Gospel Story Finder

I could go on and tell of similar experiences with other General Authorities. Just before a recent general conference, we attended a luncheon at the Hotel Utah. Elder LeGrand Richards had recently undergone an operation and was walking with his cane. Elder Packer gave him his arm to steady him going down the steps and along the walk to the Church Office Building, matching his steps to those of Elder Richards in a show of affection. As we passed them, Elder Franklin Richards said, “Take good care of him, Elder Packer.” He replied, “I surely will. He’s precious.” And he is.

While the streets showed no hint of white, our freezing hands and frosty breath told us it was cold enough to snow. Cotton capped and wrapped up tight, my family was enjoying our traditional Christmas Eve caroling. My parents and all 10 of us children had made it home for the holidays.
We had ended our family home evening that week by practicing the carols we wished to sing that year. Balancing the guitar on his knee, my father practiced the chords he would struggle to play in the frigid night. No one would ever line up to see my nine siblings, parents, and me sing; yet, undaunted, year after year, we wanted to share our Christmas spirit.
This year we had chosen to sing to some of our ward friends to thank them for their friendship and fellowship. The names on our list were crossed off one by one. A few of the families weren’t home, so we finished our planned visits early. My dad asked my mother if she knew of anyone else we should visit before returning home for hot chocolate. My mother’s eyes lit up after a moment’s thought. She felt impressed to visit the Ramage family.
The Ramages were a sweet couple, grayed with maturity and experience. Brother Ramage had recently been diagnosed with terminal cancer. We thought at first that it might be too late to visit, but, persuaded by my mother’s urgings, we filed into our van and headed to our destination.
Tiptoeing in the quiet night air, we gathered around the front porch of the Ramage’s simple home while my younger brother rang the doorbell. To our surprise, Sister Ramage, wrapped in a flannel shawl, answered the door almost immediately. Startled by her quick appearance, we falteringly began singing “Silent Night.” After croaking our way through “We Wish You a Merry Christmas,” we were surprised to see a single chilled tear hanging on Sister Ramage’s cheek. After we sang, she gave us cookies while she visited with my mother.
Our parents later told us that Brother and Sister Ramage had bravely confronted the doctor’s grim diagnosis. So on that Christmas Eve, just a few months before Brother Ramage would pass away, Sister Ramage had been especially troubled in her heart, anticipating the loss of her husband. Unable to sleep and struggling in spirit, she retired to the dark of their living room. Sitting near the door, she needed little time to respond when the bell rang. As unimpressive as our family choir was, it meant a great deal to her. Seeing our family huddled together reminded her of the promise of an eternal family.
That Sunday, as we wandered into the chapel before sacrament meeting, our eyes fell to where Brother and Sister Ramage sat together. Sister Ramage’s eyes sparkled. She welcomed us with a bright smile that warmed my spirit. Never had I expected our musical effort to be an answer to someone’s prayer.
I realized that a lot of good things can take place through seemingly unimpressive means, like our family’s caroling. The Savior came into the world in humble circumstances. In both cases, the true beauty was in the gift given, and such gifts are what make Christmas meaningful.

While Elder Quentin L. Cook and Sister Mary Cook were in the Philippines, a big volcano erupted. They were glad they were there to help and comfort people.
The air was so ashy that it was hard to breathe. People had to leave their homes. Many families slept in Church buildings.
Elder Cook told the people that Heavenly Father loves them and that He would help them.
Elder Cook thanked Church members for their Christlike service to each other and to friends of other faiths.
“The Savior’s Atonement gives peace regardless of what we are faced with.”*

Emma met Joseph when he came to her town for work in 1825. The two developed a close friendship, and she readily believed his accounts of visions and revelations. Following Moroni’s instructions, Joseph returned to New York each year to the Hill Cumorah, hoping to obtain the golden plates containing another testament of Jesus Christ. According to one account, on September 22, 1826, Moroni told Joseph he had one more chance to bring the right person with him the following year. Joseph prayed faithfully and received revelation that the right person was Emma Hale.3 They were married on January 18, 1827. God had chosen Emma to aid Joseph in bringing forth the Book of Mormon.

After midnight on September 22, 1827, Emma and Joseph left the Smith home in Manchester, New York, USA, to drive to the hill. Emma waited in the carriage while Joseph received the plates from Moroni.4 One account states that she knelt to pray while Joseph obtained the plates.5 Joseph’s mother, Lucy, also prayed—all night—waiting for the two of them to return. Joseph and Emma returned in time for breakfast, having successfully obtained the plates.6

When they shared the good news of their conversion with their relatives in Cuba, it was met with surprise and reservations. However, as the Fernandez Lee family’s lives changed and their faith grew stronger, their families’ views began to shift. Brother Fernandez’s mother, 76-year-old Nilda Méndez Herrera, noticed a big difference in her son’s life. This motivated her to receive the first teachings of the gospel through video calls from the missionaries who preached to her son in the Dominican Republic. Sister Yoleidy Lee de Fernández’s mother, 67-year-old Xiomara Munoz Latuazon, also felt inspired by the Spirit to join The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
Luis Wilberto Tito Quintana baptized both women on May 25, 2024, in the waters of the Gulf of Mexico, in a simple yet beautiful ceremony where the spirit of gratitude to the Lord reigned. The Lord works to rescue His children, no matter how scattered they may be on the earth. “For I will take you from among the heathen, and gather you out of all countries, and will bring you into your own land.
“Then I will sprinkle clean water on you, and you shall be clean” (Ezekiel 36:24–25).

