Gospel Story Finder

“Christmas was only two weeks away. How would I ever survive the recent death of my eight-year-old son?” says Lyn McGuire of Draper, Utah. “One night after everyone was asleep, I got out of bed and went to the living room to sit by the Christmas tree. I asked Heavenly Father how I was going to make it through the holidays and the years ahead. As I prayed, I remembered an ‘old friend’ that would comfort me—my Book of Mormon. I found it and started to read. I don’t remember what I read; only that it comforted me. As I read, I cried, and relief came. It was like pouring my burdens on the shoulders of a friend.”

My friend, let’s call her Julie, adopted twin boys during the pandemic. Late last year one of her boys was diagnosed with cancer, and now spends long spells in hospital for treatment. Occasionally he is allowed home over a weekend, to be reunited with his twin brother. It’s been tough on this little family, especially taking into consideration all the COVID procedures and protocols needing to be observed. Julie and her family have stepped up to the challenges with determination and hope.
Julie, a member of Southport Ward, Liverpool England Stake, sent out a plea for help late one Friday afternoon. Her little boy was responding well to recent medication and a lull in procedures was going to mean a weekend out of hospital. They could go home to sleep in their own beds for a couple of nights. However, there was a problem; the little boy was bereft because his favourite hospital toy, a 16-inch dinosaur to which he had become attached, had to be left on the ward.
I quickly contacted our church community to see if anyone had a similar dinosaur. Having no luck, I thought I would ask our wider Southport community. I put together a short explanation of the situation, with a photo of the toy, and made a post on local web selling pages and freecycle sites. Within moments I had hints and suggestions as to where I may be able to purchase or order a similar toy. But it was already Friday evening!
Then, I got a message from a mother who had shared the story with her dinosaur-enthusiast son. He had immediately offered to donate one of his prized figures to the sick little boy. Julie and I were so touched. I arranged to collect it immediately.
On my way, a message arrived from another mother. Her child had seen her looking at my post and had recognised the dinosaur in the photograph as being the same as the one that he had. He was offering to give up his toy to someone he didn’t know but knew was in need. I was so moved and excited because Julie’s little son is a twin, so this would mean both little boys would have a toy dinosaur with which they could play together over this special weekend.
Julie was overcome with emotions when I arrived at her door with the two dinosaurs. She just couldn’t believe people’s generosity and the willingness of two boys who had heard of their plight and jumped at the opportunity to sacrifice their own treasured possessions to cheer a sick child. There are so many wonderfully kind-hearted people about, especially young mothers who are teaching, through example, selflessness and compassion.

A number of years ago I was called to the hospital bedside of a mother in the terminal stages of a serious illness. She passed away a short time later, leaving her husband and four children, including a little boy of six. There was sorrow, deep and poignant and tragic. But shining through their tears was a faith beautiful and certain that as surely as there was now a sorrowful separation, there would someday be a glad reunion, for that marriage had begun with a sealing for time and eternity in the house of the Lord, under the authority of the holy priesthood.

Five years ago, Sister Amy A. Wright was diagnosed with stage 4 ovarian cancer. The only way her family made it through her aggressive treatments, she said, was by focusing on the Savior Jesus Christ.
“When it was all about me, the world became a really dark place,” she recalled. “But when my focus turned outward, when I would strive to serve others and walk the way Christ walked, there was light and joy, even during the greatest pain and suffering.”
Sister Wright described her battle with cancer as a “polishing and refining experience”—one that was “uniquely tailored” to help her come to know the Savior in a deeply personal way. It also taught her that additional strength comes in seeking to learn and understand others’ diverse challenges.

One who received and welcomed the gift of peace was Joseph Millett, an early missionary to the Maritime Provinces of Canada, who learned, while there and in his later experiences in life, of the need to rely on heavenly help. An experience which he recalled in his journal is a beautiful illustration of simple yet profound faith:

“One of my children came in, said that Brother Newton Hall’s folks were out of bread. Had none that day. I put … our flour in [a] sack to send up to Brother Hall’s. Just then Brother Hall came in. Says I, ‘Brother Hall, how are you [fixed] for flour.’ ‘Brother Millett, we have none.’ ‘Well, Brother Hall, there is some in that sack. I have divided [it] and was going to send it to you. Your children told mine that you were out.’ Brother Hall began to cry. Said he had tried others. Could not get any. Went to the cedars and prayed to the Lord and the Lord told him to go to Joseph Millett. ‘Well, Brother Hall, you needn’t bring this back if the Lord sent you for it. You don’t owe me for it.’ You can’t tell how good it made me feel to know that the Lord knew that there was such a person as Joseph Millett.”

Prayer brought the gift of peace to Newton Hall and to Joseph Millett.

