Gospel Story Finder

Years later, at the age of 15, the Prophet’s nephew Joseph F. Smith was called to serve a mission in Hawaii. You will remember that he was only five when his father, Hyrum, was martyred. His mother, Mary Fielding, died when he was just 13. Upon arriving on the island of Maui, young Joseph fell gravely ill. Despite these and other adversities, he wrote to Elder George A. Smith: “I am ready to bear my testimony … at any time, or at any place, or in whatsoever circumstances I may be placed. … I am ready to go through thick and thin for this cause in which I am engaged” (as quoted in Joseph Fielding Smith, comp., Life of Joseph F. Smith [1938], 176).

A neighbor once told me that as a missionary in earlier days he and his companion were walking along a ridge in the mountains of the South. They saw people gathering in a clearing near a cabin some distance down the hillside. They had come for a funeral. A little boy had drowned, and his parents had sent for the preacher to “say words.” The minister, who rode a circuit on horseback, would rarely visit these isolated families. But when there was trouble, they would send for him.
The little fellow was to be buried in a grave opened near the cabin. The elders stayed in the background as the minister stood before the grieving family and began his sermon.
If the parents had hoped for consolation from this man of the cloth, they were disappointed. He scolded them severely because the little boy had not been baptized. He told them bluntly that their little son was lost in endless torment, and it was their fault.
After the grave was covered and the neighbors had gone, the elders approached the grieving parents. “We are servants of the Lord,” they told the sobbing mother, “and we’ve come with a message for you.”
As the grief-stricken parents listened, the elders unfolded the plan of redemption. They quoted from the Book of Mormon, “Little children need no repentance, neither baptism” (Moro. 8:11) and then bore testimony of the restoration of the gospel.

During my youth I had cultivated my spiritual soil. I had planted the seed of prayer in my heart and had felt the growth of knowing that there is a God and that he answers prayers. I had planted the seed of service by home teaching and performing other Church tasks, and I had felt the growth that told me that there is joy in such deeds and that in serving my fellow beings I was truly in the service of my God. I had paid my tithing and had felt the joy of having the windows of heaven opened to me.

Because of these and other thoughts and feelings and commitments, I was in a springtime condition when I planted a mightier seed than I had ever planted before. I accepted the call to serve a mission.

After my bishop announced to me that the Lord would like me to serve a mission, I left his office and went directly to the service station where I worked and told my boss that I was going on a mission. He replied, “That’s good. It’s great training. You’ll be able to speak up and have a lot more confidence when you come home.” Then he added, “Just don’t stand up in church and say you know the gospel is true, because you can’t know that. Those who say such a thing are liars. They don’t know it’s true.” I could not tell him at the time that I knew the Church was true, but I did tell him that I thought it was.

The most abundant harvest came for me some two months after I arrived in England as a missionary. Those first weeks were difficult, and I had been homesick and heartsick. But at the same time I had an intense desire to be a good missionary. I had been assigned to tell the Joseph Smith story to the other seven missionaries in the Hull District. I stood up to recite that which I had diligently and prayerfully prepared and planted within my heart. At first my message was just words, but then something happened. I felt a swelling within my soul which filled me with such joy I could scarcely speak. In my heart I could see the Sacred Grove and I could see Joseph Smith and I could see that he could see God the Father and his Son, Jesus Christ. Then I knew it was good and was true. I didn’t think anymore that the Church was true—I knew. When I returned from my mission, I said in the presence of my former boss that I knew the Church was true. To have not done so would have been a denial of the very real harvest that had grown within me.

Prior to and in the early days of my mission I had desired to know the Church was true. Yet it had not been my main all-consuming concern. The big issue for me was the heartfelt desire to be a good missionary. As I sought after that goal, almost from the sidelines instead of from head-on, I came to know that the Church was true.

A later incident in Church history illustrates the power of this principle. Parley P. Pratt writes of an occasion when Joseph Smith and Sidney Rigdon addressed a large congregation:
“A very large church was opened for [Joseph] to preach in, and about three thousand people assembled to hear him. Brother Rigdon spoke first, and dwelt on the Gospel, illustrating his doctrine by the Bible. When he was through, brother Joseph arose like a lion about to roar; and being full of the Holy Ghost, spoke in great power, bearing testimony of the visions he had seen, the ministering of angels which he had enjoyed; and how he had found the plates of the Book of Mormon, and translated them by the gift and power of God. He commenced by saying: ‘If nobody else had the courage to testify of so glorious a message from Heaven, and of the finding of so glorious a record, he felt to do it in justice to the people, and leave the event with God’” (Autobiography of Parley P. Pratt, Salt Lake City: Deseret Book Company, 1938, pages 298–99)
This was no time to declare a message that any other minister from any other church might deliver. Joseph’s was an independent revelation, and his witness an independent witness. The result of Joseph Smith’s sermon in Philadelphia? “The entire congregation were astounded; electrified, as it were, and overwhelmed with the sense of the truth and power by which he spoke, and the wonders which he related. … Multitudes were baptized in Philadelphia and in the regions around” (Ibid., page 299).

