Gospel Story Finder

In speaking of the President of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, the Lord proclaimed:
“And again, the duty of the President of the office of the High Priesthood is to preside over the whole church, and to be like unto Moses—
“… Yea, to be a seer, a revelator, a translator, and a prophet, having all the gifts of God which he bestows upon the head of the church” (Doctrine and Covenants 107:91–92; emphasis added).
I have been blessed to witness some of the gifts of God upon His prophets. May I share one such sacred experience with you? Prior to my current calling, I assisted in identifying and recommending future temple sites. After September 11, 2001, crossings along the U.S. borders became more controlled. As a result, it took two to three hours for many Church members to make the crossing from Vancouver, Canada, while going to the Seattle Washington Temple. President Gordon B. Hinckley, President of the Church at that time, suggested that a temple in Vancouver would bless members of the Church. A site search was authorized, and after we examined several Church-owned properties, other sites not owned by the Church were also investigated.
A beautiful site with religious zoning adjacent to the Trans-Canadian Highway was found. The property had excellent access, was dotted with beautiful Canadian pine trees, and enjoyed a prominent location which would make it visible to thousands of passing motorists.
We presented the site with pictures and maps in the monthly Temple Sites Committee meeting. President Hinckley authorized that we place it under contract and complete the necessary studies. In December of that year, we reported back to the committee that the studies were complete, and we sought approval to proceed with the purchase. After hearing our report, President Hinckley said, “I feel I should see this site.”
Later that month, two days after Christmas, we left for Vancouver with President Hinckley; President Thomas S. Monson; and Bill Williams, a temple architect. We were met by Paul Christensen, the local stake president, who transported us to the site. It was a little wet and misty that day, but President Hinckley jumped out of the car and began walking all over the site.
After spending time on the site, I asked President Hinckley if he would like to see some of the other sites that had been considered. He said yes, he would like that. You see, by looking at the other sites, we were able to make a comparison of their virtues.
We did a large clockwise loop around Vancouver looking at the other properties, ultimately arriving back at the original site. President Hinckley said, “This is a beautiful site.” Then he asked, “Can we go to the Church-owned meetinghouse about one-quarter mile [0.4 km] away?”
“Of course, President,” we responded.
We got back into the cars and drove to the nearby meetinghouse. As we arrived at the chapel, President Hinckley said, “Turn left here.” We turned and followed the street as instructed. The street began to rise slightly.
Just as the car reached the crown of the rise, President Hinckley said, “Stop the car, stop the car.” He then pointed to the right at a parcel of ground and said, “What about this property? This is where the temple goes. This is where the Lord wants the temple. Can you get it? Can you get it?”
We hadn’t looked at this property. It was farther back and away from the main road, and it was not listed for sale. When we responded we didn’t know, President Hinckley pointed to the property and said again, “This is where the temple goes.” We stayed a few minutes, then left for the airport to return home.
The next day, Brother Williams and I were called to President Hinckley’s office. He had drawn out everything on a piece of paper: the roads, the chapel, turn left here, X marks the spot for the temple. He asked what we had found out. We told him he couldn’t have picked a more difficult property. It was owned by three individuals: one from Canada, one from India, and one from China! And it didn’t have the necessary religious zoning.
“Well, do your best,” he said.
Then the miracles happened. Within several months we owned the property, and later the city of Langley, British Columbia, gave permission to build the temple.
In reflecting upon this experience, I am humbled by the realization that while Brother Williams and I possessed formal education and years of experience in real estate and temple design, President Hinckley had no such formal training, but he had something far greater—the gift of prophetic seership. He was able to envision where God’s temple should stand.
When the Lord commanded the early Saints in this dispensation to construct a temple, He declared:
“But let a house be built unto my name according to the pattern which I will show unto them.
“And if my people build it not according to the pattern which I shall show … , I will not accept it at their hands” (Doctrine and Covenants 115:14–15).
As with the early Saints, so it is with us today: the Lord has revealed and continues to reveal to the President of the Church the patterns by which the kingdom of God is to be directed in our day. And, at a personal level, he provides guidance as to how each of us should direct our lives, such that our conduct may likewise be acceptable to the Lord.
In April 2013 I spoke about the efforts involved in preparing every temple’s foundation to ensure that it can withstand the storms and calamities to which it will be subjected. But the foundation is just the beginning. A temple is composed of many building blocks, fitted together according to predesigned patterns. If our lives are to become the temples each of us is striving to construct as taught by the Lord (see 1 Corinthians 3:16–17), we could reasonably ask ourselves, “What building blocks should we put in place in order to make our lives beautiful, majestic, and resistant to the storms of the world?”
We can find the answer to this question in the Book of Mormon. Concerning the Book of Mormon, the Prophet Joseph Smith said, “I told the brethren that the Book of Mormon was the most correct of any book on earth, and the keystone of our religion, and a man would get nearer to God by abiding by its precepts, than by any other book” (introduction to the Book of Mormon). In the introduction to the Book of Mormon, we are taught that “those who gain [a] divine witness from the Holy Spirit [that the Book of Mormon is the word of God] will also come to know by the same power that Jesus Christ is the Savior of the world, that Joseph Smith is His revelator and [prophet of the Restoration], and that The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is the Lord’s kingdom once again established on the earth.”
These then are some essential building blocks of our individual faith and testimony:
Jesus Christ is the Savior of the world.
The Book of Mormon is the word of God.
The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is the kingdom of God on the earth.
Joseph Smith is a prophet, and we have living prophets on the earth today.
In recent months, I have listened to every general conference address which President Nelson has given since he was first called as an Apostle. This exercise has changed my life. As I studied and pondered 34 years of President Nelson’s collected wisdom, clear and consistent themes emerged from his teachings. Each of these themes relates to those building blocks just mentioned or is another key building block for our personal temples. They include faith in the Lord Jesus Christ, repentance, baptism for the remission of sins, the gift of the Holy Ghost, redemption of the dead and temple work, keeping the Sabbath day holy, beginning with the end in mind, staying on the covenant path. President Nelson has spoken of them all with love and devotion.

