Gospel Story Finder

Ever since Tavita was 11, it was his dream to serve a mission—and nothing was going to stand in his way. He loved to sit and listen to returned missionaries share their spiritual experiences, and each day he grew more determined that he too would serve. By the time Tavita was a college freshman, preparing to sign scholarship agreements to play football at the University of Hawaii at Manoa, he made sure he could leave for two years to serve the Lord.
After serving an honorable mission, Tavita returned to his spot on the Hawaii roster and this fall will suit up as offensive guard.

“Hurry up, Mom!” five-year-old Jackson shouted. He grabbed the Book of Mormon story book and sat down on the bright blue chair.
Four-year-old Michelle climbed up beside him. “Story time!” she cried, eagerly clapping her hands.
Mother squeezed between them on the chair and opened the book. “Let’s see. … Yesterday, we were reading about the Anti-Nephi-Lehies, weren’t we?”
Jackson nodded.
“They were Lamanites. And they’d been converted to the gospel, remember?”
“And they were really wicked!” Michelle declared emphatically.
“Yes, they were really wicked. But when they were converted, they wanted to repent,” said Mother. “They promised the Lord that they would never fight again. In fact, they buried all their weapons of war in a big pit—see,” she said, pointing to the picture.
“Wow!” Jackson cried excitedly. “Look at all those weapons. Swords and bows and arrows and all kinds of things!”
“That looks fun!” exclaimed Michelle. “Let’s bury our weapons, too, Jackson!”
Jackson giggled. “Oh, Michelle, don’t be silly. We don’t have any weapons.”
“Hmmm,” Mother said thoughtfully. “You may not use swords and bows and arrows, but sometimes the things that come out of your mouths hurt too.”
Michelle looked puzzled. “What comes out of our mouths?” she asked.
“Words,” said Mother.
“You mean words like stupid and dumb, don’t you?” Jackson asked.
“Right,” said Mother. “Sometimes words hurt as much as a punch on the arm.”
“Then we must bury our bad words,” Michelle urged, “and never use them again!”
“I know what,” said Mother. “You tell me some words that hurt other people’s feelings, and I’ll write them down on slips of paper. Then you can dig a big hole and bury all those bad words, just like the Lamanites buried their weapons.”
“Great idea!” Jackson exclaimed. They found some paper and tore it into pieces. Then they thought of all the unkind words that they knew. Mother wrote them down.
“Come on, Michelle, let’s go dig that pit now,” Jackson called enthusiastically. They took their dad’s shovel out of the shed and hurried to an area behind the house where they could dig.
Jackson dug the shovel tip into the dark, rocky soil. He pushed as hard as he could, but the ground was so hard that he loosened only a small clump of dirt.
“Wow! You’re not very strong,” Michelle teased.
“Well, you’re pretty weak yourself,” he growled back. Then he stopped. “Hey, wait a minute. We’re supposed to be burying those kinds of words! Sorry.”
“Me, too,” Michelle told him sincerely. “How about trying this?” she suggested, handing him a garden trowel that they used in their sandpile.
Jackson took it and chipped at the dirt while Michelle dug with a stick.
Soon they were covered with dust and dirt, but the hole was dug. They put all the papers with the unkind words written on them into the hole. Then they pushed the dirt back.
“Are you finished yet?” Mother called from the kitchen window. “I’ve made some hot muffins for my two hungry Anti-Nephi-Lehies.”
“Yes,” answered Jackson. “Our weapons are finally buried!”
“And,” Michelle solemnly declared, “we won’t ever use them again!”

