Gospel Story Finder

“We didn’t have many modern conveniences. We had kerosene lamps, and rest room facilities were about fifty paces from the back door. In back of the house was a cellar where Mother stored all her canned fruits and vegetables. We had a vegetable garden, a berry patch, and fruit trees.
“I remember that my father once said to me, ‘You know, it would help if you weeded the garden.’ I thought I would surprise him and do it, but I hoed down all of the potatoes he had planted, thinking they were weeds! That was about the extent of that.”

In February 2002 I was sitting across the desk from President Gordon B. Hinckley. He asked, “Bonnie, how is your health?” I answered that my health was fine, although I could not hear in my right ear because I had lost that hearing in the mission field. He then asked, “How is the hearing in your other ear?” “Fine,” I said. “Well, then,” he replied, “just turn your head.” He then proceeded to issue my current call. President Hinckley understands the principle of doing the best with what we have and making adjustments when we need to compensate.

Perhaps one of the most devastating difficulties a parent must endure is to lose a child. As I share the story of my beloved son Daniel, please take particular notice of how Heavenly Father and the Savior’s love is manifested in our experience to help us through this trial.

Our son Daniel, just a few months after returning from serving his Illinois-Chicago Spanish speaking mission, was out waving signs in the community with his friends to raise awareness to the prevalent use of “ice” in 2003. I’ll let this video tell the story. I wrote this poem one year after the accident by the request of the creators of danielmapu.com (3) that Dallin and Tia Muti
“One Year Ago Today” Video
We took care of our son Daniel who suffered from severe traumatic brain injury and was unable to sit up, stand, walk, eat or do anything for himself for 10 ½ years before he passed away in 2014. He was always known as our “police baby” because he was born the year his father started his career as a police officer. When his dad retired after 32 years of service, our police baby retired also from this life.

I’d like to share very personal experiences to illustrate the Lord’s tender mercies in this experience.

While Daniel was in a coma after he was hurt, I sat next to his bedside in the Neuro ICU, with the soothing music of “In this very room” playing ever so softly in the background. We did not know at that time whether he was going to live or die. I remember quietly pleading with the Lord to bless my son. I had never prayed so hard before for anything. While in the act of praying, and crying, I paused for a moment, and as clear as day, in my mind’s eye, I could see the Savior embracing my son in His loving arms. He was not standing above him or next to him. His arms were wrapped around Daniel. I dared not open my eyes for fear of losing this image that helped to comfort and help a very distraught heartbroken mother. I was comforted from that special moment, and it strengthened me throughout the 10 ½ years of caring for Daniel.

The other special moment, among many, was through a dream that came to one of my former students, Paola from Peru. When Daniel came home from his mission, he helped the sister missionaries along with Brother Toluta’u’s son Augusti to teach a Spanish speaking couple the missionary lessons which resulted in their baptism. Paola lived with this couple and was present during the lessons and became well-acquainted with Daniel.

Shortly after Daniel’s accident, Paola was anxious to relate her dream to me. She was overjoyed to see Daniel in her dream. He seemed anxious to give her a message for our family. “Please tell my family,” Daniel said, “three things: first, tell my family not to worry about me; I am willing to go through this experience for Heavenly Father and whatever His will and purpose is for me. Second, please tell them that serving my mission was the best thing that I ever did in my life. I loved my mission! Finally, please tell my mom that I love her very much and thank her for taking such great care of me. I have to go, but please tell them.”

Upon hearing this message from Daniel, all the worries, the stress and anxieties I felt for him were lifted. I knew that our job was to take care of him as best as we could until His father made known His will for His son. Our daughter Ane was at that time serving her mission at Temple Square and sent us this scripture that helped:

Mosiah 24: 14-15
“And I will also ease the burdens which are put upon your shoulders, that even you cannot feel them upon your backs…and this will I do that ye may stand as witnesses for me hereafter that ye may know of a surety that I, the Lord God, do visit my people in their afflictions.

“… yea the Lord did strengthen them that they could bear up their burdens with ease, and they did submit cheerfully and with patience to all the will of the Lord.”

I testify that this happened. I testify that the Lord God did visit us in our afflictions and made our burdens light. I testify that He will do the same for you.

