, but I cannot ignore it,” I told the bishop. “I really do want to come to church, but my practices for Young Entertainers are all day Sunday.”
“And you felt that a chance to tour and perform all summer was worth the price of your church meetings,” Bishop Jenkins guessed.
“Yes, I was so sure it was right,” I answered, “and that my dancing is more important. I love the energy on stage. I feel special and important. But, bishop, I feel confused.”
I sat back and tried to organize my fragmented thoughts. “I am compromising so much for my dancing. I feel engulfed in it. I’m too busy for old friends and my family. My new friends in the group think my faith is narrow-minded and naive. Their dancing is their religion. I don’t know what to do. To be a Young Entertainer is a dream come true. Do we dream our dreams and then let them go before they can be realized?”
Bishop Jenkins paused thoughtfully. “Let me share an idea from a talk by Elder Boyd K. Packer,” he finally said.
“‘There are many who struggle and climb and finally reach the top of the ladder, only to find that it is leaning against the wrong wall’” (Ensign, Aug. 1976, p. 61).
Thinking about it now, he didn’t really answer my question, but certainly the part about the person climbing the ladder applied to me.
“Heavenly Father, am I climbing the wrong wall?” I asked silently. “Is that why my life is so out of balance?”
Stirring from my introspection, I looked around for Troy but saw no sign of him. I stood up and searched up and down the beach. Still no dog. Shading my eyes from the glare on the water I thought I saw Troy’s head bob, then disappear under the water. Yes, there it was again. I dashed down to the chilling waves and dove in. The cold water took my breath away, but my concern was for my obviously drowning dog.
As I neared him, he was so exhausted his head barely broke the surface as he struggled. “What is holding onto him?” I swam almost to him. I couldn’t believe my eyes. Troy’s jaws were tightly clenched on a bulb of seaweed! It was evidently still attached to the rocks below the water. He was paddling back and forth trying to free it and bring it to shore. I grabbed his jaws and forced him off the bulb. I half dragged him to shore and we both plopped down totally spent, gasping for breath.
My thoughts were tumbling. Why would Troy hold on to that seaweed until he nearly drowned? Why didn’t he let go and swim to shore if he was in danger?
Suddenly I stopped. How like my own struggle. My dog was working so hard to get something, he didn’t realize the danger he was in. My situation began to appear much clearer. I had been so caught up with my dancing that I hadn’t realized that I was in danger of losing the other things that mattered in my life.
With this revelation came a new agony—what to do. Could I put my ladder against the right wall, keep balance in my life, and still participate in the dance group, or did I need to “let go” and swim for safety now. Mentally tallying the list of compromises I needed to make for the dance group, I determined that my answer was to let it go. A sense of peace and comfort helped soothe the wrenching feeling in my heart and helped me to realize that it was the right decision.
“I can still dream my dreams,” I told Troy, “and perform and prepare so that my climb up the ladder will be on the right wall. Come on, Troy, let’s go home.”

When I was called as elders quorum president in 2000, only seven elders were attending priesthood meeting. Also, we weren’t doing a good job of making our home teaching—now ministering—visits.
I knew we faced a great challenge to inspire the elders to step up. So, for starters, we decided to reorganize assignments and increase supervision.
And our elders quorum? The Lord blessed us as we moved ahead with a unified spirit. Our home teaching soon rose to 100 percent, and our priesthood attendance increased to 35 faithful elders.

I have to add this one. They were teaching a class of young people. A young boy told them about a high school French teacher in one of the countries from which they came.

During one of the late political regimes, she had been unfairly punished. She had watched vicious things and suffered vicious things and had sworn that she would never again utter another word to anyone as long as she lived. She had kept her vow since 1975, even during the time she and her mother walked clear across Cambodia to Thailand. She and her mother had been unable to obtain entrance to a third country since she would not talk. No amount of coaxing or threatening would bring her out.

One of our returned Thai missionaries who is helping in the camp found the young teacher, knelt by her, took her hand in hers, and said hello. The teacher answered! Her first words in six years, to one she had never before seen. A spirit of love reached her heart.

Benja returns to work with her each day. Now she has cut her hair and has enrolled in a basic English class. She talks every day. She is going to get to go to a new country with her mother.

