Gospel Story Finder

Mr. Icedale got up one Saturday morning and looked out his window. There was snow everywhere, and icicles hung from his rooftop. “Snow!” he snarled. “I hate snow! I might as well go back to bed.” And with that, he jumped back into bed and pulled the covers over himself.
A squirrel crawled across the outside ledge of Mr. Icedale’s window and scratched on the screen. He wondered if Mr. Icedale might have a few crumbs for him that morning. But when he saw Mr. Icedale snuggled under his blankets and quilts, he stopped scratching and quietly crawled away.
Right next door lived Grammie Brown, whose grandson Jeffry had spent the night. Jeffry loved staying with her.
Grammie woke him up earlier than usual that morning. “Look outside—it snowed last night!” Her voice was filled with the wonder and amazement of new-fallen snow. “Quick—come down! We’ll eat some hot cereal and toast, then go for a walk before anyone else makes a print in the snow.”
Jeffry pulled on his long johns, his woolen socks, his jeans, a turtleneck, and a pullover. He raced downstairs without even making the bed and sat down to eat just as Grammie brought the toast and cereal to the table. They ate their hot, brown-sugared cereal in a hurry, then pulled on their boots, scarves, coats, hats, and gloves.
The streets were silent, and the snow crunched under their feet as first Jeffry stepped in Grammie’s footprints and then Grammie stepped in Jeffry’s. They trailed sticks behind them as they walked along. They fell backward into the snow and made beautiful snow angels by moving their arms and legs back and forth. Grammie made a big heart in the snow with the end of her stick and wrote “GB + JB” in the middle of the heart. Jeffry hugged her through all the layers of clothes that they had on. “I love you, Grammie. You’re the best grandmother ever!”
Grammie chuckled. “And you’re the best grandson ever!”
Suddenly Grammie straightened up. “I have a great idea. Let’s go shovel Mr. Icedale’s sidewalk before he gets out of bed!” Jeffry wasn’t sure it was such a great idea—it sounded like work, not fun—but Grammie was already pulling him along.
When they arrived, Jeffry stamped his foot and began to cry. “I want to keep playing! I’m too little to shovel snow, anyway.”
“Oh, Jeffry, I know that you can’t shovel snow. But you can make the snowmen.”
“The snowmen?”
“Yes, Jeffry, snowmen. You just roll snowballs along the sidewalk to make their bodies, and I’ll come after you and shovel up what little remains.”
Jeffry knew that his dad didn’t shovel the sidewalk that way, but it sounded like a good idea. He rolled two huge snowballs, two smaller ones, and two that were about the size of his own head. When Grammie had finished getting the snow off the sidewalks, she helped him roll the snowballs in front of Mr. Icedale’s bedroom window.
After they anchored the two largest in place, they stacked the smaller ones on top and filled in the gaps with more snow. Then they hurried to Grammie’s to get two carrots for the snowmen’s noses, buttons for the eyes and mouths, and two old scarves to wrap around their necks.
The snowmen were finished. Jeffry hadn’t known that shoveling sidewalks could be so much fun! He giggled as they ran back to Grammie’s house for hot chocolate and sandwiches.
Soon his parents came to pick him up. As they sat in the kitchen and talked, his dad looked out the kitchen window. “Who made the snowmen in Mr. Icedale’s yard?” he asked.
Jeffry looked at Grammie and put his finger up to his lips.
“Snowmen?” Grammie asked. “Well, look at that! Someone has made snowmen in Mr. Icedale’s yard. What a nice thing to do! He’s been a bit grouchy lately—maybe that will cheer him up.” She winked at Jeffry.
A few minutes later, as he stretched up to give her a hug and kiss good-bye, he whispered, “Let’s shovel Mr. Icedale’s walks again the next time it snows.”
When they passed Mr. Icedale’s house on the way home, Jeffry looked at the snowmen one last time. And there, with the window wide open, was Mr. Icedale putting out peanuts for the squirrels. He had a smile on his face—the first smile that had been there in a long time.
Jeffry leaned back in his seat with a great big smile of his own.

The story is told of a ship that was in distress during a severe storm off the coast of Holland:
“A rowboat went out to rescue the crew of the fishing boat. The waves were enormous, and each of the men at the oars had to give all his strength and energy to reach the unfortunate sailors in the grim darkness of the night and the heavy rainstorm.
“The trip to the wrecked ship was successful, but the rowboat was too small to take the whole crew in one rescue operation. One man had to stay behind on board because there simply was no room for him; the risk that the rescue boat would capsize was too great. When the rescuers made it back to the beach, hundreds of people were waiting for them with torches to guide them in the dreary night. But the same crew could not make the second trip because they were exhausted from their fight with the stormwinds, the waves, and the sweeping rains.
“So the local captain of the coast guard asked for volunteers to make a second trip. Among those who stepped forward without hesitation was a nineteen-year-old youth by the name of Hans. With his mother he had come to the beach in his oilskin clothes to watch the rescue operation.
“When Hans stepped forward his mother panicked and said, ‘Hans, please don’t go. Your father died at sea when you were four years old and your older brother Pete has been reported missing at sea for more than three months now. You are the only son left to me!’
“But Hans said, ‘Mom, I feel I have to do it. It is my duty.’ And the mother wept and restlessly started pacing the beach when Hans boarded the rowing boat, took the oars, and disappeared into the night.
“After a struggle with the high-going seas that lasted for more than an hour (and to Hans’s mother it seemed an eternity), the rowboat came into sight again. When the rescuers had approached the beach close enough so that the captain of the coast guard could reach them by shouting, he cupped his hands around his mouth and called vigorously against the storm, ‘Did you save him?’
“And then the people lighting the sea with their torches saw Hans rise from his rowing bench, and he shouted with all his might, ‘Yes! And tell Mother it is my brother Pete!’”