The accident occurred as we were leaving town. We had signed the legal papers for our new home and had stopped awhile to visit my wife’s grandmother. Our three-year-old daughter, G.J., was asleep in the back seat of our car, and we were anxious to return to our other three children. My wife, Gaydra, had begun to knit. Neither of us had reminded the other to fasten our seat belts. It was nearly five o’clock in the afternoon.
We were in heavy traffic moving at 55 miles an hour. As we approached an intersection, I suddenly saw a car that was coming from the opposite direction try to make a quick left turn in front of us. There was no way he could make it. And with cars on all sides of us, I couldn’t turn. I slammed on the brakes but couldn’t stop quickly enough.
The head-on collision threw me against the steering wheel and into the windshield. I began to gasp for air and tried to call Gaydra’s name. I could see her on the floor, but she didn’t answer me. Then blood began to run into my eyes. I could hear G. J. crying as I frantically kicked the collapsed steering wheel out of my lap. I was afraid the car might explode from spilled gasoline and felt I had to get my wife and daughter to safety.
At last the door was open and I stood up. The world began to turn white. I saw a trickle of water from the smashed radiator running between my shoes and I thought, as my knees gave way under me, “I’m going to land right in that.” I regained consciousness as some men carried me to the grass at the side of the road. I asked about my wife and child and was told they were going to be all right. I could still hear G. J. crying.
When the ambulance arrived, Gaydra and I and the other injured driver all rode on stretchers in the back. G. J. sat with a paramedic in the front of the ambulance. Several times Gaydra tried to sit up and ask for G.J., but she kept falling back into unconsciousness.
When we arrived at the hospital, G. J. had stopped crying. A doctor came into the emergency room and examined me. He gave the nurse instructions and left. She was pleasant but efficient: “Mr. McCallister, your wife has a depression fracture of the skull. It is causing severe pressure on her brain, and we are going to send her by emergency helicopter to the University Medical Center for surgery. We can feel the loose bone. You are well enough that you can probably fly in the helicopter with her.”
The nurse then left me alone. It was 5:20 [P.M.] by the clock on the wall, and the room was very quiet.
“Oh, Heavenly Father!” I cried. “Please help Gaydra. She can’t die! She mustn’t die!” The tears stung the cuts around my eyelids, and I could feel glass in my eyebrows and forehead. Those moments were the most agonizing of my life as I contemplated losing my eternal sweetheart.
Suddenly I became aware that someone was there at my side. Two men in street clothes, not white hospital uniforms, said hello. They were elders from the Church.
“Would you like a blessing?” one of them asked.
“Oh, yes. And my wife is in the X-ray department. Please administer to her.”
“We already have,” they replied.
“My daughter …” I began.
“We’ve blessed her as well,” the other man said.
They anointed my head with oil, gave me a blessing, and then left. It was 5:30.
I was puzzled. Who were those elders? How did they get there so fast? Later I found out.
Gaydra was never flown to the medical center. They couldn’t find the skull fracture in X-ray. G. J. and I were released that night, and two weeks later we took Gaydra home without surgery. Except for an inability to recall the accident and the several days following, she has totally recovered. We had survived a head-on collision at 55 miles an hour.

So, with that money, we were on our way to the temple. We spent the night in Trinidad and woke up at 4 a.m. to catch our next flight to Panama. While on the plane we met a missionary named Sister Poulson. She was going to Santo Domingo, so we talked for a short while. In Panama, we had a delay of about four hours before our flight to the Dominican Republic. While there we were very hungry because we had no money to buy anything to eat. So, we walked around trying to pass the time. While doing that, we bumped into Sister Poulson again. We talked for some time because we were going on the same flight. She was on her way to get something to eat and asked if we had already eaten, so we explained about our trip and also our finances, and without us knowing she bought food for the four of us. We were so very grateful. When the time came, we boarded the plane and left for Santo Domingo. When we arrived and finally exited the airport, Sister Poulson was gone.
Then the big day arrived for our family sealing. Everyone there had heard about us and knew what we were there for. On that day we had the temple to ourselves. We got ready, and when we arrived, some missionary couples were there to assist us. When we got to the sealing room, everything was prepared; we were sealed first, and then our two daughters were sealed to us. It was the most wonderful thing, the way that we felt is unexplainable. There was not a dry eye in the room. All the missionaries who were there and the sister who had fed us at the airport was there, and they were all in tears. The Spirit was so strong and was felt by everyone in the room.

Victor Cave from Tahiti, a bishop, stake president, an area 70 and a member of the South Pacific area presidency, came to CCH in 1968, as a nonmember as well. In his narrative he said that he was taught the gospel on campus by the missionaries but had resisted their every effort to convert him. He writes:
One day as one of my dorm friends from the Philippines, Bien Flores, was leaving for class. He greeted me, then asked out loud: “Victor, when will you be baptized?” I replied, “Never.” He then asked why. I said because I don’t know that the church is true. Then walking away to class, he yelled words that hit my heart like a sledgehammer: “Why don’t you pray about it?
My roommate had already left for an early class that morning. So I went to my room, locked the door, and for the first time with real intent and a sincere desire, I knelt down to ask my Heavenly Father if this Church was true. No sooner had I begun to ask than I was overcome with tears to the point that I could not speak. I could only cry because the spirit replied to my heart that this is the Lord’s church, and it is the only true and living church on earth.