At a time when I was assigned to a stake conference in Provo, the Sunday morning welfare meeting was scheduled to begin at 7:30 A.M., so it was necessary that I leave home about 6:15 A.M. Just as I came to an intersection before turning onto the on-ramp to enter the freeway, the light changed to red. As I stopped for it at that early hour, there were no cars in sight. Mine was the only car at the stop light.
The thought crossed my mind that if I ignored the red light, no one would be hurt or endangered, for not a car was in sight at that early hour. Nevertheless, I waited out the light change and proceeded on the green light. If I had turned left, no one else would have known, but I would know that I was breaking the traffic code, and surely the Lord would know. I was reminded of the scripture which says:
“Therefore to him that knoweth to do good, and doeth it not, to him it is sin” (James 4:17).

Dark, cold, and rainy. Sort of like my life right now. I am in my room, studying. It is almost 11:00 P.M. Mom and I went over each other’s notes in preparation for the final tomorrow in Family Relations 101. Then I came up here to hit the books. Downstairs, everything is quiet. The rain slashes against my window. It’s on nights like these that I most often think of my sister and wonder where she might be.
I hear a commotion on the porch. I get up from my desk, wondering what is going on. There is a loud knock on the door. Mom and Dad are at the bottom of the stairs, fumbling with bathrobes, turning on the entry lights. Dad opens the door a little and peers into the darkness. A figure steps into the light spilling from our home.
It is my sister, soaking wet, looking tired, looking very different than the skinny junior in high school I knew when I left on my mission.
“Can I come in?” she asks, her voice trembling.
“This is your home, Jan,” my dad says softly.
“Mom, Dad, I need to start over.”
“We’ll talk later,” Mom says. My sister throws her arms around Mother, and they both begin to cry.
I think my slump is history.

Several years ago, after returning from touring a mission, I said to one of my friends, “Did you make any converts when you were on your mission in a certain town?” And I told him the name of the town.

He replied, “No, I didn’t make a single convert there. My companion and I had very poor missionary success in that town.”

I informed him that recently I had held a meeting in that town. Following the meeting, a woman approached the mission president and me and said, “When I was a girl two Mormon missionaries came to our home a number of times and talked with my mother. Each time the missionaries came to our home, I ran into the kitchen and peeked through the door and listened while they conversed with mother, who wasn’t very interested. As soon as they had left, I would run into the living room, pick up the literature that they had left on the table, and go to my room and study it. I was very thrilled with what I was learning.

“Finally I obtained a copy of the Book of Mormon and read it. I became thoroughly converted to the Church of Jesus Christ, having a firm conviction that it was the true church. When I grew to maturity, two more Mormon missionaries came to town and I asked them to baptize me. After I had become a Church member, I taught the gospel to my friends and relatives. There are over fifty members in this branch who belong to the Church as a result of my conversion and baptism.”

I then said to my friend, “You see, you and your missionary companion indirectly have over fifty converts in that town in which you thought you got none.”

Finally, honesty is the best policy. I learned this truth in a dramatic manner during boot camp when I served in the Navy 55 years ago. After those first three weeks of isolated training, the good news came that we would have our first liberty and could visit the city of San Diego. All of the men were most eager for this change of pace. As we prepared to board the buses to town, the petty officer commanded, “Now all of you men who know how to swim, you stand over here. You will go into San Diego for liberty. Those of you who don’t know how to swim, you line up over there. You will go to the swimming pool and have a lesson on how to swim. Only when you learn to swim will you be permitted liberty.”

I had been a swimmer most of my life, so I prepared to get on the bus to town; but then that petty officer said to our group, “One more thing before we board the buses. Follow me. Forward, march!” He marched us right to the swimming pool, had us take our clothing off and stand at the edge of the deep end of the pool. Then he directed, “Jump in and swim the length of the pool.” In that group, all of whom could supposedly swim, were about 10 who had thought they could fool somebody. They did not really know how to swim. In the water they went, voluntarily or otherwise. Catastrophe was at the door. The petty officers let them go under once or twice before they extended the bamboo pole to pull them to safety. With a few choice words, they then said, “That will teach you to tell the truth!”

