Gospel Story Finder

In the 1980s President Faust worked closely with President Howard W. Hunter (1907–95), then of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, and Elder Jeffrey R. Holland, then president of Brigham Young University, to turn their vision of BYU’s Jerusalem Center for Near Eastern Studies into reality. President Faust and President Hunter waded through intense negotiations and prolonged opposition in leasing land and overseeing construction of the center.
One eyewitness to the process said, “Elder Faust was truly a man of peace, always looking for ways to calm our often agitated Jewish friends who sought an end to our presence in Jerusalem, or to calm the troubled waters among the Latter-day Saints in Jerusalem who were sometimes offended by the opposition.”

There is a better gift, but it will take effort now. My dad, when he was a boy, must have tackled the rowboat problem, and lots of others. That was part of the equipment he needed to become a scientist who made a difference to chemistry. But he also made a difference to me. Our family room didn’t look as elegant as some. It had one kind of furniture, chairs, and one wall decoration, a green chalkboard. I came to the age your boy or girl will reach. I didn’t wonder if I could work the math problems; I’d proved to my satisfaction I couldn’t. Some of my teachers were satisfied that was true, too.
But Dad wasn’t satisfied. He thought I could. So we took turns at that chalkboard. I can’t remember the gifts my dad wrapped and helped put under a tree. But I remember the chalkboard and his quiet voice and even his not-so-quiet voice as he built up my mathematics, and me. It took more than knowing what I needed and caring. It took more than being willing to give his time then, precious as it was. It took time earlier when he had the chances you have. Because he spent it then, he and I had that time at the green board. And because he gave me that, I’ve got a boy this year who has let me sit down with him. We’ve rowed that same boat up and down. And his teacher wrote “much improved” on a report card. But I’ll tell you what’s improved most: the feelings of a fine boy about himself. Nothing I will put under the tree for Stuart this year has half the chance to become a family heirloom that his pride of accomplishment does.

As a boy, President Joseph F. Smith, son of Hyrum, came west in 1848 with his widowed mother. He was called as a missionary to Hawaii when he was 15 years of age. He spent much of the next four years alone. He was released in 1857 at the age of 19 (just the age we call missionaries now). Penniless, he stopped in California to earn money for warm clothes.

With another man, . . . [Joseph] took passage in a mail wagon. They traveled all night, and at daylight stopped near a ranch for breakfast. The passenger and the mail carrier began to prepare breakfast, while Joseph went a short distance from camp to [gather wood and] look after the horses. . . . A wagon load of drunken men from Monte came in view, on their road to San Bernardino to kill the “Mormons,” as they boasted.

The oaths and foul language which they uttered, between their shooting, and the swinging of their pistols, were almost indescribable. . . . They were all cursing the “Mormons,” and uttering boasts of what they would do when they met them. They . . . caught sight of the mail wagon. . . . [His companion] and the mail carrier, fearing for their safety, had retired behind the chaparral, leaving all the baggage and supplies . . . exposed and unprotected.

Just as [one] drunken man approached, [young Joseph F.] came in view . . . , too late to hide. . . . The ruffian was swinging his weapon, and uttering the most blood-curdling oaths and threats ever heard against the “Mormons.” “I dared not run,” says [Joseph F.] Smith, “though I trembled for fear which I dared not show. I therefore walked right up to the camp fire, and arrived there just a minute or two before the drunken desperado, who came directly toward me, and, swinging his revolver in my face, with an oath cried out: ‘Are you a —— —— —— “Mormon?”’”

[Young Joseph] looked him straight in the eyes, and answered with emphasis: “Yes, sir’ee; dyed in the wool; true blue, through and through.”

The desperado’s arms both dropped by his sides, as if paralyzed, his pistol in one hand, and he said in a subdued . . . voice, offering his hand: “Well, you are the —— —— pleasantest man I ever met! Shake. I am glad to see a fellow stand for his convictions.” Then he turned and [left].