An experience related by President Boyd K. Packer (1924–2015) several years ago helps us understand the adversary’s tactics.

While on an African safari, President Packer and his group “stopped at a water hole to watch the animals as they came to drink.”

Because of a drought, water was scarce. Much of it lay in puddles made by elephant tracks on soft mud.

“The antelope, particularly, were very nervous. They would approach the mud hole, only to turn and run away in a great fright. I could see there were no lions about and asked the guide why they didn’t drink. His answer, and this is the lesson, was ‘Crocodiles’. . . .

“‘Nonsense,’ I said. ‘There are no crocodiles out there’ . . .

“He could tell I did not believe him and determined, I suppose, to teach me a lesson. We drove to another location where the car was on an embankment above the muddy hole where we could look down. ‘There,’ he said. ‘See for yourself.’

“I couldn’t see anything except the mud, a little water, and the nervous animals in the distance. Then all at once, ‘I saw it!—a large crocodile, settled in the mud, waiting for some unsuspecting animal to get thirsty enough to come for a drink’. . . .

“I could see for myself, that there were no crocodiles. I was so sure of myself I think I might have walked out just to see what was there. Such an arrogant approach could have been fatal! But [the guide] was patient enough to teach me”.4

In a secluded spot, away from the notice of other visitors, 11 Latter-day Saint young women gather. Seminary and institute students from nearby San Benito, they have spent the morning together, exploring the secrets of Tikal.
It has been a rich, full day. Now, shaded from the burning sun by the protecting shadow of an ancient palace, the young women pause in a stone courtyard to rest and to share their feelings and testimonies. They softly sing “We Thank Thee, O God, for a Prophet,” and then someone offers a prayer.
“We are fortunate to live so close to this place,” one of the group says reverently. “It was a special place for our ancestors.” Others agree, expressing respect and gratitude for the legacy and the lessons of Tikal.
As these Latter-day Saint youth sing, pray, and bear testimony, the Spirit of the Lord fills this quiet corner of Tikal’s ancient domain. It’s a temple-like feeling.

At school the next afternoon Keith was struggling to keep up with his classmates as they ran around the track. Jason had been a fast runner, and sometimes Keith’s teacher, Mr. Lee, would kid him by saying, “Are you sure you’re a Johnson boy?” Last time Keith had answered with a grin, “I got the brains of the family.”
Now Mr. Lee was yelling at the runners, “Keep going! Two more times!” Then he went in to his office.
“Follow me,” a boy in front of Keith called out as he cut across the middle of the track. Everyone laughed and began to follow him.
“Come on, Keith,” called a girl. “This way we won’t have to run so far.”
Keith thought quickly: That’s not honest. Jason wouldn’t do it, and neither will I. He continued his jog around the track.
When Mr. Lee returned, everyone was finishing the run except Keith, who still had another lap to go. He heard his classmates giggle when Mr. Lee said, “That Johnson boy seems slower than usual today.” Keith didn’t know it, but his teacher had stopped the giggles when he added, “And the rest of you seem to have extra energy, so we’ll do jumping jacks while we wait for him!”
When Keith finally finished, Mr. Lee patted his shoulder. “I’m proud of you, Johnson.”
“For being last?” Keith panted.
“No. For being honest. You’re a lot like your brother, after all.”