Cristina watched President Thomas S. Monson on the screen in her stake center during general conference. He was talking about being kind to others. Cristina had a warm feeling as she listened. She knew President Monson was a prophet of God. She thought about Leah, a girl at school who was unkind to her. She decided she would be nice to Leah and try to be her friend. Cristina wanted to follow the prophet’s teachings.

Your assignment is to follow missionaries on a typical day to find out what it is missionaries do. So you check the address once more and find you’re on the right street. You pass a pile of tree branches and a discarded computer printer. Next to that is a stone pedestal, with a bowling ball sitting majestically on top. Interesting, you think.
As you continue walking, you see what must be the elders’ apartment. It’s not easy to find as it is tucked behind a wall and beneath several large citrus trees.
When you step inside, the first thing you notice is how clean the apartment is. However, luxury isn’t the first word that leaps to mind. The living room is a little light on furniture, and since Elder Brown and Elder Paventy have already claimed the small couch, Elder Burton and Elder Smith get the floor. The hard floor.
It’s seven in the morning, and the four missionaries in the California Anaheim Mission are reading from a study guide and doing some role-playing while preparing for a day of proselyting.
Meanwhile, 40 miles to the north, in the California San Bernardino Mission, Elder Graham is sitting at his desk studying, while his companion, Elder Majeran, is at the kitchen table reading. Their apartment used to be a garage but has been converted to an apartment. At least any oil spills from the structure’s previous tenant are now covered by carpeting.
Ah, the life of a missionary.
Even though it’s safe to say both apartments won’t be included in a home and garden magazine, it really doesn’t matter. The missionaries are trying to keep costs down, and they mainly need a place to sleep and study anyway. For the rest of the day, they’re doing what they were called to do.
Two days, two missions, two companionships. This is what happened.
Elder Tim Paventy and Elder Brian Burton have been missionaries for 17 months. Their missions are winding down, but they’re not. After going over their schedule, they’re out the door by 9:30.
Like many of the missionaries in this mission, they drive cars. So Elder Burton loads up the trunk with copies of the Book of Mormon and Lamb of God videos. Elder Paventy hops in the passenger side, and off they go. The first visit is to a less-active member and his nonmember wife.
9:42 A.M.
As the two missionaries walk through an apartment complex, they see a repairman. His name is Gene, and he has a sewed-on badge on his shirt to prove it. Elder Paventy stops him and asks him if they can talk for a minute. Gene waves them off, saying he’s too busy.
“We tried,” Elder Paventy says.
A few minutes later the missionaries are visiting the part-member family from Colombia. The husband was baptized there before moving to the United States. He explains his Sunday job has kept him from becoming active again, and he’s pleased his wife has agreed to talk to the elders. She is very interested in what they have to say and has lots of questions. Elder Burton, who speaks Spanish, explains things and reads scriptures with her. “When I read the Book of Mormon, I feel the same way I do when I read the Bible,” she says. Elder Burton smiles.
It’s a very productive meeting, and another appointment is scheduled.
“She is really good,” Elder Burton says as he walks toward the car. He understands as a missionary you live for moments like that.
11:05 A.M.
The elders are both enthusiastic because they know their next appointment is with an investigator who is committed to baptism. As they walk to their meeting, a woman approaches the missionaries. She tells them she attended church a few times when she lived in Arizona and would like to know where the nearest chapel is. They write down her address and phone number and tell her they’ll make sure the missionaries assigned to her area stop by for a visit.
As the elders approach the home of their scheduled appointment, Elder Burton says, “I think we should sing here. It will be a good time to do it, and I know she’ll feel the Spirit.”
On a recent tour of this mission, Elder Richard H. Winkel of the Seventy challenged the missionaries to sometimes sing to their investigators. “Elder Winkel promised us our investigators will feel the Spirit. We don’t sound great when we sing, but the Lord blesses the people listening and allows the Spirit to come through. We really like doing it, and it has caught on in our mission,” Elder Burton says.
Elders Burton and Paventy are greeted warmly by the investigator, a middle-aged woman whose daughter joined the Church in Hawaii. The mother saw how her daughter changed and wanted to know why. The daughter called the mission home and requested the missionaries visit her mother. A few weeks earlier they did, and here they are for another discussion.
Before they leave, the missionaries do ask if they can finish with a song. They sing “Love Is Spoken Here.” No, they’re not the world’s best singers. But they’re right. You can feel the Spirit.
12:18 P.M.
The elders need to back the car out of a driveway, so Elder Paventy jumps out and directs Elder Burton. “Mission rule,” Elder Paventy explains. “Whenever we’re backing out, one of us has to check for traffic.” Safely on the road, they’re now on their way to the Anaheim Shores condominiums for some tracting. “Let’s go knocking,” Elder Burton says enthusiastically.