As the only member of the Church in her school, Angela has plenty of opportunities to be a missionary. At a birthday party she attended, the girls began watching an inappropriate movie. “I told them, ‘I can’t watch this, because I’m a member of the Church,’” she remembers. She left the room, and another friend who was not a member soon followed. Together they watched a better movie. “When I left, I saw that I was wearing my CTR ring,” Angela says. She is glad she was able to choose the right and set an example for her friends.

Blending in isn’t always easy when you’re one of only a handful of Latter-day Saint kids in a high school of 2,000, but I managed somehow. I grew up mostly quiet, content to go with the flow and see where life took me rather than firmly planting my feet on any convictions. At 17 I knew I was nearing the precipice of big life changes, but I didn’t know how to commit to any direction. People often smiled knowingly at me, kindly telling me that I had it made and had the world at my fingertips. But I wasn’t so sure. I wasn’t sure of anything, because I still wasn’t sure who I was.
No one from the outside looking in would have known how little confidence I had in myself. I did a good job of hiding it. Though I was quiet and hardly popular, I still played on two sports teams, participated in several clubs, and sat securely at the top of my class academically. I enjoyed Church activities and seminary. I seldom realized how truly at peace I felt during those early mornings before school, poring over my scriptures before the chaos of the world set in. But the chaos always came. Though I smiled and laughed in the school hallways, none of those things seemed to really matter—I wasn’t happy. It’s hard to be truly happy when the very essence of your being is a mystery to you. I knew I was a child of God, but so was everyone else. Did I really matter in the big picture? Was I willing to put the gospel principles I’d always been taught at the center of my life and face whatever questions or mockery might arise? Who was I, really? Instead of having enough faith in myself to find the answers, I chose to almost fade away.
Just before my junior year ended, a small thing happened that would change all that. I decided to throw an after-school job into the mix of my already busy schedule, and I was very nervous about it. Working retail, I had to approach strangers and ask how I might help them, which was a daunting task for someone as shy as I was. With practice, however, I eventually came out of my shell and no longer felt butterflies each time I approached a customer. One evening just before closing I found myself helping a young man who had recently had his hair buzzed off. My town was home to a couple of military bases, and it was not uncommon to see young men with freshly-shaven heads.
After we found the item the young man was looking for, we walked to the counter so he could pay for it. As he opened his wallet, I noticed on his finger a shiny silver ring with a familiar design. I smiled at the sight of it, thrilled as always to discover another member of the Church in a place where we were so few.
“Are you LDS?” I asked, gesturing toward the CTR ring.
The young man froze, almost flinched, and his eyes then snapped up quickly to mine as though to analyze the meaning behind my words. After a moment I remembered that the young LDS marines often had it rough trying to find their place in a new town and lifestyle. I had heard stories of new LDS recruits and how hard it was to stand strong when surrounded by things a Latter-day Saint would find demoralizing. Drinking, profanity, and immorality were common, and more than one recruit suffered his share of scorn and ridicule for choosing not to participate. Did this young man think I was going to mock him or that he was going to have to go on the defensive?
His hands shook almost imperceptibly, and he stood silent. It was obvious that during those few prolonged seconds, he was making some kind of decision. At last he lifted his head and straightened to his full height, and when he spoke, a resounding conviction flooded his countenance while an undeniable light shone in his eyes.
“Yes.”
One word was all he said, but that single word meant so much. In that moment, he seemed to know who he was and what his life was all about. The example of a stranger, a young man I had never seen before, stays in my mind to this day. Whenever I feel lost, alone, or uncertain, I pose to myself the same question I so casually asked that young man at the check-out counter: Are You LDS?
Yes.
I am a child of god. I am a disciple of Jesus Christ. I am a Latter-day Saint. I serve the Lord, and I am neither frightened nor ashamed. I know who I am, without a doubt. This was a small moment that changed my life. There are moments like this in everyone’s life—moments that help define you and put everything into focus. Some are monumental and easy to recognize, but many more are small, subtle, and unexpected.

My advice has not always been followed. For example, a few months ago a young neighbor who is a returned missionary drew a tag to kill a moose in the mountains of Utah. Later, his father told me about the hunt. His son was successful in shooting a moose, and then phoned his father to come and help him drag out the huge animal. When the father finally got to the remote location, his son said, “Of all the advice Elder Oaks has given, this is the advice I didn’t follow and wish I had.” He remembered my telling him, “If you’ve got a moose tag, kill the moose near the road.” My young neighbor had shot his moose over a mile from the road, downhill.