Ancient One sat in a ray of golden sunshine on the banks of a slow-moving, muddy-green river. The day was warm, but Ancient One was as wise as he was old. He knew that many cold days were soon to come. As a boy running swift and strong, he had not minded the cold. He had shouted with glee and bounded through the new-fallen snow.
While remembering the boy he had once been, Ancient One noticed a small flock of birds gathered on the opposite bank of the river. Seven birds stood in a row, as if taking turns at some game.
The first bird in line flew up, higher and higher, slowly flapping his glossy black wings, his shiny black beak pointing at a cloudless sky. His shadow chased him along the water’s rippling surface. When the bird was as high as the tallest tree, he folded his wings, pointed his sharp black beak at the water, and began to fall. Diving faster and faster, he became a blur in Ancient One’s large black eyes. Just when it seemed that he would plunge into the water, the bird spread his wings wide and sailed to shore, taking his place once again in line.
Ancient One smiled at the boy in the eyes of his memory.
The sun had sunk low in the sky, and the light of day was fading. The birds had flown off to roost in the trees. Ancient One laughed aloud and stood up. He dusted the soft, orange sand from his leathery hands and walked slowly home, his heart full of happiness.

The period of adversity commencing in Richmond Jail and continuing in Liberty Jail from 1 December 1838 until the first week in April 1839 provides a special window through which we can see the process of revelation and personal consolidation under way. Elder B. H. Roberts called the jail the “prison temple” (B. H. Roberts, A Comprehensive History of the Church [Salt Lake City, Utah: The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, 1930], 1:526). Ironically, this period of enforced idleness, grim though the conditions were, was perhaps the only time in the Prophet’s often hectic adult life when there was much time for reflection.

The dungeon at Liberty Jail had inner and outer walls which, combined, were four feet thick. Loose rocks were placed between the walls to thwart any attempt at burrowing through. Unjustly arrested and unjustly confined, Joseph and his companions tried twice to escape but failed. As thick as those walls and that door were, and as securely as they kept the Prophet and his fellow prisoners in, the walls were not thick enough to keep revelation out!

During his stay in Liberty Jail, the Prophet Joseph Smith received some of the most sublime revelations ever received by any prophet in any dispensation, known now as sections 121 and 122 of the Doctrine and Covenants. Therein are divine tutorials by which the Lord schooled his latter-day prophet—probably the most tender tutorials in all of holy writ now available.

The conditions in Liberty Jail were grim. The food was scanty and often consisted of leftovers from the jailer’s table brought to them in a basket where chickens slept at night and which was often not cleaned. When the prisoners were permitted to cook, they had to endure smoke. It was also a particularly cold winter. The constant darkness bothered the prisoners’ eyes. Joseph wrote about how his hand actually trembled as he penned his next-to-last letter to Emma (see Writings, p. 409).

In the midst of this stark obscurity and incessant difficulty, and with twelve thousand of Joseph’s followers driven from the state of Missouri, the enemies of the Church probably felt that they had destroyed Joseph’s work. Yet in the midst of all this deprivation, affliction, and obscurity, Joseph received the Lord’s stunning assurance that “the ends of the earth shall inquire after thy name” (D&C 122:1).

How inspired and audacious a prophecy for any religious leader, let alone one on the obscure nineteenth-century American frontier. Meanwhile, Joseph’s contemporary frontier and religious leaders have since become mere footnotes to history. But not Joseph!

Joseph, earlier in his imprisonment, had special assurances of which he later wrote,
Death stared me in the face, and . . . my destruction was determined upon, as far as man was concerned; yet, from my first entrance into the camp, . . . that still small voice, which has so often whispered consolation to my soul, in the depth of sorrow and distress, bade me be of good cheer, and promised deliverance, which gave me great comfort. [Writings (November 1839), p. 443]

However, Joseph was not unmindful or unaware of how grim things looked. With unusual empathy he observed from his prison temple: “Those who have persecuted us and smitten us and borne false witness against us . . . do seem to have a great triumph over us for the present”; then, “[But] Zion shall yet live though she seemeth to be dead” (Writings, pp. 375, 382).

