Gospel Story Finder

I would like to share with you how I saw this in my own life.
[S3 UP] This is a picture of our family. It was taken the day our youngest son Samuel was sealed to us. He is now 6. He came into our lives in an extraordinary way. His birth parents were students here. Like each of you, they are talented, intelligent, dedicated and have testimonies of the gospel. [S3 DOWN]
They were not married. When they became aware they were expecting a baby—who would not have the opportunity to be sealed to his parents—they were courageous and had the faith to go to their bishop and apply the Atonement. Because of their willingness to let God prevail, not only were their lives transformed, but our family was as well.
An ocean away, Elder Walker and I were raising our four children in Arizona. We were happy with our lives. We experienced our own set of challenges and setbacks, but we were doing our best to follow Christ and teach our children to love the Savior. There came a time when both Jake and I had a clear and powerful impression that our family was not complete. Despite my physical inability to have another child, this thought kept returning. We prayed that a way would be made possible and that we would recognize the chance to expand our family when it arose. We exercised faith and waited on the Lord for many years before our prayers were answered. When Sam’s biological parents selected us to be their baby’s adoptive parents, I immediately felt a rush of the Spirit confirming that this was the child meant to complete our family.
To experience the transformative power of the Savior in our lives, hope must be evident. This involves fully surrendering ourselves to Him and placing our faith in His love and mercy. Obeying His commandments allows the Holy Ghost to guide us and bring peace and comfort into our lives. Despite the contrasting circumstances that connected Elder Walker and me with Sam’s birth parents, we all shared the aspiration to allow God to shape our lives. By exercising and embracing the Atonement, something beautiful emerged from even the most challenging and painful situation.
Along with having hope, we need to embrace the Atonement. Its healing power can cleanse and restore, allowing us to start anew. The difficult experiences we go through can be the source of our most profound blessings. They offer us opportunities to mature, acquire knowledge, and enhance our character—drawing us nearer to God and to our divine nature.4 Both of Sam’s birth parents have been sealed in the temple to kind and loving spouses and have children. They have both completed their educations and are now alumni of this great university. And Sam is sealed to an eternal family and gets to partake of the blessings of that covenant.

When he entered the hospital emergency room he was just another vagrant. His thin, hunched, and sore-ridden body slowly limped forward. His blind eyes stared blankly into a private world of darkness. The offensive smell from his poorly-clothed body was enough to discourage anyone from getting close to him. But, as a doctor, it was my job; so I invited him to come with me.
As I examined him he told me over and over that he was sick and needed help. After describing all of his symptoms he mumbled in rejection, “I don’t have a family or a home where I can sleep or eat.” I felt compassion for him—there were so many just like him. But what could I do?
As I treated him we talked about God. He understood the importance of the teachings of Jesus Christ and the need for them in our lives. However, he expressed difficulty understanding people who say they believe in God but neglect to show concern and compassion for their neighbor. He had acquaintances who claimed belief in God, but when he asked for food they wouldn’t give him any.
The one person who actually offered help was a woman almost as poor as he. She worked hard to help support her family by collecting and selling old clothing and rags. She had invited him to stay with them in her small tin-walled house. It was tiny, there were flies and rodents—but he would be welcome there.
We walked and talked together for three hours. Though his eyes were blinded his heart was not. Most of our conversation was about God. He asked, “Doctor, do you believe in God?” Quickly, I replied, “Yes I do, and you are my brother.” My reply came without thinking. But, as I said it, the words swelled in my heart and I realized that it was true!
As we talked, my love for him grew. I was in awe as I began to understand what it meant to be a brother. I experienced gratitude for the lesson I was learning from one whom, I thought, had nothing to give. I gave him of my time, and a little food, but he gave me understanding.

A few years ago our stake youth went on a pioneer trek to Martin’s Cove, an area in Wyoming where the stranded handcart pioneers took shelter from the storms and waited for help to arrive. As a stake we had planned and prepared for this experience for months. On the second morning of the trek, around 4 a.m., I awoke suddenly with terrible stomach pains from food poisoning.
In the early morning hours I slowly paced back and forth in significant discomfort. I sat for a while on a wooden bench and watched the sun begin to peek over the horizon. I knew that it was very unlikely that in just a couple of hours I would be able to walk with the youth from our campground to the cove.
All morning I had had a prayer in my heart that I would be able to accompany the youth. However, at one point I stopped and specifically prayed that I would be healthy and able to go to Martin’s Cove. I told Heavenly Father that after all the months of planning and effort, I really wanted to go and have that experience.
At approximately 6 a.m. I received a message that a member of the stake presidency wanted to give me a priesthood blessing. To be honest, I had not thought about asking for a blessing, but I readily accepted the offer. In that blessing President Smith told me that Heavenly Father was mindful of me. He blessed me that my body would rid itself of what was making me sick and that I would be able to fulfill my responsibilities with the youth.
By 10:30 a.m. I was able to leave camp, meet the youth at the cove, and fulfill my responsibilities as promised. I then walked back to camp, a distance of about four miles. I had the strength to do this despite the fact that I had been sick, had slept only a few hours, and had eaten very little food.
I had often wondered why the Lord allowed those faithful handcart Saints to suffer so much. Surely he could have intervened and tempered the storms. As I stood in Martin’s Cove and pondered the pioneers who lived and died there, the Spirit whispered to me that just as the Lord was mindful of me that day, He was mindful of those pioneers in 1856. He knew of their suffering and pain. Just as those pioneers came to know the Savior in their extremities, I too have a testimony that when we have trials and challenges, we can, if we are willing, draw close to the Lord and that He will strengthen and bless us by the power of His almighty hand.