Now it’s Ben Griffiths’s turn, and he shares a story with a different twist.
“I was living in a basement apartment—my own room, my own kitchen, a pretty sweet deal. But I wasn’t surrounded by those people that keep you on the right path. It’s tough and you start feeling like you are alone. You come to a point where you have to decide for yourself what you want to do.
“I wasn’t going to church and I wasn’t paying attention to the things I should have. Then my sister invited me to an institute class she was going to. It was about feasting on the words of Christ. The teacher challenged us to study the Book of Mormon for 30 minutes a day. I would pray and ask the Lord to help me. Then I would read and write down the thoughts that came to me. Then I would thank the Lord for what he had given me.
“Pretty soon, it changed my life. It put everything back in perspective. We’re trying to get to the celestial kingdom. That’s the reason we’re here. All these things happening around us aren’t going to make much difference in the long run. But the gospel gives you a goal in life, a place to point to. I started going to church again. I started doing the things I should have been doing, because I knew they were right.
“College can either be a place where you just play around, or it can be a place where you straighten out your priorities. You have to learn that the things that matter most are the things that will stay with you always, and that’s the gospel and your family. Stay close to them and you’ll be happy.”

“Look! There she is—let’s get her!”
Mrs. Goodson was outside, calling her kitten. “Ready, set—now!” the boys started to pelt the elderly lady with snowballs that they had been making.
Startled, Mrs. Goodson turned towards her attackers. “You boys—get on to school! Stop that!” One of the snowballs hit a stinging blow to her forehead. She cried out.
“We’d better get out of here!”
Most of the boys ran off, but one of them hesitated. He had seen Mrs. Goodson fall. A hard tug on his sleeve spun him around.
“C’mon, Jake! She’ll be OK. But we won’t if we go back there. Come on!”
Jake joined the others as they ran to school.
All day long, though, Jake couldn’t get Mrs. Goodson out of his mind. He kept remembering the way she fell—and the way he ran away. He’d pass her house on the way home from school. He wanted to see if she was all right, but he was afraid. He knew that what they had done was wrong.
Jake had moved to town right before school started. His next-door neighbor was the first boy he’d met who was his own age, and Jake had begun hanging around with him and his friends, even though he often felt uncomfortable around them. Sometimes they did mean things to people and thought it was funny. Sometimes they talked about cutting school or doing things even worse. Jake realized that he’d better find some new friends before he got in trouble with them—if it wasn’t already too late. …
As he turned the corner, a boy that Jake remembered seeing at school was coming out of Mrs. Goodson’s garage. The boy was holding a gray-and-white kitten.
“Hi, Jake.” The boy hurried toward Jake, who stood on the other side of Mrs. Goodson’s fence. “Do you live around here? Do you remember me? I’m Jeremy Slater. We have science class together.” The boy’s nose was red from the cold, but his smile was genuine and his eyes were friendly.
“Sure—hi, Jeremy. Yeah, I live just down the street. Do you live here?”
“No, my grandma lives here, and I’m staying with her after school until my mom gets off work. Do you want to come in? We’ll have to be quiet, because my grandma isn’t feeling well today.”
Jake studied the snow on the fence post. “What’s wrong with her?”
“Some punk kids threw snowballs at her this morning. One of them hit her in the head, and she fell. She had to get a cast on her ankle—I guess she broke it when she fell.”
Jake swallowed hard. “I’m sorry to hear that. But I’d better get going. My mother gets upset if I’m late coming home from school. See you.” Jake ran almost all the way home.
That night, Jake knelt to pray. He hadn’t prayed much in his life, but he was troubled, and he hoped that prayer would help. His family didn’t have a regular church they attended, and most of their prayers were at the dinner table. He had heard that some people prayed both at night and in the morning, that they talked to God like He really listened and would help them.
Jake didn’t know where to begin, so he just bowed his head and started to talk to Heavenly Father. He prayed for help in finding new friends. He prayed for Mrs. Goodson. He prayed for the heavy feeling inside of him to go away. He fell asleep later that night with a strange warmness about him—the way he’d felt when he was little and fell asleep in his mother’s arms.
The next morning, Saturday, he remembered everything that had happened the day before. He made up his mind to apologize to Mrs. Goodson.
When his chores were done, he told his mother where he’d be. His heart raced as he approached Mrs. Goodson’s house. He hoped that Jeremy wouldn’t be there. It was going to be hard enough to talk to Mrs. Goodson, and he figured that he’d eventually have to tell Jeremy, too. Jake liked Jeremy and hoped that they could be friends. But if Jeremy knows that I was one of the boys who threw snowballs at his grandma, Jake thought, he won’t want to have anything to do with me.
It was Jeremy who answered the doorbell. “Hi, Jake. Come on in.”
Jake stepped into the hallway but stayed next to the door. “Actually, Jeremy, I came to see your grandmother. Can she have company?”
“She’d love it! Grandma’s cool. She’s fun to be around.” Jeremy led the way into the living room, where his grandmother was sitting with her leg propped up on pillows, the kitten beside her.
“I didn’t know you knew Grandma. Come on in.”
Mrs. Goodson’s cast was bright white except for the large Jeremy scrawled on it with a bright blue marker. She set aside the afghan she’d been working on and looked up at Jake.
“Hello, Mrs. Goodson, I’m Jake Lowder.” Jake took a deep breath. “I’m one of the boys who hurt you yesterday, and I’m sorry. I don’t know why it happened. …” He stood there staring down at his feet, waiting to be thrown out of the house. Or yelled at. Or something.
“Jeremy, why don’t you go into the kitchen and start some popcorn and hot chocolate for you boys. I’d like to speak to Jake alone.” Mrs. Goodson smiled at her grandson. “It will be all right.”
Jake saw the shock on Jeremy’s face and watched him head reluctantly toward the kitchen, glancing back to make sure that his grandmother really would be OK.
“Jake, sit down.” She patted the stool next to her ankle. “It took a lot of courage for you to come see me today. Do you want to tell me about it?”
Jake nodded, but he had a hard time speaking. He hadn’t expected to be treated this nicely. He was in the middle of his story when Jeremy poked his head in the doorway. Jake motioned for him to come in, feeling it would be easier to explain everything to both of them at once.
“You see, Mrs. Goodson, I never meant any harm. I’ve already decided not to hang around with those guys anymore.” He hesitated, then blurted out, “I even prayed about you last night.”
“Tell me, Jake,” Mrs. Goodson said. “Tell me about your prayer. What church does your family go to?”
Jake explained that his family didn’t have a regular church. He told her what he’d heard about prayer, and he shared some of what he prayed about with her.
“Jake, in our church, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, we call what you’re doing ‘repentance.’ Do you know what repentance is?”
Jake nodded. “It means to feel bad about something you’ve done wrong and to not do it again.”
Mrs. Goodson smiled. “That’s right, Jake. You have already admitted that you have done something wrong, and you have prayed for forgiveness. Now you are asking me to forgive you. Do you see that your prayers are being answered?” Mrs. Goodson smiled again.
Jake raised his head. “Is there anything else I should do, Mrs. Goodson?”
“Yes, Jake, two things. One you’ve also already done—you’ve promised to never again throw snowballs to hurt someone. The last thing is to try to make restitution to that person whom you have wronged. Do you know what restitution is?”
Jake shook his head.
“‘Restitution’ means to compensate for—make up for—anything you have done wrong or said or damaged.”
Jake looked up at her. How could he make up for what he had done to her?
“I know that sometimes that can be hard to do, Jake, but it is important.” Mrs. Goodson smiled. “I know—I’m going to need help around the house for a while. How do you feel about coming over and helping me every day until my ankle is better?”
Jake’s face lit up. He really liked Mrs. Goodson and Jeremy. It wouldn’t be hard at all to come over and help!
The rest of the afternoon went by quickly. As he and Jeremy swept the floors and helped get Mrs. Goodson’s supper for her, they became friends. As Jake left, he heard Jeremy and his grandmother talk about getting ready for church the next day. Jake decided that he wanted to hear more about their church.
When Jake arrived home, he told his parents everything that had happened—throwing snowballs, Mrs. Goodson’s fall, and his need to pray. He told them how forgiving Mrs. Goodson was, and he asked permission to spend time helping her. He also asked if he could talk to Mrs. Goodson more about her church.
Monday morning Jake woke up to fresh snow on the ground. That meant he’d need to get over to Mrs. Goodson’s house right away to shovel her walk before school. Maybe Jeremy would be there, too. He smiled. If he hurried, he’d probably have time to talk to them before he went to school. He was going to see if they’d tell his whole family about their church. He smiled again. He just knew that it would be a wonderful day!