Bishop David Day of Aylesbury Ward in the Watford Stake decided that 2021’s Mothering Sunday needed to be different and certainly needed to reflect the technical journey on which most members have been during COVID restrictions.
Every year, the Aylesbury Ward has given all sisters a small gift on Mothering Sunday, hoping that they would understand how much they are appreciated. Sometimes it has been a flower, and sometimes chocolate. Last year everyone received an Easter egg.
As COVID-19 has caused many ward meetings to go online and delivering a physical gift in person would go against the spirit of current government advice, the Bishopric turned to a digital gift for the first time.
The primary children and youth in the ward were asked to send the bishopric a video explaining why they loved their mothers, or why mothers were amazing. This was done without their mothers being aware—the children enjoyed recording each other with their dads’ phones!
Bishop Day then edited the videos and used them to prepare a short video presentation, which included quotes from Church leaders. At the end of the ward’s Zoom sacrament meeting, he asked the sisters to check their email inbox for the link to the video.
Many sisters immediately reported back to him, expressing their joy at receiving this video, which included loving messages. It was a fabulous surprise from their children.

The twenty-third of December is an important birth date to remember, for it was on that day in 1805 that the Prophet Joseph Smith was born.
The Prophet loved children and they loved him. He would often go out of his way to speak to a child. One boy recalled that when families drove from their farms into Kirtland to attend church meetings, the Prophet would go from wagon to wagon, seeking out the children to whom he gave special greetings.
They called the Prophet “Brother Joseph,” and he always had a smile for them. Once a group of children were playing in a home where the Prophet was hiding from wicked men who wanted to kill him. They overheard the older people tell of the Prophet’s danger, and one seven-year-old girl said, “I know what we can do. We can pray and ask our Father in heaven to keep Brother Joseph safe from harm.”
A few minutes later the Prophet went past a bedroom door in time to see the children kneeling together and to hear their simple prayer for his safety. Tears filled his eyes and then rolled down his cheeks. As the children rose from their knees, one of them said, “Now I know Brother Joseph will be safe.”
Then the Prophet returned to the room where his older friends had come to guard him through the night. He told them that they could go to their own homes, for he knew that prayers of children are heard and answered and that he could sleep in peace that night. And he did!
Here is what some of the children who knew and loved Brother Joseph wrote about him:
The Prophet Joseph Smith was our neighbor. We lived next to him on the corner of Main and Parley streets. He came to our house quite often for short visits.
One day my older brother, Wallace, and I were on our way to school. It had been raining the previous day and the ground was very muddy, especially along the street on which the building known as Joseph’s brick store was. Wallace and I both got stuck fast in the mud and could not get out. And, childlike, we began to cry. Looking up, I beheld the loving friend of children, the Prophet Joseph, coming toward us. He soon had us on higher and drier ground. Then he stooped down and cleaned the mud from our little heavy-laden shoes, took his handkerchief from his pocket, and wiped our tearstained faces. He spoke kind and cheering words to us and sent us on our way to school rejoicing. You can see why Wallace and I loved him.
Years later my husband told me that when he was a child, Brother Joseph went to their home and asked if he could borrow one of his mother’s twin babies. He explained that his wife Emma had been sad and lonely since her own baby had died, and he thought it would comfort her take care of one of the girls. The Prophet picked up the baby in the morning and brought her back each night.
One evening when the baby was not home at the usual time, Mother Burgess went to see what was the matter. There was the Prophet rocking the little baby by the fire. He had her wrapped in a silk quilt, and he was singing to get her quiet.