A few days before he finished his doctoral program and returned to Korea in September of 1951, Brother Kim attended the Hill Cumorah Pageant with Brother and sister Wood. On Sunday, they attended a special testimony meeting for local missionaries in the Sacred Grove. After the meeting, Brother Kim met Church President David O. McKay, who was also attending the meeting. “As we walked from the grove,” Brother Wood said, “Brother Kim cradled his right hand in his left and, with his cheeks still moist, he kept repeating, ‘I have shaken the hand of the Prophet of God.’”

“Choises le bien.” That is what my Primary teacher had said. In English that means “choose the right.” She then gave each of us a CTR ring—in French it is a CLB ring—and challenged us to make good choices in our lives. The whole week after that lesson, I tried extra hard to do what I thought Jesus Christ would have me do.
On Monday, when I saw Nicolette fall down, I hurried to help her. This made me feel good inside. My teacher had said that when we made good choices, we would have a warm, peaceful feeling.
On Wednesday, I fought with my sister Tiffany. She had taken the toy I wanted to play with, so I grabbed it from her. Then I saw my CLB ring. Taking the toy from her like that was not choosing the right. When I thought about that, I gave it back, and I again felt happy inside.
On Friday, I did not want to help clean the house, but I knew that the Savior would want me to help my mother. When I was done, I felt snugly warm inside, like my heart was wrapped in a new quilt.
Although I felt good about the choices I had made, something bothered me. What if I did not know what the right choice was? What would I do then?
The next morning I heard Maman’s (Mom’s) voice coming into the room like a tickle of sound. “Bonjour, bonjour (Good morning, good morning),” she said as she came over to me and playfully rubbed my head. Then she stretched to reach Tiffany on the top bunk. Maman’s stretch made one leg leave the ground like the flamingos we saw on our family vacation. I laughed and Maman laughed, but Tiffany did not wake up.
“J’ai faim (I’m hungry),” I said as Maman did another flamingo stretch to try to wake Tiffany. This stretch ended in a “flamingo flop” on my bed. We both giggled.
“So you are hungry? I am making crepes (thin pancakes with something rolled inside). What do you want in yours?”
I was not sure what to choose. What was the right choice? I looked at my ring. I still did not know what to choose. “Maman, what should I choose? All week I have known what the right choice was when I tried to do what Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ would have me do. Now I don’t know what I should have in my crepe.”
Maman pulled me close. “You knew before because you were choosing between good and bad. Heavenly Father will help you to make those choices. But some choices are between two good things. Then Heavenly Father may let you choose by yourself. There are many choices that you can make—like what to wear or what to study in school.”
“Or what I want for breakfast? I want peaches and cream in my crepe.”
When I said that, Tiffany sleepily added, “I want strawberries in mine.”