Sister Berry enthused about her Hong Kong mission saying, “Serving in Hong Kong was one of the best experiences and held a special place in my heart. I loved every part: the people, food, culture, members, companions, and mission. I was always amazed by the beautiful Hong Kong scenery and weather.”
Soon after arriving in Hong Kong, civil protests began, but the mission understood the importance of the work at hand and, with hopeful hearts, “soldiered on and worked hard.”
China wanted to bring Hong Kong under Chinese law, rather than the democracy it had inherited from British rule. The Hong Kong people were protesting that they would be brought under Chinese rules and regulations when it came to types of crime and sentencing.
Sister Berry recalls, “We learnt to simply adapt and change our schedules to fit curfews, and our approach to ensure it would still allow us to share the gospel and bring happiness to those around us. We loved and trusted our mission president and his wife dearly; we knew that they were inspired, and as long as we were obedient to their word, we were safe and protected.” She explained, “As a mission, we came together, and during that gathering, our mission president presented a plan, reminding us that it is necessary to be prepared within Church culture.”
“The plan was to cover us in the case of an evacuation, or a need to stay within our apartments for a few days, or to report to a particular area if Hong Kong went into social unrest.
“We stocked up on food, were given individual telephone SIM cards, directions on how an evacuation would occur and, most importantly, a unique code word that only our missionaries and our mission president knew: ‘Jell-O-nation’.
“This code word was put in place to be used only if the evacuation was to occur, and we would know that it was not a false alarm or a disturbance from an outsider at the time. The protests continued, resulting in us missionaries having to spend certain days indoors spring cleaning or randomly heading to the nearest sister or elder missionary apartments, when instructed, to spend the night while it calmed down. It was decided that no new missionaries were to report to the China Hong Kong Mission until it had calmed down. We had around 80 missionaries in the field, and this figure was capped at 100 for about three transfers.
“Although we were short on missionaries, we were never short on blessings and miracles, and continued to help even more people learn of the gospel and our Saviour Jesus Christ. We truly felt the love, support and encouragement from our leaders and members during the process.
“During that time, we had a zone conference with half the missionaries, where we were astonished and delighted to be told that we were teaching more than ever and finding souls and introducing baptism to just as many as in the years before, when there were twice as many missionaries.
“President Phillips loved to set us challenges and always encouraged us to enhance and strengthen our testimonies, such as by prayerfully studying the Book of Mormon front to back in 80 days, following the Spirit and setting a minimum of ten ‘windows of heaven’ each week. We loved it.
“The ‘windows of heaven’, or as we liked to call them, windows, were a unique finding technique that we loved to do.
“In Hong Kong, we were limited when it came to the traditional door knocking. People lived in apartments with guards who knew the missionaries very well and could keep us away. Most parks had rangers that would keep an eye on us in case we were handing out flyers. So, we would just have to hit the streets every day and do windows.
“Besides regular finding or district finding with other groups of missionaries, we would take some time each week to pray as a companionship, specifically about a time and place that we feel we should go to find someone ready to hear the gospel. We would look at our planners and the map of our area and listen to the Spirit. Once we figured out the time and place, we would slot it into our diaries, which was considered an appointment with God. We would have to show up around 15 minutes early, pray to open the window and talk to everyone we could find. The idea of windows was to promise to God that you would go to the place you felt the Spirit told you to go, and that He would guide someone ready to hear the gospel to find you.
“When we did come across someone interested, we were to find a spot and teach them about the gospel there and then for 10–15 minutes or even longer. Each window was usually an hour or hour and a half long, and we would try our hardest to speak with everyone. We would have around two of these each day and made them priority above all appointments because that was an appointment with God.”

Several years ago I was visiting with a friend—Dale Andersen—from Mesa, Arizona. At the time Dale was serving as a stake president in Mesa, and he shared a personal experience with me that, with his permission, I’d like to share with you this morning. He said:

I was preparing for our stake conference and having a bit of a stupor of thought on what I should share with the members of my stake. On the Friday night prior to conference I had a most peculiar dream—one of those dreams that was as real as any experience I have ever had while awake.

I dreamed I was at a family reunion with my entire family—my wife, my children, and my grandchildren. We were all gathered in the backyard of our home and enjoying a wonderful spring afternoon together.

And then I saw a most amazing and beautiful sight. It was a flock of blackbirds—but not an ordinary flock of blackbirds. This was one of those flocks that must have had tens of thousands, if not hundreds of thousands, of birds, all flying gracefully in perfect unison.

The birds would dart one direction, and then, as if cued by their leader, they’d immediately dart the other direction. Not a bird missed a beat. I stood there with my family—eyes transfixed. It was beautiful and captivating.

President Andersen continued:

As we watched this spectacle, the birds came closer and closer to us. It was all very exciting to see. And as we watched, we noticed the birds were pairing off two by two, and it appeared as though they were landing in the yards of all of the homes in my neighborhood. I thought this was rather peculiar. And then, as they got closer to my own backyard, the scene began to come into focus, and I realized in an instant that these were not blackbirds after all. These were dark, evil spirits!