Here's something I never anticipated as a young adult. My oldest two children are girls: Alex, who is married and now expecting a child of her own; and Amanda, who is a student here this semester. When they were young teenagers, they pleaded with their mother to go to the midnight premier of a popular movie here in town. Their mom isn't a big movie watcher and didn't have any desire to stay up that late and watch this particular show, so they cornered me. I knew if I went, my girls would be happy and that I could use this as leverage to get them to clean up their room, so I agreed to take them. They promised me I wouldn't be disappointed, because this movie featured vampires and werewolves and was full of non-stop action and adventure. Boy, was I misinformed!

When we got to the theater and bought our popcorn, I was surprised to look around a little and see that I was the only man in the room. The whole place was full of teenage girls and their mothers, some of whom were dressed up as vampires with little bite marks on their necks or wearing t-shirts that said "Team this" or "Team that."

Once the lights went out and the show started, I felt much less self-conscious, but the movie was hardly the action thriller I was promised. As a matter of fact, about halfway through, one of the main characters appeared with his shirt off, and the room just erupted with cheers, whistling, and raucous applause. When the noise died down, I asked my daughters, "What was that all about?" I'm not sure which of the girls responded, but one of them said, "Dad, it's his abs."

When I got home my wife was in bed but still awake and asked me how the evening went. I told her about the experience, including the shirtless werewolf part, and asked her the question that had been on my mind for an hour or so: "So are abs really that important to a woman?" (I hadn't seen them in a few years, but I knew they were in there somewhere.) She quickly replied, "Oh, that's not what makes a married man attractive."

I was a little suspicious, but I pressed on. "What does make a married man attractive?"

"Vacuum cleaners," she said. "Nothing makes a man more attractive to his wife than to see him pushing the vacuum cleaner around the house."

This may be one of those lessons you young men want to learn sooner than later. This is a picture of my son-in-law, Curt, "making himself more attractive."

Isn't he adorable? Well, I not only scored some points with my daughters that day; I learned an important truth about being an attractive husband. I've been vacuuming ever since. And, incidentally, all the exercise has really been helping my abs.

As with many young women in the Church, Sister Endang has faced the challenge of being single. “It’s not a challenge for me now,” she says. “You see, a few years ago, when I was about thirty, I was unhappy that I was not married. One day I said to my Heavenly Father, ‘Lord, I do everything I am supposed to do. Why am I not married to a good man, a priesthood holder?’ Deep in my heart I felt him say to me something like, ‘Endang, you have a lot of things to be thankful for.’ And then he reminded me of the many blessings that I have received, especially the knowledge of the gospel.

“In addition to that experience, I have been comforted by my patriarchal blessing, which tells me I will meet the man who will ask me to go to the temple to be married. I am sure that the Lord will give me that chance if I will always stay close to him. So I don’t worry about being single anymore.

“I just know the Lord will watch over me if I live according to the standards of the Church.”

After moving to Nauvoo, Emmeline got the fever and chills that plagued so many people living there. While she was finding the strength to recover, she asked the Apostle Brigham Young to give her a priesthood blessing of healing2: “Thou shalt rise up from this bed of affliction and live yet many years to do good.” The blessing had immediate effect; “it was like new life to her, and she laid hold of the promise, and began to gain strength.”3

Abby is a girl in the latter days. She learned about Jesus Christ from her parents. Abby’s neighbors didn’t know about Jesus Christ’s Church.
One day Abby’s brother got called as a missionary. He was going far away to teach people about Jesus.
Abby told her neighbors about her brother’s mission call. When they heard her brother was going so far away, they were amazed. They asked what missionaries teach.
Abby’s family knew that this was the time to share the gospel. Abby and her mother invited their neighbors to meet the missionaries, who could answer their questions.
Some of Abby’s neighbors decided to meet the missionaries. Abby listened as the missionaries taught about Jesus Christ. She felt the joy of sharing the gospel.

My study of mathematics has helped me be okay with not fully understanding everything about the gospel. I'd like to share an experience I had one day when I was a student at BYU-Hawaii. But it requires us to talk about a little bit of math.