It was from Liberty Jail that Joseph, more than once, testified that through God “we received the Book of Mormon” (Writings, p. 399), “that the Book of Mormon is true,” and “that the ministering angels sent forth from God are true” (Writings, p. 407).

It was soon after his release from Liberty Jail that the Prophet Joseph Smith spoke about how the Book of Mormon was “the keystone of our religion” (HC 4:461).

When my parents got divorced, I felt that all my hope of having an eternal family had ended. It was a very hard moment in my life. However, even though it wasn’t easy for me to recognize, that trial brought unforeseen blessings to my family. For one, my mom got baptized!
I also was able to get to know my Savior better. To get over my sadness, I chose to visit an aunt in Peru, where I met a new friend who strengthened me greatly. That friend and I often studied the scriptures together and during one special occasion while we were discussing gospel topics, I felt the love of my Savior for me very strongly. The feeling was like the voice of my Savior telling me, “I have always been with you; you just couldn’t tell.”
Now I know that our Savior wants to help us and that He is always with us. Sometimes we allow our sadness to be higher than our faith and we think that He has forgotten us, but in reality, His Atonement can always help us.
Liliane Soares Moreira, Bahia, Brazil

Thank you so much for your article in Questions and Answers (Jan. ’02). It talked about what to do if you sometimes feel sad and unhappy, and it also gave some great advice on what to do if you feel “overwhelmingly sad all the time.” It said to tell a trusted adult who will be able to get you some professional help. My 16-year-old son sadly ended his life last year. Our son was a nice, shy, worthy priesthood holder who was active in the Church. He didn’t tell anyone how sad he was feeling, and we didn’t recognize the subtle signs we now know were caused by depression. Instead, we brushed them off as him just going through the teenage years. We later learned that untreated depression is the number-one cause of suicide. The organs of our bodies, like our hearts, lungs, or kidneys, can become ill. We sometimes don’t realize that another organ, the brain, can also become ill. Depression is a chemical imbalance of the brain that can usually be successfully treated with medication and therapy. Maybe if our son would have read your article he would have received the courage he needed to ask for help. I hope there is someone out there who reads this article and then asks an adult for help.
Stacy HonePayson, Utah (via e-mail)

I recall a young couple who were having difficulty behaving themselves when alone on a date. They worried that they might lose control themselves. But their dates continued to end up with just the two of them in some secluded spot, walking on the edge of the cliff, as it were. They repeatedly fell into the same behavior for which they had prayed for strength to overcome. The peril-filled thrill of petting had greater attraction than did the calm plans made in the light of day. Having once walked to the edge of the cliff, they kept returning readily.

Fortunately, the girl finally realized they lacked the determination to change their behavior, so she ended their dating altogether, thus escaping the final fall over the cliff.

In Caleb’s baby blessing, I assured him he had completed his mortal task by being born and that he would have a brief time to rest as part of our family before returning to his heavenly home.
Yet Caleb and his mother had different plans. They wanted to spend more time together and do a greater work. God had perfectly matched Caleb’s courage with April’s love and daring optimism. April purposefully chose hope and trust in the Lord. With God’s help, she turned what was a sorrowful circumstance into a sacred setting.
April celebrated everything about Caleb. She made him a birthday cake after his first week, cupcakes for his second week, and cookies for his third week. Every day was a once-in-a-lifetime event for our boy sent home from the hospital without hope. Caring for Caleb became a privilege for us.
Though Caleb’s body was misshapen and broken, his spirit was whole, noble, and great (see Abraham 3:22). Even his missing eye became a blessing, making it seem as if he was continually winking. His wink became his distinctive feature. People were drawn to him, especially children. They would often ask, “Where is his eye? What happened to him?” I would jokingly say he was a pirate. But April would explain that in our family, a wink meant “I love you.”
Caleb never spoke the words, but his wink communicated love. His perpetual wink felt like a heavenly message, bringing God’s love and Christ’s light into our lives.
In our family, a wink means “I love you.”

