Gospel Story Finder

The Twelve love President Hunter, and President Howard W. Hunter loves the Twelve. President Hunter’s gentle, persuasive leadership invites the Spirit of the Lord into all of their meetings. I hope President Hunter will forgive me for relating an experience which portrayed to me the great love the Twelve have for each other, which love brings the Holy Spirit into their quorum meetings.

Many will remember a number of years ago President Hunter was informed that he would not walk again. However, his faith and determination were greater than that message. Daily, without fanfare and the knowledge of others, he went through some very strenuous physical therapy exercises with determination, faith, and the vision that he would walk again. During those difficult months, his Brethren of the Twelve were praying for him daily in their quorum meetings and in their private prayers.

Months later, on a Thursday morning, I went to President Hunter’s office to discuss an agenda item for the temple meeting that morning. I found he left early and was informed that he was walking to the temple. I questioned that information and then hurried to catch up with him. When I caught up with him, he was walking with the help of a walker. We walked together to the elevator and then up to the fourth floor. We went down the hall to the upper room of the temple. When their president walked into that room, the Twelve stood and began to clap their hands. They tenderly watched him walk over to his chair and let his body down into the chair. Then with magnificent love, honor, and tenderness, each of the Twelve went up to him and extended to him an affectionate touch, kiss on the forehead, and a hug, showing their great love and admiration for him. They all sat down, and President Hunter thanked them and said, “I was not supposed to walk again, but with the Lord’s help and my determination and, most important, the faith of my Brethren of the Twelve, I am walking again.” President Howard W. Hunter is an example of maintaining faith and determination in the face of adversity. The Twelve are examples of maintaining faith and prayer in behalf of those who are experiencing adversity.

It was the day after Christmas, 1946, in Santa Clara, Utah. As a young nine-year-old boy, I asked my mother if I could take my Christmas gift, a new bow and arrow set, and go up on the hill behind our home to hunt for rabbits. It was late in the afternoon, and Mother was reluctant, but with my coaxing she agreed to let me go, but only if I was back home before dark.

As I reached the top of the hill, I put an arrow on the bow and started walking quietly through the sage and chaparral bushes, hoping to see a rabbit feeding at the base of the brush where the tender grass was still green.

I was startled by a large jackrabbit that jumped out from a sage bush right in front of me. I pulled back on the bow, taking a quick aim, and let the arrow fly at the fleeing, darting rabbit. The arrow missed, and the rabbit disappeared through the brush ahead.

I went to where I thought the arrow had hit the ground to retrieve it. Only three arrows came with the bow, and I didn’t want to lose this one. I looked where the arrow was supposed to be, but it wasn’t there. I looked all around the area where I was sure it landed, but I couldn’t find it.

The sun was setting in the west; I knew that it would be dark in about 30 minutes, and I didn’t want to be late getting home. I searched again the area where the arrow should have been, looking carefully under every bush, but it was not to be found.

Time was running out, and I needed to start for home to get there before dark. I decided to pray and ask Heavenly Father to help me find the arrow. I dropped to my knees, closed my eyes, and prayed to my Father in Heaven. I told Him I didn’t want to lose my new arrow, and I asked Him to show me where to find it.

While still on my knees, I opened my eyes, and there in the sagebrush immediately in front of me, at eye level, I saw the colored feathers of the arrow partly hidden by the branches. I grabbed the arrow and began to run for home, arriving there just before dark.

I will never forget that special experience. Our Heavenly Father had answered my prayer. That was the first time I had prayed for Him to help me, and He did! That evening I learned to have faith and trust in my Heavenly Father.

Not too long ago, I was working on our farm with my nephew Nash. He is six and has a pure heart. He is my favorite nephew named Nash, and I believe I am his favorite uncle speaking in conference today.

As he helped me come up with a solution for our project, I said, “Nash, that is a great idea. How did you get so smart?” He looked at me with an expression in his eyes that said, “Uncle Ryan, how do you not know the answer to this question?”

He simply shrugged his shoulders, smiled, and confidently said, “Jesus.”

Nash reminded me that day of this simple and yet profound teaching. The answer to the simplest questions and to the most complex problems is always the same. The answer is Jesus Christ. Every solution is found in Him.