I knew a woman whose life paralleled Job’s. Her name was Joan Kinder. She was a deeply religious woman with a quick wit, a bright mind, and an engaging personality. Children and adults loved her, and she loved them. She was one of the most cheerful persons I have known. I had the privilege of teaching her the gospel as a British missionary in the mid-1950s. A decade earlier, at age 20, she had fallen in love and was engaged to be married. It was the mid-1940s, and World War II was still raging in Europe. Her fiancé was drafted into the British army and sent to the front. She became employed in a munitions factory and waited for his return. Near the close of the war the young man’s family received a letter telling of his death.
For a period of time Joan was at a loss. She joined the British equivalent of our Women’s Army Corps and was sent to the Far East. In Hong Kong she met another British soldier. They fell in love and were married. Eventually they returned to England and found a home to rent in her native town. He was posted a few miles away. It was not long before they were blessed with a son.
Two years later the husband was assigned to another post some distance from their home. It was decided that she would wait for him to be established before moving to the new area. A few months went by with him returning each weekend. Each time he would suggest they wait just a little longer before making the move. Then one weekend he failed to return. She visited the base the next week. He told her that an assignment had kept him. She was uneasy, feeling that something was happening to their marriage. Within a few weeks he told her about another woman and that he wanted a divorce. She was devastated. Her son was now three years old and would grow up without a father.
It was during this time that the missionaries knocked on her door. She invited them in, took a Book of Mormon, and promised to read it. Within a few days she completed reading the book. A special spirit accompanied the reading and, while praying about the predicament and challenges that confronted her, a feeling of peace came along with a witness of the sacred nature of the book. The missionaries were surprised upon their return to find a convert. But she insisted on waiting a few months before joining the Church. She felt time was needed to see if her husband would change his mind. More than anything, she hoped to save her family. Time passed, and the divorce became final. She then joined the Church.
From the beginning of her membership, she was a full-tithe payer in spite of the meager income available to support her son and herself. She worked in a small shop where her boy could be with her until he entered school. Then she became a seamstress in a factory with better pay. Her leadership abilities eventually resulted in her becoming part of the management staff. When her son was grown, she emigrated to this country and found employment with the Family History Department of the Church. She was a specialist in reading old English and old German manuscripts.
One day she received a call from the British Embassy in Washington, D.C. They asked for a meeting and sent a representative to see her. She was told in the meeting that her son had been killed while on business in a foreign country. For a period of time there was a sadness in her eyes and a heaviness in her heart. Then the cheerfulness returned. The twinkle in her eyes, her quick wit, and her love for people were irrepressible. My children loved to be in her presence. There was something special about this deeply faithful woman.
Not many years after her son’s death, Joan was crossing a street in Salt Lake City on her way to work. The morning sun had just topped the mountains in the east, and a woman driving east failed to see Joan in the crosswalk. Apparently Joan was not aware of the car coming at her. She may have been thinking about the wonderful blessings of the gospel of Jesus Christ that had come into her life. Suddenly there was an impact. The car hit her with tremendous force. Her time in mortality was over. A short time later I received a call from a common friend informing me of the accident and her death. I have thought often about this wonderful, interesting woman. Her life was filled with tragedy. Most of the things she wanted in life never materialized. One did—the greatest one! She found the hope that comes with a testimony of the gospel. In the end, that satisfied her. She knew she would see her son again. Parents and friends were eternal. She found joy in the gospel here and knew that unspeakable joy would be hers on the other side of the veil.

When I was a boy in Primary, I believed, without questioning, whatever my Primary teacher told me. One summer day she taught us about prayer: “Remember, if you need Heavenly Father’s help, just ask Him. He’ll always answer.” I skipped home thinking of nothing more than playing baseball with my brothers. I didn’t know that the next day I would test my teacher’s words.
The following morning began, as mornings so often do in St. George, Utah, with the sun scorching the sandstone cliffs and lava rock hills that circle the town. Into the warmth of that perfect day my friend Cindy and I started off on one of our adventures. Clutching an arsenal of small, sharp hooks, two spools of thread, peanut-butter sandwiches, and cupcakes, we scurried toward the fishing hole. The distance wasn’t far, but to our small feet it seemed a long way.
Finally we reached the pond, the clear water reflecting the unspotted sky on its shimmering surface. Tall, tangled trees, each trying to reach the light, surrounded it, and a small island clung close to one side. We imagined that Peter Pan lived there, hiding from Captain Hook, whose ship lay harbored somewhere in the maze of trees and reeds.
Each adventurous step we took through the bushes sent a crowd of colored insects into flight. At last we came to the cement-encased headgate covered with brown and orange rust. We paused there and looked at the pond and the willows surrounding it, feeling as though the Amazon lay before us and that we had come to bury stolen treasure.
We sat down, slipped off our shoes, and dangled our dusty feet lazily in the cool water. Tying our thread to the hooks, we anticipated the prize fish that we would catch. Then we realized that we had brought nothing to use for bait! It was unthinkable to use any part of our lunches, so the homemade lines just hung loosely in the water, our excitement sinking as rapidly as the bare hooks.
The fishing having been frustrating, we soon found something new to occupy the morning. Close to the pond, and right next to a red sandstone mesa, was a sand hill. One side of the hill slanted smoothly upward, but the other side stopped partway down, forming a cliff as high as a house. At the base of the cliff was a rubble of rough sandstone. Off we ran, the world’s greatest mountain climbers, courageously tackling the tallest mountain.
As we reached the hill, we could see an old cedar post on top, peeled of its bark by years of service as part of an extinct fence.
“Race you to the post on the top!” I shouted.
Up the hill we scampered, sinking at times into the soft, warm sand. Small avalanches trailed behind us and could be heard falling on the rocks beneath the cliff. Soon I was on all fours, rushing toward the fence post like a dog chasing a stick—but unaware that I was ascending alone. I reached the top, exhilarated by my victory, and whirled around with a grin to face my opponent. But she wasn’t right behind me! She had run into deep sand and, unable to lift her feet, had panicked and started flailing around—sliding backward toward the edge of the cliff.
Her soiled face was a picture of fear, and her eyes could open no wider. Clean, tear-washed streaks streamed down her sunburned cheeks. I yelled at her to turn around and go down the hill the other way. Her only response was a sobbing “Help me!” But we both knew that if I went straight down to her, the sand moving before me would push her over the edge. Desperate, she cried out again, “Help me!”
I remembered my Primary teacher’s words from the day before, and I prayed fervently. Miraculously, Cindy stopped sliding. Something beneath her small feet stopped her. I went down a different way, inched cautiously to where she was, and helped her turn around. When she was on safe footing, I reached down to where she had stopped sliding and picked up a rock no larger than the whetstone my father used to sharpen my Cub Scout knife! Somehow that bit of stone had prevented a tragedy. I slipped it into my pocket, and we headed home. We had had enough adventure for one day.
Later I placed the rock on a shelf in my room to remind me of my wise Primary teacher’s words: “If you need Heavenly Father’s help, just ask Him. He’ll always answer.”
Now, years later, I still find courage in that saving scrap of sandstone.