Years ago, while we were on an assignment together, Elder L. Tom Perry shared how he and his companion regularly ministered to a sister who lived alone in a rough Boston neighborhood. When Elder Perry and his companion arrived, the sister cautiously directed, “Slide your temple recommends under the door.” Only after seeing the temple recommends would she unbolt multiple locks and open the door. Of course, I am not saying ministering companionships need temple recommends. But I love the thought that as those who honor covenants minister, homes unlock and hearts open.

The duty of home teachers cannot always be satisfied with a once-a-month visit. They need to be caring and willing to serve as the need arises. I know of members of one high priests group who take tools when they go home teaching. We do not expect home teachers to be able to fix everything, such as computers and other highly technical equipment. They can, however, offer their wisdom and experience in assisting their assigned families to find the needed help. Caring home teachers should make appointments in advance, if possible. Aaronic Priesthood home teaching companions can learn lifelong lessons and be greatly blessed by serving with faithful Melchizedek Priesthood senior companions. Brother Robert F. Jex shares his faith-strengthening experience as a junior home teaching companion many years ago:
“My legs felt like gelatin and there was a knot in my stomach as we approached the door. I was sure that I was going to faint as my [home teaching] companion told me that this was my door.
“… I was a 15-year-old home teacher climbing the stairs to the apartment of Sister Rice, a widow living in the Bountiful (Utah) First Ward. Don Gabbott, my companion, was to teach me a great lesson that night about the nurturing role of priesthood bearers to shut-ins who are cut off from the mainstream of Church activity.
“Brother Gabbott had given me a topic to present to the five families assigned us, and I was frightened. … I [had] prepared … some notes on a paper, but I was unsure of how to take the lead in the presence of a high priest.
“The response to our knocking was slow. … I was about to suggest that no one was home. Then the shrunken figure of a frail, aged sister, came around a corner in the hallway. She seemed uncertain of what waited her answer at the door. Her face brightened as she recognized Brother Gabbott. We were invited into her living room and asked to take a seat.
“After a short greeting, Brother Gabbott looked at me as if to say, ‘Okay, Bob, it’s time to give our message.’ The knot in my stomach tightened as I began to speak. I cannot recall what I said—it doesn’t really matter—for I was the pupil in the classroom of priesthood duty and responsibility. As I glanced up from my notes at the conclusion of my remarks, my eyes fell upon the tear-stained cheeks of that sweet, sensitive sister. She expressed her gratitude for the presence of priesthood bearers in her humble home.
“I was speechless. … What had I said that had been so profound? What could I do? Fortunately, Brother Gabbott came to my rescue by bearing his testimony and asking if there were any needs in the home. There were.
“Sister Rice said that she had not been feeling well and asked that she be remembered as we offered our prayer before leaving. She then turned to me and asked if I would offer that prayer. By that time, I was so overcome by the spirit of the occasion … [and] surprised that I was asked to pray when someone older and more experienced and trusted was present. Automatically, I consented and offered a benediction upon that home teaching visit, asking that a special blessing of health and strength be given to that faithful sister whom I barely knew but quickly came to love and respect.
“Twenty-five years have passed since my introduction to home teaching in the home of Sister Rice, and she has long since passed away. But I cannot pass that orange-brick fourplex on Bountiful’s Main Street without thinking about the experience provided by Brother Gabbott and a faithful sister who knew the appropriateness of calling upon the powers of heaven embodied in an obedient high priest and an insecure, frightened teacher in the Aaronic Priesthood.”

On the morning of June 28, the bodies of Joseph and Hyrum were gently placed on two different wagons, covered with branches to shade them from the hot summer sun. William Hamilton and his father Artois accompanied Samuel Smith and Willard Richards to Nauvoo with the bodies of the slain Church leaders.

They left Carthage about 8:00 A.M. and arrived in Nauvoo about 3:00 P.M., where they were met by a great assemblage. When the bodies were returned to Nauvoo, they were washed and dressed. Then family and friends were ushered in to see them.