“We started talking after the funeral,” says David Nordquist. “We were sad, of course, but we knew where he was. We knew that he was happy and that we should try to remember that. We tried to think of a way to honor him. We wanted to do something special in his memory.”
They tossed around some ideas, but nothing seemed quite right until the topic of scripture mastery came up.
“Our ward had never won the stake scripture mastery competition,” says Matthew. “We knew that Brother Cunningham wouldn’t care if we won, but he would be proud of us if we really buckled down and learned the scriptures for the year. All of them.”
And so they began to train for the big stake scripture mastery event. They soon discovered that their goal of learning all the scriptures not only made them feel good about honoring the memory of their teacher but also made them feel good about themselves.
“There was really a good feeling in our class,” says James. “We were working toward the same thing, and it was a goal that really invited the Spirit.”
As the school year wore on, it became clear that learning all 25 scriptures with the speed and precision required for the stake scripture mastery competition was going to prove more difficult than the students thought. But they pressed on, and by the time the spring scripture mastery competition rolled around, a team of four students—Matthew Glanfield, David and Dee Nordquist, and Aaron Medwin—was pumped up and ready to go.
Their preparation was really down to the wire, with a few team members losing a little sleep the night before in an effort to really be ready. “I think we all felt that it didn’t really matter if we won,” says Dee. “We just wanted to do our best. We wanted this to be special.”
Of course the stake competition was just for fun, and Matthew and Dee were right; it didn’t really matter who took first place. But all that preparation paid off. When the final score was announced, the team from Welland came out on top.
It was a thrill to win. But the best feeling was knowing that the scriptures were really theirs, that they had total command of all 25 and could find them, quote them, and explain them.
“I know we all thought a lot about Brother Cunningham and what he had taught us after we won,” says Matthew. “I think my favorite scripture that year was Doctrine and Covenants 88:123–24. It talks about loving others and working hard. He really did all those things in his life and motivated us to do the same in seminary and other areas of our life.”

Marci dropped her sleeping bag on the kitchen floor. “I was trapped!” she wailed to her mother. “Just trapped. What else could I do?”
“You really had no choice,” said Mother. “Anyway, I agree with Hoa and her parents. If you had Hoa spend the night with you, then you should be willing to spend a night with her.”
“But, Mom,” groaned Marci. “That’s different. They live in a one-bedroom apartment. Hoa, her little sister, and I will be sleeping in the front room. And that’s part of the kitchen!”
Marci didn’t expect an answer. She could hear the car in the driveway and knew Dad was waiting. Sighing, she picked up her sleeping bag. “Well, I guess I have to go. Hoa would be very hurt if I didn’t.”
As Marci entered the apartment where her friend Hoa lived, Hoa’s mother turned from the stove. “We are most glad you came, Marci. We thank you.”
Marci smiled and put her sleeping bag under the kitchen table. Hoa was pouring rice into a pot. “What are you doing,” Marci asked.
“I always fix the rice for dinner,” answered Hoa. A small face peeked from behind her legs. “This is my little sister, Truc.”
Marci knelt down and touched the little girl on the arm. “Hello, Truc,” she said. “I’ve wanted to meet you.”
Truc waved a few fingers at Marci, and Marci reached for her hand.
“She’s cute,” said Marci. “I would baby-sit her any day.”
Hoa’s mother turned around and asked, “What is ‘baby-sit?’”
“I would watch Truc for you,” answered Marci.
The mother smiled. “No need,” she said. “Where I go, Truc goes or Hoa watches her.”
“Vietnamese do not use baby-sitters,” explained Hoa. She winked at Marci. “But you baby-sit me. I always have to ask you what to do.”
Marci laughed. That was true. She had been explaining different things to her new friend for six months now, ever since Hoa had come to her school.
When the father came home, they sat down for dinner. Marci thought it was very quiet, not like dinner at her house. Everyone spoke softly, and Marci could feel her voice become quieter.
“Does your name have a meaning, Marci?” asked Hoa’s father.
“I don’t understand,” said Marci.
“Vietnamese names have another meaning,” explained Hoa. “Mine means flower. Truc means bamboo.”
Marci studied Hoa. She does look like a flower. Marci looked at Truc. She wasn’t sure she resembled bamboo. “I wish my name did have another meaning, but I don’t think the names of many people in the United States do.”
After dinner, Hoa’s mother began cooking again.
“What are you making, Mother?” asked Hoa.
“For Marci I would like to make pho,” she replied. “We will eat it in the morning.”
“Oh, good!” Hoa smiled and turned to Marci. “Pho is like a soup. It is made with beef and egg noodles. You will like it.”
Marci nodded. She was sitting on the floor and Truc was on her lap. Marci looked around the room. There were no toys. A small television set was perched on a low table, but no one seemed interested in turning it on.
“Truc, have you ever heard the story of Peter Rabbit?” asked Marci.
Truc shook her head, and Marci began the story. Then she told her the story of Cinderella. After that, she related some tales about Daniel Boone and Paul Revere. Hoa and her parents listened too. They had never heard the stories either. When Truc fell asleep, Marci looked at her watch. It was ten o’clock! Hoa’s mother took Truc away to get her ready for bed.
Hoa’s father stood up and bowed. “You are most welcome, Marci. We liked the stories. I hope you have a good time here. Goodnight.”
Marci stood up and made a slight bow back to Hoa’s father. “This is one of the best times I have ever had,” she said.
Hoa yawned and brought out a mat to spread on the floor. Marci pulled her sleeping bag from under the table and put it next to Hoa’s mat. After the girls were ready for bed, Marci crawled into her sleeping bag and looked at Hoa. The warm smell of pho filled the room. “Thank you for asking me,” she whispered. “I’m really glad I came.”