Let's start with an easy example. Here we see two piles of fruit: a pile of apples and a pile of oranges.
Notice that the two piles are the same size. We can see this because we can match them up. Because these piles of fruit only contain three pieces each, it's pretty easy to know that the two piles are the same size.
Things get a little trickier when you have piles with infinitely many things in them. But the same principle applies: If you can match up the items from the two piles so that each object in one pile matches exactly with one object in the other pile and you don't have any objects left over in either pile, then the two piles are the same size. In math, we say the two piles (or sets) have the same cardinality.
Now let's try it with these two piles: In the pile on the left we have all the counting numbers. The counting numbers are the numbers one, two, three, four, five, and so on. Although we only see the first five counting numbers in the picture, the dot-dot-dot is intended to show that this pile keeps going. Since the counting numbers never end, the pile is infinite.
In the pile on the right we have all the even numbers. Even numbers are divisible by two: 2, 4, 6, 8, 10, and so on. Again, the dot-dot-dot shows us that this pile goes on forever. We won't ever run out of even numbers, so this pile is also infinite.
Now, to our finite minds these piles should not be the same size. When we first look at the piles, it appears as though the pile of even numbers should have half as many items in it as the pile of counting numbers. Every even number is a counting number, but there are counting numbers that aren't even numbers. So, if we think about it from a finite perspective, the piles appear to be different sizes. But remember the piles are infinite. Let's try to match up the objects in the piles, like we did with the piles of fruit.
This diagram shows a way to match up the numbers so that every number has a partner. If you pick any number in the pile of counting numbers, any number at all, you just multiply it by two to figure out which number it matches to. And if you pick any number in the pile of even numbers, you just divide by two to figure out what number it matches to. So every number has a partner, and no numbers will be left over. Although our finite view of the situation told us the piles should be different sizes, the fact that we can match up the objects in the piles shows that the two piles are actually the same size. The two sets have the same cardinality.
I remember the first day I learned this perplexing principle in a math class. My teacher said something along the lines of "Our human intuition can break down when we study things that are infinite. When infinity is involved, things can happen that are hard for our finite human minds to comprehend." In that class period, we learned several other examples that illustrated how our intuition breaks down when we study infinity.
As a math student, I was fascinated by these principles and left class thinking about them. Later that day, in my religion class, my teacher shared a quote that referred to the Atonement as "infinite and eternal."
At that moment, I started to understand that, as my math teacher said, when infinity is involved, things can happen that are hard for our human minds to comprehend. And the Atonement was infinite. How could the Savior have suffered for the sins, the pains, and the sorrows of everyone that would ever live? How could all that happen in such a short period of time? My human understanding was not adequate to understand that great, infinite, and eternal event. But I could trust the Lord, and He could help me gain His understanding. I could trust that the Atonement did happen, that the Savior did suffer for me, that He did feel my pains and my sorrows, that He knows firsthand how I feel when I go through a trial. Although my human understanding is still inadequate to understand the logistics and mechanics of how the Atonement occurred, as I have studied the Atonement, the Lord has helped me come to know that the Atonement is real, that it was "a great vicarious gift" given in my behalf and on "behalf of all [those] who would ever live upon the earth."[12]
My study of mathematics has taught me that my understanding is not always fully adequate. Sometimes I have to trust in the Lord and ask Him to share His understanding. However, as explained by Elder Clayton, we are not speaking of "blind obedience but of thoughtful confidence in the perfect love and the perfect timing of the Lord."[13]