The headquarters of the Church are in this city, which recently hosted the 19th Winter Olympics. We made a deliberate decision that we would not use this as a time or place to proselytize, but we were confident that out of this significant event would come a wonderful thing for the Church. The great buildings which we have here—the temple, the Tabernacle, this magnificent Conference Center, the Joseph Smith Memorial Building, the family history facilities, the Church Administration Building, the Church Office Building, our welfare facilities, together with scores of chapels in this valley—could not be overlooked by those who walked the streets of this and neighboring cities. As Mike Wallace once remarked to me, “These structures all denote something solid.”

And beyond this, we had total confidence in our people, many thousands of them, who would serve as volunteers in this great undertaking. They would be dependable; they would be pleasant; they would be knowledgeable; they would be accommodating. The unique and distinctive capacity of our people in speaking the languages of the world would prove to be a tremendous asset beyond anything to be found elsewhere.

Well, it all worked out. The visitors came by the hundreds of thousands. Some came with suspicion and hesitancy, old and false images persisting in their minds. They came feeling they might get trapped in some unwanted situation by religious zealots. But they found something they never expected. They discovered not only the scenic wonder of this area, with its magnificent mountains and valleys, they found not only the wonderful spirit of the international games at their best, but they found beauty in this city. They found hosts who were gracious and accommodating and anxious to assist them. I do not wish to infer that such hospitality was limited to our people. The entire community joined together in a great expression of hospitality. But out of all of this came something wonderful for this Church. Representatives of the media, so often a tough and calloused group, with very few exceptions spoke and wrote in language both complimentary and accurately descriptive of a unique culture they found here, of the people they met and dealt with, of the spirit of hospitality which they felt.
Television carried the picture to billions of people across the earth. Newspapers and magazines ran story after story.