When I was about three or four years old, my mother was the ward Relief Society president. Part of her responsibility, it seemed, was always to have a quilt in progress in our home. At any given time, sisters would filter in and out of our basement to quilt for a while. Often my mother would thread a needle for me and let me “quilt” with the sisters. (My clumsy stitches were patiently removed when I was not around.) I relished these moments and learned at a young age to love quilting and Relief Society.
My mother died suddenly when I was only five. It wasn’t until years later that I found out she had left me a great gift of love. The Christmas of my 19th year is one I will always remember, for that was when I received this most precious gift from my mother, although she had passed away 14 years earlier.
I hadn’t known it, but before my mother died she had pieced together two special quilt tops, one for my older brother and one for me. She had used little pieces of fabric from our dresses and shirts. But she had passed away before she could put the quilts together and do the quilting.
When I turned 19, my older sister felt it was time to complete the quilts for my brother and me, and she asked the ward Relief Society to finish them. The sisters sewed the intricate stitches without knowing how much it would have pleased my mother.
On Christmas Day when I received the quilt, I loved the gift with all my heart. But I had no idea how much more it would yet come to mean to me.
Years went by, and I married and started a family of my own. I kept my quilt wrapped in a plastic bag in a drawer to protect it from damage and wear. One day I took it out and was carefully admiring it when one of my little boys came into the room and asked me where I got the quilt. I explained to him that his Grandma Brown had made the quilt for me before she died.
“Who is Grandma Brown?” my young son asked.
How it pained me that my children had never known the mother I cherished. It hurt that she could not put her arms around them and tell them she loved them in her tender, gentle way. I explained to my son once again that Grandma Brown, my mother, was someone special in heaven who loved him.
“Why do you have that quilt, Mommy?” he asked.
Suddenly it came to me. I knew exactly why I had the quilt. I unfolded it and wrapped it around his little body. “I have this quilt so Grandma Brown can give you hugs even though she is in heaven,” I said.
A big smile spread across his face, and I could see that this was the best answer I could have given him.
Since then the quilt has made its way out of the drawer much more often. Whenever a family member is hurt, sad, or in need of extra love, the quilt is a great source of comfort. I love touching the quilt, knowing my mother’s hands have touched it also.
Many years have passed, and I can now quilt correctly. My sisters and I have spent many hours around quilting frames, talking about our mother. Since I am the youngest, my sisters tell me stories about her to help me know her better. Yet no matter how many stories I hear, nothing has helped me or my children turn our hearts to my mother more than the quilt I got for Christmas the year I turned 19.

Several years ago, I was invited to give an important lecture at a medical school in New York City. The night before the lecture, Sister Nelson and I were invited to dinner at the home of our host professor. There he proudly introduced us to an honor medical student—his beautiful daughter.

Some weeks later, that professor telephoned me in an obvious state of grief. I asked, “What is the matter?”

“Remember our daughter whom you met at our home?”

“Of course,” I replied. “I’ll never forget such a stunning young lady.”

Then her father sobbed and said, “Last night she was killed in an automobile accident!” Trying to gain composure, he continued: “She asked permission to go to a dance with a certain young man. I didn’t have a good feeling about it. I told her so and asked her not to go. She asked, ‘Why?’ I simply told her that I was uneasy. She had always been an obedient daughter, but she said that if I could not give her a good reason to decline, she wanted to go. And so she did. At the dance, alcoholic beverages were served. Her escort drank a bit—we don’t know how much. While returning home, he was driving too fast, missed a turn, and careened through a guardrail into a reservoir below. They were both submerged and taken to their death.”

As I shared my feeling of sadness, he concluded: “My grief is made worse because I had the distinct feeling that trouble lay ahead. Why couldn’t I have been more persuasive?”

What did the program accomplish? Some of it can never be measured because it went on inside people’s hearts, but there have been a couple of encouraging signs already. One pair of missionaries report that a family of investigators, whose smoking had kept them from baptism, gave up the habit in anticipation of the coliseum program. Another pair of missionaries are now teaching the gospel to a waitress whom they met at a truck stop on the way to the coliseum. She was impressed that neither the elders, nor any of their investigators, would drink coffee.