Nobody lets them in, but it’s not for lack of trying. “Sometimes that’s just how it is,” Elder Paventy says.
1:40 P.M.
After a quick lunch, the missionaries stop at a nearby park to look at their schedule. As they check their planners, they decide how to spend the rest of the afternoon. “We have the two member visits to do, and we could tract a little more while we’re out,” Elder Burton says. They’re in agreement, and that becomes the plan.
2:32 P.M.
The member visits are short, and more tracting follows. In one apartment complex, the missionaries stop a woman and her daughter and talk to them. The woman explains that she’s familiar with the missionaries and the Church, but tells them she isn’t interested. Elder Paventy tries one more time for an appointment, but she politely refuses.
“Anything you do as a missionary is stepping out of your comfort zone,” Elder Paventy says. “In high school you were looking for your comfort zone. But I’ve found that on my mission I’m looking to get out of my comfort zone. I’m always searching for ways to do something more.” Maybe at one time it would have seemed odd to go up to complete strangers and talk to them about the Church. But not now. “The Lord has really blessed me that way,” he says.
4:13 P.M.
Elder Paventy and Elder Burton are at it again. This time it’s with a man in his 20s. As they walk through a neighborhood they stop to talk to him. They engage him in a conversation for several minutes, but he doesn’t give them his address or phone number.
4:29 P.M.
It’s getting close to dinner. That night they have two more appointments scheduled. But it’s time for you to part ways with these missionaries. You’re off to the California San Bernardino Mission, and there is Los Angeles rush-hour traffic to battle.
9:28 A.M.
Elder Darren Majeran and Elder Josh Graham say a prayer, grab their bike helmets, and head out the door. No car for them. They need to get to Bonnie Brae Street for an appointment with an investigator, but they have a little time before that so they go on two callbacks to people they’d met last week. They pedal down the driveway and onto the street.
9:55 A.M.
There is no answer at either home, so back on the bikes they go. Their investigator on Bonnie Brae likes what he has heard about the Church, but he is having a problem understanding the concept of the priesthood and authority. They’re prepared to try to answer his questions.
10:07 A.M.
The investigator seems happy to see the missionaries. He has read two of the pamphlets the elders left with him on their last visit, and he’s prepared to discuss them. He seems very earnest in his desire to learn. He’s just not sure he can accept what they are teaching.
11:20 A.M.
“I thought it went okay,” Elder Majeran says after the meeting. “It’s just going to take some time.”
Next stop: the corner of Harvard Street and Ramona Avenue. The missionaries lock their bikes to a stop sign and begin going door to door. Elder Majeran and Elder Graham go to 19 houses, but very few people are home, and nobody invites them in.
12:15 P.M.
The missionaries break for lunch and talk about what just happened and what’s ahead. Elder Graham has been a missionary for about seven months, and he’s settled into a daily routine. “I guess the work has been the way I expected it to be. I haven’t done quite as much teaching as I thought we would,” he says. “But when you do, and you see people make changes in their lives and know you’ve been a part of that, it’s great.”
He continues: “If we tracted for a whole day and did nothing else, we’d probably get in maybe two or three doors.”
“We do a lot of talking through screens,” Elder Majeran adds. “But we usually have pretty good success once we get in.”
Today won’t be one of those days, however.
1:22 P.M.
It’s more of the same in the afternoon, although there is something to look forward to tonight. A family committed to receive baptism is scheduled for a sixth discussion, and another family in the ward has invited the missionaries to dinner.
7:03 P.M.
With dinner concluded (“The chicken was really good. Sister Wilson is a great cook,” Elder Graham says), the missionaries end up teaching a discussion to a person referred to them by a member. That is followed by the discussion to the family scheduled to be baptized.
9:35 P.M.
Another day is complete. Elder Majeran is tired but happy. “Not bad. We got a lot done today,” he says. As they change from their proselyting clothes and get ready for bed, they make phone calls to the zone leaders and the ward mission leader.
Your job is done too. You realized after two days that missionary work is still challenging. It takes a lot of hard work and effort, and there are highs and lows. But both companionships remained optimistic and excited about missionary work. All four told you that being missionaries is what they need to be doing.
You shake hands and say good-bye. Your work is done. But theirs isn’t.
After all, tomorrow awaits.

We went together one night to the Washington D.C. Temple Visitors’ Center. That night Katie, Paige, and I took a long walk around the temple. There was such a feeling of peace and love. There, the three of us made a pact with one another to work towards temple marriages and to settle for nothing less. We see the eternal perspective on choosing the right day-by-day. We are striving to gain the highest reward: eternal life. The Lord provided a way for three girls to choose the right, and I have never felt so good inside.