Immediately I panicked and yelled to my family to run into the house and to lock the doors and windows. I was frantically trying to make sure all the members of my family were accounted for and safe—my sweetheart, my children, and their children. We ran through the house slamming the windows and shutting the doors and locking them tight. I gathered everyone together in our family room, where we would be safe, but then, as I turned around, there they were. I found myself standing between these two terribly evil beings and my precious family.

President Andersen said:

A window had been left ajar in the basement, and they had found their way into our home.

You know and I know that the adversary and his evil spirits are descending upon our families and trying to find their way into our homes, our apartments, and our dorms. At first they appear to be beautiful, enticing, and captivating—even to the point that, if we are not careful, our families will stand right in their path gazing upon them as though we were extending an open invitation to them to enter our homes.

Last year, I was teaching an online class. My students were divided into teams that met once a week on Zoom to work through practice exercises together. In one group, I had a divorced mother later in her life who was learning to code to support her family. She was working alongside a young man who had recently graduated high school and was taking classes online because the social anxiety of going off to school was too much for him. He was better at computers than she was, but he wasn't quite as committed. They spent hours working together, and they actually made a great pair. One time, when I was visiting with her, she said, "Oh, don’t worry about him, we're going to get him through this.”

Later, I was talking with another student in a different class. He said, "You know, earlier this semester, when things were pretty tough, I was planning to just give up and drop the class, but my teammates wouldn't let me." He said they encouraged him to keep coming and working with them. And then, by the end of the semester, the concepts started clicking for him, and he found he was the one helping them.

What a beautiful example of the principle that when we serve others, we are often blessed even more than they are.

Aulola Mateialona was born into The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. She was raised by faithful grandparents in Ha’alaufuli, Vava’u, Tonga and she was baptised at eight years old. Aulola later graduated from Liahona High School, a Church-owned school.
When she was 15, Aulola received her patriarchal blessing, which promised that if she stayed true to her covenants with the Lord, she would be married in the temple. It wasn’t until a few years later, as she prepared to serve a full-time mission, that Aulola fully understood the immensity of that promised blessing. As she walked through the Nuku’alofa Tonga Temple for the first time, she was overwhelmed by the desire to return one day with her eternal companion and be sealed to him in that sacred place.
The reality of Aulola’s life, however, didn’t quite follow the plan in her heart. After her mission, it took some time before marriage became a priority for her, and by then she was in love with someone who didn’t share her faith.
“He’s a good man,” Aulola says. “He always welcomed [my Church’s] missionaries into our home and always fed them, but he was never interested in hearing their message.” His family are devout members of their own faith, and he would not break with their tradition. Their difference of religion put a great strain on their marriage. Aulola was unable to attend sacrament meetings as often as she liked, and she couldn’t raise their children in the Church the way she had been. Eventually, the contention in their home proved too much. After 23 years, the couple decided to part ways.
Aulola was devastated. She had lost her marriage and, with it, her hopes for the future with her family, but she was also suffering now from debilitating health issues. In her grief and pain, she turned to her Father in Heaven for guidance. “I fasted and prayed, and I promised the Lord that if He would accept me back, I would never turn away again.”
Her prayers kept leading her back to her patriarchal blessing, which brought her comfort and peace at such a troubling time. One day, she reread the promise that she could be sealed in the temple, and Aulola knew what she needed to do. “I realised that if I don’t do my part, it’s not going to work.” In that moment, she recommitted to follow all of Heavenly Father’s commandments, and to draw near to Him through church attendance, daily prayer and scripture study.
Before long, Aulola reconnected with an acquaintance from her early days in Tonga: Brother Semisi Mounga Mateialona, a priesthood holder who had recently found himself single again, too. They bonded over shared experiences and their mutual love for the gospel of Jesus Christ, and Aulola knew in her heart that this was the man for her. The couple got married in New Zealand in 2019 and at the end of September 2022, they travelled to the Nuku’alofa Tonga Temple to be sealed to each other for time and all eternity.
At a recent temple fireside in the Auckland Papatoetoe Stake, Aulola reflected on what she says is a miracle. As a young woman, she had experienced the sweet sacredness of the temple and knew how important it was to worship there. Then, for 23 years, she didn’t know if she could ever qualify for the temple blessings promised to her in her patriarchal blessing—but she didn’t give up hope.
It took time, patience and the kind of faith that changes lives, but now Aulola feels like she’s come home again. Finally, she can testify: “When you stay near God, He is going to bless you as He promised—if you do your part.”