The Taylors heard the restored gospel as a result of some unusual circumstances. In 1836, Parley P. Pratt was sent to Toronto by revelation to preach the gospel. Concerning Elder Pratt’s mission to Canada, Elder Heber C. Kimball had prophesied, “From the things growing out of this mission, shall the fullness of the gospel spread into England.” (See Roberts, page 35.) Elder Pratt received from a stranger a letter of introduction to a John Taylor in Toronto. But when he called at the Taylors’ home, his reception there was polite but not exactly cordial. Later, after presenting his message to the ministers in the city, Elder Pratt prepared to leave. Valise in hand, he was saying good-bye to John Taylor when a neighbor—a member of the Taylors’ religious study group—came in, offered her home for Elder Pratt to preach in, and proposed to lodge and feed him. As a result, John and Leonora Taylor heard Elder Pratt preach. This was John’s response to his group of friends:

“We are here, ostensibly in search of the truth. Hitherto we have fully investigated other creeds and doctrines and proven them false. Why should we fear to investigate Mormonism? This gentleman, Mr. Pratt, has brought to us many doctrines that correspond with our own views. … We have prayed to God to send us a messenger, if He has a true Church on earth. … I desire to investigate his doctrines and claims to authority, and shall be very glad if some of my friends will unite with me in this investigation. But if no one will unite with me, be assured I shall make the investigation alone. If I find his religion true, I shall accept it, no matter what the consequences may be; but if false, then I shall expose it.” (See Roberts, pages 38–39.)

For three weeks, John Taylor followed Elder Pratt from place to place, copying down sermons as Elder Pratt delivered them—and then privately comparing them with the scriptures. Satisfied that the missionary was teaching the truth, John and Leonora Taylor joined the Church. Twenty-eight-year-old John was ordained an elder and was placed in charge of the Church in Canada when the missionaries returned to their homes.

Men turn from evil and yield to their better natures when mother is remembered. A famed officer from the Civil War period, Colonel Higgenson, when asked to name the incident of the Civil War that he considered the most remarkable for bravery, said that there was in his regiment a man whom everybody liked, a man who was brave and noble, who was pure in his daily life, absolutely free from dissipations in which most of the other men indulged.

One night at a champagne supper, when many were becoming intoxicated, someone in jest called for a toast from this young man. Colonel Higgenson said that he arose, pale but with perfect self-control, and declared: “Gentlemen, I will give you a toast which you may drink as you will, but which I will drink in water. The toast that I have to give is, ‘Our mothers.’”

Instantly a strange spell seemed to come over all the tipsy men. They drank the toast in silence. There was no laughter, no more song, and one by one they left the room. The lamp of memory had begun to burn, and the name of “Mother” touched every man’s heart.

“Here, kitty, kitty! Here, kitty, kitty!” Brandon called over and over again. Mother went to the back door. “Brandon, it’s getting dark now. Come inside.”
“But, Mommy, one of the kittens is missing from the box!” Brandon ran to the porch. “See?” he said. “One, two, three, four, five. They’re all here except Mandy.”
“But how can you tell which one is missing?” asked Daddy, joining them on the porch. “They all look alike.”
“Oh, no,” said Brandon. “They are all the same color, but each one is a little different from the others, and I know that Mandy is the missing one.”
“But you should come inside now,” said Daddy. “The kitten will be all right. She’ll probably come back during the night. I’ll check later to see if she’s here.”
“But I can’t go to bed until I find her,” insisted Brandon. “If I was missing, wouldn’t you worry about me?”
“Of course, we would!” said Daddy. “I’ll tell you what—let’s get the flashlight and look for the kitten together.”
They searched under the back porch, under the bushes, in the window well, and everywhere they thought that a frightened kitten might hide. But they couldn’t find Mandy anywhere.
“It’s getting very late,” said Daddy. “We really should go back in.”
“Wait, Daddy. Listen! Did you hear that?”
Daddy stopped and listened.
“I hear Mandy crying. Do you hear her, Daddy?”
Sure enough, there was a faint “Mew! Mew!” coming from somewhere.
“Up, Daddy—shine the light up.”
Daddy shined the flashlight above them, and there was the tiny kitten on a limb of the mulberry tree.
Daddy called, “Here, kitty, kitty! Here, Mandy!”
But the kitten only cried louder. “Mew! Mew!”
“I’ll climb up and get her,” Brandon offered. “I climb this tree all the time.”
While Daddy held the flashlight, Brandon climbed to the limb where the kitten was. But she pulled away.
“She’s very frightened,” said Daddy. “She needs to know that she can trust you.”
Brandon slowly stretched out his hand as he said softly, “Here, Mandy.”
When Mandy didn’t move, Brandon patted Mandy’s head. “Here, Mandy,” he said again. Then very slowly he slipped his hand under Mandy’s chest and lifted her to his shoulder. She clung tightly to his jacket as he climbed back down.
Later, when Mandy was safely back in the box on the porch and Daddy was tucking Brandon into bed, Daddy said, “You know, this reminds me of a story about Jesus.”
“You mean Jesus had a kitten that got lost?” Brandon asked in surprise.
“No,” said Daddy. “But He told a story about a shepherd who had many sheep. One little lamb got lost, and the shepherd didn’t rest until he found it and brought it back to be with the others.
“Jesus is called the Good Shepherd, and we are His lambs. The Bible says that He knows every lamb by name, just like you know each of those kittens. And just like you love those kittens so much that you wanted to make sure that they were all safe before you went to bed, Jesus watches over us and wants to keep us safe.”
“I like being called a lamb,” said Brandon. “And I’m glad Jesus loves me so much.”