One summer morning in 1856, 16-year-old Janetta McBride started walking from Iowa to the Salt Lake Valley.
Her journey had begun months earlier when she left England with her family and sailed across the Atlantic Ocean. Once in the United States, they continued by rail to Iowa City, Iowa, where a westbound railroad line ended.
In Iowa City Janetta’s family joined the Latter-day Saints as they gathered their strength and supplies for the final part of the journey—a 1,300-mile (2,090-km) walk with handcarts. Janetta McBride was assigned to the Martin handcart company, one of seven companies that left Iowa City between 1856 and 1857.
Most handcart companies made the exhausting journey safely to the Salt Lake Valley, but it was more difficult for Janetta McBride’s group, the Martin company, and the Willie company. Both companies were caught in early snowstorms, and more than 200 people died. Their journeys required a great sacrifice, which was possible to endure only through faith in Heavenly Father and in His plan. This same faith motivated all the handcart companies that pushed and pulled their way to Zion.

Christmas for young people today is quite different than Christmas was for me more than sixty years ago. For example, there is a great difference in the way we get Christmas trees. When I was a boy we used to go out onto the sidehills and cut the trees. I remember once my brother and I dragged a Christmas tree off the hill and when we got home there was only one side of it left. We had to stand it up in the corner so the bare side wouldn’t show.
We used to make all of our own decorations. We’d take tissue paper and cut it into strips and paste it together to make chains. And we’d pop corn and then string it to make garlands with which to decorate the tree.
We’d always have a special dinner on Christmas.
My uncle, Gaskill Romney, operated a planing mill and a sash and door factory. He had a lathe on which he would turn out baseball bats for Christmas presents for the boys, and we used to make our own little cabinets for the girls. Our toys were not as sophisticated as they are now.
But Christmas was always a happy time. To us it was the day the Savior was born.

Erin stood on Temple Square in Salt Lake City looking at life-sized statues of the nativity scene and waiting for the music and story to begin. Christmas lights twinkled all around her. But it didn’t feel like Christmastime.
“Are you all right?” Mom asked her.
Erin nodded, but she wasn’t so sure.
Only a few days ago, a boy from Erin’s class at school had died in a car accident. She had seen a lot of people crying at the funeral, and she had cried a lot herself. She hadn’t known the boy that well, but Erin knew his family loved him as much as her family loved her. She felt scared to know that something like that could happen to someone her age.
Now she didn’t feel excited for Christmas. She felt worried all the time—scared to get in a car, scared to be apart from her parents, scared to leave her house in case something bad happened to her while she was away. All the Christmas lights on Temple Square couldn’t erase the worried feeling inside her. How could she be happy in a world where she wasn’t always safe?
“It’s about to start,” Dad said. He pointed to the nativity scene.
The loudspeakers crackled to life, and a voice began speaking. Music played, and spotlights shone down on statues of shepherds, Wise Men, Mary, and Joseph. Erin listened to the familiar story. The baby Jesus was born and lay in a manger. Angels sang. Shepherds worshipped. Wise Men rejoiced.
Erin looked at the faces of her parents and the crowd gathered around the nativity scene. They all seemed happy. But why was everyone so happy about the baby Jesus if His birth didn’t stop bad things from happening? Erin didn’t like the question circling through her head. All she wanted was to stop feeling afraid.
The story ended, and a recording of the prophet’s voice came over the loudspeaker. He bore his testimony and read a scripture from the Bible: “For as in Adam all die, even so in Christ shall all be made alive” (1 Corinthians 15:22).
Erin’s heart beat faster. She said the words again in her mind, trying to remember them. For as in Adam all die, even so in Christ shall all be made alive.
The scripture said that everyone would die—young people, old people—everyone. Erin knew that, of course, but she hadn’t thought about it much before. She thought she was too young to think about such things. But she wasn’t too young to have a testimony of the truth: because of Jesus Christ, everyone would live again. That’s why the shepherds and Wise Men rejoiced. They understood what Jesus had come to earth to do.
Erin looked from the little stable to a window in the visitors’ center behind the nativity scene. Inside the building a light shone on a large statue of Jesus stretching out His scarred hands. Erin thought about the little baby in the manger and how He grew into someone who had all power. And yet He chose to sacrifice His life for her. He had been born so she could live again. No matter what happened, Erin could feel safe in Jesus’s love.
Peace washed over her. She couldn’t quite explain how, but her worry disappeared. When she looked at the statue of Jesus Christ, shining brighter than twinkling Christmas lights, she barely noticed the dark night sky. She was too busy feeling the warmth of hope flickering inside her.

Once when I received my pay at work, I cashed the check and headed home to pay some bills and to help my wife, who was expecting our first child. I got on the bus and put my money in my wallet. Then I hid the wallet in a pouch that was part of my shoulder bag, where it would be safer. I was quite surprised when I got home, looked for my wallet, and wasn’t able to find it. I was very worried. It was my whole two-week salary, and losing it would cause us many problems.
I looked diligently for my wallet, and when I couldn’t find it I decided to go back to the bus that had brought me home. I couldn’t find it there either.
After some time I went home, feeling very frustrated. I went into my room and knelt down. With a sincere heart and in tears, I lifted my prayer up to God and asked Him to help me. I told Him I paid a full tithing and now I needed a blessing. I know that the Lord doesn’t always answer our prayers in the way we desire, but on this occasion He did bless me in a wonderful way.
Later that night the bishop knocked on our door and asked me if I had a social security card. I told him I did, but it had been lost with my wallet that very day. He showed me a wallet and asked if it was mine. I saw that it was and that all of my money was still there. The bishop explained that a friend, who was not a member of the Church, had found it outside her house. When she saw the temple recommend in it, she took it to him. He told me this was nothing less than a miracle and it had happened because I faithfully paid tithing.