“Oh, Grandpa, isn’t it the neatest thing you’ve ever seen?” Jeff peered through the noseprint-smudged store window at a shiny red wagon. Sleek white letters on the side spelled Starlight Flyer.
“It’s a dandy, right enough.” Grandpa leaned closer to the glass. “It should be, for $49.95.”
“That much?”
“That much—plus tax.”
The corners of Jeff’s mouth drooped as he turned away from the window and headed home, followed by Grandpa. When they reached their driveway, Grandpa put a hand on Jeff’s shoulder. “I think your mother’s old wagon is still in the garage. Shall we take a look?”
Jeff followed Grandpa into the dark garage. Grandpa reached for the light switch, and piles of dusty toys appeared on shelves along the back wall. Grandpa rummaged through them. “I know it’s here somewhere. Let’s see—doll house, baseball mitts, pogo stick … wagon!” Grandpa pulled a shabby-looking wagon off the middle shelf and set it on the floor.
Jeff eyed it doubtfully. “It’s pretty beat-up, Grandpa.”
“Well-used, I’d say. Your mother loved this wagon. Your Uncle Matt would pull her in it around the yard for hours.”
“It doesn’t look nearly as nice as the one in the window. I sure would like to have that one.”
“It was a beauty, but $49.95 is a heap of money.”
“I could earn it, Grandpa. I know I could.”
“How?”
Jeff pondered silently a moment, then snapped his fingers. “I could use Mom’s wagon to run errands for people!”
Grandpa nodded slowly. “I reckon you could.”
Jeff scurried around the garage until he found a can of red paint. “I’ll give it a new coat of paint to impress my customers. Will you help me?”
Grandpa slapped Jeff on the back. “What are we waiting for?” They oiled the wheels until they rolled without a squeak, then carefully cleaned and painted the whole wagon. They were sitting on the back porch steps, admiring their handiwork, when Jeff’s mother came out of the house.
“My red wagon!” she exclaimed.
“Yes, ma’am! Jeffy’s going to use it to earn money for a brand new one.”
She walked around the wagon admiring the paint job. “Very nice! Tomorrow when the red paint’s dry I’ll repaint the white letters on the side, and it will look like new.” Jeff had noticed that there were raised letters on the side of the wagon, but he couldn’t read them under the red paint.
The next morning when Jeff went out to the garage, his mother was making one last stroke with her paintbrush. Jeff stared at the white letters. They leaned forward as if with speed and spelled Starlight Flyer. “Mom!” he said. “Why didn’t you ever tell me that you had a Starlight Flyer?”
She laughed. “I guess I’d just about forgotten. It’s fun seeing it again, though. A lot of wonderful memories are riding in that red wagon.” She sat down on the porch and started telling stories about her childhood and the old Starlight Flyer. Jeff tried to imagine her little enough to ride in the wagon while her brother pulled her around the yard. She smiled as she remembered, and Jeff smiled with her.
“You love this old wagon, don’t you, Mom?”
“Yes, Jeffy, I truly do. I didn’t realize how much until I saw it in the driveway yesterday.”
“I promise I’ll take real good care of it, Mom.”
“I know you will, Jeffy. And now I’d better go get some breakfast for my businessman son.”
Jeff hardly tasted his pancakes. He was too busy planning how he would earn $49.95. I’ll ask Mrs. Gallagher if I can help her bring her groceries home on Thursday. She always walks to the market.And maybe Mr. Corbett could use some help hauling his trash out to the street. Jeff’s thoughts raced faster than Dad’s computer. He would earn that brand-new, shiny, red Starlight Flyer.
Day after day Jeff pulled his mother’s old wagon through the neighborhood helping neighbor after neighbor, saving every cent he earned until one day he finally had enough.
“Grandpa! Grandpa!” he shouted. “I’ve earned $59.95—enough to pay tithing and still buy the Starlight Flyer. Can we go to the store and get it right now?”
Grandpa looked at the money in Jeff’s outstretched hands. “Well, if that don’t beat all.”
“I told you I could do it.”
“You did at that. Let’s head down to the toy store and see about getting you that wagon.”
At the store, Jeff pressed his nose against the window again, staring at the bright red wagon. Grandpa’s head was right next to his. “Sure is a dandy, right enough,” Grandpa said. “And it’s only $39.99. You’re in luck, Jeffy—it’s on sale!”
Jeff let out a whoop and ran inside the store. He stood by the wagon display, running his hand over the smooth red paint and the white, slightly raised letters. He examined the wheels and the axles, the tongue, and the bed of the wagon. His hand moved more and more slowly.
Grandpa came in and stood beside Jeff. He watched as his grandson took a step back and frowned at the wagon. “What’s wrong, Jeffy? Don’t you like it anymore?”
“Yeah, Grandpa, I like it. But … it just doesn’t look as good as I remembered.”
“It looks pretty good to me. Clean and shiny, no dents anywhere.”
“I know, but Mom’s wagon just feels better to me. And besides, I took really good care of it, and I think it’s built better than this one. Look at these wheels—they don’t look nearly as strong as the ones on Mom’s wagon. And see how the tongue is hooked to the front axle—that isn’t as good either.”
Grandpa examined each part of the wagon, rubbed his chin, and smiled. “I think you’re right, Jeffy. Your mother’s wagon is better than this one, and not only because it’s built better. It’s better because you fixed it up with your own hands and because you took such good care of it, and because your mother’s childhood memories are still being pulled around every time you take it out of the garage. Your mother loves that old wagon, Jeffy, and I think you do too.”
“Yeah, I guess I do.” Jeff looked down at the new wagon one last time and turned toward the door. “Let’s go home, Grandpa. I want to take my sister for a ride in my Starlight Flyer.”