A few years ago my older sister passed away. She had a challenging life. She struggled with the gospel and was never really active. Her husband abandoned their marriage and left her with four young children to raise. On the evening of her passing, in a room with her children present, I gave her a blessing to peacefully return home. At that moment I realized I had too often defined my sister’s life in terms of her trials and inactivity. As I placed my hands on her head that evening, I received a severe rebuke from the Spirit. I was made acutely aware of her goodness and allowed to see her as God saw her—not as someone who struggled with the gospel and life but as someone who had to deal with difficult issues I did not have. I saw her as a magnificent mother who, despite great obstacles, had raised four beautiful, amazing children. I saw her as the friend to our mother who took time to watch over and be a companion to her after our father passed away.

During that final evening with my sister, I believe God was asking me, “Can’t you see that everyone around you is a sacred being?”

At first, I didn’t really understand what my dad was doing those mornings when he prayed for me. But as I got older, I came to sense his love and interest in me and everything I was doing. It is one of my favorite memories. It wasn’t until years later, after I was married, had children of my own, and would go into their rooms while they were asleep and pray for them that I understood completely how my father felt about me.

Cotton puffs and red and blue ribbons outlined the wooden counter where Julianna Rees, 14, of the Westwood Second Ward, delivered crusty, powdered sugar-coated Scandinavian dessert rosettes to her customers. She explained how the cookies are made by dipping an iron into batter, then into hot oil. “I got the recipe from my grandmother,” she said.
Her friend Margaret Stohl, 13, from the Westwood First Ward, grinned and said, “I learned how to make them from my grandmother, too. Scandinavian grandmothers and cookies—they go together. When I was making my cookies, I was talking to my grandmother and she said she got her cookie iron for Christmas when she was seven years old. That was neat for me because I just got my cookie iron for Christmas, too.”

My first brush with the priesthood was when I was baptized. I was baptized in an irrigation canal in the little town of Oakley, Idaho. I was with my friends on the bank of that irrigation canal. We had on our bib swimming suits, which consisted of bib overalls with the legs cut out so you wouldn’t sink and holes cut in the pockets. We had never seen a swimming suit made out of knit or of other fabric. My father came out from the First Ward meetinghouse with his counselors. He was carrying a chair, and he put the chair on the side of the irrigation ditch. My father said, “David, come on over here; we’re going to baptize you.”
I dove in the canal and swam over to the other side, shivering. It was in September and a little cold, and young boys get the shivers, you know, when you have only bib overalls on. My father got down into the canal. As I remember, he didn’t take his shoes off or change anything but was just in his regular clothes. He showed me how to hold my hands, and then he baptized me. After I came up out of the water, we both crawled up on the bank of the canal. I sat in the chair, and they put their hands on my head and confirmed me a member of the Church. After that I dove in the canal and went over on the other side and joined my friends.
This was my first experience, really, with the priesthood.