After high school, like many freshmen, I was overwhelmed by my college courses and the challenges of simultaneously living away from home but also with five roommates.

This was when I learned to understand the strengthening and enabling power of Christ’s grace. I spent my days working and studying, but I depended on daily prayers in which I pled to Heavenly Father for the ability to complete the necessary tasks. As the school year continued, I discovered to my joy that with the strengthening and enabling power of Christ’s Atonement, I could function not only well but without difficulty.

Elder David Rawls and his companion, Elder Rahrick, stood at the door of the small LDS meetinghouse in Tokyo, Japan, and waited.
“What if he doesn’t come?” Elder Rahrick asked.
“He’ll come.”
“But what if he doesn’t?”
“Then he won’t.”
“You’re not much help, you know.”
“Don’t worry. He’ll come,” David said.
“I already wrote my folks and told them we were going to have a baptism, so if he doesn’t come, what’ll I do?”
“Tell them he didn’t come.”
“You don’t know my dad. He wants results.”
“Go see how close to being full the font is, okay? That’ll give you something to do.”
Elder Rahrick started off and then stopped and turned around. “He’d better come, that’s all I can say. I wrote my girlfriend about the baptism too.”
“Go check the font, will you?”
“All right, but if he doesn’t come, it won’t matter if the font is full or not, will it?”
David watched as Elder Rahrick went down the hall of the church to the baptismal font. They were about as different as two people could be. David couldn’t understand how some guy just off the plane thought he knew more about missionary work than he did.
It was a tough mission with long hours, a difficult language to learn, and few converts, and no California beach boy was going to change it in a day. Don’t let him get to you, he thought. This is a day of celebration, because today the hurt will go away.
Ever since he was a little boy, he had in his mind the image of being on his mission, standing in the water, baptizing someone. But somehow the reality had been that, even though he’d worked hard, he’d had no baptisms. Of course there had been people he’d taught who eventually were baptized, but always just after he was transferred.
His parents had always told him not to worry, that he should just do his best. And he had. He worked hard and lived mission rules and prayed, but still no baptisms came.
As time slipped by, he thought about what it would be like, after his mission, talking with his friends from high school, guys he’d played basketball with, guys who thrived on competition. He knew they’d ask how many baptisms he’d had on his mission. From letters they’d written, he already knew one of his friends had 30 baptisms.
And he had none.
“Don’t let it get you down,” his father had written. “The important thing is that you are serving with all your heart, mind, and strength. We couldn’t be more proud of you than we are.”
David knew his father was right, but still, he wanted at least once on his mission, to stand in the baptismal font with someone he’d taught, and raise his right arm to the square, and actually perform the baptismal ordinance. If for no other reason, just to make his boyhood dream come true.
Just when it seemed that it would never happen, four weeks before his release from the mission field, they met Katsutoshi Tanaka, a white-haired retired gardener, a gentle man, a widower, who lived in a small apartment in the city. He seemed to have been waiting for them. Each time they came to give him a missionary lesson, he was there, well prepared, having read the pamphlets they’d given him. When he attended church, the members seemed drawn to him and they welcomed him openly.
Of course Elder Rahrick, David’s companion, with the confidence that comes from not knowing very much, had attributed their success to his having come into the mission field. “You see what happens when you plan your work and work your plan?” he told David once after an especially good discussion with Brother Tanaka. That really grated on David’s nerves. You have so much to learn, Elder, he thought.
When it became apparent that Brother Tanaka was actually going to be baptized, Elder Rahrick asked, “How about if I baptize him?”
“We’ll talk about it later,” he had said. In David’s mind though there wasn’t much to talk about. He was the senior companion, about to go home, having gone his mission never having fulfilled his dream of baptizing someone in the mission field. Elder Rahrick would have plenty of chances later on.
Elder Rahrick returned from down the hall. “The font’s almost full, but I don’t know where to turn off the water, and the custodian’s gone. Would you do it for me?”
David nodded his head and went back to the baptismal font. He looked at the font now full of water. It looked so beautiful. He was so grateful that Brother Tanaka had accepted the gospel. It had been so hard to go on without any apparent success, with mission newsletters telling of the baptisms of others when he was always two weeks too late or one week too early.
At first he had thought it was punishment from God, that for some reason he wasn’t good enough to have baptisms. He talked to his mission president about it, who said, “Elder, you’re one of the best missionaries I’ve got. We’re not out here to have a contest with numbers. I’m sorry that transfers have caused you to miss out on some baptisms, but wherever you’ve served, people’s lives have been blessed. Do you know how many converts sing your praises for having contacted them?”