Thousands upon tens of thousands walked through Temple Square, admired the majestic house of the Lord, sat in the Tabernacle and listened to the matchless music of the choir. More thousands filled this great Conference Center to watch a wonderful production dealing with the Church and its worldwide mission. Other thousands visited the Family History Center. The media were hosted in the Joseph Smith Memorial Building. We were interviewed for television, radio, and the press by correspondents from many parts of this nation and from across the world. I am told that nearly 4,000 stories about the Church appeared in the German press alone.
Georgie Anne Geyer, prominent syndicated writer whose column appears in many newspapers, wrote as follows: “How on Earth could a largely Mormon state do something so daring as hosting an international celebrity meeting? Would the world come gladly to a state whose dominant religion asks members to abstain from alcohol, tobacco and even caffeine, three staples of international conferences?”
And then she went on to quote Raymond T. Grant, artistic director of the Olympic Arts Festival. He talked of the opening ceremony and said: “‘You know, 98 percent of the entire cast were volunteers, and that’s huge. In fact, most were not paid at all. This is an extraordinary story, and I’d link it directly to Mormon culture. As a Catholic boy from New York, I found it interesting that Brigham Young, the founder of the Utah settlement of the Mormons, built a theater before anything else.’
“He went on to tally up: The state has six dance companies; more pianos and harps are sold in Utah than anywhere in the United States; the Mormon Tabernacle Choir has [360] members; and the oldest Steinway dealership in Utah … was started as early as 1862. In Utah, their per capita spending on students is one of the lowest—yet they boast high test scores. ‘It has been fascinating for me, having to tap into this culture.’”
Miss Geyer concluded her story by writing: “It is simply the mix of a serious and upright religion, of families who foster and insist upon providing the highest levels of culture right along with the highest modern technology, and of generally sensible organizing and governing. In short, it is a modern mix of the old America” (“Salt Lake City and State of Utah Reveal Themselves to the World,” Salt Lake Tribune, 15 Feb. 2002, A15).
If there were time, I could give you many quotations from the seasoned journalists of the world, who wrote in a most laudatory fashion.
Was there anything negative? Of course. But it was minimal. We had private interviews with presidents of nations, with ambassadors, with leaders in business and other fields.
In 1849, two years after our people first arrived here and following the discovery of gold in California, many were discouraged. They had struggled to wrest a living from the arid soil. Crickets had devoured their crops. The winters were cold. Many thought they would go to California and get rich. President Young stood before them and encouraged them to remain, promising that “God will temper the climate, and we shall build a city and a temple to the Most High God in this place. We will extend our settlements to the east and west, to the north and to the south, and we will build towns and cities by the hundreds, and thousands of the Saints will gather in from the nations of the earth. This will become the great highway of the nations. Kings and emperors and the noble and wise of the earth will visit us here” (in Preston Nibley, Brigham Young: The Man and His Work [1936], 128).
We have witnessed the fulfillment of that prophecy in these recent days. Needless to say, I am happy with what has happened. Those visitors tasted the distinctive culture of this community. We believe that culture is worth preserving. I compliment and thank our people who participated in such numbers and so generously, and I compliment and thank all others who worked together to make of this a wonderful and most significant event.
Now I wish to speak rather quickly of one or two other matters.
Speaking of Brigham Young has reminded me of the Perpetual Education Fund which we have established. It was only a year ago that I first spoke of this in our general conference. The contributions of generous Latter-day Saints have come in to assure us that this endeavor is now on a solid foundation. We will need more yet, but already it has been demonstrated that vast good will come of this undertaking. Young men and women in the underprivileged areas of the world, young men and women who for the most part are returned missionaries, will be enabled to get good educations that will lift them out of the slough of poverty in which their forebears for generations have struggled. They will marry and go forward with skills that will qualify them to earn well and take their places in society where they can make a substantial contribution. They will likewise grow in the Church, filling positions of responsibility and rearing families who will continue in the faith.
I have time to read only one testimonial. It comes from a young man who has been blessed by this program.
He says: “It is so wonderful that I do not have to just dream anymore about my education or my future. The Lord has cleared the way, and I am doing it!
“I am currently attending a great technical institute in our country, where I am studying to become a computer technician. … By going to school, I am discovering my abilities. The discipline I developed on my mission helps me to succeed. … Never before has any young man felt more blessed than I do. The PEF has strengthened my faith in the Lord Jesus Christ. Now, more than ever, I feel the responsibility the gospel places upon me to prepare myself to be a better member, a better leader, and a better father. …
“My dear mother, who has sacrificed so much, gets so emotional that she cries when she prays at night because of her gratitude to the Lord. …
“Now, I envision my town being blessed because of me. I envision the Church with leaders who have financial stability and who can support the Lord’s work with all their might, mind, and strength. I see the Church prospering. I am excited to start my own family and teach them that we can be self-sufficient. So I must finish my education. I will then repay the loan quickly to help my fellowmen. … I am grateful for the Savior’s mercy. He truly sustains us with His love.”
And so it goes, my brothers and sisters. As this great work moves across the earth, we are blessing now some 2,400 young people. Others will be blessed.
May the Lord bless you, and each of us, as we rejoice in our opportunity to be a part of this great cause in this wonderful season of the Lord’s work is my humble prayer in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

Steven J. Lund
After I taught sixth grade for three years, I learned that if I taught for four more years, the school district would pay part of my tuition to receive my master’s degree. It seemed like a good plan—until the Spirit prompted me to quit my job and go back and get my degree right then. My wife had a similar prompting, so we moved forward. It meant we would have to pay for school ourselves. But because we did, I was hired to teach at BYU—Provo. That window of opportunity never would have been open had we waited four more years. We did not know how things would work out, but the Lord directed our paths just as He promised.

I am impressed with the deep humility of President Kimball. Years ago he related an experience that emphasizes that the person in a Church position is not as great as the calling. Elder Spencer W. Kimball gives us this story:
“In a hotel in the Pocono Mountains of Pennsylvania long years ago, I learned an important lesson when the president of the Rotary International said to the district governors in the assembly:
“‘Gentlemen: This has been a great year for you. The people have honored you, praised you, banqueted you, applauded you, and given you lavish gifts. If you ever get the mistaken idea that they were doing this for you personally, just try going back to the clubs next year when the mantle is on other shoulders.’
“This has kept me on my knees in my holy calling. Whenever I have been inclined to think the honors were coming to me as I go about the Church, then I remember that it is not to me, but to the position I hold that honors come. I am but a symbol.” (In Conference Report, Oct. 1958, p. 57.)