Last summer, I was baptized. The water was very warm. When my dad lifted me out of the water, I felt very good inside. The Holy Ghost testified that I was doing what Heavenly Father wanted me to do. I was very happy.
When I was baptized, I made a covenant, or a two-way promise, with Heavenly Father that I would follow Him and keep His commandments. He promised to help me and guide me with the gift of the Holy Ghost.
After my baptism, the bishop welcomed me as a member of the Church and taught me a lesson. He asked me to stand on a chair and look at a picture of Jesus Christ that was hanging on the wall. I could also see a reflection of myself in the glass of the picture’s frame. It taught me that Jesus will always be with me when I need Him.
I know that getting baptized is a great thing. I am so glad I made the decision to get baptized, and I know you will be happy if you do so too!
Illustration by Simona Love

Melinda left her house holding the key Mrs. Roberts had given her. “I’m off to work,” she said. She liked the way that sounded. “Not every 11-year-old has a job,” she thought.
She walked to the Robertses’ house and opened their mailbox. The Roberts family would be gone until Thursday, and they had hired Melinda to get their mail and do other chores at their house every day.
Melinda went into their house, put the mail on the kitchen table, and filled the cat’s food dish. Then she went into the family room to water the plants. It felt strange to be in her neighbors’ house alone.
In a corner of the room she saw a shelf filled with glass figurines. Each one was a little girl in a fancy dress. She picked one up and looked at it carefully. On the bottom it said, “Michelle.” Melinda wondered if each of the figurines had a name. She picked up another and turned it over. It was named Rebecca.
Melinda picked up another glass girl, one in a pretty yellow dress. As she turned it over, it slipped from her hand and fell to the floor. Melinda gasped and knelt down quickly to pick it up. Its head and one of the legs had broken off.
“Oh no,” she thought. “What am I going to do? Mrs. Roberts is going to be so mad at me!”
She put the head back on the figurine and was surprised to see that she could hardly tell it was broken. When she put the leg back, she found that the little girl could still stand up.
“If I put it back just right, Mrs. Roberts won’t even know it’s broken,” she thought. “If she picks it up or bumps the shelf, it will fall apart, but she’ll think she broke it herself. No one will know it was me.”
Melinda had a sick feeling as she walked home. She wondered if she should tell Mrs. Roberts about breaking the figurine. “But she trusted me,” Melinda thought. “She’ll never trust me again if she knows I broke something in her house.”
Melinda went to the Robertses’ each morning for the next two days. She was careful not to go near the shelf where the figurines were. She didn’t even want to look at them.
On Thursday afternoon, the Robertses’ car was back in their driveway. Melinda walked over to return their key. Mrs. Roberts thanked her for doing such a good job and gave her an envelope with money inside. Melinda could hardly speak. She felt awful. “It’s just a little glass girl,” she thought. “It’s not a big deal. And they’ll never know I did it.”
That night after dinner, Melinda’s father opened the Book of Mormon for family scripture study. They were reading about Helaman’s stripling soldiers.
Melinda and her brothers listened as Dad read Alma 53:20: “And they were all young men, and they were exceedingly valiant for courage, and also for strength and activity; but behold, this was not all—they were men who were true at all times in whatsoever thing they were entrusted.”
“They were super brave,” Nathan said.
“And strong,” Tyler added.
“They were strong and brave enough to fight,” Mom agreed. “That’s what the first part of the scripture says. But in the next part, it says something more about them—that they used their courage to be true. They stood up for what was right.”
Melinda looked at her Book of Mormon and read the words again. She had been entrusted with something, and she had not been true.
A little while later, Melinda stood at the Robertses’ door. Mrs. Roberts looked surprised to see her. “Hello,” she said. “Did you forget something?”
“Yes. I mean, no. I need to tell you something.” She took a deep breath. “I broke one of your little glass girls. I put it back so you couldn’t tell it was broken. I’m sorry I broke it, and I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about it before. I was just scared, I guess.”
“Why don’t you come in and show me what you broke?” Mrs. Roberts said.
Melinda followed her neighbor into the family room and pointed out the girl in the yellow dress. When Mrs. Roberts picked it up, its head and leg fell off. “I would never have known it was broken if I hadn’t picked it up,” she said. “Well, it can be glued. I broke another one once, and I glued it.” She picked up another figurine and showed Melinda. “You can hardly tell, can you?”
Melinda shook her head. She hadn’t noticed the crack in the other one. “I really am sorry,” she said.
“It’s OK. I’m glad you came back to tell me the truth. That took a lot of courage. You know, we’ll be going out of town again next month. Would you like to help out at our house then too?”
Melinda looked up. “Do you trust me? Even after I broke something?”
“You’ve shown that you are very trustworthy. You told the truth when you didn’t have to. I’ll be glad to have you work for us again.”
“I won’t touch the figurines. I promise.”
“That’s fine. Thank you, Melinda, for coming over tonight.”
The heavy feeling Melinda had felt for days was gone. She felt as light as a feather as she skipped home.