How grateful I was that I had told the truth, that I knew how to swim and made it easily to the other end of the pool. Such lessons teach us to be true—true to the faith, true to the Lord, true to our companions, true to all that is sacred and dear to us. That lesson has never left me.

Seek for Inspiration. Our prayers and faith help us open our hearts to let God change us. One woman I know felt concern about the TV shows her adult children let their children watch. She felt the shows modeled disrespect and quarreling, even though they were considered age-appropriate. Not wanting to intrude, she prayed and fasted repeatedly about what to do or say. One morning her daughter-in-law called to ask for advice about how to manage disrespect and quarreling among her children. My friend shared her observation about the TV shows, an influence her daughter-in-law had never noticed. The young parents addressed the issue with their children. Changes were agreed upon, and the atmosphere in the home improved.

The house was dark and warm, but a cool breeze filtered through the open window and brushed across Maggie’s face as she slept. Suddenly Chip’s excited barking made her sit up in bed. She blinked her eyes open and looked out the window at the moonlit yard below, where Chip tugged at his chain and barked frantically. Then she heard Father rush down the stairs and stumble through the kitchen. The back porch light flicked on and instantly flooded the backyard with light. Maggie quickly wiggled her toes into her slippers and reached for her robe.
From his room, eight-year-old Robbie demanded sleepily, “What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know,” Maggie replied. “Chip’s barking at something in the yard.”
Downstairs, Maggie and Robbie joined their mother, who stood near the kitchen door. They watched as Father raced back and forth across the lower end of the yard.
“He’s trapped something!” Robbie shouted.
Maggie slammed out the screen door and ran across the dew-covered grass to see that Father had cornered a stray dog. He finally got close enough to clamp an empty bushel basket over it. Instantly the dog whimpered and scratched, trying frantically to escape. Father carefully raised one edge of the basket, grabbed the dog by its scruff, and secured him in the shed.
“Two of them were at the rabbit cage,” Father said softly. “They got in by digging under the fence. The other one got out the same way.”
They stood at the rabbit cage where Floppy lay stiffly. His fur was stained with blood, and Maggie did not have to be told. “Floppy’s dead,” she whispered.
Her father hugged her tightly. “Yes, honey.”
They walked slowly back to the house and explained to Mother and Robbie what had happened.
Robbie’s face puckered, and his chin quivered. Without a word, he turned and ran to his room and slammed the door. Maggie looked up at her mother and father. They were both crying silently.
Maggie didn’t think that she could fall back to sleep, but when morning came, she knew that she had. Wearily she stretched, then remembered: Floppy is gone—all because of two vicious stray dogs! She sat up and looked out at the shed. That dog ought to be shot! she thought. Floppy was our pet, and he never hurt anyone. She remembered the day when her parents had brought him home. He had hopped playfully around the yard while Father built his cage. Tears welled in Maggie’s eyes as she forced herself to look down at Floppy’s pen. It was empty. She sprang from her bed and dressed. “Where’s Floppy?” she demanded when she reached the kitchen.
Mother turned from the stove. “Your father put him in a box, honey. When we return from town, we’ll bury him beneath the plum trees in the meadow.”
Maggie nodded and began to set the table.
Later, as their parents climbed into the truck, Mother asked, “Are you two sure you won’t come to town with us?”
Maggie shook her head. “I’ll stay and dig the grave.”
“I’ll stay, too, and help Maggie,” Robbie said.
“I’ll get new fencing,” Father told them. “And the dogcatcher will pick up that stray dog this afternoon.”
“What will they do with him?” Maggie asked.
Father shrugged. “Make sure that he doesn’t have rabies, then try to find his owner, I suppose.”
“Do you want anything special from the grocery store?” Mother asked.
Maggie and Robbie shook their heads. As soon as the truck drove away, Maggie said, “I’ll do the dishes. You get the shovel.”
Robbie nodded, then turned and shuffled toward the shed.
“And give Chip food and fresh water, OK?” Maggie called.
Robbie nodded and kept walking, his shoulders drooping. As Maggie went inside, angry thoughts churned in her head. She wanted to get a big stick and beat the dog that had killed Floppy. She hoped that it died of hunger! No punishment is too cruel for it, she decided.
She washed the dishes, and each time she looked at Floppy’s pen, tears slid down her cheeks. Finally she was done, and she went out on the porch. Funny—things looked just as they had: White daisies bloomed by the porch, and purple irises waved their filmy heads in the morning sun. The vegetable garden sported tiny green sprouts, and birds chirped around the feeder. Only one thing was different—and nothing could erase last night’s tragedy. “Robbie?” she called.
When she saw her little brother step out of the shed with the shovel, Maggie stepped off the porch and walked toward him. “Did you feed and water Chip?”
He nodded. “I fed and watered the stray dog, too,” he told her. “Father said that he’d put a pan in there last night, but it was empty. I guess that he finished whatever was in it long ago.”
Maggie stared angrily at Robbie.
“He’s just a little dog, Maggie,” Robbie explained quickly, “and he’s really hungry and scared. He gobbled the food down and didn’t even try to run away.”
Maggie didn’t care how hungry and scared he looked—he’d killed Floppy!
Robbie kept right on talking. “I thought about Chip. If he didn’t have a home or anyone to feed him, maybe he’d have done the same thing . …”
Maggie blinked, and her anger turned to understanding. Robbie’s right. Jesus taught that we’re supposed to forgive … especially those who hurt us … even a hungry stray dog. … Maggie’s frown softened. “Come on,” she said, taking the shovel from him. “Let’s go dig the grave. Then we’ll make a marker for it.”
“What will it say?” Robbie hurried to keep pace with his sister.
“How about ‘Here lies Floppy, our loving pet’?”
“He was a nice pet, wasn’t he?” Robbie asked.
“He sure was,” Maggie agreed as she started along the path to the meadow. “And nothing can take that away.”