When young Joseph Smith III entered the room, he dropped upon his knees, laid his cheek against his father’s, and kissed him. He was heard saying, “Oh, my father, my father!” Other children of the Prophet and the patriarch crowded around to see their slain fathers. It was an almost unbearable scene.6

On the following day, June 29, the bodies lay in state in the Mansion House while thousands of Saints silently filed past the coffins, grateful but sobered to see their beloved leaders one last time. Mary Ann Phelps’s father took her to the Mansion House early in the morning, before the bodies were prepared for the public viewing.

“I went down, saw them, and laid my hand on Joseph’s forehead,” she said. “The sheet that was around him was stained with blood. Still he looked very natural.”7

Slowly, life in Nauvoo got back to normal. Missionaries left to serve missions; new converts arrived. Work continued on homes, shops, and most importantly, the temple. Young people fell in love and were married. Parties and sporting contests were held.

Yet the memory of Joseph and Hyrum did not fade. For example, one young woman made a sampler, a common activity at the time. She embroidered:
“Sacred to the Memory of Joseph and Hyrum Smith, Who fell as Martyrs for the Gospel of Jesus Christ, June 27th, 1844. Aged 38, and 44, years.
“Zion’s noblest sons are weeping,
See her daughters bathed in tears,
Where the prophets now are sleeping,
Nature’s sleep—sleep of years.
When the earth shall be restored,
They will come with Christ the Lord.”
She signed it: “Mary Ann Broomhead’s work, 1844, Age 13 years.”8

Following a short period of peace, dark clouds cast their long shadow on Nauvoo again. Eventually the Saints were driven out, leaving their beautiful temple and the graves of their Prophet and his brother behind. Yet these young people who lived in the days of Joseph and Hyrum remembered them throughout their lives. They passed on their personal stories and experiences to a new generation. By doing so they kept alive their own faith and the testimony of two great witnesses of the Restoration.

Laney was trying very hard to be reverent in church. But she was tired, and her legs felt wiggly.
After the sacrament was over, Laney opened her book about Jesus. She found the picture of Jesus with the little children. It made her feel peaceful and happy inside.
After sacrament meeting was over, Laney asked Mommy, “Why is it easier to be reverent when I look at my book about Jesus?”
“I think it’s because it reminds you how much Jesus loves you,” Mommy said.
Laney smiled. “Do you think Jesus knows that I love Him too?” she asked.
Mommy gave Laney a hug. “Yes, I’m sure He does.”

As a result of Dad’s study, three different groups of scientists have visited us to study dust devils, hoping to learn more about tornadoes. One of the groups was trying to find special sounds coming from them that could be used to develop a warning system for tornadoes. The other two groups had a laser beam that could be pointed at a dust devil. The part of the beam that was reflected off the dust devil back to their equipment told them how fast the winds in the dust devil were moving.
One time I was just about to put my finger in the place where the invisible laser beam came out, and one of the scientists shouted and told me that it could burn right through my hand. To prove it, he came over and put a tablet of paper where I was going to put my finger; and all of a sudden there was a brown and smoky hole right through the tablet!

Perhaps an example would be helpful. Procrastination is truly a thief of time—especially when it comes to downright hard work. I speak of the need to study diligently as you prepare for the tests of school and, indeed, the tests of life.
I know of a university student who was so busy with the joys of student life that preparation for an exam was postponed. The night before, she realized the hour was late and the preparation was not done. She rationalized, “Now what is more important—my health, which requires that I must sleep, or the drudgery of study?” Well, you can probably guess the outcome. Sleep won, study failed, and the test was a personal disaster. Work we must.