Some years ago, I went canoeing with a group of young women. The deep blue lakes surrounded by green, thickly forested hills and rocky cliffs were breathtakingly beautiful. The water sparkled on our paddles as we dipped them into the clear water, and the sun shone warmly while we moved smoothly across the lake.

However, clouds soon darkened the sky, and a stiff wind began to blow. To make any progress at all, we had to dig deeply into the water, paddling without pausing between strokes. After a few grueling hours of backbreaking work, we finally turned the corner on the large lake and discovered to our amazement and delight that the wind was blowing in the direction we wanted to go.

Quickly, we took advantage of this gift. We pulled out a small tarp and tied two of its corners to paddle handles and the other corners to my husband’s feet, which he stretched out over the gunwales of the canoe. The wind billowed the improvised sail, and we were off!

When the young women in the other canoes saw how we moved along the water with ease, they quickly improvised sails of their own. Our hearts were light with laughter and relief, grateful for the respite from the challenges of the day.

This was not what I thought being engaged would feel like.
My fiancé was righteous, worthy, and kind. We’d prayerfully considered the decision to get married. But no matter what I did, I couldn’t shake a horribly anxious feeling.
“What if he’s the wrong person for me?” I wondered. “What if I mess up Heavenly Father’s plan for me by making the wrong choice?”
Some days the anxiety felt like a crushing boulder I couldn’t get out from under.
If marrying my fiancé was right, why did I feel this way? Was God trying to tell me I shouldn’t marry him?
Eventually I learned I was experiencing relationship anxiety, which made it difficult to feel peaceful about my choice. If I could go back and talk to my anxious, engaged self, here are some things I would share.
I remember feeling guilty reading friends’ social media posts about their engagements. “Easiest question ever!” they’d say. “I never doubted he was the one for a second!”
I had to learn that struggling with anxiety didn’t mean the love we had for each other wasn’t real—or that God wasn’t guiding us.
Ultimately it wasn’t how quickly we fell in love or how easily we made the decision to get married that mattered. What mattered was how we grew together through the hard times. And seeing my fiancé love me through the most difficult, anxious time of my life confirmed that he really was the real deal.
Something that helped me move forward was learning to recognize when the Spirit was speaking to me—and when anxiety was planting ideas in my mind. When I felt sick to my stomach about marrying my fiancé, was that from God? Or just my own fears?
Galatians 5:22 says, “The fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, longsuffering, gentleness, goodness, faith.” When I thought of times in my life when God had spoken to me through His Spirit, it was always accompanied by encouraging, peaceful, and empowering feelings. He never caused me fear or panic.
I also learned that the constant sick-to-my-stomach feeling was actually a classic symptom of clinical anxiety. And while spiritual promptings are usually quiet and subtle, my anxiety was very loud. By using coping strategies to manage my anxious thoughts, I was better able to calm my mind and recognize the quiet promptings and reassurance of the Holy Ghost.
Though those moments of peace were sometimes rare, writing them down helped. Sometimes I put a sticky note on my bathroom mirror with a scripture that brought me comfort. Other times I wrote in my journal about an especially calm feeling I had after a heartfelt prayer. My fiancé and I even recorded videos of us talking about moments when we both felt peaceful about getting married. When I was afraid, we watched them together to remember how God had guided us to where we were.
When my anxiety was at its worst, I remember feeling like Heavenly Father had abandoned me. I was reading the scriptures, going to the temple, fasting, and praying, yet I still felt fear. Why wasn’t He helping me more?
Looking back, I see that He was helping me—but often through others. He helped me through a wise bishop who listened and suggested I meet with a mental health counselor. God helped me through my therapist, who provided professional insight and taught me practical coping methods. Later, I received help through a doctor who recommended I try medication for my anxiety.
God also helped me through family members who knew and loved me. As I communicated with my fiancé about how I was feeling, I received comfort from his understanding and support as well. And I found comfort knowing that my Savior understood me perfectly and was there for me in my hardest moments.
Despite all the quiet promptings of reassurance, my anxiety always drove me to wish I had a more certain answer. I still found myself praying that the heavens would open and that God would send an unmistakable sign that my fiancé was the right one to marry.
But that didn’t happen.
Instead, I learned that God trusted me to make the decision. As much as I wanted Him to just tell me what to do, the choice was up to me.
President Thomas S. Monson once shared this counsel: “Choose your love; love your choice.”
In the end I chose to marry my fiancé. We were sealed in the temple on a beautiful summer day.
Spoiler alert: My anxiety didn’t magically disappear.
I continued meeting with my therapist, taking my medication, seeking spiritual guidance, and communicating with my husband about my challenges. And over time, I felt better.
I love these words from Elder David A. Bednar of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles: “When you and your spouse remain steadfast on the covenant path, you will have heavenly help to create the marriage you hope to have.”
My husband and I have now been married for five years. Life isn’t perfect, but we are so happy. I’m so grateful I chose to act in faith despite my anxiety.
If you are experiencing relationship anxiety, turn to the Lord, prophetic guidance, your Church leaders, and if needed, professional resources for help. Heavenly Father will never abandon you. He will guide you. And as you strive to follow Him, He will give you the courage to trust in your ability to make good decisions.