President Dieter F. Uchtdorf shared a story in general conference about a challenge from his own life that became a massive blessing for him. During the challenge, however, it was hard for President Uchtdorf to see much value in the struggle. He was 11 years old at the time and had to pedal a heavy bicycle and cart to deliver laundry for his family’s laundry business.
“Most of the time, I was not overly excited about the bike, the cart, or my job,” he said. “Sometimes the cart seemed so heavy and the work so tiring that I thought my lungs would burst, and I often had to stop to catch my breath.”
There was a reason the work was so hard for him. He was battling a lung disease he didn’t even know he had. But here’s the miracle: all that strenuous exercise proved to be exactly what he needed to heal his lungs. Not until many years later, when he took a physical exam to enter the military, did President Uchtdorf learn there had ever been anything wrong.
“It became clear to me that my regular exercise in fresh air as a laundry boy had been a key factor in my healing from this illness,” he said. “Without the extra effort of pedaling that heavy bicycle day in and day out, pulling the laundry cart up and down the streets of our town, I might never have become a jet fighter pilot and later a 747 airline captain.”1

That could have happened to me. After graduating from college, I worked for a couple of years at a local nonprofit organization, where I was inspired by the skills of a new manager. I decided to pursue a master’s degree so that I could gain the kinds of skills he had.

Between the time I was accepted to the program and the time I was to attend, we learned that I was pregnant with our first child. Pregnancy is always a challenge, but due to some medical complications, pregnancies are particularly difficult for me. When I arrived to begin my master’s program, the heaviest question in my heart was whether I should be pursuing the degree at all. After all, I was now anticipating motherhood.

In my new ward, I was promptly called to be an assistant nursery leader. The counselor in the bishopric who set me apart for my new calling laid his hands upon my head and bestowed upon me all the usual authority, gifts, and admonitions attendant on a calling in nursery. Then, speaking to my most hidden fears and my deepest questions, he told me, in the name of Christ, to pursue and complete my master’s degree, that this was the will of God.