Little by little the Lord was showing that he had prepared the way for me. However, I felt that I would need his help a lot more when I talked to my father. My father is a good man, but his hard life had made him tough and materialistic. Such an outlook would prevent him from accepting my decision.
On a Sunday afternoon, when we were alone in our backyard, I decided to tell my father. He listened until I finished and then asked very dryly, “Is this your will?” I nodded. “Very well, now listen! When you took this course you destroyed the love that existed within me for you. I am not going to drive you out of the house but from my heart. Those medical school stickers that I proudly exhibit on the windshield of my car will be removed, and you will have to do much to put them back on. You tore down a great dream of my life, and as far as I am concerned you fell down with it.”
I tried to answer him and express my great love for him, but my words stopped in my throat. I wished that the whole world would fall upon me for bringing such great suffering to my father, whom I loved so much.
Time went by. My father went to stake leaders to try to stop me. In a last and desperate attempt he went to the stake president. When he returned home that night, he had only harsh words for me.
While I prayed to the Lord to give my father understanding, the Spirit dictated to me that I should listen to him without saying a word. The night before he was to talk to the stake president again, he was sitting alone in the backyard. He said the moonlight made the night clear. He took the opportunity to pray to the Lord in the way he knows and said, “Father, I know that you have given me everything, but do you need to collect all at once? You know I cannot bear it.” In that very moment the backyard became filled with shadows that started to move towards him. My father became stricken with fear and ran to his room like a frightened child. He spent the whole night talking to my strong and sweet mother. That long talk with my mother and his interview with the stake president, when both cried, were enough to change his thinking.
And then came the night that I will never forget. I was in the kitchen peeling a pineapple for our dessert when my father came home. He stopped behind me, placed his briefcase on the floor, and said, “May I talk to you?”
I was already getting used to his aggressive talking. I answered yes and continued to peel the pineapple. “Listen, young man, when I talk to someone I like him to look into my eyes.” I stopped, turned to him, and heard him say with a calm and tender voice, “My son, go and do what you have decided to do because the Lord has told me that it is right. You can count on me for help because I love you very much.” We embraced each other, and the Lord bound the heart of the father to the son and of the son to the father. Tears of joy rolled down our cheeks.

At one time, Ben, Jr., and Brad, my two oldest boys, belonged to a Japanese Scout troop because our ward didn’t have a Scout troop. One day the Scoutmaster took the boys on a hike in the Zion Narrows in southern Utah. Their progress was slower than anticipated. Concerned that the park officials whom they had checked in with would be worried about them, the Scoutmaster asked my sons and a couple of other boys to hike ahead by themselves and let the park officials know that everyone was OK. The boys took a wrong turn into a dead-end canyon and didn’t know what to do. The other boys were not Latter-day Saints, but they turned to Ben and said, “Maybe you’re the one who ought to pray for us to help us get out of here.” After he offered a prayer, Ben said, “Let’s go,” and they turned and walked out without any problem. How grateful I was that my children had learned to pray, that they had faith in that prayer, and that our Father in Heaven would help them find their way safely out of the canyon.

After graduation Franklin received an appointment to the U.S. Naval Academy at Annapolis, Maryland. He wondered if he accepted the appointment if he would ever serve a full-time mission. It was a difficult decision to make. Elder Richards said, “I think unknowingly I was following the advice of the Lord to Oliver Cowdery:

“‘Behold, I say unto you, that you must study it out in your mind; then you must ask me if it be right, and if it is right I will cause that your bosom shall burn within you; therefore, you shall feel that it is right’ (D&C 9:8).

“In effect, I was doing that. I thought about a mission and about my grandfather, and I wondered, Do I want to go to Annapolis or don’t I? So I studied it out, talked to several people, and reached the decision that I would prefer to go on a mission. I made it a matter of prayer, expressing my feelings to the Lord, and the Holy Ghost bore witness to me that my decision was right.”

A true story from the USA.
“What’s this, Mom?” Sadie pulled a big tin can out of the back of the cupboard. “It has no label on it.”
“I forgot about that,” Mom said. “The labels had come off some canned goods, so the store was selling them for cheap. I bought one. I figured it was probably canned peas.”
Sadie made a face. Canned peas were not her favorite.
Mom picked up the can and turned it over. “They’ll go bad soon. We’d better eat them today.” She put the can on the table.
“What’s that?” Sadie’s big brother, Jason, asked.
“Who knows?” Sadie said. “Mom thinks it’s peas.”
Jason shook the can. “Doesn’t sound like peas. My guess is beans.”
That gave Sadie an idea. She grabbed some tape and a marker and wrote “peas” on one piece of paper and “beans” on another. She taped them to the can.
Then she thought for a minute and wrote “tomato sauce” on another piece.
Just then Dad came into the kitchen. “What’s going on?”
“We’re playing a game,” Mom said. “Guess what’s in the can.”
Dad picked up the can, shook it hard, and gave it a sniff. “Mushrooms!” he announced.
Everyone groaned. “Not mushrooms!” Sadie said. That was worse than peas, beans, and tomato sauce. “Maybe we should just throw the can away.”
“Aren’t you curious to know what’s really inside?” asked Mom.
Dad grabbed the can opener. “I am!”
As Dad opened the can, Sadie covered her eyes. But when he pulled back the lid, she was surprised. The can was full of delicious fruit.
“Yummy!” she said as she looked at the cut-up pears, grapes, cherries, and peaches.
Jason brought over bowls and spoons. “Let’s eat!”
Sadie spooned some fruit from the can into her bowl. “I can’t believe we were all wrong,” she said. “I was sure there was something yucky inside.”
“Do we ever label people like that?” asked Mom.
“What do you mean?” Sadie asked.
Dad set his bowl on the table. “We decide what they are like on the inside, when all we can see is the outside.”
Sadie thought about that. “When Samara was new at school, I thought she wasn’t friendly. But then I learned she just couldn’t speak our language very well. Now we play all the time!”
“That’s a good example,” said Mom.
“Sometimes I feel labeled,” Jason said softly. “Kids at school say I only get good grades because the teacher likes me. But the truth is, I work hard and do all my homework.”
“Labels can hurt, can’t they?” said Dad.
Jason nodded.
Sadie finished her last bite of fruit. “But are all labels bad? At the store you need to know what you’re actually buying.”
“You’re right,” Dad said. “So when are labels good?”
Jason held up his spoon. “When they’re true!”
“And who knows what’s truly inside a person?” asked Mom.
“Heavenly Father,” Sadie and Jason said together.
“I get it!” Sadie said. “I am a child of God. That’s the right label for me.”
“And me,” said Jason.
“And me!” said Dad.
“For everyone.” Mom smiled. “So we shouldn’t label people based on what we see on the outside, or believe false labels given to us. Because only God knows what we truly are inside.”
Sadie wrote on a new piece of tape and stuck it on her sweater. “A child of God,” she said. Sadie smiled. She liked that label best of all.