Grandma was coming today! It was hard for Heidi to wait, because she had a surprise to show Grandma. Finally a blue car turned into the driveway.
“Grandma!” Heidi yelled. “Grandma, I have a surprise for you. Guess what it is!”
Grandma measured the top of Heidi’s curly head against her own arm. “I bet I already know your surprise—you’re getting taller.”
“Oh, Grandma, that’s no surprise. Guess again.”
“Is it something new growing in the garden?” Grandma asked, swinging Heidi’s hand as they walked past the marigolds beside the front walk.
“Nope,” Heidi told her. “Guess again.”
“Well,” Grandma said as they climbed the front steps, “the front door is painted bright red. It used to be white. Is that your surprise?”
“No, that’s not it, either,” Heidi said. “Guess again.”
“Mmmmm. I smell something good. Did you make some special cookies for me? Is that the surprise?”
“No—my surprise is better than cookies!” Heidi grinned. “Guess again, Grandma.”
“Well,” Grandma said as they climbed the stairs to Heidi’s room, “your surprise wasn’t the inches that you’ve grown. And it wasn’t something new in the garden or the bright red door or the good smelling cookies. I give up. What can your surprise be?”
“Look in the basket in my closet, Grandma,” Heidi said, jumping up and down with excitement.
“Oh, oh, oh!” cried Grandma. “Muffin has three new kittens! They are darling, Heidi. What a wonderful surprise.”
“That’s not all, Grandma,” Heidi told her. “The best part is that you get to keep one!”

On 25 July 1928, I was tracking on a street in Heilbronn, Germany. In those days, missionaries did not have to work side by side constantly, and often I would tract one side of the street while my companion tracted the other.
As I walked toward the next house, I saw a man sitting on a chair near the sidewalk. He was glaring hostilely in my direction. Many people in Germany at that time distrusted the missionaries, so I didn’t give it much thought.
As I spoke with a woman at the doorway to a nearby apartment, I heard someone coming up behind me. I turned and saw a policeman in uniform. I continued to talk, believing he had business with someone upstairs.
To my astonishment, he dropped a heavy hand on my shoulder and turned me around to face him.
“You will have to come with me,” he said quietly. “You’re under arrest.”
Astounded, I tried to keep my composure. I apologized to the woman and told her I would return later.
“Why am I being arrested?” I asked the policeman. He told me that I was accused of burglarizing an apartment and carrying off a valuable heirloom watch.
The officer explained that my accuser had found the watch missing the morning before. He contended that I had been the only person other than himself and his family to enter the building.
I remembered entering that building the day before. The first and second floors were occupied by a factory, but on the third floor was an apartment. As I had entered the building, a young man had approached me and asked where I was going and whom I wished to see. I had told him that I wanted to go upstairs and speak with the people who lived there. He had said nothing further, and I had ascended the stairs.
The door to the third-floor apartment had been left slightly open. No one had answered my knocks, so I had left and resumed tracting elsewhere.
I explained this to the officer. He was surprised to learn that he had arrested a missionary.
He then took me across the street to the man who had glared at me earlier. A teenager with the man looked ill at ease, but said “yes” when the officer asked if I was the burglar.
At the police station, I was ushered into the chief’s office. A police court, consisting of several plainclothes and uniformed policemen, was waiting for me. In a corner sat seven people who said they had witnessed my entering the building.
During the hour-long interrogation, I answered every question honestly and directly, with a prayer in my heart that the Lord would help me.
Then the seven witnesses testified against me. All stated that, except for the family, I had been the only person to go to the third-floor apartment the day before. It began to look as though I might spend several years in a German prison.
The police chief asked me if I had anything to say in my defense. I prayed fervently for assistance, then began speaking, hesitantly at first, in my broken German. I told those in the room why I was in Germany, and explained my mission. Suddenly I began to preach the gospel. A strange feeling came over me. I gradually lost control of my tongue, my arms, and my facial muscles.
The Holy Spirit had come to my rescue. I began to speak the language fluently, with confidence and power. When I concluded my testimony forty-five minutes later, I nearly slumped to the floor in exhaustion. There was complete silence in the room for at least a full minute.
Then the police chief said simply, “This man didn’t take the watch.”
He asked me many questions about myself and the Church. The hostility in the room and vanished. Then he turned to a detective and said, “Go with this young man to his room and search his belongings. If you don’t find the watch—and I’m sure you won’t—let him go. End this foolishness.”
As I walked back to my lodgings with the detective, I answered many questions he asked me. By the time we reached my room I had briefly explained the missionary program, the Book of Mormon, and our concept of the Lord.
The detective found two watches in my desk drawer. One was my old, broken watch, and the other was a cheap watch belonging to my companion. As the detective left, he assured me that I should contact him if I ever needed help during my stay in Heilbronn.
I breathed a prayerful sigh of thankfulness. The power of the Holy Ghost had been demonstrated in a miraculous fashion. I would never forget this day.