So I did.

Near the conclusion of my master’s degree, my husband received a good job offer in Washington, DC. I was preparing to be a stay-at-home mom to our then-one-year-old daughter. I felt unsettled by the move, and I wanted the confirmation of the Spirit to help soothe me. But the more I prayed, the more agitated I became. So my husband and I prayed, fasted, and attended the temple to seek guidance about whether or not to take the job.

The matter of our imminent move remained unresolved until the very last day of class in my master’s program. I felt a tremendous and unmistakable outpouring of the Spirit, and a clear, quiet, and calm voice spoke to my mind, telling me I would return for a PhD. I knew why I had been so uneasy about the move to Washington.

I didn’t tell my husband right away what my prompting had been—only that I’d had one and that I was at peace. We decided that when he had the same sense of peace, we could make a plan together based on our individual promptings.

Soon thereafter, he felt strongly that we should make a short-term move to Finland for an internship he had been offered. From Finland I applied for the doctoral program. In Finland my husband started his business.

I finished the doctoral program in about three years and soon found myself—most unexpectedly—on the full-time faculty at BYU. In addition to food, clothing, and shelter, our work has afforded us freedom, family time, fulfillment, challenges, and a great deal of happiness. We now have four children, and they are—individually and collectively—the central joy of my life. This was a future only God could see for me.

I remember telling this story to my friend Kris, who shared that her own story was very similar to mine but had resulted in almost the exact opposite educational path. Kris had always hoped to pursue a PhD. But when she inquired of the Lord, He led her in a different direction. Kris focused on raising her young children at home, finding fulfillment and joy in her decision and trusting the Lord and His guidance.

Christmas as a family. Before I joined the Church, I thought that Christmas was just a time when people wore new clothes and shoes and when there were colored, blinking lights. But one December after I joined the Church, I received a letter and a card from the missionary who baptized me. Among his many words, the following stood out to me: “Christmas is a day when we can be with our families to have a beautiful dinner and to eat together.” It was a short sentence, but it had great significance to me.
That day I called everyone in my family to see if they could all come to a great Christmas dinner. Many were surprised because we had never celebrated Christmas as a family before, but they all accepted the invitation. My sisters and I worked hard so that everything would turn out right for our first family dinner. Everything was simple, but my mother was very happy, and everyone was excited to be together.
That Christmas was the happiest one I had ever had, and it was made possible by a simple card and letter reminding me that Christmas is a time to celebrate the birth of the Savior with my family. We have celebrated Christmas as a family ever since.Gedalva S., Brazil

When I was deciding if I should serve a mission, I was called to serve as a digital missionary in my home ward. In this calling, I was asked to share the gospel on social media by posting uplifting messages about Jesus Christ. I wanted to do my best, so I posted conference quotes, scriptures, and gospel insights on Instagram every day.
On most of my posts, I got likes and comments from people I knew, but there were also times when I would get likes and comments from people I didn’t know. One time, I shared part of an address by Elder David A. Bednar of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles about the principles of Jesus Christ’s gospel. A girl I didn’t know saw the post and reached out to me. Her name was Emma (name has been changed). She was a college student in England and had been searching for truths and more meaning in her life.
When Emma saw my post, she searched for and read the full talk by Elder Bednar and felt a deep desire to learn more. So, she started messaging me to ask questions about The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and what I believe as a member. We had some insightful discussions as she expressed her interest in the gospel.
Over time we continued to reach out to each other and get to know each other. Eventually she became more and more interested in the Church, and I explained how she could get in touch with missionaries in her area. Soon she was meeting with them often!
After a few months of being taught, Emma accepted the invitation to be baptized, and she became a member of the Lord’s Church. She struggled for a while with difficult family relationships because of her desire to join the Church, but I was amazed by her courage and faith to keep moving forward with hope in Christ. Today, she loves the gospel and is so thankful for the effects it has had on her life.
Before I became connected with Emma, I had been contemplating serving a mission but had felt so uncertain and insignificant. I didn’t feel that my efforts to share the gospel would make a difference for anyone. But seeing how much Emma’s life changed simply because a stranger like me posted a message about Jesus Christ on social media, I was filled with hope that my desire to share the light of Christ as a full-time missionary and as a disciple of Jesus Christ could truly change people’s lives and bring them to Christ.
Emma and I continue to encourage each other and are now both serving full-time missions.
I know that Heavenly Father inspired me to post that original message from Elder Bednar on social media. The message was small and simple, but that’s all it took for Him to work a miracle.