Bit by bit, and blissfully unaware, I was poisoning myself. OK, I use the term “poisoning” a bit loosely here, but to a teenage guy in high school, the word seemed appropriate. I had turned my skin orange.
Without realizing it.
You see, I was trying to kick a soda habit and did so by rather unconventional means. I started drinking freshly-made carrot juice. My dad had bought a juicer that extracted nothing but juice—which means you cruise through plenty more carrots that way (and consume a lot of beta-carotene).
Fun fact: beta-carotene, at those levels, enters the bloodstream and starts painting you from the inside out. It’s harmless to your overall health but becomes oh-so-visible over time. Somehow, though, I still hadn’t noticed the effects unfolding until a friend squinted at me in the sunlight one afternoon.
“Um, Dave, is your skin … orange?” she asked.
“No!” I laughed. What an absurd question.
Then she held her forearm next to mine for comparison. I glanced down in shock. My skin looked like it was slathered in pumpkin puree compared to hers. From that moment on, I cut way back on the carrot juice.
Back to my beta-carotene fiasco for a moment. In the end, I swapped in some celery sticks and apple slices to replace most of the carrots in my not-quite-as-good-as-soda beverage. And, in time, my skin returned to its normal hue. Whew! Though it was a huge relief at the time, that particular snag was a small one in the grand scheme of eternal matters.

High overhead a flock of ducks locked their wings and dropped down toward the reservoir. It was early morning, and it was duck hunting season. I was in the bulrushes on one side of the reservoir, and two of my friends, Rick and Kinnley, were on the opposite side. The ducks circled the pond several times and then whistled down directly in front of the place Rick and Kinnley were hiding.
I heard three shots. The ducks came up fast. I heard a fourth shot. I remember wondering about it because the ducks were out of range when I heard it. The ducks flew out across the valley and began circling over some small ponds.
Kinnley ran out of the place they’d been hiding and yelled, “Skip, come here.” I knew there would be more ducks coming, and I didn’t want to move. Before I could answer, Kinnley ran back into the bulrushes. He came out again in just a few seconds.
“Skip, hurry!” he yelled.
I ran over as fast as I could so that I would be in position if more ducks flew over. When I reached Kinnley I knew something was wrong. His face was white.
“My gun jammed,” he stammered. “Rick’s been hurt.”
We ran into the bulrushes, and there I saw one of the most gruesome sights in my life. Here was one of my best friends writhing in pain from a shotgun blast in the side. Rick Was moaning. “Help me, you guys, you’ve got to help me.”
I knew we had to stop the bleeding immediately and that then we’d have to get help. The nearest town was several miles away. We bound the wound up with Kinnley’s shirt. It didn’t help much. Rick was dying. Kinnley and I both knew there wasn’t much time left. Our truck was on a road about two miles away. We knew we couldn’t carry Rick to it, and getting help would take time, maybe too much time. While we were trying to decide what to do, Kinnley said, “Skip, let’s give him a blessing.”
We knelt by his side and placed our hands on his head.
“You go first,” Kinnley said.
With the power of the Aaronic Priesthood I blessed Rick. I asked that the bleeding would stop, that Rick would be relieved of pain, and that he would survive the accident. I also prayed that Kinnley and I would be able to think clearly in getting Rick to a hospital.
When we finished our prayers and took our hands off his head, a feeling of peace replaced the panic we’d felt before. I told Kinnley to run and get the truck. I took off my coat and overalls to keep Rick warm. I put a coat under his head and carefully laid him on the side opposite the wound. He was getting weaker. I tried to assure him that it wasn’t all that bad and that he was going to be all right.
Never in all of my life had I felt so totally helpless, my friend in so much pain, dying, pleading for me not to let him die, blood soaking through the shirt we’d bound the wound in. I pleaded with the Lord to please, please let him live.
Kinnley came back with the truck. His face was even whiter than it had been before. We decided we couldn’t risk moving Rick. I left in the truck to call an ambulance. The road was rough, and it seemed like it took me hours to reach the town. I knew that every second counted.
I went into a cafe and said there’d been an accident. I went to a pay phone, the closest telephone, and called the hospital. I told them to send the ambulance to the junction in the road that turned off the main highway to the reservoir.
Several men in the cafe offered to help. We drove to the junction and waited. I can’t remember waiting for anything in my life as long as I waited for that ambulance. It actually took only three minutes from the time I called until the ambulance reached the junction.
The ambulance started following me to the reservoir, but the road was too rough. The ambulance crew loaded equipment into the back of my truck and we started again. It seemed like hours since I’d left Rick and Kinnley, and I didn’t know what I would find.
When we reached them, Kinnley stood up.
“Skip, look at Rick.”
Rick was breathing easier, and it appeared that the pain had subsided. The ambulance crew went to work. They put a pair of pressurized pants on Rick and pumped them up. In just minutes his blood pressure was close to normal, and in about a half hour he had stabilized enough to be moved. The ambulance crew and several of the men from the cafe lifted Rick onto the back of the truck and started for the ambulance.
I stayed behind to get our coats and guns. I sat there by myself for a while and said a prayer thanking my Father in Heaven. A week later Kinnley and I visited Rick in the hospital. He was sitting up in bed playing an electric basketball game, smiling. The experience strengthened my testimony of the priesthood. I knew the blessing we gave to Rick had helped save his life and had helped Kinnley and me make the right decisions.