When I was 16, I didn’t get along with my twin brother at all. We fought about everything. One day he humiliated me at school with an intensely critical and personal attack in front of a group of friends. His actions and hurtful words left me devastated in a way my teenage self could not bear. Even when our parents confronted him about the incident, he never said he was sorry. For years I held onto the pain.
He was still on his mission when I received my own mission call. I was preparing to enter the temple and began to reflect on my life to find where I needed to change to feel prepared to go to the temple. I realized that even though I didn’t often think about what my brother did, I still needed to forgive him.
My brother had hurt me more than anyone else, and I knew it wasn’t going to be easy to forgive him. So I prayed for help from Heavenly Father.
With His help, I decided to start writing my brother regularly on his mission. Before that, I’m sorry to admit, I hardly wrote him at all. Then I sent him a package. When I left on my mission, he came with my parents to the missionary training center and gave me a hug. He even wrote me a few times.
I know that even though it may take time, with Heavenly Father’s help, we can let the past remain in the past.

One young man wrote us a letter concerning this issue. He was in the unique situation of being able to see both sides, as giver and receiver. His family had received help from their ward in food and clothing, for which they were very grateful. One day he and his mother passed a man on the street holding a sign asking for food. His letter said, “The instant I read the sign, my eyes fixed on the man’s, for I knew so well what he was probably feeling. I wanted very much to give whatever I could to him. I even felt exquisite pain and suffering with him as we drove past. I asked my mom if we could give him something. Since we were receiving help, my mother reminded me of the scripture, ‘All you who deny the beggar, because ye have not; I would that ye say in your hearts that: I give not because I have not, but if I had I would give’ (Mosiah 4:24). My point is, if you can spare even a little bit, the homeless and hungry will be grateful if they are meek in heart.”

We sat in her living room—she in her nineties, I in my thirties. Her health and the snowy weather wouldn’t allow her to come to the bishop’s office for tithing settlement, so I had stopped by her home instead.
She handed me two pieces of paper. One was her own handwritten record of the contributions she had made to the Church during the year; the other was a computer printout listing the same information.
“As you can see,” she said, “my records perfectly match the ward clerk’s.” I couldn’t help thinking that if there had been a discrepancy, the error wouldn’t have been hers.
Then I asked the question bishops are supposed to ask in these situations: “Sister, is this a full tithing for the year?”
She looked at me with incredulity in her eyes. There was a brief pause. And then, with mock indignation, she chastised:
“Bishop, that’s the most ridiculous question I have ever heard!”
In her case, I couldn’t help but agree. We laughed together as I gave her a hug. I had known the answer before asking the question. But I also knew she was glad for the opportunity to give a verbal accounting of her faithfulness.