After the destructive wildfires in California in 2017, I traveled with Elder Von G. Keetch of the Seventy to minister to those who had lost so much. We saw whole neighborhoods that had been destroyed in just minutes.
In that destruction, Elder Keetch discovered some lessons that he later told his family members he might someday use in a talk. Sadly, though, Elder Keetch passed away from cancer less than a year later. With the help and support of the Keetch family, I’d like to share one of the lessons Elder Keetch shared with them.
As Elder Keetch walked through what used to be a home, he saw some pottery among the ashes. The pottery was unharmed, not even blackened by the flames.
The unharmed pottery that Elder Von G. Keetch saw in a burned home became a metaphor for a lesson he wanted to teach his family about adversity.
Photograph courtesy of Keetch family
“While everything in that house had been burned or melted,” Elder Keetch’s daughter said, “that pottery held strong. Why? Because it had already been through the refiner’s fire. As it was created, it had already been exposed to temperatures and pressures so great that the fire had little effect on it. Adversity in this life is our refiner’s fire. It is what molds us, strengthens us, and causes us to withstand the fires of this mortal life.”
Elder Keetch also said that God “allows us to experience trials and difficulties because He knows we need the ‘hard things’ to help us become who we need to become. And yet He also will shoulder our burdens and carry us through the difficult times [see Mosiah 24].”
The Keetch family couldn’t have known that soon after his trip to California, Elder Keetch’s illness and death would place them in their own fiery furnace. During that trial, his daughter said, “Just like the pottery in California, I will withstand the flames. And I will be stronger because of them.”
For me, the image of pottery unharmed by extreme heat shows that we can withstand the fires of affliction. Through our faith in Christ and His Atonement, we will receive strength. Even during our most painful trials, He can bring us peace. (See Matthew 8:23–27; 11:28; Mark 4:35–41.)
I believe the Keetch family will not only remain strong but also increase in faith—and yes, even joy—as they look forward to a sweet reunion with their husband, father, and grandfather. When our faith is built “upon the rock of our Redeemer, who is Christ, the Son of God” (Helaman 5:12), our burdens become lighter.