It doesn’t take expensive gifts to make Christmas meaningful. I am reminded of a story told by Elder Glen L. Rudd, who served as a member of the Seventy from 1987 to 1992. One day before Christmas a number of years ago, while he was managing a bishops’ storehouse, he learned from an ecclesiastical leader about a needy family that had recently moved to the city. When he went to visit their small apartment, he discovered a young single mother with four children under age 10.
The family’s needs were so great that the mother could not buy treats or presents for her children that Christmas—she couldn’t even afford a tree. Brother Rudd talked with the family and learned that the three little girls would love a doll or a stuffed animal. When he asked the six-year-old son what he wanted, the hungry little boy replied, “I would like a bowl of oatmeal.”
Brother Rudd promised the little boy oatmeal and maybe something else. Then he went to the bishops’ storehouse and gathered food and other supplies to meet the immediate needs of the family.
That very morning a generous Latter-day Saint had given him 50 dollars “for someone in need.” Using that donation, Brother Rudd bundled up three of his own children and went Christmas shopping—his children selecting toys for the needy children.
After loading up the car with food, clothing, gifts, a Christmas tree, and some ornaments, the Rudds drove to the family’s apartment. There they helped the mother and her children set up the tree. Then they placed presents under it and presented the little boy with a large package of oatmeal.
The mother wept, the children rejoiced, and they all sang a Christmas song. That night as the Rudd family gathered for dinner, they gave thanks that they could bring some Christmas cheer to another family and help a little boy receive a bowl of oatmeal.1

A bishop, no matter how skilled in administrative matters, must be a friend to children, youth, and adults if he is to help them reach their spiritual potential. I was touched once when a young woman I knew went to her bishop to confess a serious transgression. She had been worried about how the bishop might react to her deviation from the gospel path and had only gone to him after considerable urging. When I asked her afterward what his response had been, she told me with great emotion that her bishop had wept with her and that in working with him to gain the Lord’s forgiveness, she now considered her bishop to be one of her best friends.

When I was president of the Southern States Mission, we converted a lovely schoolteacher down in Florida. And at the close of one of our conferences she came up to me and said, “President Richards, I’m going to get married. What do you think of that?”
“Oh,” I said, “I think it’s wonderful. Do I know him?”
“No.”
I said, “Is he a member of the Church?”
“No.” I didn’t dare tell her that she couldn’t marry out of the Church down there, because I didn’t know where she could find a man in the Church except our Mormon elders, and we had hands-off signs hanging all over them.
I said, “You’re a beautiful, sweet, clean Mormon girl, and you could never be happy with an unclean man. In your association with him you’ll know whether he’s clean or not and whether he’d take advantage of you if you’d permit him. He must be a prayerful man because, as wicked as the world is today, I wouldn’t trust any man to be true to his wife and children if he doesn’t believe that there is a God and that someday he will have to answer to him for his life here upon the earth. Your young man must be willing to let you raise your children in the Church because, knowing as you do that the God of heaven has restored his truth to the earth, you would be a very unhappy woman if you had children and couldn’t teach them the gospel. If he measures up, let me know when he joins the Church.” I didn’t see her for about four months, when we had another conference. Her train was late, and after the meeting she came along the aisle. I could see she was headed for me, so I went down and said, “Name, please?”
“Oh, I’m still Miss So-and-so.”
I said, “What became of the marriage?”
“He didn’t come up to your specifications.” Well, that’s the way you should judge, before you get married, that you’re laying the right kind of foundation.