The following object lesson helped some missionaries teach an investigator about the Apostasy and the Restoration.
“My companion and I used plastic cups labeled with parts of the true Church, building a pyramid with them while explaining how Jesus Christ established His Church.
“Then we explained the Apostasy as we removed cups representing the Apostles and watched the whole structure topple over. As we explained the Restoration of the gospel through the Prophet Joseph Smith, we rebuilt the tower, showing that the Church today is organized in the same way that Christ originally organized it.
“For the first time, this man understood. The Restoration finally gained meaning for him when he understood why it was needed.”

Ron calls his mission a “fantastic” experience. “The Lord blessed me with many miraculous, faith-promoting experiences,” he says. “My mission was huge for my spiritual life.”
Ron spent part of his mission in the Bermuda islands. His mission president, Harold Nephi Wilkinson, sent only “straight-arrow missionaries” there because he could visit them only occasionally.
“We were totally on our own, but the president didn’t have to worry about us,” Ron recalls. “We got the job done.”
After completing his mission in 1972, Ron found a job, enrolled at the University of Utah that fall, and joined Delta Phi Kappa, a fraternity for returned missionaries. At the fraternity’s social activities, he couldn’t help but notice an attractive young woman named Melanie Twitchell. Melanie was one of Delta Phi’s elected “dream girls,” who helped with the fraternity’s service activities.
Like Ron, Melanie came from an active Latter-day Saint family. Her father, a career military officer, and her mother never let the family’s frequent moves become an excuse for missing church.
Melanie was impressed by Ron’s kindness, courtesy, and gospel knowledge. “I said to myself, ‘He is such an amazing man that it doesn’t matter if I never get to date him. I just want to be his best friend.’”
As their relationship grew, the Spirit confirmed her impressions of Ron and of his commitment to the Lord. Soon their friendship blossomed into what Melanie calls a “storybook, fairytale romance.”
Elder Rasband says she was a perfect match. “Melanie was every bit my equal in gospel devotion and heritage. We became best friends, and that’s when I asked her to marry me.”
They married on September 4, 1973, in the Salt Lake Temple. Since then, he says, his “selfless eternal companion … has helped mold me like potter’s clay into a more polished disciple of Jesus Christ. Her love and support, and that of our 5 children, their spouses, and our 24 grandchildren, sustain me.”3

Sister Daggi loves the gospel of Jesus Christ, and she used to read her scriptures faithfully until she went blind.
“When I lost my sight, I prayed to be able to retain His word,” she recalls. Retaining His word was important to her as a symbol of spiritual vision.
And though she must now study the gospel in other ways, Sister Daggi believes “the word is a lamp unto my feet, and a light unto my path” (Psalm 119:105). She is a living example of the Savior’s promise: “I am the light of the world: he that followeth me shall not walk in darkness, but shall have the light of life” (John 8:12).
According to her husband, Juan, the Lord honored her sincere request. “Her mind captures things well. She could discourse for hours,” he smiles wryly.
“If you ask, you will receive,” she replies. “My spirit still has very good vision.”