Years ago, a young girl confessed to my wife and me a very tragic period of her life. I won’t tell you about her life, but it was a tragic life, and I’ve never seen a girl with sadder eyes than this lovely girl of eighteen. And in trying to give her some comfort and hope for the future, I realized that we’re adding to our past; we’re building onto it each day we live. Life is not a rigid, fixed, quantitative kind of thing. It’s a growing, qualitative, whole thing. And the whole is greater than any of its parts, and gives meaning to its parts. My arm by itself hung on the wall is one thing; my arm as a part of my body and servant of my mind is another thing. An event in that girl’s past, or even ten events, were one thing at eighteen when she was in the depths of despair. And then she came into the fold, was baptized into the Church, found some faith in Christ, converted her husband, reared a fine family, and her life has been going like this ever since. This valley of failure in her life is one thing by itself; it’s another thing when it’s one dip in a long beautiful life. This idea makes life dynamic: it’s comforting and exciting to know that you can improve.

One of the most beautiful modern-day examples of meekness that I am aware of is that of Brother Moses Mahlangu. His conversion began in 1964, when he received a copy of the Book of Mormon. He was fascinated as he read this book, but it was not until the early ’70s that he saw an LDS Church sign on a building in Johannesburg, South Africa, as he was walking down a street. Brother Mahlangu was intrigued and entered the building to learn more about the Church. He was kindly told that he could not attend the services or be baptized because the country’s laws did not allow it at that time.

Brother Mahlangu accepted that decision with meekness, humility, and without resentment, but he continued to have a strong desire to learn more about the Church. He asked the Church leaders if they could leave one of the meetinghouse windows open during the Sunday meetings so he could sit outside and listen to the services. For several years, Brother Mahlangu’s family and friends attended church regularly “through the window.” One day in 1980 they were told that they could attend church and also be baptized. What a glorious day it was for Brother Mahlangu.

Later the Church organized a branch in his neighborhood in Soweto. This was possible only because of the determination, courage, and faithfulness of people like Brother Mahlangu who remained faithful for so many years under difficult circumstances.

One of Brother Mahlangu’s friends, who had joined the Church at the same time, recounted this story to me when I visited the Soweto stake. At the end of our conversation, he gave me a hug. At that moment, brothers and sisters, I felt as if I was encircled in the Savior’s loving arms. Meekness emanated from this good brother’s eyes. With a heart full of goodness and deep gratitude, he asked if I could just tell President Thomas S. Monson how grateful and blessed he and many others were for having the true gospel in their lives. Brother Mahlangu and his friend’s example of meekness truly influenced many lives for good—especially mine.

More than 40 years ago as I contemplated the challenge of a mission, I felt very inadequate and unprepared. I remember praying, “Heavenly Father, how can I serve a mission when I know so little?” I believed in the Church, but I felt my spiritual knowledge was very limited. As I prayed, the feeling came: “You don’t know everything, but you know enough!” That reassurance gave me the courage to take the next step into the mission field.

“This is the last time,” Jacob thought. “Then I’ll go to sleep.” He pulled the blankets over his body—from the top of his head to the very tips of his toes. Jacob held his breath and counted—“one, two, three”—then poked his head out like a turtle. He had been practicing for a whole week, getting ready for his big day.
“Jacob, are you still awake?” Mom whispered.
Jacob grinned. “Yes, I was just practicing again.”
Mom bent over his bed and tucked the blankets around him. “Good night,” she said with a smile.
The next morning at breakfast Jacob rested his chin in his hands.
“What’s wrong?” Dad asked.
“Well, I’m just not sure if I’m ready to be baptized,” Jacob said. “What if I make a mistake?”
“Jacob, everyone makes mistakes. What’s important is that we keep trying to do our best. Do you have a testimony of the Savior?”
“Yes, but I’m afraid I’ll forget everything. I want everything to be perfect for my special day.”
“I’m happy that you’re taking this seriously, Jacob. Getting baptized is an important step.”
Jacob sighed. “I want to be good, but how can I be good all the time? How can I be like Jesus? He was perfect.”
“Remember the still, small voice of the Holy Ghost?” Dad asked. “It can speak to our hearts and help us in a very direct way.”
Jacob nodded. “It gives you a warm feeling inside, like when Mom covers me with my blankets.”
Dad smiled. “That’s right. Did you know that when you are baptized you can have the influence of the Holy Ghost with you all the time?”
Jacob sat up straight. “Really?”
“Yes,” Dad said. “But remember, it’s important that you try and do what is right, and the Holy Ghost can help you.”
“I can do that!” Jacob said. He jumped up from the table and wrapped his arms around Dad’s neck. “Thanks, Dad.”
That day at school Jacob tried to do his best. He helped his teacher erase the chalkboard, but he accidentally knocked a whole box of chalk onto the floor. He ate lunch with a boy who always sat alone, but Jacob accidentally tripped and slopped his spaghetti onto the boy’s lap. He even said hi to Max, a boy who wasn’t very nice to him. There was no doubt about it—doing his best was hard work!
After school Jacob dragged himself into the house and dropped his backpack on the floor. “Hi, Mom,” he said with a groan.
“Hi! How was school today?”
Jacob hung his head. “Well, I tried my best, but I guess my best isn’t good enough,” he said sadly. He explained about the dropped chalk and the spaghetti spill. “I want to be the best I can before I’m baptized, but it’s hard sometimes!”
Mom wrapped her arms around Jacob and gave him a squeeze. “Jacob, accidentally spilling or dropping something isn’t a sin. You do need to be careful, but what’s important is that you’re trying to do what’s right. Heavenly Father loves you and is happy when His children try their best to live righteously.”
Before going to bed that night, Jacob knelt down to pray. “Heavenly Father, I’m worried,” he said. “I want to get baptized, but I’m afraid I’m not good enough. Please help me to know when the time is right.”
Jacob felt his body tingle. He felt warm inside. Suddenly, he wasn’t so worried anymore. He felt calm and peaceful.
The next day at school Jacob heard a voice bellow, “Hey, Jacob!”
Jacob knew that voice. He tried to hide, but it was no use; he had already been spotted. Suddenly he was standing face to face with Max.
Max stared at Jacob and crossed his arms. “What do you want from me? No one ever says hi to me. Did someone dare you?”
Jacob shrugged. “I was just trying to be nice. I’m getting baptized.”
“Baptized?” Max asked.
Jacob shuffled his feet nervously. He wasn’t sure how to explain baptism. He said a silent prayer in his mind. “Baptism is when we make special promises to Heavenly Father. We promise to try and keep the commandments. Heavenly Father loves us and wants us to be good.”
“How do you know?” Max asked.
“I know because He sent His Son, Jesus Christ, to die for our sins.”
Max shot out a bunch of questions. “Can anyone be baptized? Where is Jesus now? When—”
Jacob laughed. “Slow down. I can’t answer all your questions, but I know some missionaries who can.” Jacob took a deep breath. A thought whispered in his heart and he asked, “Max, would you like to come to my baptism?”
Two weeks later the day of Jacob’s baptism arrived. He changed into white clothing at the church and neatly combed his hair. Dad dressed in white too. Jacob’s family, friends, and Max sat waiting. Jacob stepped down into the warm water. He looked at his new friend Max and smiled. He held Dad’s hand, closed his eyes, and listened to the baptismal prayer. Once again he held his breath, but this time it was for real. The water rushed over his body, and then he rose up from the water. He took his first breath and smiled. He knew that Heavenly Father was happy with him for trying his best.