Even so, it had been difficult to take. Sometimes at night, when he couldn’t sleep, he knelt beside his bed and poured out his heart in prayer, and from those silent vigils strength and commitment had come—but no baptisms.
David knew he was stronger than he would have been if it had been easy. He had learned not to give up and had mastered the ability to work hard even when he was discouraged.
Eventually there came a time in his mission, when he knew he could take whatever happened and it wouldn’t affect how hard he worked, or how committed he was, or how much faith he had in Father in Heaven.
Shortly after that, they found Brother Tanaka.
He sat down to gaze at the now nearly full font. It was beautiful to see. My mission is just about over, he thought with a rush of sadness. I’ve come to the end of things.
He’d been reading the book of John in the New Testament, and this morning he’d read the words of the Savior to his Apostles given his last few days upon the earth. David sensed a reluctance on the part of the Savior to leave these men to themselves, a concern that they may have not learned enough to carry on, and a genuine affection for those who had stood by him during those past three years of his ministry.
The Savior knew their weaknesses, David thought, and yet he still loved them. And he encouraged them to have love for each other. “By this shall all men know that ye are my disciples, if ye have love one to another” (John 13:35).
And now I go and leave Elder Rahrick here to carry on. Have I shown him the same kind of love the Savior did his Apostles? It hasn’t been easy for me with Elder Rahrick. Maybe because I’m about to leave and he’s just come. We seem worlds apart at times. He’s so caught up with himself; whatever good he does, he does it with the idea in mind of how impressed the people back home will be when they hear about it.
If I can show love to Elder Rahrick, he thought, I can show love to anybody. Getting along with a wife will be a breeze compared to this.
David got up and turned off the water, and suddenly it struck him that in one week he would be back home in Arizona, getting ready to start college again, concerned mainly about himself again. For an instant, more than anything in the world, he wanted to stay where he was and not go home. It had taken so long to get where he was now, willing and able to devote his entire self to the work, and now they were going to tell him they didn’t need him anymore. It didn’t make sense.
Oh, Father in Heaven, he thought, please help me get through these changes in my life.
Elder Rahrick came back to see him. “No sign of Brother Tanaka yet. He’d better come, that’s all I can say.”
David stared at Elder Rahrick, who looked to be about 17 years old. “Elder,” David said, “we haven’t always gotten along, have we?”
“Oh, it hasn’t been that bad.”
“I just want you to know I love you.”
Elder Rahrick got red in the face. “You do?”
“Yes.”
“I know we’re supposed to say that, but still, it really seems weird to me.”
“I know, but you’ll get used to it. Jesus loved the men who served with him. We should do the same.”
“I suppose. I’ll go back and see if Brother Tanaka is coming.”
David watched him go. He’s so young, David thought, so inexperienced. What if he goes his mission without any baptisms? Will he be able to stand it?
David suddenly realized he really did love Elder Rahrick. Beyond his bluster was a scared young man, as he himself had once been, in a strange country with a strange language and customs. Have I taught him enough? Is he ready to carry on as a senior companion after I leave?
What was it like for the Savior, he thought, to leave the men he loved, his beloved Apostles? Impetuous Peter, always quick to act. John, gentle, sensitive. Each one with their flaws and strengths.
My gift to this mission is Elder Rahrick, he thought. I’ve got to do all I can to help him.
Elder Rahrick, he thought, you’ve complained about the way we live as if it’s my fault we sleep on floor mats and eat raw fish. You’ve told me that if I were only closer to the Spirit, people would come to us and ask to be baptized. But none of that matters. I think I thought the same things too.
I love you, Elder Rahrick. Carry on the work when I’m gone. You will carry a part of me with you always, like it or not. I am a part of you, and you of me. And after our missions we will someday meet and shake hands and introduce our families and talk about the good times.
David returned to where Elder Rahrick was waiting at the door. “Elder Rahrick, I’ve been thinking. How would you like to baptize Brother Tanaka?”
Elder Rahrick got a big grin on his face. “That’d be great! Do you suppose we could get some pictures of me and Brother Tanaka in our baptismal clothes? I want to send them back home to my parents and my girlfriend.”
“We can take pictures before, but not during the service itself.”
“Great. This is going to be terrific! How about if I go find some baptismal clothes that’ll fit me?”
“Sure, fine.”
David watched him go. He was a little disappointed in Elder Rahrick for not realizing what a sacrifice it was for him to give up his last chance to fulfill his boyhood dream of performing a baptism in the mission field. Sometime, Elder, he thought, when you come to the end of your mission, you’ll understand how much I cared for you.
Just then the thought flashed into his mind, as if the Savior were saying that perhaps someday David would understand how much the Savior loved him.
This is a gospel of love, David thought.
Just then Brother Tanaka turned up the walk to the chapel.
Thank you, Father in Heaven, David thought. This will be a day I will always remember.
And it was.