Jenny and Peter are the oldest of Bruce and Margaret Flinn’s children. The others are Lindsey, 14; Neal, 12; Elizabeth (“Lizzy”), 9; and Rachel, 5. To visit the Flinns on their six-acre smallholding (family farm) is to see not two, but eight people who know a lot about working. To visit them is also to see much of what can make a family succeed.
“We moved here as much for the children’s sake as because of our own feelings,” explains Brother Flinn, who works full-time as a seminary teacher supervisor in addition to maintaining the smallholding. “Because of my work, I travel a lot. It would probably be easier to live in town.”
“But if we moved,” Sister Flinn says, “our quality of life would drop. We couldn’t keep all the livestock. We wouldn’t learn all the skills about being self-reliant. We might not know as much about how to love work.”
How to love work?
“We believe in the principle of work,” Brother Flinn explains. “We believe it’s a spiritual principle. It’s not just obtaining the end result; it’s the actual doing of the work. It’s good for you.”
And how does that fly with the children?
“When we complain about having to do things,” Lindsey says, “Mum will say, ‘Fine. Shall we move to the town?’ None of us has ever said yes.”
“There are pros and cons to everything,” Peter says. “But I’d say I’m fine here.”
Now all this talk about willingness to work may have you thinking the Flinns are ready to be translated. Far from it. They’re a typical family with teasing and quarrels and sometimes tears, just like any family. But they’ve learned to work at being a family, too.
“What do we gain from being together?” Jenny asks. “Patience, mainly.”
Does she ever think about being with her family forever?
“When they’re not annoying me,” she teases.
Her ability to laugh is typical of the entire family. They enjoy jousting verbally, but also know they have to do it with love so that feelings aren’t hurt.
“Everybody’s got their own personality,” Lindsey says. “We’ve learned to adjust for that. Besides, if you say anything negative, Dad makes you say two things positive on top of that.”
Other challenges? “One of the biggest ones is juggling time,” Jenny says. “I have to care for the animals twice a day, so that’s an hour each morning and evening, and in between I’ve got school. And there’s homework, two hours every night, and seminary is home study, so I have to find time for that, too.”
Church activity can be a struggle because of isolation. “We’re 50 miles from the stake center,” Peter explains. “There’s lots of traveling involved, and not everyone has a car. There’s only two of us in my quorum, and the other one lives 40 miles away. We make an effort to see if he wants to come out, but there are various problems, like parents who don’t want to bring him in because it’s out of the way. Distance is the major drawback.”
And in school, being a Latter-day Saint doesn’t mean that there isn’t temptation all around. Twelve-year-old Neal says a survey showed there were only two people in his entire class who hadn’t used alcohol. Jenny says there are “quite a few” girls in her year that have become pregnant.
What’s the counterbalance?
“We have good lessons at church,” Jenny says. “We have good lessons at seminary. And good home evenings at home. We live for Fridays (Mutual night) and Sundays to be with Church kids and strengthen each other.” And, of course, there are scriptures, and prayer, and family support.
“If I have a really major problem, I know I can turn to my family,” Lindsey says. “I suppose I’d call them my best friends. If I didn’t have them to turn to, where would I go?”
That’s an attitude Jenny exemplified when, even though she was sitting exams (taking finals) and needed to study, she walked down to the school to help Rachel. “Mum and Dad were late getting home,” Jenny said matter-of-factly. “I knew Rachael would panic if no one showed up.”
That’s part of being a family, part of what the Flinns learn every day.
Step into the Flinns’ family room, and you’ll notice one wall is adorned with corn dollies, the kind actually made from wheat.
“You have to braid the stalk while it’s flexible,” Sister Flinn explains. “When it gets old, it’s brittle and won’t bend.” It’s an analogy that isn’t lost on her.
“That’s what we’re doing as a family,” she says. “We live the gospel. We learn about family love. And the children braid them both into their lives.”

The journey to her parents’ home some five hundred miles away seemed impossible. The distance was disheartening, and she had no provisions. To make matters worse, it was winter. But those fears were nothing compared to the thought of traveling alone through a war zone. Alexandria remembers sitting alone in the snow, hungry and weak, with cold tears on her cheeks. She was inconsolable until, remembering her mother’s prayers, she decided to offer her first: “Help me. Help me find my way home.” She wasn’t sure her prayer had been heard, but she nevertheless began the dangerous trek.
The winter days passed slowly. As if in answer to her prayer, someone along the way gave her a map. That spark of hope kept her going, from farm to farm and town to town, day after day. At dusk she pleaded with strangers for a place to sleep—floor or barn, it didn’t matter, as long as it was inside, so she wouldn’t get caught—and shot—for breaking curfew. Food was so scarce that she had nothing to eat but the meager scraps of stale bread and potato peelings that she scrounged from scrap buckets after her hosts had retired to bed. At first light she would resume her journey, often with her clothing wet because of the damp, leaking barns in which she had slept.
Late one afternoon, after an unusually long walk in deep snow, Alexandria was exhausted and knew she would not reach the next town on her own before curfew. She was afraid because she had learned that German soldiers were in the area. Suddenly, three horse-drawn hay wagons driven by German soldiers appeared on the narrow road. As Alexandria hid nearby, she got an idea. If she hopped onto one of the wagons without being seen, she could make it to the next town before dark. The last wagon passed, and she put her desperate plan into action. Running with all her strength, she managed to grab a pole attached to the back of the wagon and climb aboard.
Alexandria rode in relative comfort until, a few miles later, the wagons came to an abrupt halt. She froze with fear. At the sound of approaching footsteps, she closed her eyes and said a silent prayer. “Please help me, dear God!” The footsteps came closer, then stopped right next to her. Alexandria lifted her head to look into the compassionate eyes of a young soldier who motioned for her to remain still. Then he turned to rejoin his comrades without making his discovery known. The company moved on, and Alexandria safely reached the next town.
“I know Father in Heaven was watching over me and was helping me,” she says, her eyes misty with emotion.
After weeks of traveling, Alexandria arrived home, thin and weak but overjoyed to see her family again.