It was about 4:00 P.M. on a cheerless February day in 1977, and I was sitting in my office at the university, preparing for a night class, when the phone rang.
“Dad?” the voice came. “Mom said to call and tell you she’s taking John to the hospital.”
“Hospital?” I asked. “What for?”
It was Kathryn, and she sounded rather nervous.
“Well … you understand … I was coming home in the car, and he wanted me to give him a ride on the fender.”
“Oh no,” I groaned. “How many times have I warned you about …”
“But it was only about half a block,” she said, “and I was going really slow. He didn’t even get hurt until I stopped, and I told him I didn’t want him to get on to begin with.”
“Okay, that doesn’t matter. Just tell me what happened. How bad is it?”
“Not very bad. I mean, I don’t think so. He just sort of jumped off, and then fell over backward and hit his head.”
My anxiety had suddenly mounted. “Well, what’s his condition? Is he really hurt? Is he in a lot of pain, or what?”
“No,” she replied, “he’s just been acting kind of strange. He can’t remember things, and the fingers on his left hand keep curling in like he’s trying to scratch something.”
Moments later I had phoned the hospital emergency room and was talking to my wife, Sharon. “He’s not in much pain,” she informed me, “and his memory’s pretty well returned. They just want to keep him under observation for a while and maybe take some X-rays to make sure his skull isn’t fractured.”
“All right,” I replied and felt better. “I have to prepare for my night class, but call me if he gets any worse and I’ll come immediately.”
Darkness had settled in a faint wintry drizzle, and I was halfway through a three-hour class session when my son Tony, a member of the janitorial crew, appeared in the doorway. Just behind him was our good friend and neighbor Dr. Evan Memmott, head of the college audio-visual department. Both of them appeared very solemn. I will never forget, in fact, the expression of tragedy on Evan’s rugged, empathic countenance. He seemed to be on the verge of tears, and in that instant I concluded that my son had died.
What occurred during the next few minutes is blurry; I was standing there in the hall, looking into their eyes, hearing the urgent agony of my own voice as though it were spoken by someone else. “What is it? What’s happened?” My thoughts mingled in relief and anxiety over the reply. Johnny was alive, but he was definitely getting worse and was having convulsions.
He was sitting on the edge of a hospital bed as we arrived, and was surrounded by his mother; Dr. Grant Way, our pediatrician; and two or three nurses. Johnny’s face was sallow, tinged with grayish green, his hair was a mess, and he looked terribly frail and vulnerable. They were holding a crescent-shaped pan under his chin, and there was blood in it. My stomach clenched.
“Johnny,” I said quietly and placed my hand on his shoulder with great care. “Are you all right?”
He actually smiled a little, spit futilely into the pan, and someone wiped his lips with a tissue. “I’m not feeling too well,” he managed. “I’d better lie back down.” Pretty courageous, I thought, especially for a kid of 13.
“All right.” I helped lower him to the pillow. “Do you want us to administer to you?”
He closed his eyes, breathing through his mouth. “Yes … I guess … only don’t press too hard.” I glanced at Evan, and we laughed a little. “No, we’d try not to press too hard.”
Later, conferring with Dr. Way in the hall, I learned that John had landed on the back of his head but had sustained a fracture on top, right down the middle, and that he might be suffering from subcranial bleeding, perhaps even a blood clot. Dr. Way glanced toward the bed and its occupant. “He is looking better now, though, isn’t he?” I nodded a bit dubiously, still offering silent prayers in hopes of building up some kind of reserve help.
They kept him there for the next 48 hours, but despite the excellent care, his mother stayed with him during the days, and his father stayed during the nights. At 6:00 A.M. on the morning of his scheduled departure, having made “steady improvement,” he suddenly developed intense pains. “I have a terrible pain in my head,” he moaned. “It feels like somebody’s cut right down the middle of it.”
The nurses had been making their rounds every 30 minutes at first, now every hour, observing him carefully, shining a light in his eyes to see if the pupils were properly dilated, but I didn’t wait. His description of the pain greatly disturbed me, and even as I left the room, he was tossing about, clasping his head and moaning. I returned moments later, having received approval to give him another mild pain-killer. A nurse would be there soon.
Soon, however, was too long. John made no response as I entered the room. “Johnny!” I said, “are you all right?” I bent over him, frowning, clasping his shoulder. “John? Can you hear me?” But his eyes were glazed, losing their color, and a tiny bubble was forming between his lips. He was turning gray again—receding, shriveling before my eyes. Dying! Absolutely incredible … absolutely true. Johnny!
I ran for the door. “Get the doctor in residence, quick!” I shouted. “He’s in a coma, and he’s fading fast!” A young nurse swished into the room—checked his pulse, his eyes, did other things (I don’t know what), and left, crying. Crying! Undoubtedly she had been trained not to display such emotion, but sometimes emotions take precedence regardless of the circumstances.
I’m not certain of the following sequence, but a call was placed immediately to Dr. Way, and I phoned Sharon moments later. She took the news with what can only be described as beautiful fortitude and asked one question: “Is there someone there who can help you administer to him?”
“I’ll find somebody,” I replied, asking her to phone family and friends and request their prayers.
I have never known doctors to arrive with such speed. Within the first two or three minutes a young intern, Ed Parker—a bearer of the priesthood—appeared, and somehow, before we even had time to perform the administration, Dr. Way was there as well. I don’t recall what I said during that blessing, but I do know that I made some strong, unqualified commitments to the Father of our spirits if only he would spare my son, his son. I do know that despite my failings, I have been a better man since. I do know that almost immediately after our administration, the light returned to John’s eyes, that he emerged from the depths of his coma, speaking a little, communicating all that was required to neurosurgeon J. H. Hauser, who had also arrived with remarkable swiftness.
Shortly thereafter, Dr. Hauser explained that a large hematoma (blood clot) was exerting pressure on John’s brain and that it might still be growing. “We have two options,” he said, “One is to use drugs. That may help eliminate the clot, but we can’t really be certain of their effectiveness or the speed with which they will act. The other is to bore some holes in his head and remove the clot directly.”
“Please do exactly what you would do if he were your own son,” I said, and moments later Johnny was on his way to the operating room for surgery that was to last almost two hours.
“We’ll do our best,” they had said. That was all they said—no promises.
By now we had formed quite a congregation—his mother, Grandfather Allred (who spontaneously offered perhaps the simplest, most fervent and beautiful prayer I have ever heard), various medical personnel, several of our own children, and our neighbors the Memmotts—true Good Samaritans. We sat there together in the main waiting room, conversing quietly, and young Mike Memmott, one of John’s best friends, was blinking back tears. That fall in the road three days earlier had momentarily knocked John unconscious and left his head bleeding rather profusely. Bending over him in great anxiety, Mike had called John’s name, then actually picked him up and carried him into our home.