Rhett Wyatt, 18, of the Gresham Oregon Stake is involved in drama at his high school, jogs daily, maintains a B-minus average, and has started his own business. He is also blind.
Rhett lost his sight when he was eight. He was hit by a car, which left him in a coma for six months, damaged his leg, and cost him his sight. He hasn’t let his accident stop him.
Although limited in his participation in sports, Rhett still runs daily and works out on a trampoline thanks to an invention of his brother’s. Rhett has become interested in drama. He has been in two school plays, including playing the part of a sighted character. He memorized steps in order to dance in the plays. His entertaining abilities include stand-up comedy routines.
He and his mother founded a small business called “Out of Sight Industries.” They sell T-shirts and backpacks for the blind.
Rhett plans to attend college where he hopes to study counseling or drama.

It was easy to get to sleep that first night. David Miller, however, woke up in the middle of the night with a creepy feeling that he wasn’t alone in his bag.
“I thought I felt something in my bag. I lay still for a while, and pretty soon whatever it was began running down my back. I grabbed it between the folds of my sleeping bag, got out of the bag, and woke my father. He helped me brush it out. It was a little squirrel, and it seemed as glad to be out of the bag as I was.”

I remember as a young bishop getting a call from the hospital late one night to inform me that a widow in my ward had died. I went to the hospital, then obtained the key to her apartment. A note had been left that this was to be the procedure I was to follow. As I entered her humble basement apartment, I turned on the light and went to the little table that was in the small living room. There on the table were two small bottles with a note beneath them. The bottles were filled with coins. This sweet little widow, Kathleen McKee, with no relatives surviving her, had written this note. “Bishop, here is my fast offering. I have been just with the Lord.” I think we simply need ask one another, have we been just with the Lord? Remember the principle of the true fast. Is it not to deal our bread to the hungry, to bring to our own house the poor who are outcast, to clothe the naked, to hide not ourself from our own flesh? An honest fast offering, a generous fast offering, will certainly be an indication to our Heavenly Father that we know and abide this particular law.

Dear brothers and sisters, when our son was in the Provo Missionary Training Center, Sister Gong mailed fresh-baked bread to him and his missionary companions. Here are some of the missionary thank-you notes Sister Gong received: “Sister Gong, that bread was a taste of home.” “Sister Gong, all I can say is wow. That bread is the best thing to enter my mouth since my mother’s enchiladas.” But this is my favorite: “Sister Gong, the bread was wonderful.” He then jokingly continued, “Keep me in mind if things don’t work out between you and Mr. Gong.”

A true story from India and Canada.
Tahira folded the last shirt and put it in her suitcase. She was packing for a trip to spend the summer with her aunt and uncle in Canada. She was excited but also a little nervous. Canada was far away from her home in India.
“Do you have everything?” Mom asked.
“I think so.” Tahira closed her suitcase.
“You’ll have a great time. Be sure to give Uncle Reza and Aunt Misu big hugs from me,” Mom said.
When Tahira got off the plane in Canada, she gave Uncle Reza and Aunt Misu a big hug. “This is from my mom,” she said.
They spent the next few days exploring the city and nearby places. She got to visit her first amusement park and see Niagara Falls. It was a lot of fun!
On Saturday afternoon, Tahira helped make chicken makhani for dinner. After they ate, Uncle Reza asked her a question.
“Would you like to come to church with us tomorrow?” he asked. “We go to a Christian church. We learn about Jesus Christ and His gospel there.”
“Sure,” Tahira said. Mom and Dad believed in a different religion, but Tahira went to a Christian boarding school in India. Going to a new church wouldn’t be that different.
The next day, Tahira put on a dress her aunt gave her to wear. When they got to the chapel and walked inside, everyone was singing. Tahira stopped and stared at all the people. There were moms and dads sitting with their kids. Everyone looked happy. The singing was so beautiful.
This feels like heaven, Tahira thought.
Tahira sat down on one of the benches with Aunt Misu and Uncle Reza. She watched as trays of bread and water were passed. She listened to the speakers talk about Jesus Christ. And she heard more singing. The last song was about families being together forever. She loved how the words made her feel.
After the last prayer, Tahira turned to Uncle Reza. “What does being together forever mean?”
Uncle Reza smiled. “We believe that if we follow Jesus Christ and make and keep promises with God, we can live in heaven with our families someday—all together.”
Tahira felt warm inside from her head to her toes. She liked the idea of being with her family forever.
After church, Tahira kept thinking about the beautiful music. She wanted to learn more about Jesus Christ and forever families. She decided to meet with the missionaries. As the weeks passed, Tahira knew more and more that the gospel was true.
Tahira called her parents to tell them about what she was learning. Then she asked them an important question. “Can I be baptized?” They said yes!
On the day of her baptism, Tahira, Uncle Reza, and Aunt Misu sang “I Am a Child of God.” Uncle Reza had translated it so they could sing it in Hindi. Hindi was the language she spoke at home in India.
As Tahira sang, she felt a warm feeling in her heart. It felt like heaven. And Tahira knew that because of Jesus Christ, if she kept her promises to Heavenly Father, she could live with both of Them again one day.
About Tahira
After her baptism, Tahira went back to India. There wasn’t a ward or branch near her home, but her ward members in Canada called her often.
Today, Tahira helps translate the hymnbook into many languages.
Illustrations by Ekata Mandal