One of Sister Redd’s “jewel” times was at the birth of her first child, a son. But within three months the trials and tests of this life soon closed in. Both mother and child were afflicted with polio. Anxieties were high and prayers were intense. Brother Philip Redd, her husband and now area director of seminaries and institutes in Southeast Asia, was preparing within the month to begin his career as a full-time seminary teacher. “We felt we had really tried to do what was right and that we were doing what the Lord wanted us to be doing. We had faith that the Lord would bless us even in our afflictions.”
Our Father in Heaven has told us that his people must be tried and tested, even as Abraham who was commanded to offer up his only son (see Gen. 22:1–4; D&C 101:4). And so it was that this faithful couple was tested. Their prayers were answered, but only partially. Sister Redd was healed and left without any ill effects from the dread disease, but her precious child, her only son, was stricken with crippling paralysis in his leg, his arms, and his back. The brightness of a happy time had quickly faded. The scratches and bites of life became a painful reality. Brother and Sister Redd were forced to give up their child to the professional care of the children’s hospital over a 160 kilometers away where he could receive special attention. Even after a year he was still very weak and progress remained slow.
Three long anxious years, and the concern for her child only increased. The divine nature of a true and righteous mother, with all of the pure emotions inherent in the sacred role of motherhood, swelled within her aching heart. “I just wanted so desperately for him to be well,” she whispered. “It was so hard not to be able to tuck my little boy in at night. His life was vital to us.”
One night at the very peak of her anxiety, this young mother rose from her bed, went into the other room, and talked to her Father in Heaven. She had remembered an incident in her own childhood. A great and noble woman had prayed in behalf of her afflicted husband and requested that, if the Lord were willing, she be allowed to carry her husband’s infirmities so that his service to the Lord would not be restricted. This sister, almost immediately, became stone deaf and remained so throughout her life, while her husband, miraculously healed, became a spiritual giant, a man of God, and a powerful leader in building the kingdom of God in that area. With the memory of this incident in her heart, this faithful mother supplicated the Father in her son’s behalf, asking if she might take her son’s infirmities upon herself. Of this incident she concluded, “I returned to my bed and went to sleep.”
Even though her baby remained in the hospital, there were still some happy, “jewel” times. Another little boy was born and then a little girl. In time the afflicted child became stronger and stronger, and he learned to walk with braces. Eventually he was able to leave the hospital for a time, allowing this little family to be together at home for Christmas.
While there were ample reasons for quiet rejoicing, the scratching, biting times were painfully evident. Gradually over the following months Sister Redd became anxiously aware that she was losing the feeling in her hands and her feet. While diapering her baby, she would often stick the safety pin into her thumb unknowingly. When she noticed the blood, her growing concern increased. She sensed a frightening paralysis creeping over her entire body. It was very difficult for her to handle her little new baby and the responsibilities of her young family. As the months and years continued, there were both struggles and blessings along the way. Braces were laid aside and her little son managed to make his way to school. These blessings were acknowledged with humble gratitude, deeply expressed. But suffering severe headaches and with no feeling in her hands or feet, the young mother of three cried out for help. The support of family and friends seemed not enough. “People were good, so very, very good,” she gratefully recalled. “But being restricted physically, not being able to take care of those you love, is so very difficult.”
At this time a team of specialists determined that it was probably multiple sclerosis that had afflicted her body, leaving her so painfully handicapped. The thoughts of her future gave cause for great anxiety. “That was years ago,” she said. Sister Redd, now a beautiful, healthy, and active woman, vibrant in countenance and testimony, radiates a spirit that has been purified through struggle.
She spoke of the day she and her devoted husband, seeking first the will of the Lord in all things, sought counsel from a friend who had been the supervisor of seminaries and was now a General Authority. “He told us that he didn’t think the Lord meant for me to give my life. He gave me a blessing, explaining that the Lord had accepted my offering in behalf of my child. He promised me that I would live. But it is not we who regulate the magnitude of our tests or determine the time of relief,” she explained. “We do not receive a witness until after the trial of our faith (see Ether 12:6), and our Father in Heaven will make that determination.”
The very hour one might expect relief may be the moment in which the Lord will take count of our endurance and our faithfulness. Following the blessing, Sister Redd’s condition worsened, and on the 25th of October she was confined to bed. She had to be fed, and “I couldn’t even brush my teeth,” she explained. “My good husband and I talked about the purpose of life and death, and we prayed that we could accept whatever the Lord had for us. At that time we felt that everything would be all right.” Drawing strength from each other, these young parents were tested and were found “willing to submit to all things which the Lord seeth fit to inflict upon [them], even as a child doth submit to his father.” (Mosiah 3:19).
On the 20th of December Nedra Redd was flown to the hospital in Edmonton, Alberta. There she received further tests. After two long, anxious days, the doctors confirmed the probability that it was not multiple sclerosis that had afflicted her entire body, but rather a very deep and serious brain tumor at the base of her skull. It appeared to be inoperable. In her weakened condition, the possibility of surgery was considered a high and frightening risk. But the doctors explained that she would have only two weeks to live if they didn’t remove the growth. It was seriously impairing her breathing and would soon cut off her rapidly diminishing flow of air. The situation seemed desperate. One doctor offered counsel, suggesting that if they wanted to risk surgery, they would surely want to wait until after Christmas. But Sister Redd reached into her reservoir of strength, filled in large measure by the blessing she had received from their friend the General Authority. Courageously this young couple made their decision. “Surgery was scheduled for Christmas Eve,” she said. “We felt our Father in Heaven was beginning to answer our prayers,” she whispered. “On Sunday night my cousin, who was the stake president, came to give me a blessing. He told me later that when he gave me that blessing, he literally felt the strength flow from him.” The power of the priesthood was again activated in her behalf.
Anxious family and friends waited through the nightlong vigil following the surgery. Dawn broke forth; it was Christmas morning. The tumor had been removed. All was quiet as the moments ticked on in that hospital room. Her future hung in the balance. “I had a very special thinking time as I regained consciousness,” Sister Redd explained. It was in the twilight time between life and death that the gifts of life came back to this faithful woman on that Christmas morning. They returned one by one with enough space between each to allow time for cherishing and savoring. Such gifts, such jewels, such priceless jewels!
“I’m all right! I didn’t die in surgery! I’m alive!” was her first realization. “But everything was black, and I couldn’t hear anything. I tried to speak, and I couldn’t speak. I thought, ‘I’m blind. I can’t hear. I can’t speak. But I am alive.’ I can remember such a surge of gratitude that I was alive, and then I sank into unconsciousness again. When I realized later that I was conscious again and that there was a sort of grayness around me, I thought, ‘I am not totally blind. I can see some light.’ I can remember praying and telling my Father, ‘Thank you. I’m alive and I’m not totally blind.’ I couldn’t have lived in darkness. So I gave thanks again. Then I realized I could see Phil’s face. My husband was talking to me, but I couldn’t hear him. But,” she said with intensity, “I could see him. I was grateful that I could see his face.
“Soon I realized I could hear him speaking to me, so I prayed again and gave thanks that I could see and hear. I thought, ‘I can’t speak, but it’s enough. I can see and I can hear.’”
Sister Redd, reflecting on her deep gratitude for those precious gifts on that Christmas morning, shared the ecstasy of her final treasure. “The doctor was there. I had been trying to speak. I heard him ask my husband, ‘Can she speak?’ He shook his head just slightly. ‘I was afraid of that,’ the doctor said. ‘We had to destroy quite a bit of her vocal chords to get the tumor. I was afraid she would not be able to speak.’”
With a happy tone in her clear, full voice, Sister Redd recalled her thoughts at that moment: “‘Oh, so that’s it.’ I thought. ‘I can’t talk. But I can hear and I can see.’ I had such a deep feeling of joy and gratitude. Then the doctor put his finger on the hole in my throat where the tracheotomy was and said, ‘Now try.’ I could make sounds! I knew I was not mute. It was such a good feeling. We knew the Lord had blessed us.
“It was Christmas morning. Phil had spent the night with me when I needed him so much. With my whole soul filled with gratitude and thanksgiving, I asked him to go home and be with the children. It was a wonderful Christmas.”
From the deep reservoir of faith and courage, carved out by times of trial and suffering, Brother and Sister Redd rejoice. “It is such a comforting feeling to know that there is nothing the Lord can’t do or won’t do for you if it is for your good.” They have made this discovery: “The Lord is in the everyday things, not just the eternal, glorious things. It’s like the comparison between the ‘Hallelujah Chorus’ and quiet background music. He is in both, and knowing that provides a continuous awareness of happily-ever-after times in all of life.”