In the military service during World War II, I associated with some fine young men of great promise. But little by little, I saw some of them turn from the decent, God-fearing qualities of Dr. Jekyll and revert to the baseness of a Mr. Hyde. For some, it began by drinking coffee because the water was foul, and the water decontamination pills had such an unpleasant taste. The coffee led some to take an occasional drink of beer. Every soldier serving overseas was allocated a ration of cigarettes and an occasional bottle of whiskey, which were worth considerable money.

President George Albert Smith once gave this advice: “If you cross to the devil’s side of the line one inch, you are in the tempter’s power, and if he is successful, you will not be able to think or even reason properly, because you will have lost the spirit of the Lord.”

Some soldiers stayed on the safe side of the line and never experimented with nor trafficked in these addicting substances, even though they were given to us free. But others would sample the cigarettes or alcohol as a diversion to the challenges of the war. A few were even drawn away into immorality, believing that the stress of war justified lowering their standards and letting the Mr. Hyde side of their personalities take over.

After the war, those who had become addicted to tobacco, alcohol, and immorality found that they could not readily shake off these bad habits. The young men who had started out with such potential crossed that line inch by inch, robbing themselves and their families of the promised happiness and experiencing instead divorce, broken families, and heartaches.

Those who never lowered their standards did not succumb to these addictions. They came through that stressful period of their lives stronger and more prepared to lead productive, exemplary, and happy lives as faithful fathers and grandfathers of righteous families. They have also served as honored and respected leaders in the Church and in the community.

One summer my father said that he had a big job for me and my brother, Clay, to do. Pointing to a nearby field with a bunch of lambs in it, Dad said that he’d share any money that we made from raising them and selling them in the fall.
We were excited. There were about 350 lambs, and all we had to do was feed them. However, none of the lambs had mothers. They had all been lost in a violent storm. To feed one or two baby lambs is easy, but to feed 350 of them was a real job. There was plenty of grass, but the lambs needed milk. So we made some long, V-shaped troughs out of boards. Next, we got a tin washtub, ground up some grain, and put it into the tub. Then we added milk to make a thin mash.
We herded the lambs to the troughs and, pointing to the food, said, “Eat!” They just stood there looking at us. We tried pushing their noses down into the milky mash, hoping that they’d get a taste and want more. We tried wriggling our fingers in the mixture to get them to suck our fingers. Some of them would drink, but most of them ran away.
Many of the lambs were starving to death. The only way that we could be sure they were eating was to pick them up two at a time, hold them in our arms like babies, and feed them.
At night the coyotes would sit up on the hill and howl. The next morning we’d see the results of their night’s work, and we’d bury two or three more lambs.
Clay and I soon forgot about becoming rich. All we wanted to do was save our lambs. It really wasn’t too bad until I made a pet of one of the lambs and gave it a name. It was always under my feet, and it knew my voice. I loved that lamb. One morning it didn’t come when I called it. Later that day I found it under the willow trees by the creek. It wad dead. With tears streaming down my face, I picked up my lamb and went to find my father. Looking up at Dad, I said, “Isn’t there someone who can help us feed our lambs?”
After a long moment he said, “Jayne, a long time ago, Someone Else said almost those same words. He said, ‘Feed my lambs. … Feed my sheep.’” (John 21:15–16.) Dad put his arm around me and let me cry for a long time, then went with me to bury my lamb.
Many years later, while pondering Moses 1:39, I came to understand Dad’s words. The scripture reads: “For behold, this is my work and my glory—to bring to pass the immortality and eternal life of [all mankind].” As I thought about the mission of the Savior, I remembered the summer of the lambs, and I sensed how the Savior must feel with so many lambs to feed, so many souls to save. And I knew in my heart that He needed my help.