Last year I had a similar experience. A young man I met in a high school musical always had something negative to say about the Church. I would argue and Bible bash with him, but I soon found that this was the wrong way to handle it. Instead I started telling him what we believed and stopped telling him he was wrong. He gave me the bit about our not being Christians, too. I just told him that we do worship Christ and explained the real name of the Church to him. People will respect you more and listen to you if you are open about your beliefs. Try it; it really works. That young man is one of my very best friends now. Good luck!
Amy Coleman, 16Newcastle, California

President J. Scott Dorius of the Peru Lima West Mission told me their story. He said:
“Becky and I were married for 25 years without being able to have [or adopt] children. We moved several times. Introducing ourselves in each new setting was awkward and sometimes painful. Ward members wondered why we [didn’t have] children. They weren’t the only ones wondering.
“When I was called as a bishop, ward members [expressed] concern that I did not have any experience with children and teenagers. I thanked them for their sustaining vote and asked them to allow me to practice my child-raising skills on their children. They lovingly obliged.
“We waited, gained perspective, and learned patience. After 25 years of marriage, a miracle baby came into our lives. We adopted two-year-old Nicole and then newborn Nikolai. Strangers now compliment us on our beautiful grandchildren. We laugh and say, ‘They are our children. We have lived our lives backwards.’”

In 1982, Elder Hugo E. Martinez and his wife, Sister Nuria Alvarez de Martinez, were both in their medical residency training in Mississippi, USA, when an unexpected knock came at their front door.
There stood two Mormon missionaries.
“We opened our home to them, but we knew nothing about The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. We didn’t even know about the Mormon Tabernacle Choir,” Elder Martinez says, smiling.
Still, the gospel lessons shared by the elders immediately resonated with the young couple. They soon accepted the missionaries’ invitation to be baptized.
“And we have not looked back ever since.”

On my mission in the Netherlands forty years ago I had an experience that has always stayed with me. Our mission rule was to contact people until 9:30 pm. One night we had a discussion that went until about 8:45. We had no other appointments, and it was a bit late to be knocking on doors, and we were very near the apartment of a man we knew who had served in World War II with American soldiers. He had no interest in the Gospel, but did love to practice his English, which was full of salty soldier slang. My companion and I decided to drop by and see if his interest had changed, but when we stood in front of his door we looked at each other and shook our heads: no, we would rather knock on doors than be immersed in a flood of profanity. Now having the desire to knock on doors was a rare thing, since in my mission at that time we could do that twelve hours a day without being invited in. But knocking was our desire. So we knocked on the next door over. Nobody home. Next door: someone who only spoke Turkish. Next door: nobody home. Next door a man named André opened up. We started to introduce ourselves and before we could get the words out, he invited us in. He asked us how we knew. Knew what, we asked? That he had recently gone to the public library and checked out a copy of the Book of Mormon. We had a great discussion with him that night and many more, but I was transferred and never learned how things turned out.

This event was a miracle. What are the odds in a city of over one hundred thousand people of finding the person who just checked out a book? To us it was already a miracle that someone was interested in the church on their own—that never happened! It was a tough mission with lots of rejection every day. But the lesson was this: we clearly were sent to André. But how? We didn’t feel any promptings. We had no clue of the overall plan. We just desired to do the work instead of wasting time. Our desire was the medium God used to take us where he wanted us. It’s possible if we didn’t desire to work we never would have met this man and history would be different. Breastplates and faith are hard to tell apart!