So, with unwavering faith, courage and resolute in purpose, I joined the queue to pay my respects to my late queen as she lay in state, on 14 September. I knew others had already been camping overnight to ensure their places in the queue; those joining it were warned to expect waiting times of up to 30 hours.
I went prepared for most eventualities and, upon joining the end of the queue, soon introduced myself to those in front of me and to those rapidly joining behind. Many have since attested to what I experienced: moments of quiet contemplation, joviality, camaraderie, and a willingness to consecrate our time together in sharing food, watching others’ belongings, and offering to purchase further snacks for each other.
As we went through security at Westminster Hall, we said our mutual goodbyes. Then a solemn reverence descended as those present who, unified in grief, filed past Queen Elizabeth’s coffin, adorned by the magnificent crown jewels. I was so overcome by the tangible presence of the Holy Spirit, that I began to weep.
It occurred to me how much the entire experience reflected the concept of enduring well once we get on the covenant path, by saving others and being served along the way, keeping our spirits up, sacrificing our time, and being one in purpose.
For the few short hours that I was in the queue—only eight—my reward was a precious moment long enough for me to curtsey and blow a kiss towards the coffin.

Even though Pham was twelve years old, he was about to celebrate his very first Christmas.
Pham and his family had come to the United States during the great airlift of refugees from Vietnam. And although many wonderful things had happened to Pham’s family since their arrival, the most wonderful of all was when they had joined The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints!
Before then, Pham had heard about Christmas. He had not been too sure how the Christmas holidays would be celebrated, but he thought that they might be celebrated like Tet, the Vietnamese New Year. During Tet everyone decorated his home with flowers, ate delicious food, and lit fireworks. Then, when the missionaries came to teach his family about the Church, Pham learned that Christmas is the celebration of Jesus’ birth. He never tired of hearing his teacher at church read the Christmas story. He especially liked to hear about the Wise Men who had brought gifts to the baby Jesus. Pham had decided that, like the Wise Men, he would give Jesus a gift.
On the Saturday before Christmas, Pham held his little sister’s hand in his as they headed for the bus stop. He shoved his other hand deep into his coat pocket where his fingers found and clutched five one-dollar bills. He had worked very hard shoveling snow and running errands to earn the money, and now he was on his way to the department store to buy the special Christmas gift for Jesus.
Although the cold nipped at Pham’s nose and ears as he and Kim Li got off the bus and started down the sidewalk piled high on either side with snow, his heart was warm and he felt like singing. Soon the singing wouldn’t stay inside, and Pham’s voice rose clear and sweet in the cold air. He sang every Christmas carol that he knew, and people passing turned and smiled.
Soon Pham and Kim Li reached the department store. Its windows glittered with gold and silver tinsel and tiny star-lights that blinked off and on. The sight was so dazzling that Pham and Kim Li just stood in wonder for a moment.
Then, remembering his important mission, Pham led his sister into the store and started his search for the perfect gift for Jesus. Slowly he went up and down the long aisles, looking and looking. Ties and socks and books and shirts and jackets were fine for his father, but didn’t seem quite right for Jesus. Pham looked at diamonds and watches and golden rings, but somehow even they would not have been good enough, even if Pham had the money to buy them. Discouraged, he wondered how the Wise Men had been able to decide on their gifts of gold and frankincense and myrrh.
Pham felt a tug on his sleeve. Looking down, he saw that his little sister was very tired. Gently Pham picked her up and gave her a hug. He carried her to the snack bar in the store and had her sit at a table while he went to get some hot chocolate for her. It cost fifty cents, but Pham didn’t think that Jesus would mind if he spent a little of the money on Kim Li.
After Kim Li had finished her hot chocolate and had rested a while, Pham decided to go to another store. On the way they passed a crippled man begging on the sidewalk. Pham had seen many people who were hurt and crippled during the war, and his heart went out to the man. Before he quite realized what he was doing, Pham took a dollar from his pocket and gave it to the beggar.
When they arrived at the second department store, Pham again searched down every aisle, but he still couldn’t find anything that was just right. Then he saw a little boy who was lost and crying. Pham took the little boy to a security guard who could help find his mother. While they were waiting, Pham bought the boy a small toy and told him stories.
It was getting late, and Pham and Kim Li started home without finding a gift for Jesus. They stopped for a moment to watch a fat man with a white beard, who was dressed in a red suit. The jolly man was ringing a bell above a pot that people dropped money into. “What is it for?” Pham asked. When the man said that it was to buy food for the poor, Pham put two dollars into the pot. He knew all about not having enough food.
When Pham put his hand back into his coat pocket, he was shocked to discover that he had only one dollar left. What have I done? he wondered. It was too late to earn more money, and he couldn’t think of anything that he could buy for a dollar. Filled with disappointment, he thought of the Wise Men and their handsome gifts. He had so wanted to give Jesus a fine gift too! How could he ever do it now? By the time they reached home, great tears were sliding down Pham’s cheeks.
“What’s the matter?” his mother asked as she gently held his tear-streaked face. Pham told her about how he had wanted to give a gift to Jesus as the Wise Men had and about how he had spent nearly all his money and still didn’t have a gift.
“Oh, but you do!” his mother said, a tender smile lighting her face. “You have already given Him the only gift that He really wants—the love in your heart!”
“It is true that I have love, but how have I given Him that?” Pham asked, puzzled.
“Don’t you see?” his mother said gently. “You have given love today to Kim Li, to the crippled man, to the little boy, to the poor for food. Oh, Pham, you have given richly! Don’t you remember that Jesus said, ‘Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me’ (Matt. 25:10)? Pham, you have given Jesus the finest gift of all!”
Pham’s eyes began to shine with joy. He took the remaining dollar from his pocket. “I will give this to the bishop,” he said. “Maybe it will help a missionary teach others about Jesus and the gospel.”