“Hosanna, Hosanna, Hosanna to God and the Lamb. Amen, Amen, and Amen.” Louisa was shouting as loudly as she could, but she couldn’t hear herself above the roar of forty thousand other Saints calling out the praises. Most of the Saints were excitedly waving white handkerchiefs; some were dabbing at tears rolling down their cheeks.
Just like Louisa, many of these people had waited their whole lives for this day. The building of the Salt Lake Temple was almost complete!
Families, dressed in their finest clothes, gathered to enjoy the moment. American flags draped the podium, where Joseph F. Smith had given a beautiful prayer. The Saints had watched carefully as President Wilford Woodruff pushed a button at the podium to swing the capstone onto the tallest spire. The capstone was the very last stone to go on the temple.
When the capstone was in place, the outside of the temple was finally finished. The crowd broke into beautiful song. Louisa was so thrilled and full of the Spirit that she had goose bumps.
She was proud of her papa and grandfather, who had spent many long, hard days hauling granite from the mountains to build this temple. She had never seen a more beautiful building.
“Get your handkerchiefs and wraps. It’s time to go,” Mama announced.
“Oh, Papa, please let me stay and watch what they do next,” Louisa pleaded.
“I will stay with you for a while longer, Louisa,” he said.
Most of the Saints left when Mama left, to get ready for their long trips back to their homes in Wyoming, Idaho, and southern Utah.
Louisa was glad that Papa let her stay. Even though she was only eight, she felt older and important. She was proud to have just been baptized into the Church that now had such a beautiful temple.
A few people stayed to fold flags and take down the podium. But Louisa was more interested in watching the workmen go back up onto the temple to place a huge statue of the angel Moroni. It took them a long time to get the large statue to the highest spire. “Do you think the angel Moroni could fall off the temple, Papa?”
“No, honey. The Lord has protected this temple for thirty-nine years. He will protect the angel, too.”
After the workmen finished placing the statue, Papa gathered his coat to leave for home. But Louisa saw a few people making their way to the corner of the temple. She tugged at Papa’s hand. “Oh, Papa, can we follow them?”
Silently Papa took Louisa’s hand and led her up to the temple. They followed the small group through the side door of the temple and up a corner staircase. At the top of the stairs, they went through a door onto the roof of the temple. Papa helped Louisa onto a wooden platform surrounding the spires. The platform was the scaffolding that the workmen had used when they built the spires. Louisa and Papa steadied themselves against it so that they wouldn’t fall.
Louisa couldn’t believe she was standing above the temple! The sun had just gone down, but it was still light enough to see the whole valley. Louisa could see for miles. She could see the road her family would take tomorrow back to their home in northern Utah. She could see the Tabernacle that was so close to the temple. She could see the mountains where the granite had come from to build the temple. She could see people below, and they looked very tiny.
Louisa grabbed Papa’s arm and hugged it, she was so happy. They inched along the scaffolding until they reached the tallest spire. On top of it was a ball. The top half of this ball was the capstone they had seen President Woodruff place earlier in the day. Standing on top of the ball was the statue of Moroni.
“Papa, I know that this is the Lord’s House, but do you think He would care if I touched the angel Moroni?”
“I think it would be all right.”
“I want to get married here when I’m older, and I want to be able to look up at the angel and remember this day.”
Papa smiled at her, then knelt for Louisa to put her foot into his hands. He lifted her off the scaffolding floor toward the Moroni statue. Louisa reached over the capstone and up as far as she could. She was so excited that she was shaking. She ran her hand across Moroni’s foot. The statue felt warm and smooth.
“Oh, Papa, the temple is wonderful! I’m going to come back after it is dedicated and I am old enough to go inside.”
“That will be another special day, Louisa. Let’s go home now and tell Mama what an exciting time we had here.”
Louisa was true to her promise. Ten years and four days later, on April 10, 1902, she returned to the Salt Lake Temple to marry George Campbell Miller. The ceremony was performed by President Joseph F. Smith. As she left the temple, she looked up at Moroni and remembered that earlier wonderful day with Papa.