The importance of this process as a foundation for developing a Christ-centered life was impressed upon me many times when, as a stake president, I interviewed returning missionaries. One interview in particular left an indelible impression on me as a young man shared an experience that had changed his life. This elder had spent two years serving a mission in Mexico. Like many others, his gospel foundation had been somewhat shaky before he entered the missionary training center. But as the interview progressed, I could tell that significant changes had occurred within him.

After a few weeks in the field, this elder had become concerned that he was telling people the Book of Mormon was true and Joseph Smith was a prophet when he didn’t know for himself. How could he assure others when he did not have his own assurance? In discussing the problem with him, his companion challenged him to follow the counsel he was giving investigators: read the Book of Mormon and pray with a sincere heart, with real intent, even if he could only desire to believe.

A month went by and my friend’s feelings did not change. He read parts of the Book of Mormon and prayed daily that he would know the truthfulness of the message, but nothing happened. Two or three more weeks passed. He was obedient in his scripture study, prayers, tracting, and teaching, but he still lacked conviction.

As this missionary and his companion were tracting, they made an appointment to teach a family the next evening. When they arrived home that night, the elder, who, at his companion’s request, had agreed to teach the Joseph Smith story to the new investigators, began reading the Book of Mormon again. He read and prayed and then read some more. He was determined to have an answer before teaching the family. Through most of the night he repeated the pattern of reading and praying. As morning came he was disappointed; no swelling motions, no particular enlightenment or feeling had been received.

He dutifully followed his companion during the day but worried about the evening appointment. When the hour came, they knocked on the door. The husband answered and ushered them into a small home. Sitting on the dirt floor were nine children, and the father joined the mother behind them. Soon it was time for the struggling elder to teach his part of the lesson. He began by describing rather methodically young Joseph’s confusion regarding which church to join and his subsequent prayer on a beautiful spring day in 1820 in a secluded wooded area near his father’s farm.

As the elder reached the point in the story where the Father introduced the Son, saying, “This is My Beloved Son. Hear Him!” (JS—H 1:17), a warm feeling began to envelop him, starting in the deep recesses of his soul. Within moments, it had filled his entire being, and he began to cry. He dropped his head in embarrassment. Why was he crying? What were these feelings? He had never felt them before. The feelings were sweet and penetrated his very being. As thoughts rushed through his mind, he realized he knew that the Father and the Son had appeared to the boy Joseph, that the Book of Mormon was true, and that the gospel had been restored. Regaining control of his emotions, he looked up at the father and mother. Tears were streaming down their faces! They were feeling the same powerful influence of the Spirit he was feeling. He looked at the children. They, too, had tears in their eyes. The Spirit had borne witness to them of the truthfulness of his words. He continued the story and finished with a humble witness that the Father and the Son had appeared to the boy Joseph.

As this elder concluded telling me his story, he said, “President, I never had a problem teaching people after that. I knew the gospel was true, for I knew the Father and the Son appeared to Joseph Smith. I knew why I was in the mission field.”

As I listened, the Holy Spirit bore witness of the extraordinary missionary the young elder had become. I thought of how efficient Heavenly Father is. The father, the mother, the nine children, and the young missionary were all converted that evening. Twelve were converted that night, whereas only one would have been converted the night before. Moreover, the test required for a witness had been completed. The missionary had been obedient to his companion and to his mission president. He had exerted his desire to believe, and he had acted on that belief. And he now had a more sure hope through the witness of the Spirit!

The reality of the virus hit me even more when my little family came down with flu-like symptoms. I thought to myself, “Maybe it’s just the seasonal flu that usually goes around,” but we ended up getting tested as a precautionary measure. Our results came back positive: my husband, my 18-month-old daughter, and I all had COVID-19.

The news of our positive results affected us mentally, especially for my husband and me. It felt like our symptoms grew worse and that our recovery took longer the more we dwelled on the fact that we were infected with coronavirus. Focusing on our sickness built up more fear, which crippled us mentally, emotionally and spiritually—we had no room for faith. After two weeks of being down with the virus, we realized that we weren’t showing faith in Jesus Christ because we let fear in the way by focusing on being sick. So, to counteract that, we started shifting our focus to the Saviour and the power that comes from acting on our faith in Him.

The minute we chose to have faith in Jesus Christ and to act on it, our mentality and attitude began to change, and our actions started to align with our faith. We prayed with real intent and kept expressing in our prayers that we have faith in Jesus Christ and in His ability to heal us physically. We started reading more of the scriptures and quoting scripture around the house and to each other.

We started to be a lot more optimistic, and we continued to build on hope. We didn’t feel any more fear or worry. We were happier around the house and enjoyed each other’s company. When we really started to show our faith in Jesus Christ by doing these things, we noticed that our recovery started to pick up and we were able to fully recover shortly after.