One summer while I was growing up in Arkansas, my neighbors invited me to join them for a couple days of camping, fishing, and swimming at a large reservoir near Sardis, Mississippi. We spent several days enjoying all sorts of outside activities.
On our last day we were getting our final swim in before heading home. As my friends and I were throwing a beach ball back and forth, the ball sailed over my head and landed a few feet beyond me. The wind immediately started blowing the ball away from me along the top of the water. I started after it, but the wind kept blowing the ball just beyond my reach. In a short time I had reached the markers that bordered the shallow swimming area. The ball had been blown beyond the markers toward the main body of the reservoir.
As I approached the markers, I gave little thought to swimming beyond them. The ball was not that far in front of me, and I was sure I could catch it. After all, I had completed a lifesaving course and proudly wore the course emblem on my swimming trunks. I felt comfortable in water and confident that I was strong enough to retrieve the ball.
The wind, however, continued to keep the ball outside my reach. Sometimes I would get so close to it that I could touch it with my fingertips, only to see it sail off again. Finally, a gust blew it far beyond my reach.
I was not aware of how far I had traveled until I stopped to rest. The water seemed much darker and colder than it was in the shallow swimming area. When I looked back toward the shore, I realized that I was close to the middle of the reservoir. I decided to abandon the beach ball and swim back to shore. I was tired and worn out, but I wasn’t worried. I was young and felt that I would be all right.
But as I tried to return to shore, the wind that had assisted the beach ball worked against me. It seemed that no matter how hard I swam, I made little progress. My arms and legs began to burn and ache. I stopped to dog paddle and float, trying to regain my strength.
Then I heard a familiar sound—the sound of a motorboat. I was happy and relieved to soon see a man in a small boat pull up beside me and offer me a ride to shore. My arms and legs were spent. I couldn’t even pull myself into the boat, so I put one arm over the side and hung on while the stranger slowly towed me back to the swimming area. I grabbed one of the markers, let go of the boat, waved a thank-you, and swam to shore.
Fifteen years later I once again found myself in trouble. For a long time I had been swimming in a reservoir of sin. Pursuing a worldly course and seeking after things of little or no value had left me floundering in deep water. My strength was spent, and my hope was failing. The things I had pursued remained just out of my reach, and darkness seemed about to engulf me.
In desperation I cried out to Heavenly Father. Like the man in the boat, the Savior came to my rescue when I needed Him most. Through a latter-day prophet of God, He led me to the Book of Mormon. He led me along the path of repentance and cleansed me of my sins in the waters of baptism. He then placed me on high ground, where I have attempted to stay ever since.

Brother Saw Polo was 58 years old when he was introduced to the restored gospel of Jesus Christ. When I met him, he had been serving as a branch president for several years, but I learned that he had never read the Book of Mormon because it was not yet available in his native Burmese. When I asked him how he knew that the book was true without having read it, he replied that he had studied the Book of Mormon Stories picture book every day by looking at the illustrations, using a dictionary to translate the English words, and taking careful notes of what he learned. He explained, “Every time I studied, I would pray about what I learned, and I would feel peace and joy, my mind would be clear, and my heart would be soft. I felt the Holy Ghost testifying to me that it was true. I know that the Book of Mormon is the word of God.”