Don was moved to a rehabilitation center in Denver, Colorado. He was quite unprepared for what he encountered at his new residence in the paralytic ward. Everyone seemed depressed, discouraged, and despondent. Patients could not understand how Don, who was in an equally distressing condition, could seem so happy. Some of them asked, “Why are you always so happy and smiling?” Don replied, “My smile keeps the tears from my eyes, and my laughter keeps away the feeling of unhappiness.”
With courageous determination Don took advantage of the special care he now received. Long after others would tire and leave the gymnasium, he would remain—trying, trying, trying. Through his valiant effort, accompanied by humble prayers to his Heavenly Father, he was finally strong enough to go up and down the parallel bars alone; and then he was able to walk with braces and crutches. His new mobility permitted him to attend church services. This spiritual comfort brought him great joy, but he was totally surprised by the reception he was given upon his return to the hospital. Everyone teased him for going to church! In his characteristic way, Don’s smile merely broadened at their taunting. He resolved to do something about the gloomy atmosphere in this, his new home, so he happily embarked upon the next chapter of his mission.
In the days that followed, he could be seen wheeling himself down hallways and into every room where patients would receive him, preaching the gospel to all who would listen. He became known cheerfully as “the prophet,” a title that he accepted graciously.
In the evenings he often sang as he accompanied himself with his guitar. Others began to join in, and the spirit spread. Friday nights soon became known as the time for singing and entertainment and patients joined together with singing and laughter. Patients began to smile and call each other by name.
On the night of Don’s departure, a special program was held in his behalf. His many new friends shook the rafters with a song sung in his honor: “Too Many Chiefs and Not Enough Indians Around This Place.”
The courage and spirit of this young man had affected the lives of others and left an indelible impression.
Two of the residing patients and two members of the nursing staff who waved good-bye to Don had accepted the gospel of Jesus Christ as a result of his influence. Many looked to the future with new hope, and each felt a personal loss at his departure.