In 1971, I was assigned to stake conferences in Western Samoa, including the organization of a new stake on Upolu island. After interviews we chartered a small plane to Savai‘i island to hold a stake conference there. The plane landed on a grassy field at Faala and was to return the next afternoon to take us back to Upolu island.
The day we were to return from Savai‘i, it was raining. Knowing the plane could not land on the wet field, we drove to the west end of the island, where there was a runway of sorts atop a coral break. We waited until dark, but no plane arrived. Finally, we learned by radio that there was a storm, and the plane could not take off. We radioed back that we would come by boat. Someone was to meet us at Mulifanua.
As we pulled out of port on Savai‘i, the captain of the 40-foot (12 m) boat asked the mission president if he had a flashlight. Fortunately, he did and made a present of it to the captain. We made the 13-mile (21 km) crossing to Upolu island on very rough seas. None of us realized that a ferocious tropical storm had hit the island, and we were heading straight into it.
We arrived in the harbor at Mulifanua. There was one narrow passage we were to go through along the reef. A light on the hill above the beach and a second lower light marked the narrow passage. When a boat was maneuvered so that the two lights were one above the other, the boat would be lined up properly to pass through the dangerous rocks that lined the passage.
But that night there was only one light. Two elders were waiting on the landing to meet us, but the crossing took much longer than usual. After watching for hours for signs of our boat, the elders tired and fell asleep, neglecting to turn on the second light, the lower light. As a result, the passage through the reef was not clear.
The captain maneuvered the boat as best he could toward the one upper light on shore while a crewman held the borrowed flashlight over the bow, searching for rocks ahead. We could hear the breakers crashing over the reef. When we were close enough to see them with the flashlight, the captain frantically shouted reverse and backed away to try again to locate the passage.
After many attempts, he knew it would be impossible to find the passage. All we could do was try to reach the harbor at Apia 40 miles (64 km) away. We were helpless against the ferocious power of the elements. I do not remember ever being where it was so dark.
We made no progress for the first hour, even though the engine was at full throttle. The boat would struggle up a mountainous wave and then pause in exhaustion at the top of the crest with the propellers out of the water. The vibration of the propellers would shake the boat almost to pieces before it slid down the other side.
We were lying spread-eagled on the cover of the cargo hold, holding on with our hands on one side and with our toes locked on the other to keep from being washed overboard. Brother Mark Littleford lost hold and was thrown against the low iron rail. His head was cut, but the rail kept him from being washed away.
Eventually, we moved ahead and near daylight finally pulled into the harbor at Apia. Boats were lashed to one another for safety. They were several deep at the pier. We crawled across them, trying not to disturb those sleeping on deck. We made our way to Pesega, dried our clothing, and headed for Vailuutai to organize the new stake.
I do not know who had been waiting for us at the beach at Mulifanua. I refused to let them tell me. But it is true that without that lower light, we all might have been lost.

Not long ago, I glanced out the window of the mission home kitchen in Santiago, Chile. There behind the house I could see a large English walnut tree with a big pile of dirt under it. Playing in the dirt pile, I spied two little boys. It had rained recently and both boys were covered with mud. I could barely tell who they were. When they saw me looking out the window, smiles broke out on their faces, and then I could tell it was my son Chris and his friend David. Chris’s face was so covered with mud that when he smiled, his teeth showed through like six small marshmallows on top of a chocolate cake.
Later when it was time to come in and David had gone home, I sent Chris upstairs to bathe. We joked about how it would take three tubs full of water to get him clean. The first would have to be shoveled out just like pure dirt; the second, dipped out with a bucket like runny mud, and maybe we would be able to wash the third down the drain.
After Chris had soaked for a few minutes, I went in to help him get really clean and we had a serious talk that I hope he will never forget.
We worked together to get one hand scrubbed clean and then he compared it with the other that was still dirty. “Boy, Dad,” he said, “it’s sure great to have clean hands.” I explained how true that is, and said, “I want you to know that it is not the dirt of the earth that makes people’s hands really dirty. If a boy steals, if he is mean to his friends and hits them on purpose, if he tells his parents he will do something and then doesn’t, or if he is naughty or disobedient in other ways, this causes real “dirt”—the kind that you can’t wash off with soap and water. It’s the kind of dirt that you have to wear all the time and, even though others can’t always see it on you, you know yourself that inside you are not clean.”
I want all my dear, young friends to know there are different kinds of dirt; one you get on your hands from working and playing. This you can wash off. The other kind of “dirt” comes from doing bad things, sometimes called sin, that seem to stain your heart but can be “washed” away when you repent.
First you must do all you can to correct the wrong you have done. Then ask your Father in heaven and others to forgive you, so your hands and heart will be “scrubbed clean” from the dirt of wrongdoing.
The Savior said, “… entangle not yourselves in sin, but let your hands be clean, until the Lord comes.” (D&C 88:86.) He also said to those who had repented and were living pure lives: “Behold, your sins are forgiven you; you are clean before me; therefore, lift up your heads and rejoice.” (D&C 110:5.)
I hope that you will often get your hands dirty with hard work and play, but I hope that throughout your lives, this is the only dirt you will have to get rid of and not the kind that stains your heart through sin or disobedience. I want Chris and all other children to remember that should you slip and fall into sin, you can be washed clean by true repentance.
What joy it is to have clean hands and a pure heart!