Elder Prince Nwubani wasn’t sure if he wanted to serve a mission at all. His bishop had told him that if he did go, his father would die a happy man. So he went, expecting to be sent close to home as many missionaries from West Africa were. But Elder Nwubani was called to the Michigan Detroit Mission in the United States. This was on the other side of the world from where he had grown up, in Abuja Nigeria.
At the end of one particular week, the elders had nothing to show for their efforts. Nothing but zeros on their missionary planners. After dinner one evening, Elder Nwubani’s companion looked at him across the table and asked, “Elder, do you believe in the power of prayer?”
He was surprised by the question but answered that yes, he did believe.
“Then do you believe that if we pray hard enough right now, that we will receive a new investigator to teach this evening?” his companion asked.
Now this was a different story. After the difficult week that they had just experienced, without anyone interested in their message despite their hard work, a new investigator seemed like a long shot. But as he considered the question, it came to his mind that he should answer yes. So, the companions prayed together to find that one person whom they could teach.
As they left that evening, Elder Nwubani’s companion suggested that they use their bikes instead of taking their car. This seemed very strange. They rarely used their bikes, and it was freezing outside. He reluctantly agreed to go on bike, even though he didn’t ride well, and this was not the kind of weather a kid from Africa was used to.
As they travelled on their bikes, Elder Nwubani fell behind his companion who was a much better cyclist. As he struggled to keep up, he did not notice a large patch of black ice on the road. He hit the ice and slid out of control, falling from his bike. The pain in his knee was intense and he struggled to get up. His companion rushed back and said, “you are really hurt, we need to go back to the apartment.”
Again, something told Elder Nwubani that they needed to continue, even though it would be a real struggle for him. “I’ll be fine, Elder. We need to keep going,” he told his companion. They stopped at a nearby gas station to assess the damage.
“Hey elders, you never came back” they heard from a man pumping gas.
Surprised to hear this the missionaries went to talk to the man. “When I was 17 years old, I met with the missionaries and they promised to come back and teach me”, he said. “And you never came back”.
The man was well into his 40s, so it was definitely not Elder Nwubani and his companion whom the man had met, but nevertheless, they made arrangements to meet with the man. They had their new investigator.
Although it seemed impossible that this humble prayer offered by the missionaries could be answered, the Lord provided a way to reward his faithful servants. To this day, Prince Nwubani’s testimony of prayer has never wavered.

Dana was born with a hole in her lips and inside her mouth. She had already had four operations to try to fix it. Today Dana and her parents had an appointment with the doctor to talk about another operation.
During the operation, we will take part of the bone from your hip to use in your mouth.
Dana was worried about what would happen after the operation.
Can I still drink chocolate milk?
When your mouth heals, you can have all the chocolate milk you want.
The night before the operation, Dana’s dad and uncle gave her a priesthood blessing. Uncle Hyrum anointed Dana with consecrated oil. Then Daddy said the blessing.
The next morning Mommy and Daddy took Dana to the hospital.
The nurse came to take Dana to the operating room. Dana gave Mommy a hug.
I love you, Dana.
Don’t worry, Mommy. I’m not afraid. Daddy gave me a blessing.
After the operation Dana was all right. She was glad that Daddy gave her a special blessing to help her feel better.