“During the administration of the sacrament, you should always be thinking of Jesus Christ and what he did for you. It is a time to renew your covenants with him and remember him.” I had been told this so many times before, and yet as simple as it sounded, I had terrible difficulties with it. In all my Sunday School and Primary classes, in Young Women classes and in sacrament meetings, I had been told this over and over again, but still it remained a problem.
When I was younger, I would find myself thinking about the book I was going to color in after the sacrament, the cartoon I had seen yesterday, and what would be on TV when I got home. As I got older, I thought of the new dress I wanted, the boy sitting two seats in front of me, the test I had in school the next day, and a million other things. Once, when I was about eight and trying to be my best after my recent baptism, I tried simply thinking about Jesus and how he had died on the cross for us. It lasted about 30 seconds before I ran out of things to think about. And the water hadn’t even been passed yet! After that I gave up for a while and thought this task impossible.
This continued until one day, while I was singing the sacrament song, I began thinking about the words that I was singing. They really had deep meaning! I decided that I couldn’t fully appreciate the words and their meanings by just singing them, so while I sat waiting for the sacrament to come, I opened the book to the sacrament song we had just sung and began reading. I took each verse one phrase at a time, thought about it, tried to picture it in my mind, and then interpreted it. I went through half the verses during the passing of the bread and saved the rest for the water. If I finished early, I went over it again and tried to get even more meaning out of it.
I liked this new method of keeping my mind on Jesus during the passing of the sacrament, so I continued to do this each week. As this developed into a habit, I no longer had trouble thinking about those things that were appropriate during the sacrament. And it was exciting and easy!
I discovered that many beautiful poetic descriptions were hidden in each song that I had never noticed before. Many times, I found, the author used words and phrases I hadn’t understood by just singing them. But once I went over them a few times, thinking about them deeply, and sometimes even praying, I understood and appreciated the songs that I had so often sung and yet had never bothered to think about.
I have been doing this for several years now, and my love for the Savior has grown each week as I ponder who he was and the sacrifice he made for me. My thoughts turn to him each week automatically as I prepare to renew my covenants with him. I have grown closer to him because of many authors who wrote beautiful hymns in his honor. The time during the administration of the sacrament is no longer wasted on worldly things but is spent thinking of Jesus. It is one of the few times during the week when I sincerely and exclusively think about His sacrifice for me, and I look forward to it each week.