Then, about two years ago, a friend of mine died by suicide. The phone call I received that delivered the news will be etched in my mind for the rest of my life. I beat myself up for months, wondering what more I could have done for this person. How I could have been a better friend. How I could have called more. How I could have invited this person more. I had so many thoughts of regret and self-blame that went on and on.

And finally, I recently hit a point of exhaustion I’d never felt before. My friends, family members, and even coworkers had been opening up to me about their current challenges, and the more they opened up to me, the more I would try to take on what they were struggling with. I was hyperfocused on that idea of “fixing,” and I felt powerless to do so.

So when that song came on at work, tears instantly flooded my eyes as I stopped typing and listened to the music. It was all I could do to mutter a small prayer: “Heavenly Father … I’m exhausted.”

Then God, in His loving grace, answered my prayer by patiently teaching me. These words instantly came to my mind: “You’re exhausted because you’re trying to be the fixer. And that is what I sent my Son to do.”

I felt incredibly humbled in that moment. I’d been trying to do a job that was never mine to do in the first place.

As Sister Reyna I. Aburto, Second Counselor in the Relief Society General Presidency, taught: “Sometimes, the natural man or woman in us makes us think that we have been called to ‘fix’ other people. We have not been called to be ‘fixers’ of others, and we have not been called to lecture or to scorn. We have been called to inspire, to lift, to invite others, to be fishers of people, fishers of souls so they receive the opportunity to be spiritually healed by Jesus Christ, our Savior and Redeemer.”1

I’ve learned that because of the world we live in, we will constantly be with people, including ourselves, who are imperfect. And living in an imperfect world means that we will all experience challenges in this life, including difficult things that are beyond our control. That’s why God sent Jesus Christ—so He could help us.

Heavenly Father reminded me that day in my office that it wasn’t my job to heal my grandma. I wasn’t to blame for my friend’s death by suicide. And it certainly wasn’t my role to take on all the burdens and weaknesses of those around me.

Let us remember the Savior “descended below” all things (Doctrine and Covenants 122:8) because He is the Master Healer.

That’s a truth I’m continually learning to hold on to when I feel that need to solve everyone’s problems. I now strive to allow the Savior to guide and teach me.

Our simple mandate from Him is to “bear one another’s burdens” (Mosiah 18:8), which entails loving, supporting, listening, comforting, praying, fasting, forgiving, and serving. We can do that as we turn to follow the Savior. And as we let Him offer His healing hand to us and to those we love, our burdens will truly become light.

12. It’s interesting, too, how we create, cumulatively, expectations in the lives of our grandchildren even when we are not aware of it. Some years ago, when our grandson Robbie was about five, we dropped by to see his family in Orem. He was asleep upstairs, and his mother called, “Robbie, Grandpa Neal is here!” A tired little voice floated downstairs saying, “Shall I bring my scriptures?”
Of course, he was too young to read them, but he carried them, as so many do in the Church today in that fine new pattern!