Many years ago Elder Marion D. Hanks, while an Assistant to the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles, spoke of the power of making the most of our opportunities to learn. Elder Hanks told a story about Louis Agassiz, a distinguished naturalist, who was approached by an obscure spinster woman who insisted that she had never had a chance to learn. In response, Dr. Agassiz asked her to consider the chances for learning that she already had:
“ ‘What do you do?’ he asked.
“ ‘I skin potatoes and chop onions.’
“He said, ‘Madame, where do you sit during these interesting but homely duties?’
“ ‘On the bottom step of the kitchen stairs.’
“ ‘Where do your feet rest?’
“ ‘On the glazed brick.’
“ ‘What is glazed brick?’
“ ‘I don’t know, sir.’
“He said, ‘How long have you been sitting there?’
“She said, ‘Fifteen years.’
“ ‘Madam, here is my personal card,’ said Dr. Agassiz. ‘Would you kindly write me a letter concerning the nature of a glazed brick?’ ”
The woman took the challenge seriously. She read all she could find about brick and tile and then sent Dr. Agassiz a 36-page paper on the subject.
Elder Hanks continued:
“Back came the letter from Dr. Agassiz: ‘Dear Madam, this is the best article I have ever seen on the subject. If you will kindly change the three words marked with asterisks, I will have it published and pay you for it.’
“ ‘A short time later there came a letter that brought $250, and penciled on the bottom of this letter was this query: ‘What was under those bricks?’ She had learned the value of time and answered with a single word: ‘Ants.’ He wrote back and said, ‘Tell me about the ants.’ …
“After wide reading, much microscopic work, and deep study, the spinster sat down and wrote Dr. Agassiz 360 pages on the subject. He published the book and sent her the money, and she went to visit all the lands of her dreams on the proceeds of her work.”6
Now there’s something very fundamental about that, to invite diligent learning and not be content with mediocrity.

Once a group of children was playing in a home where the Prophet was hiding from wicked men who wanted to kill him. They overheard the older people tell of the Prophet’s danger, and one seven-year-old girl said, “I know what we can do. We can pray and ask our Father in heaven to keep Brother Joseph safe from harm.”

A few minutes later the Prophet went past a bedroom door in time to see the children kneeling together and to hear their simple prayer for his safety. Tears filled his eyes and then rolled down his cheeks. As the children rose from their knees, one of them said, “Now I know Brother Joseph will be safe.”

Then the Prophet returned to the room where his older friends had come to guard him through the night. He told them that they could go to their own homes, for he knew that prayers of children are heard and answered and that he could sleep in peace that night. And he did!

This stone plaque with the photo and narrative of the life of Charles Callis, sits in St Audoen’s park near the centre of Dublin. Elder Callis is the only person born in the Emerald Isle to become a member of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles in this dispensation. His service in the apostleship lasted from 1933 until his death in 1947.
The plaque tells of some of the events of his early life. The second child of John Callis and Susannah Charlotte Quilliam. At the death of his Father, and while Charles was still a small boy, his mother moved the family to Liverpool, where they became Latter-day Saints. In 1875, the family emigrated and joined the main body of the Church in Utah.
The plaque goes on to describe Charles Callis’ “distinguished professional life, practising law and serving in several political positions, including… city councilman and county attorney in Coalville, Utah.”
However, his formal working life began in the coal mines at age 16, and his later success was due to the determined course of self-education undertaken in his spare time, focusing particularly on the law.
From 1893 he served for two years in the British Mission, spending most of his time as president of the Irish Conference. In 1902 he married Grace Pack, and four years later she accompanied him when he was called to serve in the southern United States. He would serve as mission president there for twenty-five years. The Church was still very unpopular in the southern states at the time, but through his eloquence and knowledge of the law, Callis was able to win great respect for the Church in that region.
Charles Callis testified: “From my earliest recollections to the present time I have always had an abiding and intense love for my Savior. I cannot read the story of His sufferings and crucifixion without shedding tears.”
The memorial plaque in Dublin was dedicated by Elder Neal A. Maxwell in 1989.

As the lessons continued to develop, we saw their testimonies of the gospel grow as they studied and prayed with a desire to know whether the Church was true. Generally we waited until our investigators indicated they had no more questions and had a witness from the Spirit before inviting them to join the Church. In one instance, one of our friends had us come to his home five times after he and his wife had completed the lessons. Each time we answered his questions for about an hour, and he considered our answers. Finally he had no more questions, and he and his wife, both of whom by that time had gained a testimony and had a desire to become members of the Church, readily accepted our invitation to be baptized.