In June 1993 I arrived at my mother’s home in St. Petersburg, where a friend invited me to study English with her. We called a number we found in the newspaper, and a young woman answered. She told us to come at noon the next day. Her name was Tat’yana. After the lesson we invited her out for tea or coffee. We were quite surprised when we heard, “I don’t drink tea or coffee.”
“Why?”
“I’m a Mormon.”
“What’s a Mormon?” I asked.
“I’m a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. If you’re interested, come see us Sunday morning at 11:00.”
She wrote down the address. I was very interested to find out what kind of church this was.
The week passed slowly, but Sunday finally came. The meetings were held in a music school. Some young men were at the entrance, and they were smiling. When they found out that I had come for the first time, they took me into the chapel. A lot of people were there, but I felt out of place. I very much liked the opening hymn though, and then a miracle happened. A man walked to the front, and the first words of his prayer were “Heavenly Father.” That is what I had been searching for. Suddenly I felt at home. I was at peace.

Once I got home, I took up weight lifting again, but with a considerably different attitude. I’d never looked on my weight lifting talent as a gift before. I hadn’t thought that training was a way of magnifying that talent. I began training with a new intensity. Also, I figured that as I continued to work hard, I would have more opportunities to meet people who didn’t have the gospel in their lives, and I could share it with them. And maybe my example could help someone.
It wasn’t easy to jump right back into lifting, but within seven months I won the National Collegiate Power Lifting Championship in the 198-pound weight class. The following year I won it again, and even managed to set two national records. It dawned on me that I hadn’t lost anything, but I’d gained a great deal. I’d learned about true happiness, determination, self-worth, and the belief in a divine purpose—and oh, yes—I’d learned what true power lifting really is.

In World War II, I was in a military hospital in Africa for a few days with a respiratory infection. The hospital was staffed with native orderlies who were to keep the hospital clean, change the beds, and generally be of help to the patients. Because of the prevalence of malaria and its carrier, the mosquito, we slept under large mosquito nets which hung from the ceiling and covered the whole bed. One night as I went to bed I slipped my wallet under my pillow and drifted off to sleep.
Some time later in the night I was awakened and startled to feel some hands slipping under my bedclothes. I suspected that a thief was after my wallet. I instinctively grabbed one of the hands and switched on the light. My wallet slipped out from under the pillow. To my surprise, I held the arm of the native boy who was the orderly assigned to clean my room. All he said in defense of his action was, “Don’t worry. I am a disciple.” He could tell from the look on my face that I did not understand. In further explanation, he said simply, “I am a disciple. I am a Christian. I do not want your purse. I was only tucking the mosquito netting around your bed to protect you from the mosquitoes while you slept.” I came to know that this young man was not only a Christian, he was a disciple.

My wife, Alice Mae, and I were serving as senior missionaries in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, USA. We were in the next-to-last month of our mission when the degradation of my motor skills became too much to ignore. Following the advice of the mission doctor and nurse, I went to a local hospital.
I had an EKG and a CT scan. Then a neurologist met with me. She asked more questions and did more tests. Finally, to my surprise, she said, “Mr. Lemon, you have Parkinson’s disease.” It was not a diagnosis I expected, and it was certainly not a diagnosis that I wanted. But what could I do?
That was two years ago, and it started a process I have since grouped into four phases. I share them here hoping they may be helpful to others who are dealing with an unwelcome diagnosis. Here are some of the things I have learned.
I searched online. I bought some books. I met with another neurologist. I wanted to know what impact Parkinson’s disease (PD) might have on my life span and ability to function. As I gathered information, I also prayed for guidance. I knew that Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ would help me to get the information and medical help I needed. I learned that PD doesn’t typically affect how long you live, but it does affect what you can do. It progresses differently from individual to individual. It gets worse over time. It is not curable.
Once the shock of the initial diagnosis passed, I gradually began to realize the disease was not going to go away. My wife and I talked about our future and what it would mean if I were to lose some of my mobility. What would happen if I couldn’t drive or walk? In one tender moment when I posed those questions to my dear wife, she answered simply and without hesitation, “Then I will take care of you.”
We were grateful we hadn’t waited to serve the Lord as full-time missionaries and that we had been able to serve while our health was still good. We were also grateful that we had moved into a smaller home with no stairs on the main floor, mostly hard floors rather than carpet, and grab bars near all the toilets and showers. We felt that the Lord had known we would need such a home someday and had prepared a way so that when we needed it, it was ready.
During the next few months, I spent a lot of time at home and had plenty of time to think. I grieved for the loss of the person I thought I would be in my later years. I grieved for the future that my wife and I had previously envisioned. I endured days of discouragement. I prayed a lot as my symptoms grew worse. My need to find positive ways of coping increased.
Then the Lord provided an unexpected source of support. My wife and I were called to be our ward’s welfare and self-reliance specialists. As part of our calling, we facilitated a group meeting on emotional resilience. I had not thought about needing the class personally. However, by the end of the first meeting, I thought, “Wow! This is for me!” We talked about avoiding negative thought patterns, being positive, controlling our feelings. It gave me some practical tools that, over time, helped me—and my wife as well—to develop a healthy attitude toward my disease.
I remember thinking one day, “If I was going to pick a disease for me, this would be the one.” Because at this point it doesn’t shorten my life, but it forces me to submit to the will of God. It’s given me no choice but to accept that, and that’s been a blessing. I am calmer, more at peace. I had always lived too much in the future, concerned about what the next chapter of my life would be. Parkinson’s disease has helped me to be content to live in the present, to do the good that I can do now. Gradually, I have learned to submit myself and my future to the Lord more completely and without reservation.
I studied scriptures that talk about growing from trials.1 I re-read talks and articles by Elder Neal A. Maxwell (1926–2004) of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles.2 I remembered an address in which Elder Richard G. Scott (1928–2015) of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles counseled us in times of trial not to ask, “Why do I have to suffer this?” but rather “What am I to learn from this experience?”3
Throughout this process, I have found a level of peace, joy, and contentment that had previously eluded me. I’ve come to see that death and passing through the veil is just another “transfer” on my journey along the covenant path. It is part of God’s plan of happiness.
I made a small sign on my computer and put it on the wall of my home office where I see it every day. It says, “Be Good. Do Good. Be Content. Relax and Trust the Lord.”
Today, at this point in the progression of the disease, I carry on a fairly normal life. I can still drive a car. We were recently called as temple workers. There are things I can do and things that I can’t. I walk with a cane when I leave the house. I get emotional over small things but also have become more sensitive to the needs of others. I’m not sure how my future will unfold, but I have the reassurance that whatever happens, the Lord will help me to endure it well and to find joy. It’s been a good tutoring for me, and I don’t want to miss the lesson.4