At last, the chariots were wheeled into position at the starting line. Two elimination heats of 220 yards apiece narrowed the field of six down to the three fastest teams.
“On your mark, get set, go!” the starter screamed. The speed was as fast as a 50-yard dash. Noise from the audience was so loud that Little League baseball players and their parents rushed from the other side of the school to see what was going on.
About halfway around the track, the all-girl 23rd Ward team fell behind. The other two teams were in a dead heat coming around the final turn.
On both chariots, the sprinters were nearly exhausted. Some, too tired to continue pulling, released the handles and dropped to the side of the track. The 13th Ward had only two men left, plus the rider, as the low-slung chariot pulled ahead of the First Ward’s team by four feet at the finish line.
A large banner with the number 13 on it was thrown into the air. The winners’ friends and families surrounded them, smiling, shaking hands, hugging each other, and saying, “I knew we could do it!”
Then, through the middle of the throng, President “Caesar” Brockbank pressed forward, bearing the trophy with him. He called for Kendall Hansen and Corian Taylor, who had pulled the winning chariot across the finish line. The crowd parted to let them pass, and the trophy was in their hands.

One such time occurred a few years ago in Colombia. A small group of teens were selected by their stake presidents to represent the youth of their country during a brief visit by President Nelson in August of 2019.

The youth received instruction and then waited for the prophet in the green room where a few of us from the media team covering President Nelson’s global ministry were unpacking our equipment. I do not speak Spanish, but as I listened to them talk, I could tell they were worried and anxious and filled with doubt. A colleague told me the youth questioned whether they were worthy to meet with the prophet.

Then, after turning my attention away from them for a few minutes, I looked back and saw them kneeling together and praying. I later learned they were asking for help to be calm and expressing gratitude to the Lord for His Church and His prophet.

At that time in Colombia’s capital city of 7.1 million people, the ratio of members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints to the general population was 67 to one. Referencing the daunting statistic, President Nelson promised the youth, “Anything worthwhile in life is difficult to do. But you can do hard things as you link yourself to the Lord.” [21]

The next morning, April 6, 1893, dawned bright but chilly. Over two thousand Saints with recommends for the first dedicatory session began lining up outside the temple gates hours before the meeting was scheduled to begin. … The weather grew colder and a stiff breeze began to blow. Soon, frigid rain fell and the breeze became a howling wind, blasting the Saints who huddled patiently in line. …
Yet those who stood outside the building saw a sign. … Lifting their eyes to heaven, they glimpsed a large flock of seagulls pirouetting in the sky, circling the temple spires in the midst of the storm.

When I got back from my mission, I met a beautiful lady named Sandra Joelene Lyon at stake conference. We both attended Idaho State University in Pocatello but lived in Blackfoot. The best part about commuting was that Sandra and I carpooled in the same group. I could tell she was one of God’s precious daughters, and I knew she was the right one for me to marry. One day I sat next to her in the car and said, “You know, you really ought to write your missionary a ‘Dear John’ letter because you know you’re going to marry me anyway.” It wasn’t quite that simple, but after a couple of years we were married.
We got engaged in December, which makes Christmas especially meaningful. Being married for eternity is the greatest gift we could have given each other. My wife is a wonderful blessing as she provides gifts of love to me, our children, their spouses, and our grandchildren. Her love does much to keep our family united.

I grew up in El Paso, Texas. My father fought in World War II, so while he was away, my grandpa did his best to be like a father to me.
One day while sitting on the sidewalk, I saw a car coming slowly up the street. Smoke billowed out from under the hood. When the car was right in front of me, it stopped working. A man jumped out while his wife and five children waited inside, crying. I couldn’t understand what they were saying, but I knew they were from Mexico because of their license plate.
Just then my grandpa drove by. He stopped and spoke in Spanish, asking them what the problem was. I kept hearing the word templo, and I thought, “That sounds like ‘temple.’” I soon found out that this family was driving to the Mesa Arizona Temple to be sealed. At that time, there were no temples in Mexico or Central America.
My grandpa took them to his house where he fed them and let them stay for the night. Then he took their car to the mechanic and had a new engine put in. When they left, he gave them extra money to help them on their way. I have always remembered the kindness he showed them.