“Doctor, before you begin to operate, won’t you pray for me?” The chief surgeon looked down in amazement at the boy on the operating table. “Why, I can’t pray for you,” he replied. He had agreed to this operation only because the boy was an orphan and it was an emergency. He wanted to finish quickly and move on to the next patient.
Undaunted, the eight-year-old turned to each of the other doctors in the room and asked if they would pray for him. They all refused.
Finally the boy asked, “If you won’t pray for me, won’t you please wait while I pray for myself?” Without waiting for an answer, he knelt on the operating table, folded his arms, and offered a simple prayer: “Heavenly Father, I am only a little orphan boy, but I am awful sick and these doctors are going to operate. Will you please help them that they will do it right? And now, Heavenly Father, if you will make me well, I will be a good boy. Thank you for making me well.”
When he finished, he lay back on the table and looked up at the doctors and nurses. None of them could see him clearly because they all had tears in their eyes. “Now I am ready,” he told them.
The men and women dried their eyes and proceeded to remove the boy’s inflamed appendix. By the end of the operation it was clear that the humble prayer had been answered.
When the chief surgeon was later asked to retell the experience, he first refused. “It is too sacred to talk about,” he explained. After finally sharing the story, he added, “That was the most remarkable experience of my whole life. I have operated on hundreds of men, women, and children, and I have known some of them to pray. But never until I stood in the presence of that little boy had I heard anyone talk to Heavenly Father face to face.”
That orphan boy taught the proud surgeon, and all of us, that Heavenly Father loves every child and listens to every prayer.

Years ago I was a member of a stake high council. There was presented to the high council a man to be a bishop of a ward. He had been approved by the Brethren. Then they presented the men he had nominated as his counselors. One of the men was the husband of a woman whom I knew to be a gossip. She had injured many people with her gossip. I thought, “A man like that can’t serve. His wife is too much of a gossip.” When the vote was taken, two of us voted against it. But the stake president said this: “Brethren, there is a greater principle here. He should have the right to nominate his counselors. I feel to approve it.” And he asked for another vote, and we all voted in favor. But I didn’t feel very good about it.
When the conference came, Elder Harold B. Lee was the visiting General Authority. When it came time to set apart and ordain the bishop, Elder Lee took care of that, and he ordained and set apart the first counselor. When the other counselor came forward to be set apart, Brother Strong, the other man who had voted against him, said to me, “Now we will see whether the Church is run by revelation or not.” Elder Lee put his hands on this man’s head and began the setting apart. Then he hesitated and said something like this: “The blessings pronounced upon these other brethren apply to you as well. But for you there is a special blessing. …”
It was a long blessing on keeping counsel, about not talking with his wife about problems in the ward—a marvelous blessing. I was amazed. At the next meeting, one of the brethren asked the stake president, “Did you tell Elder Lee about Brother So-and-so and the problem that had been raised?” He said, “No, I meant to, but we didn’t have time.”
I had the privilege of asking Brother Lee, “Did you know about that problem with the man?”
“No,” he said, “I didn’t, but l felt something when I went to bless him.”
I learned a great lesson. This church is run by revelation. It comes to those who have the responsibility to preside. I am not sure you could get me to vote against a proposition presented by my presiding authority. I’d be very careful. He might just be a common old stick, but it would be the position that counts.

“When you come home, tell me what songs you sang in Primary,” Jenny said.
“I will!” her sister Miriam said as she put on her shoes.
Not everyone in Jenny’s family could go to church every Sunday. There were six people in Jenny’s family. But Mamá only had enough money to buy two bus tickets each week. So they had to take turns riding the bus to church.
Jenny wished she could go every week. She liked learning about Jesus Christ. She liked singing in Primary. She wanted to see her friends. Most of all, she wanted to feel the warm, happy feeling she always got at church. But today she had to stay home.
“Time to go.” Mamá hugged Jenny and her brother and sisters goodbye.
Jenny tried to smile as Miriam and Mamá left. But she felt a lump in her throat as she watched them walk away. I wish it was my turn to go, Jenny thought. It was always hard to stay home.
“Want to color?” Jenny’s little brother, Marco, held up some crayons and paper.
Jenny nodded.
For the next few hours, Jenny read stories and colored with Marco and their older sisters. It was fun, but Jenny kept thinking about church. Were they learning new songs in Primary right now? What was the lesson about today?
Finally Jenny heard the front door open. Mamá and Miriam were home!
“Mamá! Miriam!” Jenny raced to the door and hugged them.
Mamá set her purse down. “Let’s talk about what we learned at church.”
Everyone sat down together. Mamá pulled out the little hymnbook she kept in her purse. Jenny’s family sang “Families Can Be Together Forever.” She knew all the words.
Then Jenny asked Miriam about Primary. Miriam opened her Book of Mormon and pulled out a folded piece of paper. She held it up so everyone could see. It was a picture she had colored of Jesus with some children.
“We colored a picture and sang ‘I’m Trying to Be like Jesus.’ Then we talked about how Jesus can help everyone.”
“We talked about that in Relief Society too,” Mamá said. “Jesus Christ can help us when we are scared or lonely.” Mamá pulled out a piece of paper from her purse. “The teacher gave everyone this quote from the prophet. ‘As you choose to live on the Lord’s side, you are never alone.’”*
“Even here at home!” Jenny said.
Mamá smiled. “Even at home. We can always feel the Savior close to us.”
Jenny smiled big. She didn’t get to go to church every week. But she could feel close to Jesus at home. And she was excited for her turn to go to church again soon.
This story took place in Mexico.