Billy knew if he could ever win the permanent position as center fielder for the Highland Lake Tigers, he would have to prove himself now. Hermie had just walloped the ball, and it was sailing straight for center field.
Billy could not take his eyes off the white ball. He knew that with his poor eyesight if he looked away for even an instant, he might not be able to again locate the ball in time. Billy also knew that if he would only put on his new glasses, he could see perfectly. But he wasn’t going to give his teammates a chance to call him “four-eyes.” No sir! Those glasses were going to stay under the socks in his dresser drawer for the whole summer vacation.
The ball was dropping fast now, and as Billy ran toward it with his outstretched arms, he ran smack into Marty. The collision left both Billy and Marty sprawled on the grass with the ball on the ground between them. Billy jumped to his feet, but he was too late. Hermie was on third!
“Oh, Billy!” groaned Marty, “What’s the matter with you? You’d think I was invisible the way you ran into me.”
Billy muttered something under his breath about the accident being Marty’s fault. But Billy knew who was at fault. He should have seen Marty standing there! After all, Marty was the tallest boy on the team this year.
When the game was over, Billy walked over to watch Mr. Francers, who was busily sanding the weathered bottom of his boat. Billy sat down dejectedly on a pile of old lumber.
“Well, that was a bit of bad luck you had out there, Billy,” Mr. Francers sympathized.
“I guess so,” sighed Billy. “I sure missed that ball.”
“But you didn’t miss Marty!” chuckled Mr. Francers. “When you arrived last week and I helped your family unload the station wagon, didn’t I see you wearing a pair of glasses?”
“I guess so,” admitted Billy. Then he told Mr. Francers how he was afraid the other boys would laugh at him, and so he had decided to keep his glasses in a drawer all summer.
“I know just how you feel, Billy,” Mr. Francers smiled. “I began wearing glasses when I was younger than you, and I must admit they were a nuisance.”
Mr. Francers paused for a minute as if he were remembering something, and then he continued, “It’s a funny thing, Billy, but I tried to get by without wearing my glasses just like you’re doing. Then one day when I was playing baseball, I looked around at my teammates and realized that baseball is a true team sport! I expected the best from each of my teammates. But there was one boy on the team who was not giving his very best—me! From that day on I always wore my glasses. I’m sure if I hadn’t, my baseball career would have gone no further than those sandlot games.”
“Did you play professional baseball?” gasped Billy.
“Yes, fifteen years in the major leagues—and I loved every minute of it!”
“Wow!” cried Billy, jumping up. “I didn’t know that!” Billy hesitated and then added, “I just remembered something I left at the cottage. I’ll see you later.”
As the afternoon breezes began picking up off the lake and small clouds of dust swirled around homeplate, Billy was given another chance at center field. But Billy knew that this time it was going to be different—he would be doing his best. He was being honest with his teammates and honest with himself. Billy could see this fact quite easily now—especially with his new glasses!