I think of dear Sister Amy Gent, whom I was privileged to visit for several years as branch president, home teacher, and friend. The first time I visited her, she was 87 years of age. Widowed twice, she was the only member of the Church in her extended family. Was she lonely? Never!

She read the scriptures every day. Once she asked me to bring her some missionary tracts, which I thought were to vary her reading. I gave them to her saying, “You will enjoy reading these, Sister Gent.”

“Oh, they are not for me,” she replied. “I visit an old lady, and I want to share the gospel with her!”

Reaching out, helping, serving, this is the way we overcome the fear of loneliness.

Mary, a young girl with mental disabilities and not a member of the Church, was limited, but she wanted very much to be included. Sensitive to her needs, several young women invited her to participate in the ward road show. Her family was invited to the performance. Mary’s father wanted to know more about a church whose people cared enough about his daughter to include her. The whole family embraced the gospel and were baptized.

“Did you sing that song when you were in Primary?” Jessica asked.
“No, ‘Families Can Be Together Forever’ hadn’t been written yet when I was in Primary. Several years after Grandpa passed away, Grandma heard the Primary children sing it in sacrament meeting. She felt the Spirit so strongly that she was sure Heavenly Father was speaking right to her. Grandma loved the words because they gave her comfort in knowing that her family could be together forever.”

Early on Saturday afternoon, June 5, Cynthia Lyman, a medical technologist in Salt Lake City, heard a radio report that Rexburg, Idaho, had been flooded when the Teton Dam gave way. Without hesitation she filled the backseat of her car with containers of water, drove the 240 miles to the disaster scene, and, after talking her way through police blockades, began helping her grandmother clean up her water-damaged home.
With Cynthia Lyman, two cousins from two other families—Marshall Lyman, also of Salt Lake City, and David Lyman—helped their grandmother clean up her Rexburg home. David reported his parents’ home in Sugar City also sustained extensive water damage. “We stayed there until the water came, then we came here and packed things upstairs from the basement until the flood got here. Grandma didn’t want to leave, but we talked her into it.”
In addition to logs, fenceposts, and other debris, a 10,000 -gallon fuel tank came to rest in Sister Lyman’s yard. “Well, at least I have my year’s supply of fuel,” she joked.