I don’t know what to say to the old people after we sing our songs. I don’t know anything about them.
You know that they’re your brothers and sisters.
“She’ll be coming ’round the mountain, she’ll be coming ’round the mountain, she’ll be coming ’round the mountain when she comes!”
Could I visit with you a moment, sir?
Mr. Gonzales hasn’t spoken in over a year, but I’m sure he’d love a visit. He doesn’t ever get any.
I guess you can’t answer me, Mr. Gonzales, but I hope you can understand what I’m saying. You remind me of my grandfather. He was a good man, and I feel that you are too.
A half hour later
It’s time for me to go, Mr. Gonzales. Being here must be hard for you, but I know that you’re not alone. I’m going to come back and see you again, and Heavenly Father’s watching over you. He never forgets His children.
It’s nice to see Mr. Gonzales getting a visit. Is he your grandfather?
No, he’s my brother.

Susan, baptized into the Church at age 28, had always lived the law of chastity. “My parents had integrity and expected me to have high moral standards, to be honest and chaste, so I just did it,” says Susan, who was raised in the midwestern United States. “Now I realize I was responding to the light of Christ. I never dated a Latter-day Saint until I met Tom. When I heard the gospel, I was glad I had never given in to sexual temptation. Later, Tom and I were married in the Salt Lake Temple. One year later our baby daughter died at birth. We were devastated but grateful we had been worthy to be sealed in the temple when we were first married. Knowing that our baby was born in the covenant brought us understanding and peace.”
Susan and Tom still live in the Midwest after 24 years of marriage and five children. “Several of our friends and cousins have divorced,” says Tom. “We have had our share of financial and family challenges, yet we both want to be true to our temple covenants, so we just work things out.”

A modern example of this is taken from the life of Elder John B. Dickson of the Seventy. He recalls:
“When it was time for me to go on a mission, I was very excited to serve the Lord. Just before I was to leave, however, I found out that I had bone cancer. The chance of living long enough to serve a mission wasn’t very high. I had faith that the Lord would provide a way if He wanted me to go. My father gave me a blessing in which I was told that I would serve my mission in Mexico, serve in the Church all my life, and have a family. My right arm had to be amputated above the elbow, but my life was spared, and the promises I was given have all been fulfilled.
“Some would think that losing an arm would be a terrible burden, but it has been one of the greatest blessings in my life. I learned that it is very important to have challenges and to face up to them.”
Elder Dickson had always been right-handed, and now he had to learn to do everything left-handed. One struggle was learning how to tie his ties. He said: “One Sunday morning when I was in my bedroom with my tie in my hand, I thought, How am I going to tie this? I thought about getting a clip-on tie. I thought about asking Mom to help me. But I couldn’t take her with me on my mission just to tie my ties. So I decided I had to learn how to do it myself. I finally figured it out by using my teeth. I still do it that way, even after having tied it thousands of times.”

When my first daughter was born, I realized that I must make a decision. With three children I knew that I could no longer go on living for just today; I had to make a choice and live by it. For months my soul was in conflict. I wanted to choose the right, but I also wanted to be sure that my choice was not based on ulterior motives. I felt I couldn’t return just to make my wife, children, and parents happy. I knew that real happiness for all of us would come only if I actually regained a testimony of my own.
After much prayer and study and struggle, I began to feel a small spark inside me that brought with it memories of earlier spiritual experiences that I could no longer deny. The feeling slowly grew. And finally I felt that the Lord still loved me, even though I had been excommunicated. There was hope! I felt I was moving again!
However, knowing I was on the right path didn’t make anything easier. In fact, for a while, the harder I worked the worse things got. I struggled with great tests and hardships. It seemed that when a blessing was near, my life would start to come apart again and I would start to feel despair once more.
But I held on, and, true to his promise, Heavenly Father poured out a blessing. After much effort and great help and support from friends and leaders in the Church, I was able to reenter the waters of baptism. What joy I felt!

Brethren, during my Aaronic Priesthood years I was a swineherd! Way back then, by means of a 4-H Club project involving purebred Duroc pigs, I became familiar with work! As proof that what follows is not merely swollen memory, may I, with Elder Nelson’s help, display very briefly this blanket of nearly 100 ribbons won by my prize pigs at various fairs over several years.
Up near Elder Nelson’s hand is a pink ribbon, won 60 years ago. It was the very first ribbon I ever won. I think the judge had a tender eye, and the pig wasn’t really so choice, but he knew I needed encouragement and hence the fourth prize. The purple ribbons were for champions that were exhibited later on!
Thank you, Elder Nelson.
Brethren, I learned the hard way about the need to watch shifting pork prices at the local meat-packing plant. Careful records of profits and losses were kept with the help of my bookkeeper father. As in all things, my parents, so supportive, even ended up doing some of the perspiring themselves, including a special mother born 95 years ago today. She showed me how to work, and she loved me enough to correct me.
In order to obtain low-cost pig feed, I regularly bought dozens and dozens of three-day-old loaves of bread at a bakery for a mere penny a loaf. Additionally, if present at the right time at a local dairy, I could get about 70 gallons of skim milk free! Now I pay $2.50 a gallon—an amusing irony. By saving in these ways, I could buy the needed grain for the pigs with the little hard cash that I had.