Dressed in neon-green “Helping Hands” T-shirts, 150 youth from the Church descended upon the city of Ashland, Ohio, and worked to help beautify the city. The youth picked up trash along the roads entering the city. They also pulled weeds and mulched around trees at three city parks. In all, the youth provided two days and nearly 1,000 hours of volunteer service.

Their efforts were part of last year’s Akron Ohio Stake youth conference. Weeks before the conference, the stake youth committee worked with the mayor and other city leaders to identify service projects.

Shortly after the conference, the group gave the mayor a copy of the Book of Mormon with a handwritten testimony about the gospel and the joy of service. Along the way, 150 copies of the Book of Mormon were given to members of the Ashland Branch for them to hand out to friends and family in the community.

The mayor was so touched by the whole experience that all he could say, in a humble and emotional voice, was “thank you.”

Their first stop in India was Edwin’s brother’s house. Edwin’s parents and siblings were there too. Right away, Edwin and Elsie started teaching them. Their family was happy to learn about the gospel.
A few weeks later, Edwin and his family gathered around the swimming pool in his brother’s yard. The pool had been cleaned, painted, and filled with fresh water. Everyone was wearing white. The women wore flowing saris that draped over their shoulders. The men wore loose Indian-style jackets and trousers.
Edwin stood in the pool with his father. “Samuel David,” Edwin said, “having been commissioned of Jesus Christ, I baptize you in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost.”
Edwin felt happy as he baptized his father. He felt even happier when he baptized his mom next. By the end of the day, Edwin had baptized 18 people!
The next day, Edwin and Elsie rode a train for six hours. They visited more family members and taught them about the gospel. Edwin baptized four more of his relatives in a nearby river.
When Edwin and Elsie finished their mission, there were enough new members to start one of the first branches of the Church in India! Edwin and Elsie were happy when they returned to Samoa. They were grateful Heavenly Father had sent them on a mission!

It has already been more than 30 years since I came in contact with the missionaries. What a thrill, what an example they have been in my life! I was 16, I remember, when I met with them for the first time. During the summers we children had the habit of sitting at the front window with our mother and greeting our neighbors and friends as they walked up the hill in front of our house. That day we noticed two young men pushing their bikes. They were different from the usual young people. In spite of the heat, they wore coats, white shirts, and ties. We deduced that they were Americans from the way they looked. We were intrigued. What were they doing here in our city?
The next day they came and knocked on our door. We rushed, the four of us, to satisfy our curiosity. We let them in, and we learned quickly who they were and what they were doing. It was the beginning of an eternal story. Their smiles, love, enthusiasm, desire to help and to serve, obedience to the commandments, and love for the Lord impressed us greatly. We looked forward more and more to their presence, their spirit. They were not only teaching us about Indians and the Book of Mormon but also sharing their talents in the arts and sports. We started an eternal friendship.
Here I am 30 years later. Because of the example of these fine young men my life has changed, my perspective of life has changed. I have gained a testimony of the restored gospel of Jesus Christ; I have learned to live according to the commandments of a living God; I love to follow a modern-day prophet and know his words come from God. Now I am responsible to see that the chain does not get broken, an eternal chain that was once started by Jesus Christ himself: “This is my gospel; and ye know the things that ye must do in my church; for the works which ye have seen me do that shall ye also do; for that which ye have seen me do even that shall ye do.” (3 Ne. 27:21.)

I remember working with one young woman who was offended. She could not understand why she was receiving inappropriate, aggressive e-mails and telephone calls from male friends. She questioned why they would think she appreciated receiving these less-than-polite e-mails and calls. When I visited with the young men, they said they were just joking. Because of the way she had behaved earlier, they thought she would enjoy receiving these edgy messages—messages that sounded like they came from bad TV shows or B movies. Both sides realized that in their behavior toward one another they had crossed over the line of appropriateness and had not followed the counsel of latter-day prophets and the Savior regarding the treatment of others.

Randy Thomas and Heather Young, both members of the Cherry Hill New Jersey Stake, take their dogs to church on Sunday. They also take them to stores, schools, restaurants, airports and other public places.
How do they get away with it?
Actually, Randy and Heather are encouraged to do all these things. The dogs they take care of—a new puppy every year—will eventually belong to a blind person and will be their “eyes” when they go out in the world.
“Initially, I got into this project because I liked the idea of getting a new puppy every year,” says Heather. “It’s hard to let them go after you train them and bond with them for a whole year, but it feels good to know that you’re helping someone else.”
Randy, Heather, and all of the other youth involved in the project give mobility and freedom to hundreds of people each year.
“Once I first picked up the harness handle I knew that the world of possibilities now lay at my fingertips,” says one recipient.
For Heather and Randy, comments like that make it all worthwhile.