During the half hour that followed, we phoned our oldest son, Mark, then at the Language Training Mission in Provo, Utah, in preparation for his departure to Hamburg, Germany. We also phoned the Ogden Temple to place John’s name on the prayer roll and learned that someone else had done the same thing at the Salt Lake Temple. Shortly thereafter we received a call from the receptionist at the Language Training Mission in Provo. “President Pinegar took the liberty of placing your son’s name on the rolls at the temple here,” she said. “We hope you don’t have anything against it.” Of course we didn’t have anything against it.
It was such an incredible interplay of feelings! Such a sense of spirituality, of belonging, of family—not only our immediate kin, but all those others, virtually everyone we talked to, in fact! Friends of our daughters were now there also, and various acquaintances passing through the hospital had stopped to talk to us, offering words of concern and consolation. It seemed as though everyone knew our young son personally and truly loved him.
And yet, despite all those things—love, comfort, faith, buoyant warmth—there was the lingering feeling of fear, which was just as pervasive as the smell of antiseptic, the kind of fear that seems to shrivel one’s innards a little. At one point I encountered a doctor friend on the elevator and explained briefly our son’s condition. “That’s too bad,” he said. “The same thing happened to the Jones boy last week, the very same kind of accident. He never lived through the operation.”
Somehow that observation didn’t help to make me feel any better, nor had our son Mark’s earlier response to our phone call. “I always thought John was too good for us to keep him very long,” he had said. Pacing the hall outside the operating room, I glanced at the forbidding green doors marked “Surgery—Unauthorized Personnel Not Permitted” and thought about that other boy, the one who hadn’t lived. I had met his father, and I knew in part his family’s grief, for at one point I had supposed that my own son was dead. At another, I had literally seen the life fade, and who really knew the outcome even now? No assurance of anything, only those final words: “We’ll do our best.”
Leaning against the tiled wall with one hand, I rested my head on my out-stretched arm. “Father in Heaven,” I asked, “why did that other son have to die? Why did his loved ones have to endure all that pain and sorrow?” I knew full well, of course, that answers are rarely given to such questions. “Is it right,” I inquired, “for me to ask that my own son be spared under the circumstances?” I remembered the blessing, my commitment to rededicate my life if only John could be spared. But who am I, the thought came, to be setting up conditions for the Lord? I should be constantly striving to live a better life regardless of the circumstances.
There was no one in the hall. I closed my eyes and continued. “Father,” I said, “I have no right to bargain or to establish terms. Thy will be done in all things.” Pausing, I struggled for some small particle of wisdom. “On the other hand, if we’re allowed to keep him, well, I can guarantee you this: it will certainly be great motivation.”
The surgery was pronounced a success, and I remember walking with my arm around Sharon out into the sunlit parking lot of that winter morning; we were trying to reassemble ourselves emotionally, breathing deeply the air of mortality, offering our thanks. The morning was very pure and bright, almost transparent.
I remember the night that followed—Johnny in the intensive care unit, head wrapped in white bandages like a swami, taking intravenous fluid, moaning occasionally, causing my heart to fibrillate slightly each time it happened. The following afternoon, having improved rapidly, he was returned to the pediatrics ward.
I remained in the hospital each night, Sharon taking the days so that I could continue my classes at the college nearby. And Johnny rapidly grew better, startling everyone—doctors included—with the rapid rate of his recovery. Periodically, however, there were the low points—the time, for example, I was lying with a blanket and pillow on the floor of his private room, and awoke to hear him crying. He was standing in the bathroom and didn’t quite know where he was. “What’s the matter, John?” I called.
“I don’t know,” he lamented, “I don’t know!” Guiding him back to his bed, I hoisted him into it.
“Are you having pain?” I asked.
“Do you need me to call the nurse?”
“No,” he sighed and turned his head away from me for a moment. “It’s just that I’m still getting headaches, and I keep thinking about those holes and not having any hair. “It’s just that … well, for a minute, I didn’t know where you were, and I couldn’t cope with it.
I paused, and then laid my hand on his brow with utmost care. “I understand, buddy. Just let your old dad cope with it for you, okay? Everything’s going to be all right, just great, in fact, and we’ll have you home before you know it. Your hair will grow back in no time.”
He had turned to face me now, and I could see his eyes, big and brown with luminous depths in his pale face. “Not like yours,” he smiled. All my own hair had fallen out a few years earlier.
“No,” I grinned. “Mine will have to wait the resurrection. But then, John, do you know what kind of hairstyle I’ll have?”
“What kind?”
“I’m going to have hair that is curly, thick, and bushy.”
“That’ll be great!” He began to laugh, but it hurt his head.
We remained together in the darkness with only a pale blue light from the parking lot shining dimly through the window, and I continued to look at him, marveling at the number of friends and relatives who had drawn even nearer as a result of our experience, the number of people, some of them total strangers to me, who cared and truly loved that boy.
“Remember a long long time ago when you were just a little boy?” I mused. “Well, you couldn’t, of course, because you were only about 18 months old, but it was the night after Robby was born in the old Dee Hospital on 24th Street. Anyway, you and I were the only ones home, and I guess it was about midnight or later. I came into your room to see if you were covered up, if everything was okay. The light from the hall was shining on your face a little, and there you were, wide awake, just looking up at me and smiling—like right now. So I sat down on the edge of our old rocker, and we looked at each other. That’s all we did. We were all alone, just looking at each other through the bars of that crib—looking into each other—for maybe 15 minutes. And you know something?” I paused. “That was one of the finest experiences your old dad has ever had.”
He looked thoughtful, frowned a little, but it was a pleasurable frown somehow. “I can’t exactly remember,” he said slowly, “but, well, I sort of do in a way, like I can still feel it.”
My hand was on his wrist now, and I could feel the life there, pulsing, pulsing, pulsing, all very steadily. Yes, strong and steady now, and it seemed as if we were going to keep him. It looked as if he would go on to become a doctor as he had planned, perhaps even a surgeon. It appeared that he would fulfill some special calling here on earth, for there had always been a special spirit about him, and at times he seemed to move along in something like a state of grace.
“John the beloved,” I said.
He peered at me inquisitively, not really comprehending.
“What?”
“It doesn’t matter,” I replied. “Just rest now. Try to get some sleep.” It was the secret name I had given him that night long ago, the name reserved for very special occasions.