I would like to close with an experience that occurred recently.
For three days in a row, my son Duffy (who is our eleven-year-old and plays on the school football team) leaped from some hidden corner of our home to throw a body block on me, in professional style. The last time he did this, in my effort to avoid the attack, I fell on the floor and knocked over the lamp and found my right elbow wedged up somewhere near my eyebrow. I completely lost my patience, and I scolded him for making me his tackling dummy.
His response melted my heart when he said with tears rolling down both cheeks, “But, Mom, you’re the best friend a guy could have. I thought this was as much fun for you as it was for me.” Then he added, “For a long time now I’ve planned what I will say in my first interview as a big time trophy winner. When they ask me how I got to be so great, I’ll tell them, ‘I practiced on my mother!’”

Brother Williams brings in the garbage cans for 28 of his neighbors. “We need to follow the Savior’s example and do good to people,” he says.
Photographs by Richard M. Romney
Every Wednesday, 81-year-old Ken Williams wears the same shirt and hat. Both the shirt and hat depict a well-known character, Oscar, who lives in a garbage can. That Oscar is known as a lovable grouch. Ken is just known as lovable.
Ken waits inside his front door and listens. He’s waiting for the sound of the garbage truck. Sounds are important to Ken because he’s legally blind. Couple that with the fact that he has undergone 14 years of chemotherapy, and yet he’s still willing to get out and help his neighbors—28 of them, in fact.
Ken is affectionately known by all of his neighbors up and down the street. He’s the man who brings in the garbage cans.
“We see the garbage truck pass,” says a neighbor, Laura Willes, “and the next thing we see is Ken, walking down the sidewalk with his white cane, going from house to house and pulling in the cans.”
“It keeps our community looking good,” says Ken’s wife, De Ann. “But it also keeps the roads clear. I don’t know if a fire truck could get down the street without knocking all of the cans out of the way.”
Laura says Ken’s trash can patrol also provides reassurance to people who have to be away from their homes, “so that it’s not obvious when no one is home.”
So how does Ken manage to move the cans around while walking with a cane? “The cane is more for stability than anything else,” he says, “and when I lean on the garbage can, that gives me stability too.” With the help of a special contact lens, he can see well enough out of one eye to find his way around. When there’s snow on the ground, he won’t go where he might slip and fall.
“If there’s a day when he can’t bring in the cans,” De Ann says, “I alert the neighbors.”
Ken didn’t start out by doing all of the cans up and down the street. It’s a role he grew into. “After the garbage truck would go by, he would go out to the houses right around us and push the cans back off the street,” De Ann explains. “It evolved slowly. He did one more house and then one more, until it has reached what it is today.”
And the Oscar nickname? “That came from our daughter, Collette,” De Ann says. “And it stuck.”
Ken has made friends with longtime residents and new move-ins, with grandparents, children, and grandchildren. “It’s funny how many people know him as Oscar,” Laura says.
Why does Ken repeatedly perform this small act of service? His answer is profound. “We need to follow the Savior’s example and do good to people. That’s what I try to do. It lets them know they have the opportunity to do good to other people too.”
Ken has, in fact, spent a lifetime helping others. As a consultant in the automotive business, he worked with dealerships to improve their operations. As a Church member, he has accepted callings and shared the gospel, “not by preaching to my neighbors but by showing them the joy that comes from following the Savior.”
De Ann recalls, “When Ken was in chemo, the nurses and one of the doctors told me he helped a lot of other patients get through their chemo, mostly because of his personality. He didn’t even know he was doing anything special; he was just being Ken.”
Ken is still dealing with four types of cancer, but he stopped receiving chemo four years ago. “The oncologist says Ken is a walking miracle,” De Ann says.
Every Wednesday, you’ll see him in his Oscar outfit, waiting for the truck to pass so he can help his neighbors. “I didn’t just decide to go and bring in the garbage cans,” Ken says. “I decided it was one of the few things I could still do. And as long as I can serve my neighbors, I’ll keep serving.”
The author lives in Utah, USA.

Roger and Tina Schiele served their military relations mission in Guam. “We were given the opportunity to join those meeting a submarine as it returned to its home port,” Elder Schiele explains. “It was a wonderful experience to see families reunited.”
On board the ship was one young Latter-day Saint who was headed for his first duty station right out of submarine school. After the month-long trip to Guam, no one would be there to greet him when the ship arrived.
“His bishop at home contacted the bishop here and told him he was coming,” Sister Schiele says. “So we were there with a sign that had his name on it, waiting for him. He was so surprised that he asked if he could keep the sign!”