What are you going to spend your Chinese New Year money on?
I’m going to buy a new jump rope.
I’m going to buy candy.
I’m going to buy a new bag.
I’m going to save it.
What should I do with my money?
I know what to do with some of my money first!
The next Sunday …
Thanks for your donation, Chung.
You’re welcome!
It feels good to pay my tithing first. I know it makes Heavenly Father happy.
This story took place in Taiwan. Chinese New Year will be on February 1 next year!

Jamie knew what was happening in the kitchen that very moment. Her parents were waiting for her brother, Alex, to come home. She also knew what would happen later in the night. Maybe she would be asleep when it happened. Once she had slept through it all, but most of the time she woke up when it started and she lay in her bed and listened to the shouting and denials and slamming of doors. She hated it most when her mother cried. It always tied her stomach into knots and made her want to run away. She wondered what it would be like to never wake up listening to people yell at each other.
She was in her room ready for bed. She thought about praying but decided against it because she had prayed so many times that her brother would quit going out and getting drunk and she couldn’t see that her prayers had changed anything.
She slipped between the covers. The sheets were cold. It was November and getting colder every day. She remembered her mother telling Alex about a man who’d been drinking and passed out on the snow and froze to death. It didn’t faze Alex. Nothing fazed Alex.
Sometimes Jamie wished Alex would just go away so they could be a family again like they used to be, but she never told anyone that because she knew nobody would understand.
Jamie also knew what the morning would bring. When she got up, her father would be gone to work, even though it was Saturday. Her mother would be working in the kitchen, her eyes puffy from a night of tears and a morning of trying to figure out why Alex was out of control.
Alex would sleep until two or three in the afternoon and then watch TV for a few hours, take a shower, make a few phone calls, and be gone before supper. Sometimes he didn’t come home Saturday nights. Jamie thought it was because then he didn’t get hassled about going to church.
Jamie knew how it would be and what everyone would say and how it would go. And on Monday Alex would go to work at the auto parts store like nothing had happened. He worked hard through the week because times were tough and he knew if he messed up, he might lose his job.
Alex wanted to move out of the house and get an apartment. But not just any apartment. It had to be one of the best apartments in town. The only problem was that they required a large deposit and two months’ rent. Alex was trying to save the money, but because he partied so much, he never saved anything. That’s why he was still at home.
I know everything that’s going to happen, she thought. The whole world revolves around Alex, what he does, what he says, where he goes.
When she saw people at church, they’d come up and ask how Alex was doing. Alex isn’t the only person with problems, she thought. I have some too.
People talked about how church was a comfort to them when they were going through hard times, but for some reason, it didn’t work that way for her. All that happened when she went to church was that she kept getting more things piled on her. In the past week she had been asked to serve on a youth conference planning committee and had been told she was in charge of planning a fireside. But in all this nobody asked how she was doing; all anyone asked about was how Alex was doing.
Nobody cares about me, she thought. All they care about is Alex. Maybe I should be like Alex, and then people would notice me too.
She hated what was happening in their family. It was like she was being forced to play a part in a play. Her role was to be the good girl with no problems. She had to be perfect so her parents wouldn’t worry about her, so they could spend all their time and energy on Alex.
She felt like she had no one to go to—certainly not her parents. She felt that if she added one more burden to what they were already carrying they would break. She couldn’t even go to her friends because they all treated her like she was perfect and didn’t have any problems.
She lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, wishing sleep would come to take her away. At 12:30 she heard Alex’s car pull into the driveway, heard him get out of the car and come in the house. “Oh, look at you; just look at you!” her mother cried out.
Jamie couldn’t stand to hear it all over again. She pulled a blanket off the bed, went in the bathroom, shut the door, turned on the shower but didn’t get in, wrapped the blanket around her, and sat down on the floor and cried. She stayed there for a long time. When she turned off the shower, the shouting was over. She returned to her bed and soon fell asleep.
The next morning she slept until her mother came to the door and knocked.
“What is it?” Jamie asked sleepily.
“Sister Bradford just called. She wondered if you’d forgotten you promised to help her make cookies for the fireside tomorrow night.”
“I want to sleep.”
Her mother opened the door. “She said to tell you she really needs your help. Nobody else has shown up.”
The difference between Alex and me, she thought, is Alex does what he wants to do and I do what others want me to do. Nobody calls Alex on a Saturday morning to remind him he promised to help bake cookies.
She wanted to go back to sleep, but she knew it wasn’t fair for Sister Bradford to make all the cookies for the fireside by herself. “All right, I’ll get up.”
More out of habit than anything else, she knelt by her bed to say a prayer before she got dressed. She started with her usual routine prayer but then stopped. “Heavenly Father, please help me. I feel so bad.”
Just after Jamie arrived, Sister Bradford’s husband took all the kids for a Saturday outing at the park. It was the quietest Jamie had ever seen their house.
“How are you doing these days?” Sister Bradford asked as they worked side by side, rolling cookie dough into small balls and plopping them on cookie trays.
“Fine,” Jamie said, knowing that people usually didn’t want to know the truth when they asked a question like that. She turned to look at Sister Bradford, who asked. “Really?”
Jamie looked away. “Yeah, sure, I’m doing okay.”
“I’m not asking just to pass the time of day. I really do want to know.”
Jamie paused. “You know about Alex, right?”
“Yes, I know about Alex. I don’t know about Jamie, though. You want to tell me how she’s doing?”
“Okay, I guess.”
They talked for two hours, until Brother Bradford came back with the kids and it was time for Jamie to go home.
As soon as Jamie walked into her house, she went to her father. “Dad, I need to talk to you and Mom now. Is that all right?”
“I’ll get your mother,” her dad said.
It was the one thing Sister Bradford had the hardest time convincing Jamie to do. She had not wanted to say anything to her parents because she didn’t want to hurt them any more than they already were.
Sister Bradford had talked to her about it. “They’re not porcelain dolls that are going to break with the slightest bump. They can take it, Jamie. They’d rather have you tell them the truth than hide it. You’ve got to talk to them and tell them how you’re feeling.” Jamie had finally reluctantly agreed.
“I want Alex in here too,” she said.
“I’ll go get him,” her father said.
And so there they were, gathered in the front room. Jamie took a deep breath and began, “I think our whole family needs to talk to someone who can help us. It’s not just Alex. I need some help too. Just because I haven’t said anything doesn’t mean I’m not hurting. I think we all need some help.”
“Who would you suggest we talk to?” her mother asked.
“Well, the bishop to begin with.”
They all looked at Alex. “Count me out,” he said.
“We all have to do it, Alex,” Jamie said. “If all it does is get us talking again, it will be worth it.”
“Who put you up to this?” Alex asked.
“My Laurel adviser.”
“What makes her the expert?”
“When she was growing up, there were problems in her family.”
“And going to somebody made everything perfect again?” Alex taunted.
“No, but it made it better than it was.”
“It’s not going to do anything for me,” Alex said.
“You’re not the only one in this family, Alex. We’re all hurting. It’s not just you. On the nights you come in late, you think I can sleep through all the yelling? What do you want me to do? Hide in my room and pretend nothing’s wrong? Well I can’t do that, at least not anymore.”
Her father was the first to speak. “I think Jamie’s right. We need to go in as a family.”
Later that day Sister Bradford called to ask how it had gone with her family.
“We’re all going to see the bishop next week. Thanks a lot for talking to me. It was just what I needed. I just can’t understand why none of the other girls showed up this morning to help out. They all knew about it.”
There was a long pause on the other end. “I have a confession to make. After I found out you were coming, I called the others and asked them not to come.”
“Why?”
“I woke up this morning thinking about you and wondering how you were doing.”
That night when Jamie went to bed, she thanked Heavenly Father for answering the prayer she had offered by giving her a Laurel adviser like Sister Bradford.
Alex was out again. Jamie didn’t know what would happen when he came home—except she knew it wouldn’t be the same as before. At least not for her.