I learned a valuable lesson once long ago from a sweet lady, Sister Lucy Grant Cannon, who became violently ill while visiting her daughter in Arizona. We elders were promptly called, and we administered to her. The next day she was asked if she wished to be administered to again and her reply was, “No, I have been anointed and administered to. The ordinance has been performed. It is up to me now to claim my blessing through my faith.”

We must be careful of the misuse of credit. The use of credit cards in many places has increased consumer debt to staggering proportions. I am reminded of the story of “an elderly farmer [who] wrote to a mail order house as follows: ‘Please send me one of the gasoline engines you show on page 787, and if it’s any good, I’ll send you a check.’
“In time he received the following reply: ‘Please send check. If it’s any good, we’ll send the engine.’”

This young woman enjoys her life now, but she didn’t always feel that way. Here’s an account of how she found peace after struggling with feelings of worthlessness and suicide. We hope that hearing this true experience will reassure you that your journey is also important. If you are struggling with hopeless thoughts, please don’t give up—you are not alone. Your life is valuable, and you are loved. Hang on. Things will get better.
Answer: I struggled as a child. I had a wonderful family and didn’t go through any obvious tragedies, but I always seemed to feel angry at myself and those around me. I would take these feelings out on my siblings. The more I mistreated them, the worse I felt. And yet I couldn’t seem to stop. This behavior drove a wedge between me and my family members. When I was 12 years old, I thought I was an evil, rotten, worthless person. I thought everyone would be better off without me.
Answer: I remember one time at the doctor’s office, the pediatrician asked Mom if she had ever heard her children say, “I wish I’d never been born.” And Mom answered, “No, all of the kids are fine.” I was surprised that Mom didn’t know I had thought about killing myself. So I tried to tell her what I was going through. But she acted so shocked that it made me never want to talk about it again. I pretended that I hadn’t really meant it.
Answer: Yes, but I didn’t really understand what a testimony was. I always knew deep down that there was a God, but Satan was working hard to convince me to doubt everything else. So I started wondering if the entire Church was wrong. Fortunately, I had some great Young Women leaders who were inspired to help me and show me a lot of love. One of them in particular helped me start feeling better about myself.
Answer: A bright spot was my Young Women class. I had a teacher who taught right at my level. She’s since moved away, and I wish I could tell her what she meant to me. I don’t remember what she taught exactly, but I remember feeling like I belonged there.
Another thing that really helped were temple trips. Even though I often felt worthless and didn’t think anyone cared about me, I enjoyed the spark of light and goodness of the temple. I often felt the Spirit there. One trip in particular made a difference. It started out bad because one of the older girls said something hurtful to me. But later that day, she apologized and gave me a hug. And I learned that I really liked hugs! After that, I asked her for a hug every Sunday. One Sunday I sat down in sacrament meeting without getting a hug from her. And she came up to me and said, “Where’s my hug?” with a smile. I felt so surprised and special that she sought me out and showed me love. She and I became closer and closer friends. I know hugs don’t help everyone, but they helped me.
Answer: Sure! She was the craziest, most energetic person I have ever known. She seemed to have never-ending amounts of happiness to share. She greeted me with so much enthusiasm and love every Sunday and gave me a hug. Her dose of goodness seemed to be just what I needed. I would carry it with me during the week. Over time, I began to accept that what she said was true. The Spirit was working on me. This is when my behavior finally started to improve in a lasting way. And my suicidal thoughts, which I’d had about a year, went away, though I still had to work on how I felt about myself.
Answer: Another turning point was when I began to volunteer at a nonprofit organization each week with my older brother and my mom. I was sometimes the only volunteer on my team who showed up regularly, so my supervisor counted on me. I found I really liked that. For example, one time we were cleaning up together, and she got called away to do something else. I kept sweeping and working hard. When she came back, she said that I had really good initiative and gave me so many compliments. And it felt so good. I realized that working hard and doing a good job was fun. Helping was fun! So I began to try my hardest to be the best volunteer that I could be. I gained enough experience to train other volunteers. I developed a passion for this organization and made friends.
Photograph from Getty Images
During this time, my behavior continued to change in positive ways as I felt the Spirit increase in my life. Over the next couple of years, I made friends again with my family members. I started feeling like a good person instead of a bad person. I became a happier person. People even commented on how much I smiled. And my happiness no longer depended on having a leader saying good things at church. My testimony of Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ was growing, and I could feel Their love for me.
Answer: My testimony keeps growing stronger. I know now that Heavenly Father loves every one of us—including me. I know the Book of Mormon is the word of God. I know that no matter what mistakes we have made, we can come back to goodness. We can repent through the Atonement of Jesus Christ. Anyone can return to Him again.
Answer: Please, if you are experiencing low self-worth, or depression, or want to die, or any other feelings like that, reach out for help. Go to a parent, a youth leader, a former Primary teacher, a bishop, even a friend—anyone you feel you can trust. I promise you that Heavenly Father does not want you to die. He wants you to live and feel joy. He wants you to feel His love. Turn to Jesus Christ. He can help you throughout your trials. He knows everything you are going through. Meanwhile, Satan is the one who tells you lies about yourself. Ignore him. He wants you to fail. Heavenly Father wants you to succeed.
Answer: Honestly, I still have a hard time accepting compliments or believing good things about myself sometimes. And I think insults hurt me more than they hurt most people, even if they’re just a joke. I still sometimes have a hard time believing that people love me until I feel convinced. But overall, I like myself and who I am becoming. It is a glorious feeling!

The third poster is entitled “America Rediscovered.” Centuries passed before the Lord guided Christopher Columbus to the New World. On several occasions Columbus gave credit to the Almighty. In writing to the Spanish leaders, he said, “Our Lord unlocked my mind, sent me upon the sea, and gave me fire for the deed. Who heard of my enterprise, called it foolish, mocked me, and laughed. But who can doubt but that the Holy Ghost inspired me?” (Jacob Wassermann, Columbus, Don Quixote of the Seas, trans. Eric Sutton, Boston: Little, Brown, and Co., 1930, p. 20.) During the voyage, after weeks of sailing with no land in sight, mutiny raised its head. Finally Columbus promised the captains of the two other ships that they would turn back if land was not sighted in 48 hours. Then he went to his cabin and in his words “prayed mightily to the Lord.” The next day, October 12, they sighted land. We know a land of liberty and religious freedom was a necessary ingredient in the plan of God. Thus, Columbus and others, particularly those seeking religious freedom, were led to the shores of America.

Heber learned early the importance of hard work. After his father’s death, he and his mother struggled financially and eventually had to move from their beautiful home to a small, humble cabin. Refusing financial assistance from the Church, Sister Grant worked as a seamstress to support herself and her child. Young Heber helped her—running errands and pumping the treadle of the sewing machine when she became tired.

“I want a cookie,” Emily said as Mom took cookies from the oven.
“Wait until they cool,” said Mom.
But Emily didn’t wait. She ate a hot cookie and burned her tongue.
“I want to play with it now,” she said while Dad glued a wheel back on her toy truck.
“Wait until the glue dries,” Dad said.
But Emily didn’t wait. She raced the truck across the rug, and the wheel came off again.
“I want to open my presents,” she said as Mom put bows on brightly wrapped boxes.
“Wait until your birthday tomorrow,” Mom said.
But Emily didn’t wait. As soon as Mom left the room, she opened her presents. Then she had no boxes to open on her birthday.
“Why didn’t you wait?” Dad asked.
“I hate to wait,” Emily said. “But now I wish I had.”
The next day, Dad took her to a garden shop. He picked out onion sets and seeds for peas and beans. “You may choose some seeds, too,” he told Emily.
“I love carrots,” she said, so Dad got a package of carrot seeds.
Emily helped Dad plant the onions, peas, and beans in the garden. Then she planted a row of carrots by herself. “We can have my carrots for dinner tomorrow,” she said.
“I’m sorry,” Dad said, “But you will have to wait a long time for your seeds to grow into carrots.”
Emily didn’t wait. Every day, she dug up a few seeds to see If they had grown into carrots. “My seeds aren’t growing,” she told Dad.
“How do you know?” asked Dad.
“I looked at them,” said Emily.
“If you dig up your seeds, they won’t ever grow. You’ll have to learn to wait.”
“I hate to wait,” Emily said. “But I love carrots, so I’ll try.”
Emily tried hard all summer. She didn’t dig up any more carrot seeds, even when the green tops popped up along the row. But she did weed the garden while she waited. And she swam and ran and played. She even learned to wait for other things—for ice cubes to freeze in the freezer, for her turn to ride on the back of a camel at the zoo, and for lots of other things. She even learned to wait to talk to Mom or Dad when they were busy.
While Emily waited, the plants grew in the garden. When it was time, she helped to pick pea pods and yellow beans, and tall green onions. At last it was time for the carrots.
Dad showed her how to loosen the dirt around the carrots and then how to hold the green tops and pull out the carrots one by one. Emily filled her basket with long, fat carrots. Then she ran to the house to show Mom. “Look how big they grew!”
“Yes, they did,” Mom said, “and so did you!”
“Did I get taller?” Emily asked.
“You grew taller and wiser.”
“Wiser?” Emily asked.
“Waiting made you wiser.”
“Waiting made me want to eat carrots,” Emily said, “so I’m going to eat one right now!”
“Wait until I wash one,” Mom said.
But Emily didn’t wait. She took a big carrot and washed it herself. “Now I will eat the best carrot I have ever eaten,” she said. And she did.