Shortly after becoming a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, I began to hear warnings, from Church leaders encouraging members to prepare for difficult times, including those caused by natural phenomena. My situation as a student at the time, made me think that it was not something important to do and that I could think about it later.
A few years after I became a husband and father, we planned to create a reserve, little by little. In recent months, the Presidency of the Caribbean Area has encouraged us to focus on the need to prepare, not only with storage, but also with an emergency backpack.
We were able to observe how we were blessed and saved from the hurricanes in 2020, while some of our Caribbean brothers and sisters suffered from its effects. So, in 2021, we decided not only to say preparation was a good thing, but we decided to act.
In 2020, we had taken steps to assemble our emergency backpack. We relied on the list provided by the Area, as well as the documentation that state services made available to us.
However, despite our best efforts, we were unable to build our backpack. As I said before, we were thankful that no major hurricane hit us that year.
In 2021, we wanted to be obedient and set an example for our children. We now have emergency backpacks for the whole family, and we are aware that we are one of the “pioneers of emergency backpacks.”
Our local leaders, branch president, elders quorum president, and Relief Society president have relayed the information to our branch members and regularly encourage us to pack our backpack and let them know if we are having trouble doing so.
As a ministering brother, I take the time to ask the families that I minister to, “How are you doing with preparing your emergency backpack? Do you know how to prepare it? Do you need help to do it?” A simple way to teach how to do it is to show visual aids with objects that we could put in backpacks.
I can testify to the hard work this has required, and also to the blessing of the sweet feelings of serenity and security that we now feel.
I know that the Lord, in his omniscience, “knowing the calamity which should befall the inhabitants of the earth” (D&C 1:17), has inspired our Church leaders and even our political representatives to insist on this important preparation and to show us what to do.