Walking Hawk moved slowly toward the fire in the center of the village and took a place in the shadows behind the other novice warriors. He tried not to look across the fire at Standing Elk, Eagle Claw, Buffalo Horn, or the other boys his own age who now had taken their places with the men.
Walking Hawk barely heard the talk at the council meeting. His impatience made all other thoughts grow dim. Perhaps if he hadn’t gone with the hunters in search of wild horses, he, too, would be sitting there with the men. A picture of the splendid young roan mare that had been his pay for helping in the horse hunt, however, filled his mind so that he wasn’t too envious of the other boys’ new position of manhood.
Most of the boys who had proven themselves during his absence had killed only antelope or deer, not the great buffalo.
Walking Hawk sat up straighter. That was what he would do. He would not settle for less than a buffalo. Then it wouldn’t matter so much that he hadn’t been among the first.
With the vow bright in his heart, Walking Hawk listened to the words of Long Arm, one of the most famous leaders among all the Sioux.
“The buffalo no longer come to this place as they have in the past,” Long Arm said. Then he paused, glancing around the circle of faces turned toward him. No one spoke.
“The season grows late for securing meat and hides and all else that the buffalo provides for our people. Winter will be upon us before we are prepared. We cannot wait any longer. Tomorrow we must go to the west in search of the buffalo.”
A murmur rose from the men in the circle, for there was danger in going farther west into Crow country, the land of their enemies.
Seeing nothing but a few straggler buffalo during the next three days, the Sioux’s hopes quickened when scouts reported signs that a large herd had been in the vicinity not many days before. The women were pleased when Long Arm announced that a more permanent camp would be made near the ragged, gray bluffs where they would have cover and shade. From here, the scouts would search for the buffalo herd and signal the men to ride out for the hunt.
It was barely dawn when the hunt leader rode out with a few of the most experienced scouts in search of the herd. For those left at camp, the day passed slowly. The waiting was hard for everyone.
Without really tasting it, Walking Hawk ate the supper his mother set in front of him that evening. He walked to the horse herd to watch the animals graze along the stream, and then came back to the tepee to sleep.
Early the next morning Walking Hawk stepped from the tepee. He could not stand this inactivity any longer. He had decided to slip away from the camp to find and kill a straggler buffalo. If no herd were found, he, at least, would have proved himself in his own hunt.
As he had on many mornings in the past, Walking Hawk searched the horse herd for his roan mare.
Impatience pushed at him but still he took time to rub the pony’s coat with a bunch of grass until it gleamed in the first morning light. He casually glanced around at the hunters who had now returned to the village for their morning meal.
Walking Hawk moved slowly, as though he were leading his pony to the stream for water and the better grass growing near there. At the stream, he mounted and sat astride his pony, studying the clouds overhead and the ripples in the water. Then pressing his heels in slightly, the roan started walking downstream. Once around the bend, Walking Hawk crouched forward and dug his heels into the pony’s sides.
He felt a strange uncertainty about running away without telling even his father about his plan. But when he returned with a buffalo, they would all be proud of him.
Walking Hawk had ridden quite a distance without seeing game of any kind, by the time the sun was straight overhead. He decided to ride only as far as the next rise with the stunted trees, and then he would turn back to camp.
Halfway to the trees, Walking Hawk quickly pulled the pony to a halt. Moving from the protection of the trees were two buffalo cows and a partly grown calf. They had not caught sight of him yet and the wind was in his favor.
Sliding off his pony’s back, Walking Hawk paused just long enough to fit an arrow to his bow. Then he ground-reined the pony and crept forward alone.
He would shoot the young cow since the calf was old enough to be weaned. The other cow was too old and tough. Walking Hawk was just about to let the arrow fly, but he paused for a moment. Had he seen a movement beyond the buffalo? His heart jumped like a startled coyote when he realized what the movement was.
In his excitement at seeing the buffalo, Walking Hawk had not been careful and had moved above the horizon line.
Now he had been seen by Crow warriors!
The horsemen were still some distance away, down the west side of the ridge. But they rode swiftly toward him.
The buffalo were forgotten as Walking Hawk bolted for his pony. Sensing his fear, the mare was in motion almost before he had mounted. With this much head start, he hoped to outrun the Crows to the camp.
Then suddenly Walking Hawk’s head reeled, for he recognized the mistake of his thinking. He must not ride toward the camp. To do so would give away the location of his people and make them easy prey for their enemies.
Swallowing his fear, Walking Hawk headed the pony off at an angle from their camp. He glanced over his shoulder and was relieved to see that the riders had not yet topped the ridge. Is it possible that they haven’t seen me, he wondered.
Twice more he glanced back. Five warriors had ridden into clear view.
Walking Hawk rode on all through the afternoon, beyond the time of dusk and into the night. Though his pony breathed hard, it did not falter. His heart sang with gratitude for such a fine animal.
At last, Walking Hawk brought his pony to a halt. Though there was no sound of his pursuers, he knew that they could be very near just waiting for morning to resume their chase. But now he and his pony must have rest. He wondered if he had come so far that he would be unable to find his way back to the camp.
Morning came quickly and as Walking Hawk scanned the horizon in all directions, he felt certain that he had lost the five warriors who had followed him all the previous day.
Though he was becoming faint from hunger, Walking Hawk climbed on his pony and rode toward camp. Dusk was settling like a heavy robe over the land when he caught sight of the familiar line of bluffs ahead. The camp was so well hidden that, without previous knowledge, he would never have guessed its location.
Walking Hawk swallowed hard at the rough command of a sentry who rose up from among the rocks with his bow and arrow poised.
“It is Walking Hawk, son of Red Feather,” he struggled for words. “I—I have returned.”
“You have brought concern to your family and danger to us all,” the sentry scolded him.
The sound of their voices brought Walking Hawk’s father in long strides. His face was dark with anger.
“Care for your horse,” Red Feather commanded. “And then you shall explain the worry that you have brought to your mother.” He strode away as quickly as he had come.
Walking Hawk wanted to make the task of caring for his pony stretch on for a long time, but he dared not. Never had he seen such anger on his father’s face.
Red Feather’s anger did not lessen as Walking Hawk told of his strong wish to become a successful hunter, of his plan for at last achieving it, of his near success, and then of the coming of the Crow warriors.
“So careless!” his father exploded. “Surely, my son would not be so foolish about his own safety or that of his people. Failing to creep carefully to the top of a ridge when in enemy country is unbelievable!”
As his father spoke, Walking Hawk began to realize the seriousness of his act. He tried to swallow the shame that rose bright in his heart. But he could not look at his father. Now he understood that the laws of his people were not just unreasonable rules set down by adults. His act had been a selfish one.
His father put Walking Hawk’s next thought into words. “No one among us has the right to bring danger to himself if it could also bring danger to our people. There can be no safety for any of our people unless each one accepts responsibility for the welfare of all.”
Walking Hawk nodded seriously. “When at last a buffalo herd is sighted,” he said, “I shall stay behind to help guard the camp. It is what I wish.”
Red Feather looked surprised. But as he left the tepee, his heart swelled with pride. Now Walking Hawk was indeed becoming a man!

Deep desire to be of service and to demonstrate love can even benefit the bishop. In Sacramento, California, while the bishop was away on vacation with his family, the youth committee determined to paint his house. These young people had the time of their lives working together and anticipating the pleasant surprise of the bishop when he returned. A real bond of love was established between the youth and their bishop with such meaningful service.

What would it be like to live where Jesus lived—to walk the streets of Jerusalem or stand on the Mount of Olives? Dan Ball knows. Dan (9) and his family have been living in Jerusalem for the past year. His dad, Dr. Terry Ball, is an Assistant Professor of Ancient Scripture at the Brigham Young University Center for Near Eastern Studies there.
Dan’s favorite place in the Holy Land is the Sea of Galilee, where Jesus did much of His teaching. It is beautiful and green, and Dan loves to swim and look for crabs there with his younger brothers, Cody (4) and Alex (4). The Ball family took a boat ride across the Sea, just as Jesus and His Apostles did. While there, the Balls read about how Jesus walked on the water and calmed the waves (see Matt. 14:22–33).
Dan has also sat on the Mount of Beatitudes, near Galilee, and read Jesus’ Sermon on the Mount (see Matt. 5–7).
Another place Dan likes to go to is the ancient city of Jericho. He loves the story of Joshua and the Battle of Jericho and how the walls of that city crumbled when the children of Israel shouted and the priests blew rams’ horns (see Josh. 6). Dan also likes the story of when King Hezekiah, as a defense against possible attack from the Assyrian army, had a tunnel dug under Jerusalem to bring water into the city (see 2 Kgs. 20:20; 2 Chr. 32:1–4, 30). Dan has even waded through the tunnel himself.
He has been learning about many events that occurred in and around Jerusalem as recorded in the Old and New Testaments; he has also been learning about Jerusalem from the Book of Mormon. Lehi and his family lived in Jerusalem until the Lord commanded them to leave because the people were so wicked that He was going to destroy the city. And Nephi and his brothers returned to Jerusalem to get the brass plates from Laban and to get Ishmael and his family to go with them to the Promised Land (see 1 Ne. 2–4, 7).
Dan, his brother Christopher (15), and his sisters, Cami (16) and Carla (13), attend an international school in Jerusalem. They have friends from all over the world, including from Jerusalem itself and nearby cities. Even though many of their school friends are not members of the Church, the Ball children know that Heavenly Father loves these children just as much as anyone else. They have learned about many cultures and religions, but they’ve especially learned about the cultures of the Jewish and Palestinian people who live in the Holy Land.
Dan is trying very hard to follow the example that Jesus Christ has set for us. Last year he was baptized because he knew that that was what Jesus wanted him to do. And he was baptized in the Jordan River, where Jesus was baptized by John the Baptist (see Mark 1:4–11).
DeAnna, Dan’s mom, said that he worked very hard to prepare himself for baptism by learning more about the gospel and by studying the scriptures every night. “He is a wonderful example to his younger brothers,” she said. “They want to be baptized, too, when they reach the age of accountability, eight years of age.”
Easter time was very special for Dan. He learned about Palm Sunday (the Sunday before Easter), when people waved palm branches to celebrate the triumphal entry of Christ into Jerusalem (see John 12:12–13). Dan thought a lot about Jesus Christ and His Atonement, especially when he visited the Garden of Gethsemane, where Jesus suffered for the sins of the world (see Matt. 26:36; Luke 22:40–45; Matt. 26:45). Dan also spent time at the Garden Tomb, where the Savior was buried after His crucifixion and where He was resurrected three days later (see John 19–20).
Living in Jerusalem has helped Dan to learn a lot about Jesus Christ. He says that the scriptures seem more real to him now, and his testimony is growing stronger every day.